Go get her, tiger...
The room is poorly lit, but not so dim that Castiel can't see the stains on the walls, and the worn patches and cigarette burns in the carpet. It's barely furnished: a closet with one door swinging open so he can see the towels stacked on the shelves, and a small nightstand next to the bed, which is large, covered in shiny black fabric, and scattered with cushions shaped like hearts. When he glances up, there's a mirror on the ceiling, and there are pictures on the walls too, lurid erotica, entwined bodies performing acrobatic-looking contortions Castiel is fairly sure aren't anatomically possible, many of which feature the application of fruit.
He's aware enough of modern standards of attractiveness to know that Chastity is aesthetically pleasing, and he can already feel a skipping sensation in his chest as she reaches around behind him to lock the door, his chest because now he's tied to the world and this human body, he thinks of himself as a real person. A real boy, Dean often jokes, even if the smile rarely reaches his eyes these days.
The woman lets go of Castiel's coat sleeve and plucks the roll of banknotes from his hand before glancing up at him through clumpy, spiked black eyelashes that don't look real. She smiles, and he notices abstractedly that she has lipstick on her teeth.
"I have a toy box, sugar," she says breathily, and she stabs an incongruously businesslike finger towards a small chest he can just now see, on the other side of the bed. "Go look, pick something you like. We can play." She flicks her scarlet-painted nails through the money with practiced ease, crosses to a small door set into the wall, glances back over her shoulder and motions her head to a basket on the nightstand. "What flavor?"
Castiel isn't sure what she means, and that makes him uneasy. "Flavor?" He clears his throat, but his voice still squawks out high-pitched and strained. "Uh... I'm not allowed to order off the menu. My... Dean said so."
She smiles, winks. "Silly. I mean the Jimmy hats. What flavor?"
Castiel takes a step forward, hovers uncertainly, stares harder at the basket, full of small flat packages in bright colors. "Jimmy?" he broaches cautiously, and he drifts his eyes back over to the door, his escape route, and it's only a few feet away. "You have a hat for Jimmy? Only Jimmy isn't here any more."
The woman turns, a flash of irritation in her eyes. "You're so sweet, baby," she doles out mechanically. "Jimmy hats. Rubbers." She giggles, soft, girlish, false. "Bareback costs more. So I guess it's off the menu, huh?"
She swivels her hips in Castiel's direction, backing him up against the wall and crowding right up into his personal space. It's closer than any human who isn't Dean has been to him, and Castiel's mouth goes suddenly dry.
Chastity flicks her hair back off her shoulders, cups his cheek, smiles and licks her lips slowly. "Why don't you tell me what you'd like, baby?" she murmurs seductively, so close Castiel can smell mint when she exhales. "I'm gonna fly you straight to Heaven..."
Castiel startles, rising up onto his toes as she starts leaning in, tilting her face up towards his. "You are?" he says, dubious because he doesn't think what she is offering is possible. "You can do that?"
"Oh yeah, baby..."
She closes the inch or so that separates them, teases Castiel's lips with her tongue, pushes it through the seam to slip-slide the tip of it against his teeth, and he can feel his heart start to thud even faster. She trails her fingernails down his neck, loosens his tie, and unfastens his shirt buttons at the top as she nuzzles his skin. Her breath is warm against the line of Castiel's jaw, she presses soft breasts against his chest, moans against the notch where his collarbone meets his shoulder, and he can feel her eyelashes-that-may-not-be-real scratch the underside of his chin. She grinds the heel of her hand against his crotch, and Castiel hears his zipper slide down, feels her fingers snake their way in and grip him, kneading and twisting the sensitive flesh through his shorts.
