Q. "How Many Times Does 25 Go Into 41?" A. "As Many Times As He Possibly Can."
Title: He'd Be This Guy
Author: Me, me, me.
Summary: Sam’s a biter. Ellen doesn’t mind. PWP.
Word Count: 1558
Notes: Written for the spnwomen_kink round one, which everyone ever should go visit. It has been spit-polished and reposted here.
Disclaimer: It's a tragedy of epic handkerchief proportions; but they're not mine.
Sam's a biter.
Ellen hadn't known before she'd taken the boy to bed, hands pulling at his seemingly endless layers of shirts, desperate to get at the smooth, burning skin beneath. Laughing into his wide, generous mouth as he'd stumbled over his own stupid feet and toppled them onto a mattress that had screamed.
The afternoon sun had limned his whole body, the white of his grin, the green in his eyes, turning his hair caramel-golden at the very edges as he’d struggled out of his shirts, balancing on his knees above her. Shoulders, stomach, rippling.
Ellen'd been breathless with it, fingers digging into that high, tight ass, his weight crushing the air out of her lungs as he’d dropped back down to her. She’d started to get the memo as he’d held her down with strong hands, the better to lick and nip along the curve of one ear; to press eager, open-mouthed kisses into her ticklish throat.
Not that she'd cared.
It'd been so long since she'd known that urgency, the bass-pounding, sweat-soaking throb of desire, the shape of it in her mouth, her body, had made her feel young and foolish. So foolish, giving in to the temptation that was Samuel Bloody Winchester, whose skin smelled like beer and dirt and sunlight; who, underneath his clothes and sweet-tasting mouth, was Satan’s raincoat.
It’d been hard to think about that. Sam'd trapped her wrists against the pillows and grinned down; his smile all curves piling on top of each other and sly, slanted fox eyes. "I'ma take you apart," he'd promised, sure and so dirty-sweet it had made Ellen's clit throb, a quick, sharp clench.
She'd barely been able to suck in the thick air, mouth fallen open as she'd watched that stark intensity on his face, finally turned on to her instead of dusty old books, the smell of which still clung to his hands - his hands, which’d cupped her face, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, her tongue flicked out to taste old spells and prayers.
She’d watched him trailing his hands down her flushed skin to the neck of her shirt, each button down to her navel flicked open, easy. His head ducked down to watch his own fingers, ridiculous hair falling into his face.
Managed to grind out a, "Shoulda known you were all talk, Winchester," her hips tilted up in blatant invitation, tryin'a goad him on. C'mon, she'd thought, feeling the twist of lust pull at her deep inside, his hooded eyes sweeping over her, c'mon, c'mon.
And he'd just casually thumbed open the button on her jeans, snuck a hand down there inside her waistband, warm palm pressed to her stomach. Fingers just a bare inch from where they needed to be, right fucking now. Looked down at her with a half-smile.
"You're a fucking tease," she'd growled, back arching, trying to slip his hand further south to where she was damp and shuddering. Ellen had looked down the curves of her own body, and could just see his hand lying there casual-like between her legs, tan hand dark against her own pale skin. Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest thing she'd seen in years.
She'd reached over and curled a hand in his hair, pulling. He'd smirked, resisting, asked, "You want somethin'?"
"Yeah," Ellen'd said. "Your dick in me."
Sam'd bent down, then, eyes dark, and nuzzled aside her shirt, exposing one breast in its sensible white cotton bra. Ellen hadn't had time to claw in a breath before his lips were on her, wet, the edge of teeth, pulling her pebbled flesh into the heat of his mouth, not even bothering to move her bra outta the way.
"Shit," she'd cursed, writhing. And that's when he'd slipped his thumb down through her cunt, sliding across her clit and settling in, rubbing tiny, playful little circles. Mouth still eating at her breast, other hand huge and curled half-way round her waist.
Ellen hadn't wanted this slow tease, she'd wanted to be held down and fucked open, raw, wanted to ride him 'till the wheels fell off, wanted rough and ready and now. She'd clutched at his hair, his neck, raked her nails over his shoulders and cussed up a blue streak.
She didn't want to wait.
