fic: Intermission
Intermission
[Sam/Faith, R, 500words]
Stealth crossover with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Because that's how I roll. This is my fic for spnmysteryyears, prompt #8: sweaty, breathless, after-sex talk. I'ts not something Sam's had much of a chance to experience, and he's planning on just shutting up and enjoying it.
“You can’t smoke in here,” he tells her, his chest pressed against her bare breasts as he reaches across her to put her cigarette on the nightstand.
“No problem,” she says, and Sam can’t tear his eyes from her mouth, her lipstick smeared over her lips so they’re the color of bruised cherries. She catches him looking and smiles, all sharp edges and teeth, but she inhales sharply when Sam licks inside her mouth, chasing the taste of bourbon and smoke.
“It’s called Harlot,” she says when she gets mouth back. “Kinda appropriate, isn’t it?” The sheet pools in her lap, and she sits upright against the headboard, unmindful of the way the breeze flows in from the window, hardening her uncovered nipples into small pink peaks. Her hair is the darkest shade of brown, and hangs over her shoulder in a loose, carefree style. He doesn’t think she’s brushed it a while, but it looks good on her - the whole ‘I don’t give a damn’ shtick.
He pushes a thigh between her legs, and he can feel her slick smear across his skin. She comes again with her own fingers at her clit, rocking down against Sam’s thigh. When she relaxes, a laugh tumbling past her lips, Sam doesn’t move his body from where it covers hers.
//\\
“What about this one?”
“I, uh, had an accident.”
“With a machete?”
“Something like that.” Sam pauses, letting his fingers run over the pale expanse of her stomach. “What about this one, right here?”
She goes quiet. “Oh, that one’s my favorite. There was this thing, one time, and I kinda got stabbed, a little. No big.” She sees him recoil, drawing his fingers away from the small white line bisecting her stomach, just below her belly button. Great.
“It’s okay. I’m five by five, see?”
//\\
“I should go, sugar." It’s late, and her mascara’s starting to run, leaving black shadows under her eyes. She taps his shoulder, smirking as she spins out the word “sugar” into a sarcastic drawl. “Unless you feelin’ up to going another round.” She wiggles her hips, and bumps her thigh next to Sam’s.
Sam groans. “You’re, like, superhuman. I can’t.”
She reaches for his cock, just to prove him wrong. When she puts her mouth on him, it doesn’t take long for the flesh to swell, and she sinks down on him with his taste coating her mouth.
She leaves after she’s worn him out, after he falls into the blackest sleep he’s known since he started sleeping without the rasp of his brother’s breathing in the opposite bed.
She leaves a note though, something short and brief, and it makes him laugh a little to himself. It’s written in an untidy and feminine scrawl, the letters loud and thick.
Sam,
Can’t stay. Violence to be done. Catch you on the flip side,
F.
[Sam/Faith, R, 500words]
Stealth crossover with Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Because that's how I roll. This is my fic for spnmysteryyears, prompt #8: sweaty, breathless, after-sex talk. I'ts not something Sam's had much of a chance to experience, and he's planning on just shutting up and enjoying it.
“You can’t smoke in here,” he tells her, his chest pressed against her bare breasts as he reaches across her to put her cigarette on the nightstand.
“No problem,” she says, and Sam can’t tear his eyes from her mouth, her lipstick smeared over her lips so they’re the color of bruised cherries. She catches him looking and smiles, all sharp edges and teeth, but she inhales sharply when Sam licks inside her mouth, chasing the taste of bourbon and smoke.
“It’s called Harlot,” she says when she gets mouth back. “Kinda appropriate, isn’t it?” The sheet pools in her lap, and she sits upright against the headboard, unmindful of the way the breeze flows in from the window, hardening her uncovered nipples into small pink peaks. Her hair is the darkest shade of brown, and hangs over her shoulder in a loose, carefree style. He doesn’t think she’s brushed it a while, but it looks good on her - the whole ‘I don’t give a damn’ shtick.
He pushes a thigh between her legs, and he can feel her slick smear across his skin. She comes again with her own fingers at her clit, rocking down against Sam’s thigh. When she relaxes, a laugh tumbling past her lips, Sam doesn’t move his body from where it covers hers.
//\\
“What about this one?”
“I, uh, had an accident.”
“With a machete?”
“Something like that.” Sam pauses, letting his fingers run over the pale expanse of her stomach. “What about this one, right here?”
She goes quiet. “Oh, that one’s my favorite. There was this thing, one time, and I kinda got stabbed, a little. No big.” She sees him recoil, drawing his fingers away from the small white line bisecting her stomach, just below her belly button. Great.
“It’s okay. I’m five by five, see?”
//\\
“I should go, sugar." It’s late, and her mascara’s starting to run, leaving black shadows under her eyes. She taps his shoulder, smirking as she spins out the word “sugar” into a sarcastic drawl. “Unless you feelin’ up to going another round.” She wiggles her hips, and bumps her thigh next to Sam’s.
Sam groans. “You’re, like, superhuman. I can’t.”
She reaches for his cock, just to prove him wrong. When she puts her mouth on him, it doesn’t take long for the flesh to swell, and she sinks down on him with his taste coating her mouth.
She leaves after she’s worn him out, after he falls into the blackest sleep he’s known since he started sleeping without the rasp of his brother’s breathing in the opposite bed.
She leaves a note though, something short and brief, and it makes him laugh a little to himself. It’s written in an untidy and feminine scrawl, the letters loud and thick.
Sam,
Can’t stay. Violence to be done. Catch you on the flip side,
F.