[SPN] FIC: "Trade," Sam/Bela, NC17
Title: Trade
Pairing: Sam/Bela
Rating: NC17
Summary: She wants him, and he owes her.
Warnings: none
Notes: Yet another one for the Porn Battle V: The Fifth Dimension, for the prompt "means to an end." Thanks to hegemony and regala_electra! 2400 words.
***
Dean's been gone for two months when she calls.
"Let me guess," Sam says. "You're in town, and you want to catch up."
"Mm," she replies, and he can hear her smirk over the phone. "As lovely as that would be, that's not why I'm calling. But I have found a bit of magic that I thought would interest you, if you'd like to take a look."
"I'm not one of your lonely old women with deep pockets, Bela."
"I never said you were. In any case, little old ladies aren't interested in things like protection fetishes-or scrying rituals that might include one."
Sam stops short, bites the inside of his cheek. A powerful protective talisman, with the right kind of spellwork...he could find Dean, pinpoint his location in Hell and start to work on getting him back. "Where are you?"
"14th and Carroll. Coffeeshop. Do hurry, they close in half an hour."
She's nowhere to be seen when he gets there, but there's a table with an abandoned teacup, and the dregs are still warm. He sits down facing the front door-the chair is warm, too.
After a minute an arm brushes past him, bumps his left shoulder, and without thinking about it he clamps a hand around the slender wrist. "Where did you go?"
"I'll need that back, if you don't mind," Bela says tartly, pulling away from the grip of his fingers, rubbing her wrist as she sits down. "I was in the ladies', where did you think I'd gone?"
Sam sits back, nods at the leather satchel in her lap. "Do you have it?"
"Of course I have it. Want to see?" She flips open the top of her bag, pulls out a small bundle of black fabric and slides it across the table.
He can feel the power in the object even before he unwraps it, the energy flowing into his fingertips through the cloth.
It's a small figurine made of cloudy lavender stone, with a polished black gem set in its chest. "Oh," he says, gently stroking the stone, feeling its warmth.
"Amethyst," Bela says, "with a black diamond. Four carats."
Pressing his lips together, he asks, "How much?"
She smirks. "We shouldn't talk about that kind of money here."
Which means it's much more than he could hope to have. He stands up anyway, jangling the Impala's keys in his pocket. "I'll drive," he says, and they're out the door as soon as she's carefully rewrapped the fetish and tucked it into her purse.
Bela's quiet on the ride back to the motel, probably because Sam is; Dean was the one who couldn't keep his mouth shut around her, and Sam doesn't really talk much to anyone now apart from casework.
"How much?" he repeats as she shuts the door of the room behind her. He drops to the floor to dig around in his duffel, looking for the cash he has hidden in a flask with a false bottom. "I've got six here, but I can get more."
"I could fence just the diamond for fifty." She sits down on one of the beds-two queens still, like he expects Dean to just walk back into his life at any moment and he wants to be prepared-and primly crosses her ankles. "How much can you shake loose? Ten, maybe fifteen?"
"The car's worth twenty-five." Sam clenches his eyes shut, thinks of how furious Dean would be if that woman got her hands on the Impala, but what can he do?
She clucks her tongue at him. "I don't want your brother's car, Sam. And don't make that face, you'll get wrinkles."
He makes a frustrated noise high in his throat. "I can't get together that much money, and you know it. Why the hell are you even here?"
"Because you said you were driving, mostly."
Sam hopes the baleful look he shoots up at her clearly communicates how very badly he wants to break his hand on her pleasant, good-humored face.
"And I wouldn't have told you about the artifact if I weren't willing to deal for it," she finishes.
He blinks. "Deal?"
"Dean was a nice bloke." Her eyes soften, her hair falling into her face. "You're not the only one who's sorry he's gone."
"Don't you say a word to me about him." His grip on the handle of his bag tightens, his knuckles turning white. "Don't you dare."
"Fine," she says. "Then I'm willing to let you borrow the figure until the next new moon, for absolutely no reason at all."
"Fine," he echoes. "Wait, what?"
