He Who Fights Monsters - Chapter Four
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*This chapter contains NSFW art
CHAPTER FOUR
Sam is ready to practice again in two days. He's determined to do it right this time, to give everything he has to this. It's the only way to save Dean, and every hour wasted is a hundred and thirty more Dean has to spend in Hell.
He never asks for more blood from Ruby, but always accepts it when offered, trusting her to give him what he needs.
As much as he’d hated Ruby for making him suffer after he lost the last fight, he understands why she did it now. It wasn't just to teach him a lesson, or to make him understand the consequences of failure - because god knows he’s an expert in consequence; his life has been nothing but one failure after the other. Ruby made him suffer through days of withdrawal to increase his tolerance. His appetite.
So he listens to her, does every drill without complaint, pushing past his limits. And he doesn't get mad when she uses her power to pin him against the wall because he knows she's teaching him. He struggles against her hold until he can move an arm, then the other. He gets a little further every time until, finally, he frees himself and throws her back with the recoil.
She smiles and makes him do it again and again until he can replicate it five times in a row. Then she slices open her wrist and lets him drink as much as he wants.
He heads down to the practice ring later and challenges a Level One to a sparring match. The fight's over in less than three minutes, despite the absence of the cage's magic. The demon tries to throw Sam back with his power twice, but can't. Sam pulls him out of his borrowed skin, and watches him swirl out of the gym, a dark, angry cloud. The body he leaves behind is empty and dead. Sam's nose only trickles a little. He mops it with a tissue, pleased and thirsty and heads back to their hotel room, hoping Ruby will be waiting for him.
::: ::: :::
Sam reclines lazily against the headboard of their bed, exhausted from going through the paces of his practice routine but too keyed-up to properly rest. He palms his obviously still sore, not-quite-knitted-up ribs. She’d been careful about that; warning him not to expend too much of his power healing himself, to save it for when he really needs it - for the fights. Traces of crusted maroon still surround one nostril and he’s flushed, sweat-damp, again. She sits on the edge of the bed, hip abutting his waist. He trails his hand along her leg, up her torso, and cups his palm just beneath her breast, thumb caressing the curve of muscle and tissue. “You’re getting better,” she tells him. “Stronger. More controlled.” She pauses. He brushes his thumb against her nipple through her thin shirt. Her meatsuit doesn’t respond. “You’ll be ready for a rematch soon.” She dips her head down, brings her face inches from his. “And you’ll be awesome.” Her voice comes out breathy, raw. She pulls back, shrugs off his touch. “But you’re not quite there yet. You still got a ways to go and it’s only gonna get harder from here on out.” She studies him. “How are you feeling? Think you could take a little more?”
Sam nods. “I gotta be stronger.”
“That’s not an answer. That’s why you crashed out in the first place. You can’t afford another setback like this. You have to be able to fight Level Seven, Sam, not pass out after sucking out a One during routine training. We gotta go slow or you’ll get sick.”
“I can take it,” he tells her and there’s a smile, all dimples, that doesn’t reach his eyes. And she sees for a moment how easy it’d been for Jessica Moore to fall for him. Brady’d hardly had to do anything at all. He hesitates, sighs. “Please?” He takes her hand into his, strokes the back of it with his thumb. She feels the calluses there.
“Okay. Just this once,” she exhales, sliding the butterfly knife from where she’d stashed it in her jeans pocket. She lets Sam turn her hand so the inside of her arm is turned up. She snicks out the blade, slashing her wrist as it opens. Instantly blood wells up. Sam looks at her, doesn’t break eye contact as he rolls onto his side, propping himself up with his elbow and closes his mouth over the cut. This time, he doesn’t suckle or slurp, doesn’t try to make the blood flow faster, doesn’t use his teeth to cut into the open flesh to stop it from closing up so quickly. This time is slow and languid, his tongue teases lightly in-and-out of the slit, rough as velvet against her skin. She tilts her head back, moans softly, a heat pooling within her. It has nothing to do with the physical sensations and everything to do with the knowledge that she has finally ensnared Sam Winchester and he needs her like water.
