Fic: your slightest look easily will unclose me (Danneel/Genevieve, NC-17)
Title: your slightest look easily will unclose me
Pairing: Danneel/Genevieve (and sort of implied everyone/everyone, basically...)
Rating:NC-17
Disclaimer: Lies!
Prompt: 'Danneel and Gen semi-roleplaying Sam and Dean.' Take from that what warnings you will. Posted here.
The boys know, of course. They know the way Danneel's fingers move as they skim the smooth insides of Gen's thighs; the way their mouths cling, spit-shiny and open and flushed. They've seen it plenty of times, after all: Danneel on her knees, her tongue tracing whorls around Genevieve's nipple as her fingers breach her, delving into heat until Gen's mouth falls open, hips lifting to the touch. It's not easy, living the way they do, and the girls have devoted an equal amount of fascinated attention to the way Jensen looks on his knees, with Jared's cock nudging the back of his throat. It's unconventional, sure, but it works for them, and there aren't any secrets between them.
This, though. Supernatural is in full season, leaving Danneel and Gen to their own devices, and God only knows they have their husbands' blessing to make those devices as multifarious as they wish. But Danneel can't help thinking, as she settles herself over Genevieve with one thigh between both of hers, that the boys might have something to say about this.
Gen's beautiful like this, all pale skin and softness, and Danneel loves that about her; loves the heavy fall of dark hair away from her face, the give of breasts against her own. Her arms are thrown up over her head, both wrists crossed beneath Danneel's pinioning hands, and her back arches upward with every motion of Danneel's hips. She's fine-featured, perfect, the very ideal of dark-eyed feminine beauty.
The words coming out of her mouth, though, lack any kind of femininity at all.
"Fuck, Sam," she grits out, hooking an ankle over the back of Danneel's calf. The angle's better like that, closer, and Danneel makes a sound in her throat and rocks harder at the sensation of Genevieve's slick against her thigh.
"Yeah?" Danneel encourages, breathless and tight as she moves, shifting rhythmically against Genevieve beneath her. "You like that, huh?" She dips her head; noses along the line of Genevieve's throat until she reaches her ear, and pauses to lick at the soft place behind it. Genevieve keens, fingers flexing in involuntary response, but Danneel is relentless. "You like to feel your little brother pounding you, huh? Fucking you good?" She rolls her hips; swallows the cry that rises up in Gen's throat at the spark of it. "You're one kinky fuck, Dean, you know that?"
Genevieve groans, this long vibration of sound that Danneel feels in her gut, in all the soft places where she and Gen are touching. It's hot, God, the unaccustomed deepness to her voice, and Danneel tries to match it, her own voice low and gravelled as she nips at Gen's lower lip with her teeth.
"How long've you wanted it, huh?"
There's something stupidly hot about holding Genevieve down like this, holding Dean down as she (and Sam) rut and press and dominate. But Danneel only has two hands, and there are a lot of parts of Genevieve that are way more exciting than the places she can reach like this. She releases Gen's wrists with a show of slowness; cautions "Stay," and waits for the nod.
It's tentative, and Gen closes her eyes after, like the submissiveness embarrasses her. There's something so Dean about it that Danneel literally feels herself slicking, hot pulses of sensation clenching between her legs as she edges down Genevieve's body.
"You want this, baby?" She nuzzles briefly at the soft skin of Genevieve's belly; mouths wetly at the dip of her navel. Genevieve's shifting under her, moaning in the back of her throat as her fingers find Danneel's hair. It's obvious, Christ, that she wants it, but "You gotta ask me for it, Dean. You gotta tell me what you want, big brother."
"Fuck." And there's that grit in Gen's voice again, something deep that breaks over her tongue as it emerges, heady and tortured and wanting and good. "Fuck, Sammy." She lifts her hips, breathless. "Want it. Want you to suck me." She tugs at Danneel's hair, not gently. "Can you do that, huh? You gonna take care of me?"
