deep blue

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/22717549.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Supernatural
Relationship: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Characters: Castiel, Sam Winchester
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate
Universe - Witchcraft, Witch Sam Winchester, Alien Castiel (Supernatural),
Bottom Sam Winchester, Top Castiel (Supernatural), Prosthesis,
Cybernetics, Oviposition, Bulge Kink, Body Horror, Tentacles, Past
Character Death, PAH – porn & angst & horror, Bathtub Sex, in a greater
sense
Language: English
Series: Part 6 of spn kink bingo 2020, Part 1 of skydust!verse
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020
Stats: Published: 2020-02-14 Words: 4,848 Chapters: 1/1
 deep blue
by hellhoundsprey

Summary

Sam’s the first from his gene pool to make it past the draconian criteria of the Magick Crafts
Society, and he’s fucking hellbent on finishing his studies with an actual degree.

2020 kink bingo square 15: bathtub sex

Notes

Watch out for the NSFW-ish illustration down south.

Happy Valentine's ❤.

See the end of the work for more notes

As he squints down the seemingly bottomless cave entrance, Sam considers if his father might
have been right about this not being worth it.

He throws a helpless glance back at his beat-up ship. Took him months to get the coordinates,
weeks to collect the supplies. He has just enough nutrition tabs to make it back home—
overcalculated on the fuel. Not a failure per se, but the academy will find ways to retract that
shit from his overall score.

His palm is damp inside his glove. Eyes back down to the prize.

His decade-old suit flutters tight around his skin. He can hear the Zhu-Liks banging against the
walls of their glass containers, somewhere in the stuffed depths of his bag.

You could be a legend.

He allows himself one last deep, soul-hollowing sigh. Mutters, “Fuck it,” and begins his descent.

The planet is ridiculously small. Hidden well inside a tight ring of asteroids, nobody’s been
insane enough to scour it for the vague promise of some old-ass fairytale. Yet.

Sam’s bloodline isn’t known for its heroes, for medals or achievements. Humans (that nobody
bats an eye for anyway)—mostly mechanics, with an odd bounty hunter strewn in around every
other generation or so.

Sam’s the first from his gene pool to make it past the draconian criteria of the Magick Crafts
Society, and he’s fucking hellbent on finishing his studies with an actual degree.

The past five years cost him ten years off his life, a leg, an arm and an eye and approximately
twelve percent of his brain mass, but there’s barely a thing science can’t replace these days.

The night vision in his prosthesis activates once the light of this planet’s three moons loses its
fight against the obvious odds. Sam moves at a careful pace, one foot in front of the other and
his hand constantly on the wall for stabilization.

Sixty percent humidity and rising.

The drips and drops of water echo through the narrow tunnel. Sam spots a snail, then another.

And another.

Sam takes his hand off the progressively alive walls and keeps it that way.

Temperatures climb into the seventies. Eighties.

Sam blinks away sweat and balks at the info reflecting off of the inside of his helmet.

Oxygen? That can’t be right.

Sam shakes his head. “Keep it together.”

The ever-red bar in his vision turns green.

Atmosphere: non-hazardous.

“What the…”

“Atmosphere: non-hazardous. Oxygen supply: deactivated. Please take off your helmet. Please
take off your helmet.”

“No, shit, that’s not—shit, shit.”

“Please take off your helmet. Please take off your helmet. Plea—”

Sam grits, “Fucking piece of junk,” and grudgingly rams his finger into the flashing, now un-
secured button.

The visor retracts instantly and confronts his face with the hot-damp climate. Sam’s eye burns
and he swears while he rummages through his bag, finds the correct ointment, tilts his head back
to drop it into his eye. He had applied it generously all over his skin and easily-reachable depth
of all orifices, and this is probably just the sudden heat causing that discomfort and not any
weird-ass poison or anything, but... Safety first.

He huffs, slightly out of breath. His lungs flutter securely and bewitched. Just his nerves getting
the best of him. But who’d expect fucking breathable atmosphere? His professors are gonna love
that. Sam takes a quick sample of both the gaseous environment and the wall liquid before he
continues his descent.

