Supernatural ficlet: Pearls
Pearls [Supernatural, Sam/Jess, adult, 691 words, written for Porn Battle VI, prompt pearl, original entry. For deirdre_c, a belated happy birthday.]
"Dean, look!" Sam held up his find, salt water dripping down his skinny bare arm. "It's a pearl. I've found a pearl."
"Sure, Sammy." Dean laughed, and ruffled his hair. "Come on, we got to go get dried off. Don't want to keep Dad waiting."
"What if there are more pearls?"
"Maybe we'll come back some day. Then we could look again."
"Awesome."
*
In the summer, no matter how little time she has each morning, Jess paints her toenails a different color. Today she wore a favorite shirt, soft creamy pink, tossed on the bathroom floor now, and her toenails are the same shade, pale against her tanned feet. Sam doesn't know the name of the color, but it niggles at his memory.
Jess lifts a foot out of the water, and Sam catches her ankle. Rubs his thumb over the round nub of bone on the side, soapy smooth and strangely fragile. Jess sinks deeper under the water, a soft sigh ruffling the bubbles on the water's surface.
It's warm in the bathroom, steam settling on the mirror and window, heavy in the air. Warm, and Sam's tired. He could sleep like this, head pillowed on his arm, Jess breathing softly inches away.
He doesn't realize his eyes have closed until he feels a hand in his hair, stroking the heavy fringe back from his face. He opens them, and Jess is leaning towards him, so much tenderness in her expression that it makes him ache. He lifts his head enough to meet hers, finds lips slick with water, and slides his hand up her leg, tracing the curve of muscle up to the crease behind her knee, and up, further, until he's pressing between her thighs, working them open while Jess' lips fall soft under his.
He feels the exhale of want against his mouth, the little gasp she lets out as he slides one finger through the folds of her clit. He doesn't push any further, not yet, just teases her with soft kisses and his fingers tracing lazy circles.
"Sam," she says, and her voice is breathy. He carries on, dipping his head to drop kisses on her neck, his fingers steady in the same pattern. He can feel her throat work as she swallows, holds back words. He smiles inside, secretly, confident.
He isn't wrong. The next time she speaks, her voice is low and needy. "God, Sam, please."
"Just fingers?" he asks, and she nods impatiently.
"Can't wait," she says, and she wriggles down, hands joining his and pushing him inside her.
He lets his knuckles brush against her as his fingers crook up inside her, and she's lifting up her hips, causing waves of water to wash up and down the bathtub. He vaguely registers that his sleeve is soaked, but it doesn't matter when Jess is making awkward, desperate sounds, almost there, grunting her need in higher and higher pitch. His dick's pressing against his zipper and his jeans feel too tight and he thinks one day he might come just from the sound of her.
She goes quiet after, stroking his fingers when he pulls out, washing them clean under the water.
"Love you," she says, and kneels up in the bath, undoing his jeans while he scrabbles to pull off his shirts, and she sucks him off like that, jeans pooled around his ankles like a hobble, and his hands resting on her bare wet shoulders. He could feel foolish, silly in his almost-nakedness, skinny and imperfect, but he never does with Jess, not when she looks up at him as though he's something wonderful.
He remembers, later, lights out and her face tucked into his neck. The sheet slips, and Sam catches the glisten of Jess' toes in the sliver of moonlight that's slipped through a crack in the curtains. He remembers the little chunk of mother of pearl he found, years ago, that one day they went to the beach. Creamy pink and shiny, and he'd thought it was a pearl.
"You're worth more than pearls," he whispers into her hair, and wraps his arms tighter around her.
//
"Dean, look!" Sam held up his find, salt water dripping down his skinny bare arm. "It's a pearl. I've found a pearl."
"Sure, Sammy." Dean laughed, and ruffled his hair. "Come on, we got to go get dried off. Don't want to keep Dad waiting."
"What if there are more pearls?"
"Maybe we'll come back some day. Then we could look again."
"Awesome."
*
In the summer, no matter how little time she has each morning, Jess paints her toenails a different color. Today she wore a favorite shirt, soft creamy pink, tossed on the bathroom floor now, and her toenails are the same shade, pale against her tanned feet. Sam doesn't know the name of the color, but it niggles at his memory.
Jess lifts a foot out of the water, and Sam catches her ankle. Rubs his thumb over the round nub of bone on the side, soapy smooth and strangely fragile. Jess sinks deeper under the water, a soft sigh ruffling the bubbles on the water's surface.
It's warm in the bathroom, steam settling on the mirror and window, heavy in the air. Warm, and Sam's tired. He could sleep like this, head pillowed on his arm, Jess breathing softly inches away.
He doesn't realize his eyes have closed until he feels a hand in his hair, stroking the heavy fringe back from his face. He opens them, and Jess is leaning towards him, so much tenderness in her expression that it makes him ache. He lifts his head enough to meet hers, finds lips slick with water, and slides his hand up her leg, tracing the curve of muscle up to the crease behind her knee, and up, further, until he's pressing between her thighs, working them open while Jess' lips fall soft under his.
He feels the exhale of want against his mouth, the little gasp she lets out as he slides one finger through the folds of her clit. He doesn't push any further, not yet, just teases her with soft kisses and his fingers tracing lazy circles.
"Sam," she says, and her voice is breathy. He carries on, dipping his head to drop kisses on her neck, his fingers steady in the same pattern. He can feel her throat work as she swallows, holds back words. He smiles inside, secretly, confident.
He isn't wrong. The next time she speaks, her voice is low and needy. "God, Sam, please."
"Just fingers?" he asks, and she nods impatiently.
"Can't wait," she says, and she wriggles down, hands joining his and pushing him inside her.
He lets his knuckles brush against her as his fingers crook up inside her, and she's lifting up her hips, causing waves of water to wash up and down the bathtub. He vaguely registers that his sleeve is soaked, but it doesn't matter when Jess is making awkward, desperate sounds, almost there, grunting her need in higher and higher pitch. His dick's pressing against his zipper and his jeans feel too tight and he thinks one day he might come just from the sound of her.
She goes quiet after, stroking his fingers when he pulls out, washing them clean under the water.
"Love you," she says, and kneels up in the bath, undoing his jeans while he scrabbles to pull off his shirts, and she sucks him off like that, jeans pooled around his ankles like a hobble, and his hands resting on her bare wet shoulders. He could feel foolish, silly in his almost-nakedness, skinny and imperfect, but he never does with Jess, not when she looks up at him as though he's something wonderful.
He remembers, later, lights out and her face tucked into his neck. The sheet slips, and Sam catches the glisten of Jess' toes in the sliver of moonlight that's slipped through a crack in the curtains. He remembers the little chunk of mother of pearl he found, years ago, that one day they went to the beach. Creamy pink and shiny, and he'd thought it was a pearl.
"You're worth more than pearls," he whispers into her hair, and wraps his arms tighter around her.
//