::: ::: :::
The first bout of the day is over within the first round. Sam goes on the offensive before the buzzer fades and doesn’t stop. He battles the demon into the corner, grabs it by the throat and presses his thumb up into the soft base of the demon’s throat, cutting off the windpipe. There’s the sense of air being sucked up, of being in a wind tunnel. Ruby roots herself deeper into the meatsuit, fighting the vortex of energy. She feels more than hears the screams of three less-fortunate Level Ones in the first few rows as they’re swept up, incinerated. When the last of the screams die out, she uncurls from her crouch, and looks up into the cage. Sam lets go of the charred husk, lets it fall to the mat with a dull thud. She gives him a smile of approval as the Ref pulls up his arm roughly in victory, rotates him in a slow circle. A chant of Hunter begins and Sam is released from the cage. He heads down the ramp with his chin high and a gleam of pride in his eyes.
Don’t get too cocky, Dumbo, Ruby thinks, rising from her seat to meet him in the bowels of the arena.You’ve still got two to go.
::: ::: :::
Sam stumbles, catches himself, but it’s too late - he’s grabbed from behind and his face is smashed into the mesh of the cage. There’s a crunch of sorts and blood pours from his nose. He bounces off the cage-fence and falls to the mat. He doesn’t get up right away, shaking his head side-to-side, flicking droplets of red onto the hard surface, as he gets his hands beneath him. The demon lets out a harsh laugh as Sam finally gets his feet under him. He charges at the demon only to be tackled back to the mat. Ruby can see that he’s tiring, that he’s starting to lose control. He smears at his face with the back of his hand, but the flow doesn’t stem.
He lingers too long on all fours, and gets kicked hard in the gut, hard enough to flip him onto his back. The kick leaves a divot in the white-blue light of Sam's soul, but it quickly fills with sickly yellow and black - his tainted blood amplified by hers-already beginning to stitch him back together.
Ruby growls under her breath, frustrated. They can’t lose this fight. There’s far too much at stake. And there’s no reason for him to be fading so quickly so soon - not after the dosages she’d given him. She clenches her hands, wishes for something to punch or break. She’s tempted to strangle the One sitting in front of her just for the shits and giggles of it. If nothing else, it’d make her feel better.
Instead, she kicks the back of the seat in front of her, hard. She dents it and the demon doesn’t even twitch.
When she returns her attention to the match before her, she sees Sam’s somehow gotten the demon against his chest in a chokehold, arm wrapped around his neck. The demon struggles and Sam grips harder, the veins in his forearm bulging into ridges. He pulls harder on his forearm with his opposite hand, further cutting off the demon’s windpipe. Sam catches her eye and gives her a slow wink. They grapple and the demon can’t break Sam’s grasp, not even when he tries to flip Sam over his back. Sam tightens his hold again, and then she sees it… a shadowing in the back of Sam’s hand. The blackness courses upwards, flooding his veins, darkening them in high-definition to his deltoid, up over his shoulder, and webbing down his shoulder blades.
The demon screams, an inhuman howl that has nothing to do with vocal chords, as it lights up, eyes burning like red-hot embers. There’s the smell of char and the demon inside ignites, the dying scream still echoing as Sam suddenly releases the limp body. It lands with a dull thud on the canvas mat. Sam stands in the center of the cage, legs, torso still set in a fighting stance, visibly panting as the blackness in his veins fade. Even from her vantage point she can see the demon is dead, the meatsuit a smoking husk.
She smiles up at Sam.
Sam wavers on his feet, color leeching suddenly from his face. The Ref pulls up his arm in victory and he steadies as the crowd bursts into vicious cheers.
We got work to do, Butterfly Boy, she thinks.
::: ::: :::
The gate opens for a third time, and Sam sees his third Level Four opponent. A chill runs down his spine. Not because he's afraid, or because he's tired, or because the fresh dose of power still singing in his veins. It's because he recognizes his challenger.
His ex-college-roommate, Tyson Brady. What's left of him anyway. There's no human soul in there, and looking at him now, at that same sly smile, Sam wonders if there ever was.
Brady tosses Sam a wink before slamming his gloves together as the ref pats him on the shoulder. Sam's fingers twitch with the need for release and his lips curl back, baring bloodstained teeth. Thanks to the contents of the sports bottle Ruby handed him between rounds, he’s freshly turbo-charged. The fight needs to start, preferably now, before he starts clawing out of his own skin.