The further down he goes, the less noise there is. Not much there to begin with; no fauna or flora
to be seen on the surface. Last carbon you’d run into around these parts of the galaxy is several
light-years away.

General folk avoid these death planes. Scientists and witches, though? Gold mines. Stuff of
dreams, of power and prestige.

Sam’s brother had joked that if Sam would die on this mission, at least his ship could get tracked
and they’d be in the lucky position to see what this place can do to a human corpse…unaware
that, yes, Dean, you complete moron, that’s the fucking protocol. Ah, the luxury of ignorance.

You don’t go chasing ancient myths without signing a fucking living will.

Sam doesn’t mind the idea of death. It’d just be so very…inconvenient.

He still has so much left to do.

Miles from the surface, the soup-thick darkness begins to fade into light. Sam checks his
prosthesis again, smacks it with his finger. The light won’t go away.

Close to a hundred degrees now, and the sweat pearls off Sam’s balmed skin.

A low humming sets in, so gently that Sam can’t pinpoint the exact time it started. Which will
cost him another point or two. Sam huffs, keeps walking.
Echoes of splashes at 15:15:03. Distant, gentle—its volume increasing the deeper he goes. Sam
steps into a puddle at exactly 15:26:56.

The snail population has vanished. Sam’s prosthesis lists the impressions his scent feeds him—
earth, stone, ocean, algae.

Everything shines in a hue of blue-purple, of the bright reflections of—H2O?

Sam’s mind races with the possibilities of his findings so far. And he hasn’t even reached his
destination yet.

“No visible source of light,” he murmurs, for the record. He’s shin-deep in the water now.

At 16:48:36, he hears, “What are you?”

Sam’s body freezes.

His mouth opens, ready to respond, “I come in peace. I was sent by the university of the Magick
Crafts,” but the voice interrupts him as if he’d already said it all.

“A human? What is a human?”

“We, uh. Mainly consume carbon-based sources of energy, t-to…”

“Oh,” the voice says. “How disappointing.”

Sam hesitates. “Uh… sorry.”

“Come forth,” he hears, “let me see you.”

Sam’s grateful that his prosthetic leg can’t be paralyzed by something as irrational as fear. He
drags himself on, further down the cave. His heart rate won’t quite peak as he’d expect it, given
the fact he’s—

“What is a ‘God’? Oh,” they interrupt themselves. “Really? How flattering.”

Sam observes, “You’re a mind reader.” There’s nothing else to see yet but dripping walls, but
water and light. The tunnel makes a turn half a mile down, maybe…

“‘Mind’? ‘Reading’?”

A considerable amount of water splashes.

“I simply—know. Everything.”

Sam mentally slaps himself for thinking of a snarky remark and mentally slaps himself again for
slapping himself mentally, before he gives up and sticks his artificial arm into his bag.

“I just came to—”

“—talk. I haven’t talked in… Oh my.” It balks in settling realization. “I never.”

Just behind the turn, the tunnel opens to what must be miles and miles in depth and height of an
underground lagoon. Light dances in its pure form, without insects or visible plants, and amid
the opening lies a giant sea.

The being floats just by the shore, closest to the tunnel entrance, closest to Sam.

Mere feet divide them.

Sam only barely jumps backwards.

“I-I’m a, I just—”

“How curious.” Dozens of eyes focus on him. “I expected you to be…taller.”

Deep in his bag, Sam’s cybergenetic hand tightens around the bundle of protective herbs. He
takes a stabilizing breath before he takes another, seemingly impossible step.

“My name is Sam Winchester. I come in peace. I was sent here to scale this place to bring my
magick studies forth. If you want me gone, I will do so, immediately. I do not intend to disturb
you or—”

The being ‘smiles’. “You already disturbed me.”

“—o-or bring you… Look, can you stop interrupting m—”

“Come forth, Sam Winchester. No, I do not care for your so-called ‘social norms’. Yes, come
closer. I, too, have no intent on doing you any harm. Oh, how curious.”

Sam forces himself to do as he’s told despite a mass of tentacles spilling out of the water and
towards him.

