"The Sibyl's Reply," Sam/Dean, R
Title: “The Sibyl’s Reply”
Author: BlueIris08
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 700
Spoilers: “Sharp Teeth” [implicit]
Summary: “Sam was thinking of the Cumaean Sibyl when Dean sidled behind him and ran a hot tongue up the side of his throat.”
~ ~ ~
Sam was thinking of the Cumaean Sibyl when Dean sidled behind him and ran a hot tongue up the side of his throat. He didn’t have a reason to be thinking about the Sibyl, but Dean didn’t have a reason to be nibbling at his neck, so it all evened out in the end.
“Dude, what the hell?” he demanded as Dean laid heavy hands on his shoulders to keep him in his chair. “We’re…”
“Just partners, remember?” Dean taunted, working his way up to the pulse point behind Sam’s ear, and fuck, he knew what he was doing. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had empty sex after a hunt.”
‘I didn’t have a soul then,’ Sam thought but didn’t say, because he wasn’t sure anymore what difference a soul makes. He didn’t shove his brother away either. He wasn’t going to be the first one to blink in whatever weird contest Dean had just started, and besides, he was too tired to fight.
The Sibyl of Cumae was a prophetess who had promised her affections to the god Apollo in exchange for as many years of life as there were grains in a handful of sand. Then she reneged on the deal. He exacted his revenge by giving her what she wanted, without throwing in youth on the side. As the centuries ground on she wasted away until there was almost nothing left of her but her voice, through which the god still spoke, and his priests kept her shrunken body in a bottle dangling from a tree at the mouth of a cave that led to the underworld. Sometime before her decrepitude, having learned a thing or two about bargaining, she extorted a Roman king into buying her books of prophecy at an obscene price by destroying them three at a time until, panicking, he bought what was left at the sum she demanded. Sam supposed there was some sort of moral about not appreciating something’s value until it was snatched away from you.
His body was responding to Dean’s ministrations mechanically, and Dean always had a knack with machines. He let himself be pulled out of his chair and over to the nearest bed, unwilling to back down even now, and maybe even helped a little when Dean tugged off their clothes.
The Sibyl had outlived the line of kings she had bested and the republic that ousted them. Maybe she finally gained peace when the last of her books were burned under an emperor guided by priests of a different faith. Or maybe she hung even now in the Stygian darkness of her grotto, croaking out the words of a god as withered and obsolete as she.
Sam thought he was probably still older. It was hard to tell time in the Cage.
Dean’s hands were sure and skilled, his mouth hot and perfect. Sam was hard as a rock and groaning, and all he could feel was the void inside him outlined by the arousal, the parts of him that had died in Hell and before, and that he’d sensed but never understood until the fire of the trials scoured away the dry bones holding his spirit together. Sam covered his face in despair. There was nothing in him but exhaustion, and his brother would never let him rest.
Dean, who could always tell when something was wrong but never understood what, pressed the length of his body against Sam’s, urging him on and murmuring into his ear, “ How do I make it good for you, Sammy? What do you want?” and Sam had to bite his lip to keep silent, because the Sibyl’s reply was all he had to give.
~ ~ ~
From the Satyricon, via T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,”
“I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl of Cumae hanging in a jar, and when the boys said to her, ‘Sibyl, what do you want?’ she replied, ‘I want to die.’"
Comments are welcome. All my fic may be found here.
Author: BlueIris08
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: R
Word Count: 700
Spoilers: “Sharp Teeth” [implicit]
Summary: “Sam was thinking of the Cumaean Sibyl when Dean sidled behind him and ran a hot tongue up the side of his throat.”
~ ~ ~
Sam was thinking of the Cumaean Sibyl when Dean sidled behind him and ran a hot tongue up the side of his throat. He didn’t have a reason to be thinking about the Sibyl, but Dean didn’t have a reason to be nibbling at his neck, so it all evened out in the end.
“Dude, what the hell?” he demanded as Dean laid heavy hands on his shoulders to keep him in his chair. “We’re…”
“Just partners, remember?” Dean taunted, working his way up to the pulse point behind Sam’s ear, and fuck, he knew what he was doing. “Don’t tell me you’ve never had empty sex after a hunt.”
‘I didn’t have a soul then,’ Sam thought but didn’t say, because he wasn’t sure anymore what difference a soul makes. He didn’t shove his brother away either. He wasn’t going to be the first one to blink in whatever weird contest Dean had just started, and besides, he was too tired to fight.
The Sibyl of Cumae was a prophetess who had promised her affections to the god Apollo in exchange for as many years of life as there were grains in a handful of sand. Then she reneged on the deal. He exacted his revenge by giving her what she wanted, without throwing in youth on the side. As the centuries ground on she wasted away until there was almost nothing left of her but her voice, through which the god still spoke, and his priests kept her shrunken body in a bottle dangling from a tree at the mouth of a cave that led to the underworld. Sometime before her decrepitude, having learned a thing or two about bargaining, she extorted a Roman king into buying her books of prophecy at an obscene price by destroying them three at a time until, panicking, he bought what was left at the sum she demanded. Sam supposed there was some sort of moral about not appreciating something’s value until it was snatched away from you.
His body was responding to Dean’s ministrations mechanically, and Dean always had a knack with machines. He let himself be pulled out of his chair and over to the nearest bed, unwilling to back down even now, and maybe even helped a little when Dean tugged off their clothes.
The Sibyl had outlived the line of kings she had bested and the republic that ousted them. Maybe she finally gained peace when the last of her books were burned under an emperor guided by priests of a different faith. Or maybe she hung even now in the Stygian darkness of her grotto, croaking out the words of a god as withered and obsolete as she.
Sam thought he was probably still older. It was hard to tell time in the Cage.
Dean’s hands were sure and skilled, his mouth hot and perfect. Sam was hard as a rock and groaning, and all he could feel was the void inside him outlined by the arousal, the parts of him that had died in Hell and before, and that he’d sensed but never understood until the fire of the trials scoured away the dry bones holding his spirit together. Sam covered his face in despair. There was nothing in him but exhaustion, and his brother would never let him rest.
Dean, who could always tell when something was wrong but never understood what, pressed the length of his body against Sam’s, urging him on and murmuring into his ear, “ How do I make it good for you, Sammy? What do you want?” and Sam had to bite his lip to keep silent, because the Sibyl’s reply was all he had to give.
~ ~ ~
From the Satyricon, via T.S. Eliot’s “The Waste Land,”
“I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl of Cumae hanging in a jar, and when the boys said to her, ‘Sibyl, what do you want?’ she replied, ‘I want to die.’"
Comments are welcome. All my fic may be found here.