"Brady," Sam says breathlessly, his ears ringing with rage.
"Long time no see, buddy," Brady says as the buzzer sounds. He goes right into a front kick, catching Sam in the stomach.
Sam's breath whooshes out of him and he staggers back a few steps, glaring up at Brady as he rights himself. "How long?”
"Remember Thanksgiving? When I came back all messed up? Different?" Brady runs in close, and tries for a right hook.
Sam dodges.
"You were so worried about me," Brady continues, snorting. "Nothing to worry about. I did everything I set out to do."
Sam lands a cross on Brady's cheek. A tooth slides out of the demon's mouth along with a steady trickle of blood..
"I knew Jess would work. We needed a lamb - someone to make your little heart get all knotted up and she was perfect wasn't she? Those legs… that tight little ass." Brady kicks at Sam, just barely missing his head.
Sam growls and lunges for Brady again, just missing him with both punches he tries to land. Brady's fast. But speed is irrelevant, if Sam does this the right way.
He reaches inside of himself, calling on the power, and wishes he'd taken more from Ruby, even though he knows she’d brought him to full charge; that he hadn’t even emptied out fully from this morning. Brady's the strongest he's fought so far, and it's going to take everything Sam has to take him down. Sam sends his power flooding down his arm as he reaches his palm straight out, fingers reaching towards Brady.
Brady's eyes widen in surprise as he's immobilized, but he fights, loosening Sam's hold. "Don't think I didn't get a little taste before I burned her."
"What?" Sam asks, because he must've heard wrong. Azazel killed Jess.
"I killed your girlfriend, Sammy," Brady says grinning. "You should've heard her cry when I cut into her. It was beautiful."
Before Sam even knows he's moving, he's behind Brady, with his arm wrapped around the smaller man's jaw. He pulls Brady's head roughly to the side and bites down hard on the carotid, breaking the skin. As fresh blood floods his tongue, Sam expects the ref to blow the whistle or at the very least pull him off and he doesn't care, because Brady is going to die tonight no matter what. And after what Brady just told him, killing him isn't going to be enough. No. Sam's going to make him scream.
But there's no whistle, no buzzer. Nobody stops him. The crowd bursts into cheers, applause thundering. The Abyss requires death, praises it, even, and it doesn't matter how it's accomplished.
Brady's blood is strong, and within seconds, Sam knows he's taken enough to finish the job. It won't be easy, but then he doesn't want it to be easy. He wants to feel every second of this.
It's not that Brady isn't fighting anymore, because he is. It's just that Sam is stronger, and he holds him still from the inside, that oily blackness writhing in his hold, but unable to break free. He squeezes it tighter as he tightens his arm around Brady's neck and twists. With one sharp turn, the body's spine cracks and Sam pushes on the demon inside, compressing it more and more until it starts to suffocate. He wills it to burn, remembering the way Jess looked pinned above him while the fire ate at her flesh. He can almost taste the ash.
And now Brady screams. His true voice echoes through the arena loud enough to shatter one of the halide lights above them.
Sam's nearly drained again, the effort of hurting Brady making it harder to kill him, but he refuses to let up. He pushes harder and harder, forcing everything he has at the demon, until he can feel Brady's soul start to flicker with golden sparks. Out of the corner of his eyes, Sam sees a black web form on the back of his own hands, running up his arms towards his shoulders - like his veins are charring from the inside. Wetness spills from his nose, and his head pounds so horribly he can barely see, but he doesn't need to see to kill.
In his hold, Brady begins to glow as the demon inside burns, still screaming even though the chokehold Sam’s got on his throat is too tight to allow for sound.
Pure rage fuels Sam's power until finally, the demon he'd known as Brady dies. Sam lets the empty shell fall to the floor as the audience erupts into frenzy. They're cheering him on, chants of 'Hunter,' growing louder and louder as the referee lifts his arm, making his victory official. Level Five is next, Sam thinks, as his vision begins to cloud from exhaustion. He's so thirsty.