“How very curious,” the being not-says, and with that, Sam’s feet get swept from underneath
him and his back hits the slippery floor.

The tentacles wrap around his feet and pull, and he can’t even scream.

The being hefts itself out of the water, and for a death-screaming fragment of a second in which
all of his life races past his eye, Sam sees nothing but purple-black, slick flesh.

He not-blinks his eye and there’s—

a face.

“You are warm, Sam Winchester.”

Humanoid face. Like, mouth and nose humanoid. Sam feels himself shaking in fear, his bladder
casually releases while the tentacles hold him firm—but not too tight.

Like you’d hold a squirmy animal, careful so it shall not drop and hurt itself.

“This. What is this?”

“Ah, m-muh-my. I-it’s a, a prosthesis, m-made out, out o-of.”

The being puts its ‘mouth’ around Sam’s calf and bears down.

Sam blacks out for a second.

The creature is all up in his face at the next.

“Here, too,” it says, focused on Sam’s artificial eye, and it smells like nothing Sam has ever
known or heard of. It forgot to cover all its eyes with its illusion and Sam thinks he hears, “You
don’t mind them anyway, do you?” and he thinks, “Yeah, I don’t,” and, shit.

The sea of eyes shines bright in facets of white and blue. Every single one moves separately,
takes in every inch of him.

That face shortly flickers through Dad, through Dean, his professor, his mom. Settles on Cas, out
of all of them, and Sam’s dumb heart tenses.

How long has it been since the funeral? Eight years? Nine?

Brown-black hair, soaking wet like his pale, unharmed skin; the purple-spotted mucosal shines
through when Sam doesn’t focus on it.

The few Zhu-Liks that weren’t crushed by either the now-shattered glass or Sam’s body break
free, frantically. They piston into the air but the being snatches them, one by one (or all at once,
Sam is too close to crane his neck right and fast enough).

Sam watches with growing panic how the moths try to escape. How some of them stick to the
suckers or get crushed.

“Oh. Apologies. Oh.”

The being states, “Fascinating,” as it finally gets a hold of the last one without killing it.

Poor thing looks as horrified as a bug possibly can, nervously twitching its legs, its now-
damaged wings.

The being holds the insect up to its eyes. Sniffs at it. Slithers its tongues to gently tap it.

Both the Zhu-Lik and Sam don’t dare move a single atom of their bodies.

Finally—and Sam kinda feels like breaking into tears—, the Zhu-Lik is set free.

Him and the being both watch it hurrying off into the wide-open of the cave.

“Do you have any more?”

Sam almost-shakes his head.

“What else did you bring? Are these for me?”

The tentacles retract their hold on Sam to go for his duffle instead. “Uh, n-not, n-not really,
uh…”

“Most curious. Oh, very, very curious.”

Sam watches his supplies clink-clanking to the stone floor, how every item gets carefully picked
up and inspected.

Sam not-hears: What are these? Where did you get these?

He replies, “From various planets. There’s several galaxies out there. Uh, well, I dunno if it
makes sense since you… Uhh. Oh. I see. Okay.”

Listen, look—he was prepared for mind tricks, for illusions, bends in time and space. So easy to
pick a familiar face from Sam’s memory, create a mirage, make him pliable.

But…Cas.

He’s been in therapy for that shit, for God’s sake.

This isn’t Cas, of course, but it looks just like him—back when he still was in one piece, and
maybe that’s somehow worse. Because he’s alive and well and right there with that adorable,
confused frown of his upon being faced with Sam’s odd tools and spells and supplies.

But it’s not him. You know he’s dead. You and Dean helped to cremate his remains.

A handful of the creature’s eyes swipe towards Sam while the rest keeps dancing over the
colorful loot. “What is ‘Cas’?”

“Uhm.” Sam clears his throat. His voice breaks at the thought of his test score. “It’s just, uh,
someone? From my past. You’re wearing his…face. Right now. Anyway, uh—”

Sam sits a little straighter, considers getting up. But they’re at eye level now and maybe that’s
best for a friendly conversation, y’know, human to light-century-old mythical creature.

