Fic: Love Like Prayer - addendum to SPN 4.05
Why, hello, drive-by muses! A little something that struck me this afternoon...
Title: Love Like A Prayer
Author: ErinRua
Rating: Het / R
Length: @ 760 words
Characters: Jamie, Dean
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Addendum to 4.05 "Monster Movie." Dean waited this long to find a girl after his resurrection? Judging by their farewell, it must have been a special night. (Ever so gently smutty.)
He made love like a prayer, like original sin, like a soul-deep act of contrition. His hands skimmed her skin, weapons-worn and dry, their calluses rasping sweet as muslin across her belly, her hips, her thighs, washing her clean of fear and death in their passage. His lips, his mouth tasted and teased, drawing thrills of pleasure and tingles of chill, and he hummed against her, hummed, dear lord - and when he growled his way to green-eyed laughter - oh, yes.
And those eyes: capturing ambient light, dancing and deviling, asking and smoldering, and seeing her, seeing her. You're beautiful, he whispered, and she knew it wasn't true, not with her crooked nose and stupid jaw. But the delicious weight of him pinned her down, filled her full, owned her as he rose just enough to look her in the face. With light fingertips, he smoothed her hair from her temples and out upon the pillow, and now his eyes were shadowed with something so deep and lost and gentle that it clutched the very roots of her heart.
Come here, she breathed, and drew him down, and he exhaled steamy-hot against her neck, pressed closer into her heat and he shushed her, slid his arms beneath and held her, tight and now not moving at all. Shhh, he said, and for a while brushed kisses upon her throat, her mouth, her face, her closed eyes, inhaled the fragrance of her hair.
But finally, she whispered, please, and his chuckle vibrated deeply, warm skin pressed against her breasts, her belly. He raised himself to look down, eyes crinkling and impishness dancing. Please what? he asked: slow, languid pull out and just as slowly slide in, and she made a kitten's growl, felt his breath hitch when her nails scraped smooth trails down the length of his back.
Like a prayer, like an offering, like a feast too long delayed, he supped and sipped at all she had to offer. With consummate skill, he laid each kiss, each lingering caress without hurry. Her need soon ached like stifled flames imprisoned behind a furnace door, but he silently asked and begged for so much more. She never had seen quite this hunger in a man, this trembling carefulness in every touch, and when came his turn to lie beneath, he looked up at her, lips parted, and the openness of his gaze brought the burn of tears to her throat. I've got you, baby, she whispered, and his eyes crinkled once again. Oh, that you do, sweetheart, and they ceased speaking with words for a time.
When at last they lay amidst rumpled sheets and flung aside the damp cloth he'd fetched to clean them both, she turned on her side to press heavy and languorous against him. The soft-whisker rasp of his legs against her calves drew the echo of passion spent, and he cupped her head, bent to press a kiss on her mouth.
Will you stay? she asked, and he drew back just a little, so she smiled and chuckled softly. You're not obliged to, you know. I haven't even decided if I'll still respect you in the morning.
His laughter was low and beautiful, and he sighed like a great, contented cat. Don't have anywhere in particular to be, he said lightly, and her smile widened as she trailed a hand down the firm planes of his chest. Good, she whispered, and bent to kiss where her fingers had passed.
Yet it wouldn't be until morning that his hunger once again grew beyond the simpler need to hold and be held. In that warm darkness, he fell asleep, and within her rose a fierce and sudden tenderness. Liar, lover, rascal and rogue, he was all these but more. Should she fear the knowledge that foul creatures roamed who changed their shape at will? But how could she, when she also knew that, somewhere out there, this man and his friend (old man's eyes) were standing to fight against them? Whether a lie was made of words or flesh, she had guarded against them all her life, and in the heart beneath her hand, she could not find deceit.
For now, though she could change neither luck nor chance when morning swept him out of her life, she gladly gave him this: one night to rest amidst another's breathing, one night to feel another heartbeat thumping soft and sure and strong. She wrapped his nakedness in the curve of her body, and while they slept, she guarded over his dreams.
~ * ~
.
