Heaven and Hell Under Your Tongue (Dean/OFC) PG-13
Title: Heaven and Hell Under Your Tongue
Author: Brinny
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 394
Notes: Written for the
spn_het_love challenge, "Connect". Which, was, at least a couple of weeks ago. Oops.
She tastes like black coffee and cigarettes. Bitter and hot, dulled by smoke and ash. Tongue pushing past her lips, Dean thinks she might just taste like sin. Dean’s always been a bit of a sinner.
And he wants to taste every part of her. Wants to see if all of her pale skin tastes like a little too much nicotine.
He kisses down her throat, pulse beating lightly under his lips. And it tastes like blood, thick and coppery. Like holding a mouthful of dirty pennies. But there’s something sweet beneath it, molasses sweet. Syrup and metal.
Moving his mouth, he lands on her shoulder and lets his tongue slide over the sweat-soaked flesh. He can taste the salt and thinks of ghosts and shotguns and demons. Dean almost expects to feel the sharp sting of sulfur next.
Between her breasts tastes kind of lemon-sour. Light and summery, but maybe kind of dangerous, too. Acidic and mean, like a burnt out battery without the jolt.
The tang of citrus lingers as he kisses her hipbone and that, he swears, tastes like gasoline. Makes Dean think of the Impala, oil and grease. He licks almost stomach to spine, keeps the heavy taste that reminds him too much of home on his tongue.
There’s a tattoo on the inside of her wrist and before he even presses his mouth to the spot, Dean knows it’s going to taste like ink. He’s surprised to find it also has the taste of tears and bourbon. And it, maybe, gets him a little drunk.
Small kisses along her thighs and he notices the same taste of sugar that was on her neck. Not as overpowering this time, maybe sweeter. And not a soft kind of sweet like chocolate, it’s muted and still so much like dark and stiff syrup.
She pulls his head back up, fingers under his chin and he grins. She’s pretty, all black hair and white skin and deep red lipstick. Looks like somebody drew her first on paper and then painted in her wide features with only those three colours.
Pushing his mouth to hers, he can taste everything now. Blood and molasses. Lemon and gasoline. Ink and sugar. Coffee and cigarettes. Tastes like heaven and hell under his tongue.
And Dean’s pretty sure there’s still something that’s missing, but he doesn’t know what.
Author: Brinny
Pairing: Dean/OFC
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 394
Notes: Written for the
spn_het_love challenge, "Connect". Which, was, at least a couple of weeks ago. Oops.
She tastes like black coffee and cigarettes. Bitter and hot, dulled by smoke and ash. Tongue pushing past her lips, Dean thinks she might just taste like sin. Dean’s always been a bit of a sinner.
And he wants to taste every part of her. Wants to see if all of her pale skin tastes like a little too much nicotine.
He kisses down her throat, pulse beating lightly under his lips. And it tastes like blood, thick and coppery. Like holding a mouthful of dirty pennies. But there’s something sweet beneath it, molasses sweet. Syrup and metal.
Moving his mouth, he lands on her shoulder and lets his tongue slide over the sweat-soaked flesh. He can taste the salt and thinks of ghosts and shotguns and demons. Dean almost expects to feel the sharp sting of sulfur next.
Between her breasts tastes kind of lemon-sour. Light and summery, but maybe kind of dangerous, too. Acidic and mean, like a burnt out battery without the jolt.
The tang of citrus lingers as he kisses her hipbone and that, he swears, tastes like gasoline. Makes Dean think of the Impala, oil and grease. He licks almost stomach to spine, keeps the heavy taste that reminds him too much of home on his tongue.
There’s a tattoo on the inside of her wrist and before he even presses his mouth to the spot, Dean knows it’s going to taste like ink. He’s surprised to find it also has the taste of tears and bourbon. And it, maybe, gets him a little drunk.
Small kisses along her thighs and he notices the same taste of sugar that was on her neck. Not as overpowering this time, maybe sweeter. And not a soft kind of sweet like chocolate, it’s muted and still so much like dark and stiff syrup.
She pulls his head back up, fingers under his chin and he grins. She’s pretty, all black hair and white skin and deep red lipstick. Looks like somebody drew her first on paper and then painted in her wide features with only those three colours.
Pushing his mouth to hers, he can taste everything now. Blood and molasses. Lemon and gasoline. Ink and sugar. Coffee and cigarettes. Tastes like heaven and hell under his tongue.
And Dean’s pretty sure there’s still something that’s missing, but he doesn’t know what.