He clears his throat, again. Slicks his already-drippy hair back over his head, out of his face.
“Reason I came here is—”

“What is ‘magick’? … Hm. I see.”

“Yeah, uh, anyway, uhm.”

“There are…stories about me?”

The being’s eyes flicker, point towards nothing. Through Sam, through the thick shell of this
planet, light-years’ worth of travel and time.

“I did…” It hesitates. “Not know.”

“You’ve been here all your life?” Sam’s heart picks up. “You—you never left this cave?”

The being transmits, “Yes. No,” and slips its body further back into the water.
“Why’d, uhm—why?”

“This is my home,” it argues. Flecks of light dance across its skin, the shallow waves. Cas’ face
blends less and less into its actual, feature-less self. Several ‘eyes’ jump along the questioning
line of Sam’s body. “You have travelled many worlds. I see them all.”

“In my…?”

“Yes. And outside of it.”

“So you see…everything?”

The being blinks Cas’ eyes. “I forgot.”

Sam’s hand is wrapped around the cliff. The H2O is warm enough to waft soft steam up into his
face. He asks, trembling, “Forgot what?” and the being says,

“I slept.”

It submerges itself entirely.

Sam almost falls into the water with how frantically, how instinctively he surges forward to grab
Cas.

From underwater (no, inside your head), Sam hears, “You woke me.”

“I—I’m terribly sorry.”

“‘Sorry’.” A hum. “What a beautiful word.”

Desperation grows, fast. “What are you?”

“Do the tales not say, Sam Winchester?”

“Th-they’re just—fairytales.”

A low hum. Like mountains emerging from the ground. A new world being born, somewhere.

“I don’t see a word for what I am,” Sam hears. “Not in your head. Not anywhere.”

Sam polite-smiles, “Ah,” and his student-heart bolts with both the ecstasy and complete panic of
having run into…this.

His human nature shrivels in compassion, though.

Once his findings get published, scientists will—

“I do not fear them.”

Oh.
“I am sorry that you were under the impression that you were able to find me simply due to your
skills, Sam Winchester.”

You knew I was coming.

“Yes.”

You wanted me to find you.

“Yes.”

“But…”

Sam’s voice fails him. This is not the kind of attention he’s ever wanted to attract. Didn’t know
someone…something…a god…even knew he existed.

He clutches his artificial shoulder while his face derails in a sea of confusion.

“But—why?”

Cas’ head breaks the surface, slowly, unblinking. Two eyes only, just like Sam’s never-recovered
heart remembers: strikingly blue and gentle.

There are no waves in the water.

Cas’ mouth smiles. “I began to…feel.”

“F…feel?”

“Yes.”

“W-what did you…feel?”

“‘Loneliness’.” The creature floats back to shore, to Sam. “‘Boredom.’”

Sam’s shaking. He should have eaten extra, earlier. “Th-that’s, uhm—I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No,” it not-says, close enough to touch. “It is beautiful.”

“Your first emotions should be, I dunno—happier?”

“‘Happy’?”

Tentacles slip onto the cliff, pull the being further up. Two humanoid arms, humanoid torso.
Scars appear where Sam remembers them, once he remembers them. Cas’ tattoos.

“What is ‘happy’?”

Cas’ hand reaches for Sam’s cheek, and it’s already too late when Sam realizes he probably,
absolutely, definitely shouldn’t—

—lean into the touch.

Cas’ face is too close. Sam’s eye fills with tears.

The creature blinks, gaze strictly on Sam’s face. The tremble of his lip.

It says, after a fast-forward through Sam’s brain, “I see.”

The creature presses Cas’ mouth onto Sam’s.

The emotional recoil nearly throws Sam back onto the ground. He yells, “Woah!” and his
biological hand pushes on Cas’ chest to keep the creature away. He feels a new layer of heat
bubbling into his face and simultaneously drains of all color, and it all happens so fucking fast
he swears he can feel the whiplash.

Or that’s just the sensation of lost gravity due to being grabbed by a dozen fucking huge
tentacles.

