SPN [Ficlet] : With Teeth
I come bearing a ficlet! Unrelated to everything else, too! Whee!
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With Teeth | Supernatural | NC-17
Sam/Lenore, Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/Lenore | 1520 words
He sees her in a haze of pain and she says I can help. Let me. He can’t tell her no, can’t tell her yes, just bleeds and aches and dies.
He wakes up. Dean’s there, wiping blood up, fingers deft and gentle on his face. How many? Dean asks. Too many, he replies, and closes his eyes, lets the throbbing in his head carry him off to sleep.
--
They’re in Oregon when she shows up at their door. Dean’s out, buying beer, hustling pool, picking up food and condoms and info on their newest hunt. He’s alone, in the motel room, crunching on aspirin and Oxyconton. Let me help you, she says. He stands there, door open, looking at her, and finally steps to one side.
She walks in, sits down, and says, I can help. If you let me, they won’t hurt. You’ll be able to control them, you’ll be strong. He listens, and when she’s done, he says, I don’t need to be strong. I just need to finish this. She leaves, and Dean comes back, and when he closes his eyes and takes Dean deep inside, deep as he can and never deep enough, he sees her, hears her offer.
--
The phone rings in a motel room in Minnesota. He answers, and she says, They’re getting worse. You won’t last much longer. Let me help. Dean’s on the other side of the room, listening, getting more worried with every second he just stands there, listening to her beg and plead and cry. It sounds like too many of his visions, too many horrors he’s lived through, him and Dean, and he hangs up. Wrong number, he says.
--
In Nebraska, he has a vision and doesn’t wake up for three days. When he sees her, the way her eyes talk for her, he sees Dean, sees Dean crying, burning his body, giving up and collapsing like an ancient star. Let me help, she says.
He nods.
--
Ohio. Dean’s off chasing a demon, and there’s a different one, a familiar one, standing at the motel room door when Sam opens it. Let me help, she says, and he invites her in without a second thought. He sits down, says, How? because he knows the mechanics but not the details, and she stands above him, runs hands through his hair. There are levels of dying, she says. And levels of belonging. Tell me what you need to finish this. He thinks of Dean, out chasing answers neither of them will ever find, and looks at her, her eyes, the way they seem to say she hates doing this but knows he needs it.
Everything, he says, because this is betrayal and he doesn’t do anything, not even treason, by halves. As far as I can go, as close as I can come. Everything.
She nods, takes his wrist and bites, gentle, licking the skin after, eyes darkening as she watches blood well to the surface. Three bites, she says. Three bites, each three days apart, in three different places. He nods, lets her suck the wound, closes his eyes and sways as he feels her drawing the blood away from him, out of him. He falls backwards on the bed, and she lets go, licks the wound to close it. Three days, she whispers in his ear, and already he can tell that she’s dead and disappearing, that he’s closer than before, that the people in the next room are fucking, that the Impala’s on its way back.
--
Three days, and she bites him on the inside of his thigh. He’s weak, been sleeping all the time, feeling life drain out of him, but the vision he had last night didn’t hurt, didn’t leave him comatose, and he thinks that if he had to, if he was forced to, he could survive a hunt right now. The night’s alive before she comes, but it glitters and beckons afterwards, and his gums ache with a new set of teeth coming in, ones that are sharp and keep catching on his tongue.
He thinks of Dean when she bites him, thinks of the taste of his brother’s cock, wonders how much sharper, how much more salty, more bitter, it will be now. As she draws more blood out of him, as she leaves him alone, he wonders if Dean will kill him.
He wonders what that would feel like.
--
Dean’s worried, but his visions have left him weak and gasping for breath for months, and this isn’t so different. He sees her in his dreams, her mournful eyes, and when he’s awake, looking out over a parking lot sparkling in twilight, she’s there, standing behind a tree. She’s on the outside, always on the outside, and he wants to go to her, feels something inside of him tugging him towards her. Help, she says, and he can read her lips, the shape of the word, but he can feel it inside of him as well, feel the vibration of her voice in his head as much as he can feel the rumble of Dean’s breath when Dean comes up behind him, holds him and kisses his shoulder, tells him to come back to bed.
--
The third bite. She uses his knife to cut a line across her collarbone, and she presses his lips to the blood, tells him, Eat. Drink. Let me help. He laps, cautious at first, but when the tang hits, when bitter metal floods down his throat, he sucks, eager, shifting his hold on her. He feels her fangs slide into his throat, feels her drinking, and he feels himself die, there, with her on his lap.