Jesus Christ. Danneel has to take a moment. She palms Genevieve's thighs, spreading them, buying herself time for the rush of molten heat in her mind to dissipate. "Christ, Dean. Yes. God, yes, I can do that; gonna take care of you. Gonna take care of you this time, gonna - "
Genevieve's so hot, slick-swimming when Danneel's fingers breach her, opening easily to the touch. Danneel ducks her head immediately, tongue dipping briefly into the wet heat of Genevieve's cunt before it trails upward, curling around her clit. Genevieve makes a high, breathless sound, legs splaying still further. Danneel moans against her, little helpless sounds as she licks, drunk on the musky, earth-sweat taste.
Danneel loves this. Sometimes, she thinks she could get off on this alone, if Genevieve could stand the sensation for longer - could let Danneel lick at her way past the point of orgasm, let Danneel sate herself entirely in her wetness. This time, though - Jesus Christ, but it's even better: Genevieve rutting up against her, fingers clenched in Danneel's hair in a way that isn't - quite - her own. "Suck," Genevieve manages, "C'mon, Sam, are you gonna fuckin' suck or aren't you?" and Danneel feels her empty cunt flutter with want as she closes her lips around Gen's clit and obeys.
She never was vocal at first, Genevieve, but months with Danneel have quickly put paid to that. She's keening, now, within moments of Danneel closing her lips around her, breathless and gasping as she rocks up against Danneel's face. Danneel doesn't protest - on the contrary, she only sucks a little harder, drawing back, from time to time, to trace Gen's wonderfully long name on her clit with her tongue. It's even better now, since she married Jared, Danneel reasons. There's more than one advantage to being Mrs Padalecki.
She's close, so close, but Gen, for all her enthusiasm, doesn't come this way, not quite, and Danneel knows it. She swirls her fingers teasingly in wetness, for a moment, flirting with Gen's entrance and then withdrawing, smearing slickness up almost to her clit, then tracing her fingers back down again.
"Sam," Gen pants, and it's unexpected, rasping effortfully out of her throat, "Fucking hell, Sammy, would you do it already? Put your fingers - fingers in me, Jesus - in me - "
She isn't usually so articulate on the edge of things, but Danneel isn't stupid; knows well enough that this was the result of an extreme effort on Gen's part, and not any kind of failing on Danneel's. And, fuck, it's appreciated; it's all Danneel can do not to reach back and push up into her own cunt, just to have something for her muscles to clench around. But, Sam may be many things, but he's still a gentleman. And, hey, Dean asked. They all of them know that it couldn't have been easy.
She pushes in two fingers in one easy slide, crooking them up against the spongy inner walls of Genevieve's cunt. Gen clenches immediately, tightening in near-desperation around Danneel's fingers, and Danneel whimpers; wriggles in a third finger without any great effort.
"Fuck!" Genevieve grits; rocks down onto Danneel's hand until she withdraws her fingers and fucks back in, sucking harder at Genevieve's clit. "Fuck, Sammy, fuck - " and then she's coming, clenching in fluttering, bone-tight pulses around Danneel's fingers, knuckle-deep inside her. Danneel licks at her again and again until Genevieve takes hold of her head and forcibly tugs her away, breathing tight and wheezing with effort.
"Good?" Danneel manages, mouth quirking at the corners.
She's barely got the word out before Gen's got her flat on her back, eyes dark and face flushed as she spreads Danneel's legs ungently.
"I'll show you good," she growls, and it's Dean's growl, all fucked out and sated and sure. "Sammy, Jesus. Lemme take care of you, c'mon, let me - fuck, Sammy, you're so fuckin' wet for me."
Danneel's too turned on to speak, by this stage of the game, and thank Christ Gen knows her far too well to expect anything else. She presses two fingers into Danneel immediately, and Danneel rolls her hips up gratefully, a cry breaking out of her throat as her head lolls back.
"Baby," Genevieve says, and she could be saying it to Danneel, could be saying it to Sam; neither of them know or care any more, and Danneel's starting to think it's doesn't actually matter anyway. Her thumb finds Danneel's clit easily, circling it hard and firm, the way Danneel likes, and Danneel screws her eyes shut in concentration, hands fisting in the bedsheet as she shivers and moans.
