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She feels the knobs on his back the first time they fuck.
Sammy likes it animal. He’s rough, picks her up, pushes her around. Slams her against the wall and her neck snaps back. Gets on top of her and crushes ‘til she’s out of breath.
But he’d liked it so much, all the seducing, all the being told what to do. So she plays with giving as good as she gets. She starts by biting his lip and he moans into it. Like a whore. It’s cute, a lot of boys get embarrassed about that stuff, but he doesn’t. He’s too lost in it. So she digs her fingers in hard, rakes them down his back to fill her nails with blood.
Until her hands stop just below his shoulderblades.
When he hears her gasp he takes it as a sign to drive in harder, and she clutches at him involuntarily. Grabs the protrusions in her hands. Her own personal saddlehorns. She grips them tighter, twists them, and she sees his eyes roll back.
After, he goes quiet. Lays his head on her chest. She strokes his sweat-soaked hair. His eyes stay closed as she runs a hand down his back, and she can still feel them. Even to her smoke-filled eyes, her hand appears to be caressing air, but she can touch them all the same.
-
She develops a habit of smacking his ass. It's a good way of snapping him out of his more contemplative moods. She’ll get a soft “Ruby” and a pissy look, but it always works. As soon as he starts staring out the window of a motel room, she knows it’s time to get handsy. Otherwise he’ll be all night, just Dean, Dean, Dean.
The nth time she does it, her hand hits a little higher, and she feels something. He doesn’t notice, but it pokes into her hand like a backwards boner. Just at his tailbone.
Again she can’t see it, but she can draw the connection.
She tweaks his tail and he jumps, even though he doesn’t seem to really know what he’s done.
-
The meatsuit in front of them falls to the ground. It’s been dead for months. But clearly, Sammy was deluding himself. He turns away from the black stain on the floor where the demon had gone through and purses his lips.
“Hey, hey now,” she says. “Come here. There’s a thousand more demons where that came from. And you can get rid of them all.”
-
“I won’t do it!” he yells, and she flinches back. Her big puppy can bark. She’s not stupid enough to think it won’t bite.
“You need to,” she hisses. “You’ll stall out without it.”
“I- Ruby- it’s sick,” he yells, but this time it’s quivery. Despair is good. Despair will get him there.
“Do you want Lilith or not?”
He stares at her with big, wet, reproachful eyes. But they’re also so hungry.
-
The first place she feels it kicking in is sex. Sammy lasts longer. He’s rougher. His dick gets harder.
He breaks her wrist holding it above her head and doesn’t even notice the snap. She has to hold the bone together by force of will as he slams into her. It hurts like a motherfucker and the pain blends nicely, mixing with the pain between her legs as he practically tears her a new cunt.
Instead of scratching him back, now she scratches herself. Draws blood to the surface. In his frenzy, he can’t resist, he laps it up by instinct. Stains his mouth red. Good boy.
-
He always holds his hand out in front of him. It’s cute. She can tell he watched too much Star Wars as a kid. He doesn’t need a clenched fist for this, only a focused mind. But she has to admit she’s charmed by the drama as one of her weaker brethren coughs up its spectral guts on the floor.
Sammy’s a joy to watch. It’s like with each exorcism he gets taller, develops more presence in a room. Confidence is a Hell of a drug. So is blood.
She watches the little lightning bolts of power flow through his body as he yanks the demon out of its meat, inch by inch. And she sees something else, too. The smoky outlines of the knobs on his back. Growing outward. Spreading.
-
She’s dizzy most of the time now. There’s not all that much blood in this little piece of meat, and Sammy’s a growing boy. These days he likes to suck it straight from the tap, and she can’t control that. Half the time she ends up drained badly enough to kill a human, and then he’s back begging for more two days later. But she can’t refuse such a sweet thing.
-
She draws the knife across her chest in a quick line. Right above her left breast. Just enough to get dark blood welling. He latches well, her Sammy. Her sweet boy. Maternal affection fills her as she feels his dick getting stiff in his jeans, pressed against her opening through the denim.
If she squints just right, she can see the smoke in his veins, the thick demonic essence flowing through him, tainting his body, filling up his cock. Her cunt flutters with anticipation.
When he enters her it’s like giving birth in reverse. She’s making him, creating his body inside herself, and he’s coming back in where he belongs.
She fists a hand in his hair and feels them. The growing spikes beneath. Sharp enough to nearly slit her wrist on accidental contact. She grabs his face with both hands for a kiss, and her fingers make a quick count around his cranium. Nine vicious little points, just peeking out from his flesh.
-
As he pulls another demon from its flesh, just for a moment, she sees a veil of smoke fall over his eyes.
-
She comes back to find the motel room wrecked. Drawers pulled out of the end tables and dashed to splinters on the floor. Lampshades ripped from their lamps, and lightbulbs shattered. A dent in a wall, clearly from a thrown ashtray. Covers ripped from the bed, and sheets too, tossed around the room.
Her Sammy’s at the center of the mattress. Curled in an animal crouch. Like the fetal position, but ready to spring. His mouth is white with feathers. He’s chewed through one of the pillows, ripped its guts out all over the bed.
She sits in the mess with him, pets his hair.
“What’s happening to me?” he croaks.
She coos over him, comforts her sweet boy. With each beat of his heart, she can see a shadowy silhouette, a long bladed tail lashing at the base of his back.
-
The next day she takes him to his brother’s grave. He needs to remember what it’s all for.
The cross is tilted on its axis. It’s the same color as the trees, ready to fade into the background of the world. Ready to rot away to nothing.
But Sammy stands over it, gives it meaning. The black cloud of his anger puts a crackle in the air.
“You see?” she says. “It’s simple. This is what matters.”
He nods.
“You’re going to kill Lilith.”
He nods again.
“It doesn’t matter how you get there. All that matters is the ending.”
He nods a third time.
“You don’t matter.”
He turns to her, and his face is raw. His eyes are red, and the salt has dried in streaks on his cheeks. But his jaw is set. He’s her good boy.
She pops her fly, slow, deliberate, letting him watch. Slides her panties down just slightly, just to where her labia starts to open. And she hooks her knife there, presses the tip into herself, slices a line from her mons pubis up to her bellybutton.
And he’s on her. His pounce knocks her down and her head hits the cross. He lays her out six feet above his brother’s rotting corpse and tears into her. Tongue and teeth widen the cut and her blood gushes out onto his face, his neck, soaking his shirt. Her rips at her jeans, first with uncoordinated paws and then with her own knife, grabbed from her slack hand. The blood still flows but his mouth on her clit is just as brutal, sucking hard and punishing. The pain has her spreading her legs on instinct, grabbing for his hair, and she yanks him back but she’s too weak. She can feel the wind picking up around them like the whole world knows the importance of this moment, this place. She rolls her hips and he pushes his tongue inside, fucking her deep and making her cunt clench around him.
She holds his head in her hand, trying to pet, but something slices into her flesh. It's instinct to shove it in front of his face and her puppy licks her palm.
When she looks down, she sees that there was no wind. The leaves above them are still. Instead the beating of his massive wings stirs the air into a frenzy, no longer mere shadows or felt outlines but physical things. She gasps as he brings her to her peak, and her blood drips from the points of the Boy-King’s crown.