"A lease, if you like. Give me the six thousand you've got, I'll let you borrow the fetish for a few weeks, and then you bring it back to me in New York, yeah?"
He stands up, rubbing at his temples. "I don't believe this."
"What's to believe? I just made you an offer."
"An offer that's too good to be true! What-damn it, Bela."
"If it's too good, then I'll take the difference in trade." She gets to her feet and crosses the room to stand beside him, touches his arm. "Sam, I want to help you."
He thinks of all the times he's heard those words: thinks of Ruby, dragged out of the body Sam had almost begun to think of as hers by hellhounds before she ever got around to disclosing whatever magical secret she thought she knew for saving Dean. Thinks of Jo, who almost died in Philadelphia. Thinks of the second time they met Bela, of how she fucked them over and ruined their investigation and then how handsomely she paid for the privilege.
And then she presses the little amethyst figurine into his hand, and all he can think is Dean.
"Deal," Sam says, turning to face her. He hands her the flask with the cash, and leaves his hand extended, so they can shake on it.
She pockets the cash, takes his hand, and says, "I think we can do better than that." Then she wraps her other hand around the back of his neck, rises to her tiptoes, and kisses him.
Her mouth is hot on his and she tastes like the jasmine tea she was drinking at the coffeeshop. It's a good kiss.
He hasn't kissed a woman since Madison died, and suddenly he realizes that he's missed it.
When she breaks away, he reaches up to brush her hair away from her eyes. "What are you doing?" he asks, eyes fixed on the wet red curve of her mouth.
"Taking it in trade," she murmurs, and surges forward to meet his mouth again.
Her eyes fly open in surprise when all she meets is air.
He takes a hasty step backward. "Christo."
She folds her arms across her chest, looking affronted. "I'm not a demon. And it would be rather late for that if I were."
Honestly? Sam thinks it's already pretty damn late. "Yeah, well, I'm not a whore."
She smiles like she's genuinely amused, and pats the pocket where she stowed the flask. "Money's going the wrong way for that."
He looks down at the carved stone still in his hand, blinking, wondering what the hell she's doing, trying to figure out her angle. "I'm not stupid, either."
"I know." She cocks her head at him, looks for a second like she's going to reach for him, but then she appears to think better of it. She sits back down on the bed instead, sheds her jacket, and starts unbuttoning her shirt.
"The hell are you doing!?"
"And you just said that you weren't stupid." She takes off the shirt, reaches for the clasp at the front of her bra. "Sam."
His eyes lock with hers as she shrugs off the bra, and he takes an inadvertent step forward. "This is insane."
She smiles. "Perhaps." And then she reaches out, hooks her fingers in his belt loops, and pulls him to her.
Her hands are cool on his stomach and hips, and one of her legs curls around the back of his thigh, urging him down to cover her. Her lips burn through his shirt, touching his chest, his bicep, the jut of his collarbone.
"Touch me," Bela breathes against his throat, catching one of his hands and bringing it to her chest, arching as it covers one white breast. "Please."
"I don't-" The warm flesh of her breast is soft in his hand, her nipple jutting hard against his palm, and her eyes are dark and liquid with desire.
She wants him. She wants him, and he owes her.
He takes a measured, deliberate step back, turns around to put the figurine in his duffel. Takes off his pearlsnap and pulls off his undershirt as he turns to face her again.
She murmurs, "Sam," and then he's on her, pushing her back onto the cheap chintz bedspread, licking into her mouth.
Her legs fall open, making room for him between her thighs, and her hands flutter over his back before sliding down, tracing his ribs and then slipping possessively under his waistband.
"I want you naked," she says into the curve of his throat, her hands wandering from his ass to his belt buckle.
"Yeah, okay," he replies, getting a hand under him to help, the back of his wrist brushing the heat between her legs.
Bela makes a tiny sound, hips hitching up, and then wriggles out from under him and pushes insistently at his shoulder until he turns over. She undoes his jeans, pushes them down his thighs with his boxers, and then sits back on her heels and looks at him, hungry, like she can't decide where to touch first. "Oh," she breathes, fingertips skimming the skin of his hips and thighs, framed by the V of his unbuttoned jeans.
