A Room Made of Leaves
holy freaking crap, I wrote PWP... And on top of that, I'm actually posting PWP. I have no idea how my subconscious chooses what to insist upon.
*hides under a bush*
Title is based on "House Of Leaves" which is an incredible book by Mark. Z. Danielewski as well as an incredible song by Circa Survive.
Characters/pairing: Dean/Tessa, Sam, implied Sam/Dean
Summary/wibbling: Okay, so I was trying to write something with Dean/Tessa in it, but everything I tried didn't make sense. This was the only part I ended up liking, so, have the totally unintended porn scene all by itself. And then, while I was in that mindset the second part of this happened. I have no explanation for it either. This is not what I usually do...
Wordcount: 657
Warnings: Het sex. Smut. Sense, it will make absolutely none.
Spoilers/setting: specific spoilers for 2.1 and 4.15. I imagine this as being somewhere early-to-mid season 5, but it could be whenever.
Disclaimer: These beautiful people are not mine. (Thank God.)
Dean and Tessa fuck under a---enclosed in a---giant weeping willow tree at dawn.
It’s different, in a subtle way he can’t quite place, from every other fuck he’s ever had. It’s different in the way Tessa’s eyes, as she lays down on top of him, (and how did he ever let her talk him into to that?) look exactly like the moon. It’s different in the way her kiss tastes---the last time, he didn’t really notice, too distracted by the sudden cascade of memories, but the reaper tastes subtly dark and musky in a way not even a prostitute does, and yet more, far more, tastes like incredibly fresh water and (if this makes any sense at all) light and hope and the sky.
It’s different in how easily she opens for him, how utterly effortless it is to slide in. Oh yeah, he’s been with loose girls before, but this is different, this is like breathing, or some other automatic function he’d forgotten how to use until now.
And then for a while the feeling is exactly the same. Rocking and shuddering under her, her the smooth skin of her stomach pressed to his, her breasts cool and soft against him, and thrust thrust thrust oh GOD.
When he pulls out, shuddering and moaning, she puts her hand on his balls and teases gently and playfully and friggin’ laughing, until he’s up again, until he’s gasping and shaking and she puts her mouth on his dick and fuck fuck fuck he’s not even remotely capable of a coherent though anymore just--- Tessa.
When he comes, for the second time that night, she swallows it all, feeling the liquid life surge into her body, life that will only die inside of her. She’s never wished she were different, but right now, she almost does.
“Okay, enough of this,” Dean growls. He flips her over roughly---but gently---and begins attacking her nipples, holding her to the ground and caressing every inch of her with every inch of him. And she didn’t expect or plan on this, but...
It’s different in the sweet, sweet, sweet, dark scent when she comes. Shuddery. Whispering, “Dean...”
He’s spent, now, and it’s fully morning, strong winter light seeping in between the leaves of the willow tree. He wraps his arms around her, buries his face in her hair and breathes in that unfamiliar scent. He asks her something, but as soon as it’s out he can’t remember what it was, or her answer. He falls asleep within seconds, out like a light, out more deeply than he’s been in weeks-maybe-years, and when he wakes up, she’s gone, and his naked arms are wrapped around empty air.
***
Sam finds him while he's lying there, blinking himself to wakefulness.
“What the hell, Dean?” he asks, rather, demands. When Dean doesn’t reply he steamrolls on. “You go out, middle of the night, without leaving a note, I’m worrying my fucking brains out and in the meantime you’re... You're having sex under a willow tree?”
“What can I say?” Dean shrugs, knows it’s weak. “I’m irresistable.”
“Right.” Sam rolls his eyes. “Well, come on.”
Dean nods.
“And put some clothes on, for chrissakes.” Sam adds, turning away.
It’s one of those things that never really happened, but Dean secretly wants Sam to know that he still owns the rights to that particular thing that almost happened. Yes, he fucked Tessa in a tiny room outside the world made of weeping willow leaves, at dawn, and he would again, god would he. But just so Sam knows, (even if he doesn’t,) the only one he’d ever fuck on a night at the very end of summer, at the base of a mountain in West Virginia, with trees surrounding them and the stars above their heads, is Sam.
Okay?
He follows the younger man, the one he's shared his whole life with, away, and ignores the lump in his throat.