[ the sense of imminent collapse as more accurate than he realized; the combination of wet tongue and wet fingers is enough to take him apart, turn him from moldable clay to a puddle of silt. he adds to the babbling, a brief loop of demand for dean to close his eyes, and now and damn and close them. when he comes he seizes, the muscles of his back tightening before rolling in a way that must look unnatural for a human vessel. but he can't help the way he's churning inside of this body, feeling the sensations it delivers to him and reacting to those sensations with his own form. it's a trade off, in terms of self-control, because he manages to shut his mouth and keep it shut until he stops trembling and the possibility of danger's passed. ]
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