He feels his chest flushing, and his dick twitches, filling under her gaze.
She bats his hands away when he reaches for her, smiling, and bends over his chest. Her hair trails over his skin as she licks delicately at his nipple.
God, the woman's a tease, mapping his chest with her teeth and tongue, softly stroking the insides of his thighs as she drags his jeans all the way off. All he can do is prop himself up on his elbows and watch.
He cries out when she finally sucks the head of his cock into her mouth, and she presses her fingers against his hipbone to shush him, humming low in her throat. "Fuck, Bela," he moans as she goes down, watching her lips meet her fingers where they're wrapped around the base, and her eyes flick upwards to meet his, amused.
"Yes?" she asks after she comes up for air. She curls her tongue against the sweet spot behind the head of his dick, looks up at him expectantly.
"Let me touch you," he murmurs, twitching his fingers against the bedspread, shivering as her saliva dries on his skin. "Please."
She laughs, quiet and filthy. "That's what a girl likes to hear," she says, and she crawls up the bed to seek his mouth again, curled against his side.
The taste of his precome is sharp and slick on her lips as he attacks the fly of her jeans. His breath catches when he finds she isn't wearing anything under them, just a little gasp that turns into a moan when he gets two fingers into her slit, slipping inside her as he thumbs at her clit.
"Ah," she sighs, rolling her hips against his hand, shimmying out of her pants. He hears the telltale crinkling of a condom packet, arches as she puts it on him.
She gently tugs his hand out of her cunt and throws a leg over his hips; she grips his cock again, fumbles for a moment, and then he's inside her, surrounded by the tight heat of her as she rocks backward.
He curls one hand around the back of her neck, rests the other on the curve of her hip as she rides him. They're both panting as they move together, Bela making a soft, startled little sound whenever he hits her just right, her eyes all pupil, unfocused. "God," she whimpers. "Wanted so much." Her head drops back as she ripples around his cock, her mouth working soundlessly as she comes, and Sam groans.
Her eyes snap back to him, and she moves her hands to his chest from where they're braced on the bed, scratching her nails over his nipples, pressing her fingertips against a bruise she sucked into his collarbone earlier.
"Come for me," she says, like it's an order, grinding down hard, taking him even deeper.
"Yeah," he gasps. He digs his fingers into the flesh of her hip as he pulses inside her, eyes squeezed shut, battered by pleasure.
She kisses him when he opens his eyes again. Gently, he rolls her off him and goes to ditch the condom in the bathroom trash.
"I'm cold," she complains as he glances at himself in the mirror.
"There are blankets," he says. She rustles the covers as she slides under them, the top sheet demurely covering her breasts.
Her eyes follow him across the room as he salts the door, the window.
He spoons up behind her when he gets into bed, kisses the nape of her neck. Slips a hand between her thighs, seeking the heat of her again.
She shifts, looking back over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow in question.
"I haven't made good on that deal yet," he says.
He closes his eyes when she closes the distance between their mouths.
Sam wakes up before dawn and silently slips out of bed. He packs his gear, makes sure that the fetish is carefully swaddled in cloth and tucked into his bag. He debates with himself for a minute before he takes his six thousand back from her jacket; it's small change to her, but it's all the money he has, except for a single bogus card and the fourteen dollars in his wallet.
She's still sleeping, wrapped naked in the sheets with her lips curled in a dreamy smile, when he walks out.
He doesn't stop until he's two states away, and he doesn't check the arsenal until he's knee-deep in the next case.
Somehow it doesn't surprise him when he finds the Colt gone.
***
Oh hey, look at that, it's done! :D
Pairing: Sam/Bela
Rating: NC17
Summary: She wants him, and he owes her.
Warnings: none
Notes: Yet another one for the Porn Battle V: The Fifth Dimension, for the prompt "means to an end." Thanks to hegemony and regala_electra! 2400 words.
***
Dean's been gone for two months when she calls.
"Let me guess," Sam says. "You're in town, and you want to catch up."
"Mm," she replies, and he can hear her smirk over the phone. "As lovely as that would be, that's not why I'm calling. But I have found a bit of magic that I thought would interest you, if you'd like to take a look."
