019 we return you to your regularly scheduled porn. 3/7 contributions
Title: Dissection
Fandoms: Angel/Supernatural
Words: 550
Pairing: Illyria/Sam
Rating: Arrrrr.
Summary: Porn Battle. Prompt was ... fuck, what was the prompt? Oh right, 'mark.'
“Nice shiner, Sammy.” Sam rolls his eyes at his brother. He doesn’t want to have to sit through this again. “Let me guess; slap fight with a waitress?”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“Your hand slipped this morning when you were putting on makeup.”
“Ha-ha. Dude, grow up.”
Sam closes the motel room door behind him and tries to get past Dean into the bathroom, but Dean kicks the three-legged bedside table out in front of Sam and almost trips him. “Angry little leprechauns. With hammers.”
“Seriously?” Shooting Dean an incredulous look, Sam picks up the table and sets it aside. Dean’s not going to get an answer, not this time.
“You ran into the girl from the blue lagoon again, didn’t you?” Damn.
Sam shrugs. “… No.”
Dean was obviously not expecting that. “Wait, what? …Damn it Sam, we talked about this! It was painfully awkward, remember?” His brother’s apparent fetish for evil chicks (or those with just regular old bad mojo) annoys and perplexes him.
Now, Dean doesn’t know this, but Sam really hadn’t had any intention of fucking Illyria. Again. It’s just, when the elbow, sharp and knobby, came flying from nowhere as he left the cemetery and he fell back onto the dirt with the force of the blow, any plans, intentions or foregone conclusions had gone out the proverbial window. His nose started bleeding like a faucet, and his right eye swelled up almost immediately. He had wiped the blood away and grabbed Illyria’s wrist, flipping her down onto her back.
Dean has only met Illyria once, and they tried to kill each other. In Sam’s opinion the fact that neither of them succeeded made the tête-à-tête everything he could possibly ask for. Since then, Dean’s been beyond suspicious of her. All they really know about what she is that her body belongs to a dead woman but she’s not a demon. A splash of holy water only makes her blink and stare, and she sauntered out of a Devil’s Trap. Dean hates her more than he hates Ruby. He’s got this rule about how you don’t sleep with what you don’t know, it doesn’t matter if it’s the enemy or not.
Illyria has a way about her. When she stands in front of Sam, he feels like she towers above him. It’s in the way she squares her shoulders, holds her spine rigid, and watches him with dissecting stares. Even when she’s on the ground beneath him, one long and lithe leg caught up and lifted by his muscled arm, she has her eyes on him, wide and blue. She only closes them when her body orgasms, and the beauty of the sight of Illyria being taken by surprise by the very body she’s invaded makes him want to fuck her forever.
Of course, he can’t. He has to get back on the road with his brother, who will pepper him with questions about the blue girl and make Sam feel like a dick when he can’t answer any of them. He doesn’t want to have to sit through this. Again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam insists with a blank face that’s not fooling either of them, and pushes on to the bathroom to shower off the smell of sex, death and dirt.
Fandoms: Angel/Supernatural
Words: 550
Pairing: Illyria/Sam
Rating: Arrrrr.
Summary: Porn Battle. Prompt was ... fuck, what was the prompt? Oh right, 'mark.'
“Nice shiner, Sammy.” Sam rolls his eyes at his brother. He doesn’t want to have to sit through this again. “Let me guess; slap fight with a waitress?”
“Shut up, Dean.”
“Your hand slipped this morning when you were putting on makeup.”
“Ha-ha. Dude, grow up.”
Sam closes the motel room door behind him and tries to get past Dean into the bathroom, but Dean kicks the three-legged bedside table out in front of Sam and almost trips him. “Angry little leprechauns. With hammers.”
“Seriously?” Shooting Dean an incredulous look, Sam picks up the table and sets it aside. Dean’s not going to get an answer, not this time.
“You ran into the girl from the blue lagoon again, didn’t you?” Damn.
Sam shrugs. “… No.”
Dean was obviously not expecting that. “Wait, what? …Damn it Sam, we talked about this! It was painfully awkward, remember?” His brother’s apparent fetish for evil chicks (or those with just regular old bad mojo) annoys and perplexes him.
Now, Dean doesn’t know this, but Sam really hadn’t had any intention of fucking Illyria. Again. It’s just, when the elbow, sharp and knobby, came flying from nowhere as he left the cemetery and he fell back onto the dirt with the force of the blow, any plans, intentions or foregone conclusions had gone out the proverbial window. His nose started bleeding like a faucet, and his right eye swelled up almost immediately. He had wiped the blood away and grabbed Illyria’s wrist, flipping her down onto her back.
Dean has only met Illyria once, and they tried to kill each other. In Sam’s opinion the fact that neither of them succeeded made the tête-à-tête everything he could possibly ask for. Since then, Dean’s been beyond suspicious of her. All they really know about what she is that her body belongs to a dead woman but she’s not a demon. A splash of holy water only makes her blink and stare, and she sauntered out of a Devil’s Trap. Dean hates her more than he hates Ruby. He’s got this rule about how you don’t sleep with what you don’t know, it doesn’t matter if it’s the enemy or not.
Illyria has a way about her. When she stands in front of Sam, he feels like she towers above him. It’s in the way she squares her shoulders, holds her spine rigid, and watches him with dissecting stares. Even when she’s on the ground beneath him, one long and lithe leg caught up and lifted by his muscled arm, she has her eyes on him, wide and blue. She only closes them when her body orgasms, and the beauty of the sight of Illyria being taken by surprise by the very body she’s invaded makes him want to fuck her forever.
Of course, he can’t. He has to get back on the road with his brother, who will pepper him with questions about the blue girl and make Sam feel like a dick when he can’t answer any of them. He doesn’t want to have to sit through this. Again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sam insists with a blank face that’s not fooling either of them, and pushes on to the bathroom to shower off the smell of sex, death and dirt.