The referee turns him to face the other side of the audience, brushing Sam's side, and before he can stop himself, Sam bites down weakly on the referee's skinny arm. He screams, and Sam doesn't even break the skin before Ruby's pulling him off, laughing.
"Come on, Butterfly," she says, still grinning. It’s the happiest, proudest he’s ever seen her and it makes something inside his chest go warm with satisfaction, like maybe he can do this and won’t be such a failure after all. She pulls him around, kisses him. "I'll give you everything you need."
A low booming voice cheers as Sam follows Ruby to the tunnel leading to the subterranean levels and locker rooms. He stops and looks over his shoulder to find Lars grinning down at them from the fourth row back, right over the tunnel entrance.
Sam takes a few steps until he's standing just under the old man. The rest of the audience is already filtering out, and soon Lars is by himself.
Ruby glances from Sam to Lars and back. Her smile slips slightly as she squeezes Sam's arm. "I'll meet you back at the room," she says. “I won’t be long.”
Eyes still focused on the Scandinavian, Sam nods. "I made it through Level Four," Sam says. "You owe me a name."
Lars grins down at him, teeth yellow in the arena lights. "If I recall, I said maybe. I don’t owe you anything." He stands and leans forward over the railing. He takes out a box of cigarettes, tamps the bottom against his palm. “But seeing how you got further than even the bookies guessed, I’ll give it to you.” He smiles. "The only one who has ever made it through all seven levels was Azazel."
The name sets Sam's heart racing and it's all he can do to keep his voice steady. "Azazel?"
Lars fixes him with a stare. “How else was he able to build that army, you think?” He exhales, studies his nails. "Rumor has it that your very own brother killed him," Lars says. "And where is your brother now, I wonder?"
Sam's anger flares higher and he envisions his fingers wrapping around the old man's throat. He could crush his windpipe. It'd be easy.
Lars straightens, but there's no fear in his eyes. It takes a beat for Sam's thoughts to filter through to the other, more rational part of his brain and when they do, he's disgusted with himself. Killing demons is one thing, killing the humans they're occupying is awful but inevitable in this place. He's avoided it so far only because the demons he's been up against had already killed their hosts. But killing a plain old human, just because he hit a nerve, is… monstrous. He won’t cross that line.
"My brother's in Hell. He' s being torn apart…" because of me.,"But I'm going to get him out. I'm going to win."
"Of course you are." The old man says quietly. "All kings do what they must." He turns his back on Sam and makes his way down the aisle.
::: ::: :::
Ruby's been gone for hours. She’d said she'd be right back with more but she's still gone and he is so thirsty. He's sweat through his shirt but can't summon enough energy to sit up and strip out of it.
He can feel his pulse pounding through his veins and his hands, arms, cramp painfully. They're hungry; every cell in him searching for even a drop of Ruby's sweet blood, but it's gone. He burned through it all and he feels so hollow inside.
Sam's temperature spikes again as pain shoots through his legs and then crawls up his middle, one tiny, agonizing piton at a time like spiders with razor blades for legs. "Ruby..." he moans, longing for the sound of their hotel door. The scent of her still lingers on the sheets, driving him mad.
The skin on his face prickles and as he reaches to scratch at his skin he flinches at the heat. There's something falling down on him from above, white like snow but hot. Ash. The room smells like smoke and when he looks up at the ceiling he sees Jessica burning. She's not screaming, she's not even scared; she just looks down at him sadly.
"Jess," he moans. "I'm so-" he coughs as he inhales smoke. "I'm sorry."
Her skin crackles and turns black. She smiles wide, teeth gleaming as her flesh begins to fall off her jawbone. "No you're not,” she says.
Sam wants to protest but another coughing fit hits him. He curls into himself as the pain in his body flares back to life. A chunk of charred flesh lands on the sheet right next to his face - Jess's hand, gnarled, blackened bone. He scrambles away from it and falls off the bed, landing painfully on his elbow.
There's a stain on the carpet near him, and with the last of his energy, he digs his fingertips into the worn, matted tufts of fabric and tries to drag himself towards it.
::: ::: :::
When he comes to again, Sam smells blood. He can smell it in the air even though his nose is pressed into the filthy carpet of their hotel room floor. It seeps into his dreams and, at first, he's sure he's just imagining it, so desperate for a taste that he's having olfactory hallucinations.
