02. Bite
teeeeeeeeeeeeeeechnically this was written for a challenge but it could also, in theory, be read by itself.
Sam/Ruby, Dean/Sam | R | Desecration Smile
She defiles him, makes it so that he isn't worthy.
849 words; forspn_30snapshots
She feels the same way Jess did, the way Madison did, all those girls in highschool and then the ones at Stanford that happened before Jess. She has soft skin and soft hair and soft curves, none of the long lines and hard planes that he wants. Her bones are delicate under him, and Sam is almost - would be, if he didn’t know better - afraid that if he leans too much weight forwards or pushes just a little too hard that she’ll snap! and that it will be the end of that.
In a way, Sam he almost wishes that Ruby would break, shatter into a million pieces the color of blood or ripe tomatoes or the setting sun. Sometimes, Sam hates her so much that he wants to tear her apart, piece by piece and he knows that in times like that, when certain people are near by and he’s consumed by this thing that she does to him, turns him into, he would relish every second of it. Sometimes, he wants to take her knife and stab her with it, watch the light flicker out of her eyes.
But then there are times like this when it’s all he can do to keep his sanity, touches her like King Midas touched her, like she’s made of gold and he’s a man in need of wealth. Ruby’s wrists feel fragile under his touch, but he knows that no matter what lines he crosses she won’t break, and he brings it up to his lips, pulls her forwards so her hips are flush against his, legs spread on either sides of his thighs and he bites down, sinks his teeth into her flesh until he can feel warmhotwet blood pooling in his mouth and spilling in droplets down her arm and his chin.
The spilled drop are wasted on the off-white bedsheets, but Sam is careful to trace his tongue along the deep red lines tracing down her arm. She is so different from him, dark reds and murky browns and all sorts of shadows that flicker whenever she moves. Her hair smells clean, despite it all, and he’s panting brokenly into it, pulling her up against his body and feeling where she’s pressed up against his chest, breasts soft where he wants hard lines to counter his own.
Ruby manhandles him in a way that isn’t strictly fair, uses demon strength where a woman - flesh and blood and honest-to-God-human - wouldn’t be able to, shoves him down and holds him there with her legs. It’s not the same as being pushed around by someone who’s actually worked for it, who he’s sparred with since he was ten years old and who knows his body like his own. Sam doesn’t say, though, but he snarls and shoves up, rolling them over and over until he’s on top again and she’s pinned underneath him, hair fanned around her head like the halo she never will have.
He scrapes his teeth along the column of her neck, rips her shirt and bites hard on her nipple, harder when she hisses in pleasure. This isn’t about her. It never was about her, getting her fifteen minutes of fame with the Boy King. Sam feels alive, now. He can feel the blood thrumming in his veins, his heartbeat in his ears. It beats to a rhythm that isn’t this one, that matches someone else’s. Instead of marching to it he ignores the pounding, pushes Ruby’s panties out of his way and shoves his fingers up and in, rougher and harder than he would if any of this were real. She writhes in his lap, fingers twisting in his hair and whining for more, Sammy, more. Sammy, like you mean it.
Instead, he twists his fingers up viciously and bites hard onto the juncture of her shoulder, between Ruby’s neck and collarbone and Sam feels her life humming underneath his grip. He comes back with lips and teeth stained red, eyes too bright and Sam thinks about how he’s defiling himself, how he definitely isn’t worthy of him anymore. Not after this.
So he peels off layers of clothing and pulls her on top of him, feels the way she’s hot and wet and squirming around him and above him in all the wrong ways, how her hips are too curvy and her body too small and the soft, whining moans in his ear are all too much. He knows that his hands will be printed into her skin, dark purple bruises that come easier to the surface on her. His teeth are printed on her arms and neck and collarbone, and if he were to take the demon ganking knife and kill her right now there wouldn’t be a jury in the world that wouldn’t condemn him for it.
He thinks about a hard body against his and miles of smooth skin, spiky hair and green eyes and freckles, and Sam’s world goes beautifully white before it washes over in red.