With his body mere inches off the ground, Sam Winchester’s stomach decides that it’s had
enough. He vomits—mostly water and stomach acid.

The creature puts Cas’ hands on Sam’s face, almost nose to nose again and Sam pants, “You’re
not him, y-you’re not him,” and the creature cocks Cas’ head again.

“Apologies. Does this upset you?”

Dean’s face says, “Is this better?”

Sam splutters, “N-no, no.”

Mom frowns, worried. “This?”

Sam can’t kick his prothesis. Can’t move his arm or reach his tools, strewn all over the ground
mere feet away. “J-just, fuck—stay him, okay, stay HIM!”

The tips of Cas’ fingers map out the shape of his face. Slip along the scruff on his chin, his
sideburns, into his hairline.

Sam forces his eyes closed, his spirit calm.

You’re hyperventilating. Easy. In…and out…in…and out…

“You are scared.”

A teeth-gritted, “Yes.” Gentle-rough fingers along the rabbit-kicks of his carotid; the worst kind
of goosebumps.

“Why?”

Cas’ hands are both on his clothed chest, but one of the tentacles finds the zipper-activating
button on accident. Warm air hits Sam’s upper back, and his panic finds a new high.

“Nonono, wait, uh, wait—”

“I told you: I mean no harm. What is this?”

“I need it,” chokes Sam—the tentacles pull his spacesuit from him, undress him carelessly,
easily. “P-please, careful with that, I, I need it to get back!”

“How curious.” The creature holds the limp fabric to Cas’ face. Sniffs it—frowns—gently
lowers it to the floor. “Are all humans this…fragile?”

“I—hey. Yeah, we—need oxygen, and o-our skin is an organ with a, a strictly balanced—c-can
you please stop touching me, please?”

The creature hums, “‘Oxygen’,” its tentacles and Cas’ hands running along Sam’s oily, sweaty
skin. Exploring, tickling in their oblivion. “Hm. You…smell.”

Sam grunts. “Well, you don’t exactly run into a goddamn bathtub around these parts of the
galaxy.”

The creature wipes Cas’ fingers across Sam’s bare chest, rubs them together in front of his face.
He helps himself from Sam’s mind to try out the words, “‘Xctechlop.’ ‘Almond.’ ‘Rosemary.’”

“Protection.”

Cas’ face is littered with eyes that disappear upon the creature looking at Sam in wonder.

“F-from the. Atmosphere. It’s a protective ointment.”

The creature puts Cas’ oily fingers into Cas’ mouth to suck on them.

Once satisfied, it smacks Cas’ lips.

“Fascinating.”

Another kiss and Sam scrunches his face, tries to fight, but he can’t move an inch. He’s let up
and hisses, “Stop doing that,” and feels something wet and warm flicking at his chin, the corner
of his mouth next.

Oh, God.

The creature slips one of its tongues behind the too-late seal of Sam’s lips.

But you like this—‘kissing’—don’t you?

Sam garbles out loud what’s supposed to mean, “Uh, no,” but the being has already read his
mind.

You ‘kissed’ him a lot. ‘Cas’.

… Yes.

His physical shell disintegrated. You have not kissed him since.

C-can we… not talk about…?

“Of course,” it not-says, and presses their lips together. Sam is so relieved he forgets his current
predicament and pushes his own tongue into the game.

The change is immediate.

Sam’s own pleasure-sigh slaps him right back into reality.

He splutters. The being lets up, looks down at him, puzzled.

It pulls him into the lake with it. The H2O gushes warm and almost…comforting around them.
Sam’s never seen so much of it in one place.

Sam blabbers, “Please don’t hurt me, please—I just wanna get back home, this is just a stupid
mission an’ my brother’s gonna lose his mind if I go missing and—”

Cas’ mouth kisses him again. Soothing, with growing finesse.

Sam’s body submerges into the warm waves and goes a little limper with it.

The being tongue-fucks his mouth, generously supplied by Sam’s memory, and his eyes slip
closed. Cradled close and God, he swears he can smell—Cas. The herbs he used to smoke all the
time. The salt and grime of his skin.