ETA: The character of Jamie is an SPN love story of sorts. She was named for one of us, a fellow fan who is chronically ill, and whose mother met Eric Kripke at a convention. Eric's get-well gift to Jamie was ... the use of her name for a major episode character. You can read the story, plus Eric's letter, HERE. There is that which is beautiful about the Supernatural fandom. :-)
Title: Love Like A Prayer
Author: ErinRua
Rating: Het / R
Length: @ 760 words
Characters: Jamie, Dean
Notes/Disclaimers/Summary: Addendum to 4.05 "Monster Movie." Dean waited this long to find a girl after his resurrection? Judging by their farewell, it must have been a special night. (Ever so gently smutty.)
He made love like a prayer, like original sin, like a soul-deep act of contrition. His hands skimmed her skin, weapons-worn and dry, their calluses rasping sweet as muslin across her belly, her hips, her thighs, washing her clean of fear and death in their passage. His lips, his mouth tasted and teased, drawing thrills of pleasure and tingles of chill, and he hummed against her, hummed, dear lord - and when he growled his way to green-eyed laughter - oh, yes.
And those eyes: capturing ambient light, dancing and deviling, asking and smoldering, and seeing her, seeing her. You're beautiful, he whispered, and she knew it wasn't true, not with her crooked nose and stupid jaw. But the delicious weight of him pinned her down, filled her full, owned her as he rose just enough to look her in the face. With light fingertips, he smoothed her hair from her temples and out upon the pillow, and now his eyes were shadowed with something so deep and lost and gentle that it clutched the very roots of her heart.
Come here, she breathed, and drew him down, and he exhaled steamy-hot against her neck, pressed closer into her heat and he shushed her, slid his arms beneath and held her, tight and now not moving at all. Shhh, he said, and for a while brushed kisses upon her throat, her mouth, her face, her closed eyes, inhaled the fragrance of her hair.
But finally, she whispered, please, and his chuckle vibrated deeply, warm skin pressed against her breasts, her belly. He raised himself to look down, eyes crinkling and impishness dancing. Please what? he asked: slow, languid pull out and just as slowly slide in, and she made a kitten's growl, felt his breath hitch when her nails scraped smooth trails down the length of his back.
Like a prayer, like an offering, like a feast too long delayed, he supped and sipped at all she had to offer. With consummate skill, he laid each kiss, each lingering caress without hurry. Her need soon ached like stifled flames imprisoned behind a furnace door, but he silently asked and begged for so much more. She never had seen quite this hunger in a man, this trembling carefulness in every touch, and when came his turn to lie beneath, he looked up at her, lips parted, and the openness of his gaze brought the burn of tears to her throat. I've got you, baby, she whispered, and his eyes crinkled once again. Oh, that you do, sweetheart, and they ceased speaking with words for a time.
When at last they lay amidst rumpled sheets and flung aside the damp cloth he'd fetched to clean them both, she turned on her side to press heavy and languorous against him. The soft-whisker rasp of his legs against her calves drew the echo of passion spent, and he cupped her head, bent to press a kiss on her mouth.
Will you stay? she asked, and he drew back just a little, so she smiled and chuckled softly. You're not obliged to, you know. I haven't even decided if I'll still respect you in the morning.
His laughter was low and beautiful, and he sighed like a great, contented cat. Don't have anywhere in particular to be, he said lightly, and her smile widened as she trailed a hand down the firm planes of his chest. Good, she whispered, and bent to kiss where her fingers had passed.
Yet it wouldn't be until morning that his hunger once again grew beyond the simpler need to hold and be held. In that warm darkness, he fell asleep, and within her rose a fierce and sudden tenderness. Liar, lover, rascal and rogue, he was all these but more. Should she fear the knowledge that foul creatures roamed who changed their shape at will? But how could she, when she also knew that, somewhere out there, this man and his friend (old man's eyes) were standing to fight against them? Whether a lie was made of words or flesh, she had guarded against them all her life, and in the heart beneath her hand, she could not find deceit.
For now, though she could change neither luck nor chance when morning swept him out of her life, she gladly gave him this: one night to rest amidst another's breathing, one night to feel another heartbeat thumping soft and sure and strong. She wrapped his nakedness in the curve of her body, and while they slept, she guarded over his dreams.
~ * ~
.
ETA: The character of Jamie is an SPN love story of sorts. She was named for one of us, a fellow fan who is chronically ill, and whose mother met Eric Kripke at a convention. Eric's get-well gift to Jamie was ... the use of her name for a major episode character. You can read the story, plus Eric's letter, HERE. There is that which is beautiful about the Supernatural fandom. :-)