"C'mon, Sam, fuck," she'd hissed and for a second hated the fact that he was so tall, that she couldn't stick a hand down the front of his jeans and jerk him, fast and filthy. Maybe he'd get a clue, then. Settled for rubbing her entire body along every part of him she'd been able to reach, gasping as another finger joined the first, dipping into her where she'd been burning up, soaking wet and desperate to be filled.
He'd bitten his way along the underside of her breast at that, listening to her tell him how much she wanted him in her, deep, wanted to see if he was as big as he looked - did he know she'd been lookin'? Thinking about him fucking into her, inch by inch?
"Ellen," he'd laughed breathless, voice like it'd been dropped down a mineshaft, his forehead pressed into her stomach. And then he'd licked, lapping delicately at her navel, and bitten the soft flesh of her belly, chasing all the breath out of her lungs.
Still too slow, Sam had unzipped her jeans and scraped his teeth on the elastic of her panties, breath skidding along the slick, shining paths his tongue had left, warmed by the sun. His stubble had pricked the tender skin, chin rubbing, and it had gotten her so hot, God, just, just -
"Just fuck me already," she'd grunted, thrust up and slung a thigh over his shoulder. Looked down her body and managed a raised eyebrow. "You scared, Sam?"
"Nah. Think I'll just stay here a while," he'd murmured, before pulling at her denim and cotton both, down off her hips, just enough that her legs were still trapped and he could shove his face into her beside his fingers, big tongue sloppy and wet all over her.
Fuck, and Ellen shoulda known he'd be this guy - the guy who loved eating pussy, licking all the wet out of a cunt, getting the girl off, and off, and again, until she begged him to fill her up, to fuck into her, desperate beyond coherency to be dicked, at last.
Ellen'd been the independent woman, responsible for her own orgasm for decades now - she hadn't wanted Sam servicing her, she'd just wanted to sit on his cock and give herself a good time. If he came along for the ride, well, that was sweet too.
But even she couldn't help but to clutch at the sheets, legs both hooked over his shoulders now and trembling, helpless to do anything but lie there with her head thrown back against the pillows and tossed, side to side. 'Cause, fuck, the boy knew what he was doing - no coyness now, just sucking at her clit and flicking his tongue. Fingers still pumping away, drawing it on, and then he'd done some sort of twist and grind with his lips and tongue and thumb together that'd made her shake, and fall apart, sudden and screaming.
Twice.
The other'd followed quick on it's heels, as Sam'd stuck his tongue in beside his curling fingers, pressing up, as Ellen twisted and strained and closed her eyes against the glittering squeeze of it throughout her entire body, taking her over.
Her jeans had gotten lost somewhere over his shoulder, and Ellen was on her stomach, Sam pressing big and blunt at her entrance before she'd regained her senses. Whole body curved over hers, hot against the sweaty skin of her back where her shirt had ridden up, hands digging into her hips, and she'd shoved her ass back at him, managing a, "Do it," through the leftover moans.
He'd pressed his dick into her then, slow and easy, parting her lips, and Ellen had bit at the sheets, panting, fingers twisted in them, and groaned, long and low. Sam was so big, all over her, and fuck, fuck she’d had to have it. "Sam," she’d said, rough, and had barely recognized her own voice, it was so blown.
Over her head, Sam had been swearing; she’d felt his thighs tremble against the back of her own, coarse hair tickling. Then he'd started fucking into her in earnest, hips snapping, pulling Ellen back onto his dick, over and over, relentless.
His breath had been ragged in her ear, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses all over her shoulders, her neck, Ellen's hair swinging into her mouth as he shoved into her, driving, and Jesus, it was good, so good -
"God," Sam’d said, voice all broken up, and fitted his hand against her clit, long fingers touching where they were joined and milking another orgasm out of her shaking bones. Ellen's arms had slid out from under her, unable to hold her up, and Sam's teeth had latched onto her shoulder then, bitten down hard as he cursed into the skin, and followed her over.
Days later Ellen could still feel all the marks where his teeth had scored the skin, under her clothes, sore and tender.
She gets wet again just thinking about it.
~ end.
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