“You too are lonely, Sam Winchester,” the being notes, and Sam swallows his pride and copious
amounts of alien-spit while they nose past his ear, slip their tongues around and behind and
across—his face, the grimy line of his neck.

Sam shiver-moans, pressed too-close and weightless in the being’s grip—suspended by

countless tentacles of all sizes and water licking up at him from the movement. Again, Cas’
hands get a hold of his face for a kiss, slips its tongues past his teeth and he’d splutter around the
sudden surge of it, the insistent pressure, if there was any space.

Sam’s got just enough time to think ‘uh, wait, this is different’ before he chokes.

They map him out. His entire system screams WRONG upon the tongues slipping down his
esophagus, peek into his too-empty stomach; slip back up, into his nose, his trachea.

“Warm,” comments the being. “Here, too.”

A slick arm rolls up against Sam’s ass crack, from tailbone up his taint and nudging his balls
aside to flip up his cock, before it slithers back down, gets another tentacle to join in.

Shit, no, g-god, that’s uh, god—does it know this is for…?

“Oh, is it?” the being replies, and Sam rushes, “N-not like, uh,” but he’s getting his ass spread
already and one of the thinner tentacles emerges from the water to push its way inside him with
alarming speed.

And lack of manners.

“Shit, shit, wait, ah—”

Another tentacle found his urethra now and starts its descent. The other is pushing past depths of
his colon Sam didn’t know he could feel.

Cas’ voice hums, “Fascinating.”

Sam’s mouth hangs open.

His body reacts to the unfamiliar (and these days way too rare) intrusion in the only way it’s
ever learned how:

His cock begins to chub up.

“Oh,” the being says, “how convenient. I have always wanted to try this.”

“Try what. Try what?”

“There should be enough space. Ah, yes.” Another, way bigger tentacle pushes past Sam’s
sphincter. He cries out. “This is acceptable. Excellent.”

Sam babbles, “What’re you doing,” and gets another kiss, gets his tongue sucked while the
creature fucks into his cock until it’s fat and throbbing.

If they take any points off of him for that, then, honestly, what the fuck.

“I have one just like that,” Sam hears, and feels the press of something—

worryingly warm and slick.

The half-mile-long probe retracts from the depths of his bowels and Sam has just enough time to
stutter a syllable or two before the creature replaces it with his clearly not-humanoid, not-
anything Sam’s ever anticipated near his nether regions mating tentacle.

The rigged head bumps into every nerve it passes, and it’s followed by an endless supply of…
more.

There should be pain where there isn’t, but Sam’s crying with generally being overwhelmed.

His stomach begins to bulge out with the sheer volume of cock he’s getting stuffed full with.

“God,” he whines, his hands magically free to grabble at the creatures (Cas’) face, hair, neck, “p-
please, I’m, y-you c-can’t…”

A hot gush of liquid empties somewhere deep inside of him, and it feels—wrong.

Except that it doesn’t.

“Do not worry,” the creature lap-speaks into Sam’s tongue. “This will not harm you.”

Sudden pressure builds and breaks, too fast to comprehend until it’s already done, and Sam’s
body contracts hard around the ungiving shape of a huge, round object.

The object travels further, and further, and Sam’s brain flails to the horrible conclusion: egg.
There’s an egg going up that thing’s cock and it’s gonna plant it right inside of him.

Sam manages a high-pitched, “Uhm, uh,” before another one pops past the tight suck of his
asshole to follow behind the first.

Something in him short-circuits.

He’s been through some shit, did some kinky stuff, but this is those two categories meeting on
the completely wrong ends. Alas, there’s nothing he can do.

‘Cas’ licks into his mouth, purr-vibrating low, and Sam shivers. Painfully aware of his own cock
—forgotten and hopelessly hard, dripping with his own and the creature’s slick. Gets kissed and
for a moment it’s exactly like kissing Cas, that hunger and love and pressure and never letting
you go.

The first egg spills out of the solidly rigged head of the creature’s cock, nestles all nice in a fresh
glop of come or slick or whatever it is that’s so warm and gooey in him—and the cock retracts a
few inches, already bulges with the next egg.