But when he opens his eyes, Ruby's kneeling next to him, concern on her face and a tiny bead of red on her thumb, like she'd pricked it with a pin.
"There you are," she says, smiling. She holds her thumb closer to him and he lifts his head enough to suck the bead of red onto his tongue, the taste making him whimper. "We have company."
Sam sits up quickly despite his headache and sudden vertigo. Two others stand just outside the open door, like they're waiting for an invitation. A woman and a man, both inhabited by demons. Sam can smell them, and the hungry ache in his gut grows. The woman - small with a blond pixie-cut - clasps her hands over her mouth and hops in excitement. "It's really him!" The man next to her grins wide, and runs his fingers along the collar of his blue button-down shirt.
"Fans of yours," Ruby says. "They wanted to help us celebrate. I said they could, as long as they shared."
Sam looks up at her in confusion.
"I don't have enough in my veins," Ruby elaborates in a whisper. "Not for what you need. But they do."
"Come in," Sam says, holding on to the edge of the bed for leverage as he pushes himself to standing. He's dizzy, and his stomach's growling, but he stays upright as the demons file into the room, looking at him in awe - like he's some kind of hero.
"Hunter," the blonde says, eyes alight with admiration as she walks close to him. "You're even taller in person." She reaches a finger out and trails it up Sam's forearm. "Bigger too."
Ruby steps up next to her and hands her the small butterfly knife she favors. "Don't make it too wide, but go nice and deep."
The blonde smirks as she shrugs out of her cardigan, revealing a spaghetti-strap tank top. Then she takes the offered blade and flips it open.
Sam can't focus on anything but the blade as it shines in the dingy lights of the hotel room. The tip dips straight into her skin and a bead of red wells up as she starts to trace just above her collarbone. Sam lunges at her before she's pulled the knife all the way out, unable to hold back another second, and grabs her wrist, pulling the knife out and away. She tilts her head to the side, baring her bleeding neck. He grips her more tightly, mouth latching onto the cut.
The blood tastes a lot like Ruby's, but the skin is different: softer, with hints of sandalwood and citrus from some kind of shampoo or lotion. After a while though, all he can taste is copper and sulfur. The power thrums through him, filling his mind with warmth and an all-consuming golden glow. He swallows and swallows, blood spilling down the girl’s front, staining the top of her camisole when he pulls away for air, and she doesn't stop him, doesn't even try.
Through a pastel haze of pleasure, Sam feels the woman's arms wrap around his back, or try to, but he's too broad. She can't bring her hands together until she slides them down to his waist, and then lower.
Sam could care less, as long as the blood keeps flowing. He lifts her up as they move to the bed so he can get a better angle, lies down with her on top of him. Her moans get louder and so does his hunger. He starts rutting against her, wishing the blood would flow faster and then it does.
His eyes fly open in surprise and he sees Ruby grinning at him slyly from the opposite corner of the bed. Without even asking, he knows she's done something to speed up the emptying of the demon's veins. He sees the smudge of charcoal on her fingers, sees the edges of marks on the back of the demon he's drinking from.
The rush of power blows Sam's senses wide open, until he can hear and see and smell everything. There's so much raw energy inside him that his vision starts to bleed white, the air itself charging with heat. The demon moans under his teeth, but Sam turns his focus inwards, focuses on that deep void in the back of his mind - the place where sometimes, if he listens closely, he can hear Dean.
There's nothing at first, not even a whisper. Then he hears a sound as familiar as a lullaby: the soft hiss of a blade against a leather strop. It might not be Dean's voice, but the sound is unmistakably his. And Sam wants to hear him - needs to. It's why he can't stop, why he'll swallow down every drop of damnation until he's won every match and Dean is free.
Minutes later, he's drained the small demon dry, and pries her off of him, laying her down on the mattress. She looks dazed, but smiles up at him as the wound on her neck closes. The sheets smudge with charcoal when she rolls onto her side, and Sam can see the remnants of Ruby's work - a script he's never seen, jagged lines and curves. The demon blinks, her eyes solid black, and reaches for her discarded cardigan, slipping her arms through the sleeves and buttoning it to her throat.