"Sammy," Genevieve says: and then there's warm, wet heat enveloping Danneel's clit, suckling at it relentlessly, firm and perfect. Danneel moans, outright moans; tips her head back and arches her back off the bed in a long, shivering arc, feeling the orgasm rip through her body from her shoulders to her thighs; feels it ripple out around Genevieve's fingers, little pulses of slickness sluicing them where they rest inside of her.
"Christ," she manages, when her brain has some blood to work with again. She draws her thighs together slowly; feels Gen's fingers slip out of her and suppresses a little pang of emptiness at the feeling. She forces herself to open her eyes; looks down her body to meet Genevieve's, still sex-dark and smirking. "Come up here."
Genevieve comes easily, soft and sheened with sweat, fitting herself without effort against the curve of Danneel's body. She leans up, and Danneel leans down, and they lick at each other's mouths for a soft, slow while, until both their tastes have mingled and dissipated between them.
"Well," says Genevieve, at length, when she pulls away. There's a pause. Danneel waits. Genevieve waits, and then blushes slow and kind of becomingly.
"Yeah," Danneel says, and laughs. "Maybe we'll keep this to ourselves, huh?"
"Oh, Christ, yes," Genevieve says, rushed with relief. She hesitates for a moment, and then looks up, grins. "It was fucking hot though, right?"
"Incendiary," Danneel assures her, hastily and with emphasis. "Like you even have to ask. Fuck."
"Just checking," says Genevieve, throwing a leg over Danneel's.
Danneel grins, fingers stroking slow through Genevieve's hair.
There isn't any deception between them, and that's the way they want to keep it. But, still - sometimes women have mysteries even the best of men can't be privy to.
That's Danneel's story, and she's sticking to it. It's worth it, after all, if it means she gets to have incestuous sex with Dean Winchester whenever his real-life counterpart isn't in town.
It's not a bad life, being Mrs Ackles, all told.
Pairing: Danneel/Genevieve (and sort of implied everyone/everyone, basically...)
Rating:NC-17
Disclaimer: Lies!
Prompt: 'Danneel and Gen semi-roleplaying Sam and Dean.' Take from that what warnings you will. Posted here.
The boys know, of course. They know the way Danneel's fingers move as they skim the smooth insides of Gen's thighs; the way their mouths cling, spit-shiny and open and flushed. They've seen it plenty of times, after all: Danneel on her knees, her tongue tracing whorls around Genevieve's nipple as her fingers breach her, delving into heat until Gen's mouth falls open, hips lifting to the touch. It's not easy, living the way they do, and the girls have devoted an equal amount of fascinated attention to the way Jensen looks on his knees, with Jared's cock nudging the back of his throat. It's unconventional, sure, but it works for them, and there aren't any secrets between them.
This, though. Supernatural is in full season, leaving Danneel and Gen to their own devices, and God only knows they have their husbands' blessing to make those devices as multifarious as they wish. But Danneel can't help thinking, as she settles herself over Genevieve with one thigh between both of hers, that the boys might have something to say about this.
Gen's beautiful like this, all pale skin and softness, and Danneel loves that about her; loves the heavy fall of dark hair away from her face, the give of breasts against her own. Her arms are thrown up over her head, both wrists crossed beneath Danneel's pinioning hands, and her back arches upward with every motion of Danneel's hips. She's fine-featured, perfect, the very ideal of dark-eyed feminine beauty.
The words coming out of her mouth, though, lack any kind of femininity at all.
"Fuck, Sam," she grits out, hooking an ankle over the back of Danneel's calf. The angle's better like that, closer, and Danneel makes a sound in her throat and rocks harder at the sensation of Genevieve's slick against her thigh.