Sam/Ruby, Dean/Sam | R | Desecration Smile
She defiles him, makes it so that he isn't worthy.
849 words; forspn_30snapshots
She feels the same way Jess did, the way Madison did, all those girls in highschool and then the ones at Stanford that happened before Jess. She has soft skin and soft hair and soft curves, none of the long lines and hard planes that he wants. Her bones are delicate under him, and Sam is almost - would be, if he didn’t know better - afraid that if he leans too much weight forwards or pushes just a little too hard that she’ll snap! and that it will be the end of that.
In a way, Sam he almost wishes that Ruby would break, shatter into a million pieces the color of blood or ripe tomatoes or the setting sun. Sometimes, Sam hates her so much that he wants to tear her apart, piece by piece and he knows that in times like that, when certain people are near by and he’s consumed by this thing that she does to him, turns him into, he would relish every second of it. Sometimes, he wants to take her knife and stab her with it, watch the light flicker out of her eyes.
But then there are times like this when it’s all he can do to keep his sanity, touches her like King Midas touched her, like she’s made of gold and he’s a man in need of wealth. Ruby’s wrists feel fragile under his touch, but he knows that no matter what lines he crosses she won’t break, and he brings it up to his lips, pulls her forwards so her hips are flush against his, legs spread on either sides of his thighs and he bites down, sinks his teeth into her flesh until he can feel warmhotwet blood pooling in his mouth and spilling in droplets down her arm and his chin.
The spilled drop are wasted on the off-white bedsheets, but Sam is careful to trace his tongue along the deep red lines tracing down her arm. She is so different from him, dark reds and murky browns and all sorts of shadows that flicker whenever she moves. Her hair smells clean, despite it all, and he’s panting brokenly into it, pulling her up against his body and feeling where she’s pressed up against his chest, breasts soft where he wants hard lines to counter his own.
Ruby manhandles him in a way that isn’t strictly fair, uses demon strength where a woman - flesh and blood and honest-to-God-human - wouldn’t be able to, shoves him down and holds him there with her legs. It’s not the same as being pushed around by someone who’s actually worked for it, who he’s sparred with since he was ten years old and who knows his body like his own. Sam doesn’t say, though, but he snarls and shoves up, rolling them over and over until he’s on top again and she’s pinned underneath him, hair fanned around her head like the halo she never will have.
He scrapes his teeth along the column of her neck, rips her shirt and bites hard on her nipple, harder when she hisses in pleasure. This isn’t about her. It never was about her, getting her fifteen minutes of fame with the Boy King. Sam feels alive, now. He can feel the blood thrumming in his veins, his heartbeat in his ears. It beats to a rhythm that isn’t this one, that matches someone else’s. Instead of marching to it he ignores the pounding, pushes Ruby’s panties out of his way and shoves his fingers up and in, rougher and harder than he would if any of this were real. She writhes in his lap, fingers twisting in his hair and whining for more, Sammy, more. Sammy, like you mean it.
Instead, he twists his fingers up viciously and bites hard onto the juncture of her shoulder, between Ruby’s neck and collarbone and Sam feels her life humming underneath his grip. He comes back with lips and teeth stained red, eyes too bright and Sam thinks about how he’s defiling himself, how he definitely isn’t worthy of him anymore. Not after this.
So he peels off layers of clothing and pulls her on top of him, feels the way she’s hot and wet and squirming around him and above him in all the wrong ways, how her hips are too curvy and her body too small and the soft, whining moans in his ear are all too much. He knows that his hands will be printed into her skin, dark purple bruises that come easier to the surface on her. His teeth are printed on her arms and neck and collarbone, and if he were to take the demon ganking knife and kill her right now there wouldn’t be a jury in the world that wouldn’t condemn him for it.
He thinks about a hard body against his and miles of smooth skin, spiky hair and green eyes and freckles, and Sam’s world goes beautifully white before it washes over in red.