The man comes to Sam next. He's twenty at most, with dark hair and soft brown eyes that flip red for a beat as he straddles Sam's lap. The demon doesn’t say anything as he unbuttons his shirt, and slides it off his shoulders and tilts his head to the side, granting access to the thickest veins. Sam makes a narrow cut just over the carotid first, and drinks for what seems like hours. He takes his time, drinking from everywhere and anywhere he wants, until he feels bloated with power.
This blood is different, it even tastes different - and where Ruby's makes him feel strong and whole, this makes him feel like he's swallowing down lightning, and if he wanted to he could call down one hell of a storm. Ruby starts laughing and Sam can't understand why until he looks up and sees their couch sliding slowly up the wall. The small coffee table is already on the ceiling. Telekinesis was never his strong suit, but Sam knows this is his doing, and suddenly he's laughing too. He's not even doing it on purpose; it's just energy bleed.
"You deserve this," Ruby says, smiling down on Sam as the male demon finally disengages, climbing off Sam’s thighs. The dim light behind her looks like a halo tinted red by their wallpaper. "And more."
The younger man traces his forefinger along the closing gap in his throat and gathers the remaining droplets. He raises his finger to his mouth and then touches Sam’s, smearing pink-tinged saliva along his chapped lower lip.
"Scram," Ruby tells him over her shoulder.
Eyes still locked on Sam, the demon says, “Thank you,” voice measured and polite. He slips his shirt back on, but doesn't bother buttoning it, turns to his friend and the two of them leave without another word.
The blonde closes the door behind her with a giggle. He sees little sparks of light flicker in his vision and Sam's not sure if it's just his eyes playing tricks on him, or if he's seeing the echo of her laugh.
Sam's eyes are still on the door when Ruby's fingers slides down his stomach and pauses at the waistband of his pants. Her fingers are warm and soft, and she moves them gently as she rucks up his shirt with her other hand, bringing her mouth down to just below his belly button as she undoes the button, zipper. She nips the skin there and kisses her way to his hips, hands pulling denim and cotton down to his knees, exposing him. It's more ticklish than pleasant, but everything in his head is all stuck together and he wants more and he wants her to stop but he doesn't know in which order.
The furniture's still stuck on the ceiling and he feels like if he doesn't do something soon, he'll float right up to join it.
“Ruby,” he moans, too incoherent to even know what he wants.
She’s fucking with him and he can't get it together enough to do a damn thing about it. Tiny bursts of neon light pop behind his closed eyelids as she rocks back and forth, the rough material of her jeans scraping across his skin. Sam cries out as he clutches at the bed sheet with his fingers, too uncoordinated to do anything more. At a particularly insistent thrust of Ruby's hips, his eyes fly open, the pressure against his cock maddening.
She smirks at him when she sees him looking, leans back and pulls off her shirt, undoes her bra, arching her back while she does. He reaches for her, but she moves just out of reach, pulling off her jeans before she straddles him again.
It's worse now; the rasp of denim replaced by her damp softness resting on him and he shuts his eyes, trying to limit the sensory overload. The feel of her heat rubbing against him is driving him out of his mind. He can smell her - the sweat on her skin and the green apple scent of her shampoo and, underneath it all, her blood. He wants to push inside of her, but he feels too raw, every movement of hers a mix of too much and not enough. It’s when he forces his eyes open and looks at her - really looks at her - that he understands why.
He can see little flickers of her real form underneath the human skin, and where their skin touches, she's pressed into him, her mottled soul drawn to his. He feels more than her skin, he feels her, and she's burning.
"I see you," he says.
Ruby sits back, resting on his thighs and smirks at him. "What do you see?"
The darkness inside of her coils and twists, a spiraling cloud made up of centuries of memories, and pain too great to be human. Sam's mesmerized by her. He sees more than just the blackness of a demon-soul, sees the nuances behind it - everything that makes her Ruby. She slides further down his legs, keeping her eyes locked on his as she lowers her head and runs her tongue up the side of his erect cock. Sam gasps as she traces her hand along his inner thigh, that same fire in her touch burning a trail across his skin. He can almost see the flames.
"You- you're-" Her touch is too much and he reaches down to grab her hands, to stop the maddening tickle of her fingertips and the pressure of her tongue against his slit.