"Yeah?" Danneel encourages, breathless and tight as she moves, shifting rhythmically against Genevieve beneath her. "You like that, huh?" She dips her head; noses along the line of Genevieve's throat until she reaches her ear, and pauses to lick at the soft place behind it. Genevieve keens, fingers flexing in involuntary response, but Danneel is relentless. "You like to feel your little brother pounding you, huh? Fucking you good?" She rolls her hips; swallows the cry that rises up in Gen's throat at the spark of it. "You're one kinky fuck, Dean, you know that?"
Genevieve groans, this long vibration of sound that Danneel feels in her gut, in all the soft places where she and Gen are touching. It's hot, God, the unaccustomed deepness to her voice, and Danneel tries to match it, her own voice low and gravelled as she nips at Gen's lower lip with her teeth.
"How long've you wanted it, huh?"
There's something stupidly hot about holding Genevieve down like this, holding Dean down as she (and Sam) rut and press and dominate. But Danneel only has two hands, and there are a lot of parts of Genevieve that are way more exciting than the places she can reach like this. She releases Gen's wrists with a show of slowness; cautions "Stay," and waits for the nod.
It's tentative, and Gen closes her eyes after, like the submissiveness embarrasses her. There's something so Dean about it that Danneel literally feels herself slicking, hot pulses of sensation clenching between her legs as she edges down Genevieve's body.
"You want this, baby?" She nuzzles briefly at the soft skin of Genevieve's belly; mouths wetly at the dip of her navel. Genevieve's shifting under her, moaning in the back of her throat as her fingers find Danneel's hair. It's obvious, Christ, that she wants it, but "You gotta ask me for it, Dean. You gotta tell me what you want, big brother."
"Fuck." And there's that grit in Gen's voice again, something deep that breaks over her tongue as it emerges, heady and tortured and wanting and good. "Fuck, Sammy." She lifts her hips, breathless. "Want it. Want you to suck me." She tugs at Danneel's hair, not gently. "Can you do that, huh? You gonna take care of me?"
Jesus Christ. Danneel has to take a moment. She palms Genevieve's thighs, spreading them, buying herself time for the rush of molten heat in her mind to dissipate. "Christ, Dean. Yes. God, yes, I can do that; gonna take care of you. Gonna take care of you this time, gonna - "
Genevieve's so hot, slick-swimming when Danneel's fingers breach her, opening easily to the touch. Danneel ducks her head immediately, tongue dipping briefly into the wet heat of Genevieve's cunt before it trails upward, curling around her clit. Genevieve makes a high, breathless sound, legs splaying still further. Danneel moans against her, little helpless sounds as she licks, drunk on the musky, earth-sweat taste.
Danneel loves this. Sometimes, she thinks she could get off on this alone, if Genevieve could stand the sensation for longer - could let Danneel lick at her way past the point of orgasm, let Danneel sate herself entirely in her wetness. This time, though - Jesus Christ, but it's even better: Genevieve rutting up against her, fingers clenched in Danneel's hair in a way that isn't - quite - her own. "Suck," Genevieve manages, "C'mon, Sam, are you gonna fuckin' suck or aren't you?" and Danneel feels her empty cunt flutter with want as she closes her lips around Gen's clit and obeys.
She never was vocal at first, Genevieve, but months with Danneel have quickly put paid to that. She's keening, now, within moments of Danneel closing her lips around her, breathless and gasping as she rocks up against Danneel's face. Danneel doesn't protest - on the contrary, she only sucks a little harder, drawing back, from time to time, to trace Gen's wonderfully long name on her clit with her tongue. It's even better now, since she married Jared, Danneel reasons. There's more than one advantage to being Mrs Padalecki.
She's close, so close, but Gen, for all her enthusiasm, doesn't come this way, not quite, and Danneel knows it. She swirls her fingers teasingly in wetness, for a moment, flirting with Gen's entrance and then withdrawing, smearing slickness up almost to her clit, then tracing her fingers back down again.