Sam hiccups, “Oh,” and the creature doesn’t have anything to add to that, apparently.

They’re kissing through it all because that’s nice, that’s something Sam is used to. Tongue and
spit and he’s light-headed, his non-artificial fingers shaky and the skin on his stomach stretches
painfully. He groans, looks down in-synch with the creature.

His stomach is expanding rapidly. The eggs visibly push against each other inside of him,
desperate for space.

The creature vomits a generous amount of slick between their bodies and uses his Cas-hands to
rub it into the hard swell of Sam’s belly.

They rub hard enough that Sam can feel how thinly stretched he is already, hard enough to
nudge the eggs around and he whines, powerlessly, as he comes.

His insides rhythm-suck at the creature’s cock and it hums, pleased, while Sam’s spilling in
rivulets between their bodies. He’s bound so tight he can’t even writhe, just fish-gasps and
clenches around the eggs, the creature’s cock still pumping inside of him.

“Pleasant,” the being decides. It’s apparently empty now and humps the available twenty inches
or so in front of the eggs that it’s got left. That perfect, bulbous head rubs at Sam’s insides just
right and he moans, completely out of his mind with the stimulation and horror. The creature
takes that as an incentive to stuff his mouth with his tongues again, snaps his Cas-hips to fuck
Sam in a horribly…humanoid fashion.

“Don’t stop,” he gasps, “don’t fucking stop.”

The ridges of the creature’s mating tentacle catch on his over-sensitive hole on every oblivious
stroke. Only reason he’s not getting pulled inside-out is the generous amount of slick audibly
smacking between their bodies.
Sam’s got Cas’ face tight between his hands, forehead to forehead. He cries, “I love you so m-
much,” and comes again, harder this time, like a ship hitting him full speed.

His scream echoes off the walls.

It doesn’t stop. Not until he’s sobbing softly, and the creature cradles him. That cursed cock
finally retracts from his now blown-out hole and is followed by a gush of slick that he swears he
can taste, and his eyes are closed but the creature keeps pressing gentle, wet kisses all over his
face.

“Sleep,” comes a thought, and just like that, Sam Winchester slips right into blissed, utter
unconsciousness.

He wakes. In-suit, his bag right next to him.

His memories stumble after him and his body surges into a seated position; painful gasp, locking
muscles, cold sweat.

His hands slap onto his stomach.

There’s…nothing.

He stares down at himself—his empty hands, his ever-flat stomach. Has a premonition to turn
around, and there’s Cas, and Sam almost collapses right back into darkness.

“Shit!” he yells, “What the fuck!”

He grabs his bag. Cas doesn’t move, just observes. He’s completely dry, stark naked. Sam’s gone
insane. You’re gone insane.

He sniffles. “How long was I out?” His voice feels off, not-his-own.

The creature says, “Just a few hours.”

Sam’s cyber eye spells a date he doesn’t think he…remembers.

When had he arrived here?

Sam’s eye swims. He blinks. There’s no breath in him.

“I. I have to go.”

“Of course,” nods the creature. “I will accompany you.”

“You—no.”

Sam gets to his feet, shoulders his bag; turns towards the creature but his feet begin to walk
towards the cave exit. He raises his prosthetic arm and his eyebrows in a desperate threat.

“No, you—you stay here. Stay where you are!”

Cas takes a step towards him.

“I said—”

Cas has his arms behind his back. Wears that dumb, innocent face he’d use when he’d want
something from Sam he didn’t know how to address. Didn’t know himself what that’d be,
exactly, but knew he wanted.

“—I said don’t.”

Mere steps separate the two of them from the turn into darkness, back into the tunnel ultimately
leading towards the surface. To Sam’s ship. The endless courses of the universe.

Behind the being, the lake is gentle. Glows—eternally, peacefully.

Cas’ lips pull into a most timid smile.

Sometimes, Sam wishes he couldn’t remember. That none of it ever happened. That they never
met.

It would be easier.

The creature says, “I have decided.”

End Notes

Keep your eyes peeled for these lovebirds, because there will be so much more to read about
them...soon.

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