But she stops him. Slams both his arms back on the bed with nothing more than her will, pins him there helpless. He knows he's stronger than her knows it but he can't focus. Trying to hold a thought in his head long enough to act on it is nearly impossible and he winces at the sharp prickles of energy running through his veins.
She gives him a scolding look and closes her mouth over his cock.
Sam arches his back, struggling, trying to think clearly, trying to grab hold of Ruby, but there's so much power inside of him it's like trying to thread a needle with a flamethrower. He lashes out, frustrated, smashing the still floating nightstand against the ceiling. It shatters, fractures under his gaze, but still hangs in the air, jagged splinters forming a sloppy star that thins out as it drifts apart.
Ruby's mouth works its way up and down his cock and it's too much and if only he could let go, if he could give in to the release she's offering, he knows he'd feel better. But he's too big for his body, too many nerves and not enough skin and he can't come down. Can't relax. Desperate, he focuses again on his pinned arms, tries to move them off the bed. The couch thumps against the ceiling as he tries and fails and tries and fails again, but then his right wrist leaves the mattress. It’s a fraction of an inch at most, but it's enough. It's that split second of control, of triumph, that sends him over the edge, and he cries out as he spills his release into Ruby.
Sam exhales slowly, lifting his arms off the mattress as Ruby's teeth graze the skin along his shaft. His body is his own again, and his power settling back into his cells, finally his to command. He grabs Ruby by the shoulders and lifts her up, dragging her body along his length. He settles her on top of him again, pushes her chest up, hands just under the swell of her breasts, and watches as the black cloud inside of her shifts, reaching long tendrils down her arms and legs, coalescing in her groin as she rubs herself against him.
"You're smoke on the inside" he says, as he moves one of his hands behind her head, tangles his fingers in her long hair, and brings their mouths together in a kiss. "Just like all the others."
"Not exactly like all the others," she says.
"Exactly like them," Sam says, running his hand down her arm. "I could pull you, right now," he says, bucking up against her, as his arousal grows again. There's no more pain where she touches him, just pinpricks of pleasure in his fingertips as he redirects her, pulls her energy where he wants it to be. Demons don't feel the way humans do. They wear the bodies they possess like armor, only pushing into extremities when they want to - to feel, taste, or smell. Ruby’d explained it to him once: Feeling things is overrated. More trouble than it's worth. But he wants her to feel this. Wants her here, in every cell of hers he touches.
She gasps as he pulls more of her energy outward, forcing it into her nipples, as he trails his fingertips over them.
"I could do… anything," Sam says. He looks up at the ceiling idly, at the still floating fragments of the nightstand, the couch, and everything else he'd sent upwards - an old wooden chair and a broken lamp. Sam narrows his eyes and brings them all crashing down to the floor.
"Good thing the manager's one of ours," Ruby mutters.
It feels good; the little flicker of exertion, and Sam smiles because that's all it’d taken - barely any effort at all. "I'm so fucking strong, Ruby."
"Yeah?" She asks, her back arching as he rubs against her harder. "Prove it."
He looks at her, bemused. "How? By killing you?" His pulse speeds up at the thought of killing. And he’s sure he could kill a thousand Bradys with ease this very moment. "I could do it. Right now. Not a thing you can do to stop me."
"You could," she says, gyrating her hips more forcefully. "But then who would take care of you?" Sam grabs her ass and pushes her down onto him harder.
He moves his hand to her waist, and uses his knee to flip her over, pinning her underneath him. "Don't need anybody to take care of me."
"Really?" she bites down hard on her lips, until red pearls up.
Sam leans down, and kisses her, sucking down the coppery taste. He laughs, more a quiet rumble in his chest than a sound of pleasure, before answering. "It doesn't have to be your blood. I had plenty of volunteers tonight. Eager to please."
"Yeah. And how many of them would clean you up when you get sick? Or help you walk to the bathroom when you're too high to make it there yourself?"
In response, Sam brings his face down between her legs, parts her folds, and runs his tongue over her clit. He keeps his hands on her spread thighs; forcing her soul to stay down where he is, where his tongue is playing with her. He keeps her whole focus there until she pulls in a gasping breath and begins to writhe. But pleasure isn't enough for her; it never is.