It’s only for a moment but it feels like forever, pain as his bones reknit, pain as his blood changes, pain as something inside of his head shifts and slots into place. He gasps, opens his eyes, and catches his breath. Hungry, he whispers, horror and joy in his voice. The pain is gone, a new pain is there, a stomach ache because he hasn’t eaten his entire life and needs to, feels it calling to him, to his new strength, to the change inside of him. I know, she says, and cups his cheek. But no humans. We do not eat humans.
We? Dean says, and he looks around her, sees Dean in the doorway, motionless and still. Sam? Lenore? What’s going on? Dean looks, and he sees the instant Dean realises, can feel the way Dean’s heartbeat changes, drops, speeds up.
Monster, he whispers, and Dean shakes his head, says, No, you’re not. You’re not. She looks at him, says, Come hunt with me, and Dean stands in the doorway. All three of them know she could move him if she wanted, but she stays on his lap, looks at Dean’s gesture. He needs to feed, she says, and Dean says, Then he can take it from me.
--
He feeds, he sleeps, he dreams. Cycles and death, circles and life, one big line that curls in on itself and never stops, never ends, always turns back, always keeps going around and around and around and around.
--
He’s careful, just like always, but with Dean’s cock in his mouth, it’s hard, so hard. Something in Dean is darker, darker than even the demon inside of his own body, and it calls to him, this darkness in Dean. It calls to him just like it calls to her, and when he’s done sucking Dean, he crawls over to her, opens his mouth and shares the taste of Dean with her, brother to son to mother, lover to lover to lover. He fucks her and Dean’s there, playing with her breasts, and when she comes, tight around him, she bites Dean, reopens old wounds, careful, always careful.
Dean’s told them he wants them to be what they are, now that they can be, the three of them in a place where no one bothers them, where no one wants to and no one will, not with the yellow-eyed demon gone. Dean wants to see them in all of their glory, strong and ruthless hunters, abiding by different rules, answering the demon inside of them, lines blurred. When Dean asks, time after time after time, they don’t say anything, not him, not her, just look at him and leave him alone while they go out and take down a deer, going back to Dean with blood on their lips, covering their hands, coat him in their sacrifice and then wash it away with their tongues, their tears.
--
She’s inside of them both, even as her cunt’s around Dean’s cock, her mouth around his own. She gave them life by giving him death, gave them hope by killing it, and he gave her himself in turn, just like Dean gave her both of them and took her in return. The three of them are bound by a thread made of blood, sex, and offering, and none of them are letting go.
Download the song
With Teeth | Supernatural | NC-17
Sam/Lenore, Sam/Dean, Sam/Dean/Lenore | 1520 words
He sees her in a haze of pain and she says I can help. Let me. He can’t tell her no, can’t tell her yes, just bleeds and aches and dies.
He wakes up. Dean’s there, wiping blood up, fingers deft and gentle on his face. How many? Dean asks. Too many, he replies, and closes his eyes, lets the throbbing in his head carry him off to sleep.
--
They’re in Oregon when she shows up at their door. Dean’s out, buying beer, hustling pool, picking up food and condoms and info on their newest hunt. He’s alone, in the motel room, crunching on aspirin and Oxyconton. Let me help you, she says. He stands there, door open, looking at her, and finally steps to one side.
She walks in, sits down, and says, I can help. If you let me, they won’t hurt. You’ll be able to control them, you’ll be strong. He listens, and when she’s done, he says, I don’t need to be strong. I just need to finish this. She leaves, and Dean comes back, and when he closes his eyes and takes Dean deep inside, deep as he can and never deep enough, he sees her, hears her offer.
--
The phone rings in a motel room in Minnesota. He answers, and she says, They’re getting worse. You won’t last much longer. Let me help. Dean’s on the other side of the room, listening, getting more worried with every second he just stands there, listening to her beg and plead and cry. It sounds like too many of his visions, too many horrors he’s lived through, him and Dean, and he hangs up. Wrong number, he says.
--
In Nebraska, he has a vision and doesn’t wake up for three days. When he sees her, the way her eyes talk for her, he sees Dean, sees Dean crying, burning his body, giving up and collapsing like an ancient star. Let me help, she says.
He nods.
--
Ohio. Dean’s off chasing a demon, and there’s a different one, a familiar one, standing at the motel room door when Sam opens it. Let me help, she says, and he invites her in without a second thought. He sits down, says, How? because he knows the mechanics but not the details, and she stands above him, runs hands through his hair. There are levels of dying, she says. And levels of belonging. Tell me what you need to finish this. He thinks of Dean, out chasing answers neither of them will ever find, and looks at her, her eyes, the way they seem to say she hates doing this but knows he needs it.
Everything, he says, because this is betrayal and he doesn’t do anything, not even treason, by halves. As far as I can go, as close as I can come. Everything.