"Sam," Gen pants, and it's unexpected, rasping effortfully out of her throat, "Fucking hell, Sammy, would you do it already? Put your fingers - fingers in me, Jesus - in me - "
She isn't usually so articulate on the edge of things, but Danneel isn't stupid; knows well enough that this was the result of an extreme effort on Gen's part, and not any kind of failing on Danneel's. And, fuck, it's appreciated; it's all Danneel can do not to reach back and push up into her own cunt, just to have something for her muscles to clench around. But, Sam may be many things, but he's still a gentleman. And, hey, Dean asked. They all of them know that it couldn't have been easy.
She pushes in two fingers in one easy slide, crooking them up against the spongy inner walls of Genevieve's cunt. Gen clenches immediately, tightening in near-desperation around Danneel's fingers, and Danneel whimpers; wriggles in a third finger without any great effort.
"Fuck!" Genevieve grits; rocks down onto Danneel's hand until she withdraws her fingers and fucks back in, sucking harder at Genevieve's clit. "Fuck, Sammy, fuck - " and then she's coming, clenching in fluttering, bone-tight pulses around Danneel's fingers, knuckle-deep inside her. Danneel licks at her again and again until Genevieve takes hold of her head and forcibly tugs her away, breathing tight and wheezing with effort.
"Good?" Danneel manages, mouth quirking at the corners.
She's barely got the word out before Gen's got her flat on her back, eyes dark and face flushed as she spreads Danneel's legs ungently.
"I'll show you good," she growls, and it's Dean's growl, all fucked out and sated and sure. "Sammy, Jesus. Lemme take care of you, c'mon, let me - fuck, Sammy, you're so fuckin' wet for me."
Danneel's too turned on to speak, by this stage of the game, and thank Christ Gen knows her far too well to expect anything else. She presses two fingers into Danneel immediately, and Danneel rolls her hips up gratefully, a cry breaking out of her throat as her head lolls back.
"Baby," Genevieve says, and she could be saying it to Danneel, could be saying it to Sam; neither of them know or care any more, and Danneel's starting to think it's doesn't actually matter anyway. Her thumb finds Danneel's clit easily, circling it hard and firm, the way Danneel likes, and Danneel screws her eyes shut in concentration, hands fisting in the bedsheet as she shivers and moans.
"Sammy," Genevieve says: and then there's warm, wet heat enveloping Danneel's clit, suckling at it relentlessly, firm and perfect. Danneel moans, outright moans; tips her head back and arches her back off the bed in a long, shivering arc, feeling the orgasm rip through her body from her shoulders to her thighs; feels it ripple out around Genevieve's fingers, little pulses of slickness sluicing them where they rest inside of her.
"Christ," she manages, when her brain has some blood to work with again. She draws her thighs together slowly; feels Gen's fingers slip out of her and suppresses a little pang of emptiness at the feeling. She forces herself to open her eyes; looks down her body to meet Genevieve's, still sex-dark and smirking. "Come up here."
Genevieve comes easily, soft and sheened with sweat, fitting herself without effort against the curve of Danneel's body. She leans up, and Danneel leans down, and they lick at each other's mouths for a soft, slow while, until both their tastes have mingled and dissipated between them.
"Well," says Genevieve, at length, when she pulls away. There's a pause. Danneel waits. Genevieve waits, and then blushes slow and kind of becomingly.
"Yeah," Danneel says, and laughs. "Maybe we'll keep this to ourselves, huh?"
"Oh, Christ, yes," Genevieve says, rushed with relief. She hesitates for a moment, and then looks up, grins. "It was fucking hot though, right?"
"Incendiary," Danneel assures her, hastily and with emphasis. "Like you even have to ask. Fuck."
"Just checking," says Genevieve, throwing a leg over Danneel's.
Danneel grins, fingers stroking slow through Genevieve's hair.
There isn't any deception between them, and that's the way they want to keep it. But, still - sometimes women have mysteries even the best of men can't be privy to.
That's Danneel's story, and she's sticking to it. It's worth it, after all, if it means she gets to have incestuous sex with Dean Winchester whenever his real-life counterpart isn't in town.
It's not a bad life, being Mrs Ackles, all told.