So he digs his mind into her, lets flickers of power grow into flames that bore into her soul, reminding her just what he can do - what she’d taught him to do. Her hissing breaths turn to cries and the flesh and bone inside of her begins to glow with just the slightest hint of gold as Sam brings her as close to the edge of non-existence as he can without snuffing her out for good.
Her thighs tense, quivering beneath his hands, until she comes apart, grabbing at his hair, at the mattress, at anything she can, his name a curse.
Sam lets go of her soul, and grabs onto her waist pulling her up into his arms. He pushes into her, and she clenches tightly around him. As he cries out, for just a second, he thinks he can see little flickers of bright white light dancing inside of Ruby's black smoke.
::: ::: :::
Little bolts of lightning dance inside her borrowed skin and her mind feels like it's fraying. Ruby is seconds away from losing cohesion when the power strangling her cuts off completely. Sam stills and pulses into her with a drawn-out gasp.
She struggles to piece herself back together as Sam pulls out, painfully slow, and rolls to lie besides her. She can hear his breath sawing slightly as she moves within her meatsuit. She aches everywhere in a way she hasn’t experienced since she’d been human. Her groin feels hot and swollen, but despite the bruised throbbing, she feels euphoric. Orgasms always leave her feeling like this, like she's separating from her vessel, spreading out into the ether, her body little more than an anchor. They even felt like this when she was still alive. The closest a human can ever get to feeling like a demon, she muses, smiling to herself.
Ruby shifts her hips and rocks against Sam's sweat-slick thigh. He moans with exhaustion but Ruby could care less. She strokes Sam until he stiffens, curls to full arousal once again, and straddles him. He grunts unhappily, bucks his hips as she ruts herself up and down his cock. She pauses, and digs a sharp nail into the pebbled flesh of her breast until a bead of red shows. Sam's mouth closes around her areola and suckles as she slips up and around him, pulling his hard warmth back inside. She lowers herself slowly, a mewl rising unbidden from her throat.
Sam's teeth tug on her nipple as he lets go of her, the tiny wound she'd made already healed. She braces herself, holding her body up with one arm, fingers gripping Sam’s bicep as she reaches down to Sam’s thigh. She palms the soft flesh of the inside of his leg and Sam instinctively lowers it, pressing the outside of his knee to the mattress, opening himself further. She rakes her fingernails along his thigh, scraping it close to his inguinal and Sam flinches, tightens, arching slightly. His power curls itself back around her, pulling her deep into her skin. Her clit aches as she moves up and down him, long and slow and steady, revenge for laying her so raw. He’s becoming too cocky, too confident, and it doesn’t suit him.
Keeping the rhythm going, she leans down and nips Sam's neck. His power loosens its hold on her for a fraction of a second as his own pleasure spikes. She moves her mouth closer to his ear and whispers, "You're strong Sam. And I'm gonna make you so much stronger. Strong enough to kill Lilith, strong enough to make it hurt."
He comes with a shout, emptying dry, filling her with heat, and she screams in concert as the room fills with Sam's power - charging the air to a painful pitch. Her back arches, nether regions clenching hard in orgasm as Sam suddenly releases her soul, the sensation of ricocheting back into herself again overwhelming. She pushes herself up, slow, panting for a long moment, her hair shielding her expression from Sam as she composes herself.
When she finally eases off of him, maneuvering herself so she is lying beside him instead of sitting on his lap, Sam’s cock is flaccid and weeping and there’s a wide soaked patch of on the fitted sheet beneath him. She can still feel the slickness inside her, the slow slide as it drips along the inside of her legs. She smiles, messily shoving her hair from her eyes with her fingers. Her vessel is covered in a thin sheen of sweat and the hot ache inside her is already gone. Sam doesn’t move, eyes still closed, chest still rising and falling in shallow pants.
After a few seconds, Sam opens his eyes, blinks at her through exhausted, heavy lids, already slipping into postcoital sleep. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes again. “Yeah,” she whispers, knowing that he’s out for the count. “You’ve earned it. Keep flapping those wings, Butterfly. There’s already a tsunami in Asia and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
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on to chapter five