She nods, takes his wrist and bites, gentle, licking the skin after, eyes darkening as she watches blood well to the surface. Three bites, she says. Three bites, each three days apart, in three different places. He nods, lets her suck the wound, closes his eyes and sways as he feels her drawing the blood away from him, out of him. He falls backwards on the bed, and she lets go, licks the wound to close it. Three days, she whispers in his ear, and already he can tell that she’s dead and disappearing, that he’s closer than before, that the people in the next room are fucking, that the Impala’s on its way back.
--
Three days, and she bites him on the inside of his thigh. He’s weak, been sleeping all the time, feeling life drain out of him, but the vision he had last night didn’t hurt, didn’t leave him comatose, and he thinks that if he had to, if he was forced to, he could survive a hunt right now. The night’s alive before she comes, but it glitters and beckons afterwards, and his gums ache with a new set of teeth coming in, ones that are sharp and keep catching on his tongue.
He thinks of Dean when she bites him, thinks of the taste of his brother’s cock, wonders how much sharper, how much more salty, more bitter, it will be now. As she draws more blood out of him, as she leaves him alone, he wonders if Dean will kill him.
He wonders what that would feel like.
--
Dean’s worried, but his visions have left him weak and gasping for breath for months, and this isn’t so different. He sees her in his dreams, her mournful eyes, and when he’s awake, looking out over a parking lot sparkling in twilight, she’s there, standing behind a tree. She’s on the outside, always on the outside, and he wants to go to her, feels something inside of him tugging him towards her. Help, she says, and he can read her lips, the shape of the word, but he can feel it inside of him as well, feel the vibration of her voice in his head as much as he can feel the rumble of Dean’s breath when Dean comes up behind him, holds him and kisses his shoulder, tells him to come back to bed.
--
The third bite. She uses his knife to cut a line across her collarbone, and she presses his lips to the blood, tells him, Eat. Drink. Let me help. He laps, cautious at first, but when the tang hits, when bitter metal floods down his throat, he sucks, eager, shifting his hold on her. He feels her fangs slide into his throat, feels her drinking, and he feels himself die, there, with her on his lap.
It’s only for a moment but it feels like forever, pain as his bones reknit, pain as his blood changes, pain as something inside of his head shifts and slots into place. He gasps, opens his eyes, and catches his breath. Hungry, he whispers, horror and joy in his voice. The pain is gone, a new pain is there, a stomach ache because he hasn’t eaten his entire life and needs to, feels it calling to him, to his new strength, to the change inside of him. I know, she says, and cups his cheek. But no humans. We do not eat humans.
We? Dean says, and he looks around her, sees Dean in the doorway, motionless and still. Sam? Lenore? What’s going on? Dean looks, and he sees the instant Dean realises, can feel the way Dean’s heartbeat changes, drops, speeds up.
Monster, he whispers, and Dean shakes his head, says, No, you’re not. You’re not. She looks at him, says, Come hunt with me, and Dean stands in the doorway. All three of them know she could move him if she wanted, but she stays on his lap, looks at Dean’s gesture. He needs to feed, she says, and Dean says, Then he can take it from me.
--
He feeds, he sleeps, he dreams. Cycles and death, circles and life, one big line that curls in on itself and never stops, never ends, always turns back, always keeps going around and around and around and around.
--
He’s careful, just like always, but with Dean’s cock in his mouth, it’s hard, so hard. Something in Dean is darker, darker than even the demon inside of his own body, and it calls to him, this darkness in Dean. It calls to him just like it calls to her, and when he’s done sucking Dean, he crawls over to her, opens his mouth and shares the taste of Dean with her, brother to son to mother, lover to lover to lover. He fucks her and Dean’s there, playing with her breasts, and when she comes, tight around him, she bites Dean, reopens old wounds, careful, always careful.
Dean’s told them he wants them to be what they are, now that they can be, the three of them in a place where no one bothers them, where no one wants to and no one will, not with the yellow-eyed demon gone. Dean wants to see them in all of their glory, strong and ruthless hunters, abiding by different rules, answering the demon inside of them, lines blurred. When Dean asks, time after time after time, they don’t say anything, not him, not her, just look at him and leave him alone while they go out and take down a deer, going back to Dean with blood on their lips, covering their hands, coat him in their sacrifice and then wash it away with their tongues, their tears.
--
She’s inside of them both, even as her cunt’s around Dean’s cock, her mouth around his own. She gave them life by giving him death, gave them hope by killing it, and he gave her himself in turn, just like Dean gave her both of them and took her in return. The three of them are bound by a thread made of blood, sex, and offering, and none of them are letting go.