"I'm not one of your lonely old women with deep pockets, Bela."
"I never said you were. In any case, little old ladies aren't interested in things like protection fetishes-or scrying rituals that might include one."
Sam stops short, bites the inside of his cheek. A powerful protective talisman, with the right kind of spellwork...he could find Dean, pinpoint his location in Hell and start to work on getting him back. "Where are you?"
"14th and Carroll. Coffeeshop. Do hurry, they close in half an hour."
She's nowhere to be seen when he gets there, but there's a table with an abandoned teacup, and the dregs are still warm. He sits down facing the front door-the chair is warm, too.
After a minute an arm brushes past him, bumps his left shoulder, and without thinking about it he clamps a hand around the slender wrist. "Where did you go?"
"I'll need that back, if you don't mind," Bela says tartly, pulling away from the grip of his fingers, rubbing her wrist as she sits down. "I was in the ladies', where did you think I'd gone?"
Sam sits back, nods at the leather satchel in her lap. "Do you have it?"
"Of course I have it. Want to see?" She flips open the top of her bag, pulls out a small bundle of black fabric and slides it across the table.
He can feel the power in the object even before he unwraps it, the energy flowing into his fingertips through the cloth.
It's a small figurine made of cloudy lavender stone, with a polished black gem set in its chest. "Oh," he says, gently stroking the stone, feeling its warmth.
"Amethyst," Bela says, "with a black diamond. Four carats."
Pressing his lips together, he asks, "How much?"
She smirks. "We shouldn't talk about that kind of money here."
Which means it's much more than he could hope to have. He stands up anyway, jangling the Impala's keys in his pocket. "I'll drive," he says, and they're out the door as soon as she's carefully rewrapped the fetish and tucked it into her purse.
Bela's quiet on the ride back to the motel, probably because Sam is; Dean was the one who couldn't keep his mouth shut around her, and Sam doesn't really talk much to anyone now apart from casework.
"How much?" he repeats as she shuts the door of the room behind her. He drops to the floor to dig around in his duffel, looking for the cash he has hidden in a flask with a false bottom. "I've got six here, but I can get more."
"I could fence just the diamond for fifty." She sits down on one of the beds-two queens still, like he expects Dean to just walk back into his life at any moment and he wants to be prepared-and primly crosses her ankles. "How much can you shake loose? Ten, maybe fifteen?"
"The car's worth twenty-five." Sam clenches his eyes shut, thinks of how furious Dean would be if that woman got her hands on the Impala, but what can he do?
She clucks her tongue at him. "I don't want your brother's car, Sam. And don't make that face, you'll get wrinkles."
He makes a frustrated noise high in his throat. "I can't get together that much money, and you know it. Why the hell are you even here?"
"Because you said you were driving, mostly."
Sam hopes the baleful look he shoots up at her clearly communicates how very badly he wants to break his hand on her pleasant, good-humored face.
"And I wouldn't have told you about the artifact if I weren't willing to deal for it," she finishes.
He blinks. "Deal?"
"Dean was a nice bloke." Her eyes soften, her hair falling into her face. "You're not the only one who's sorry he's gone."
"Don't you say a word to me about him." His grip on the handle of his bag tightens, his knuckles turning white. "Don't you dare."
"Fine," she says. "Then I'm willing to let you borrow the figure until the next new moon, for absolutely no reason at all."
"Fine," he echoes. "Wait, what?"
"A lease, if you like. Give me the six thousand you've got, I'll let you borrow the fetish for a few weeks, and then you bring it back to me in New York, yeah?"
He stands up, rubbing at his temples. "I don't believe this."
"What's to believe? I just made you an offer."
"An offer that's too good to be true! What-damn it, Bela."
"If it's too good, then I'll take the difference in trade." She gets to her feet and crosses the room to stand beside him, touches his arm. "Sam, I want to help you."
He thinks of all the times he's heard those words: thinks of Ruby, dragged out of the body Sam had almost begun to think of as hers by hellhounds before she ever got around to disclosing whatever magical secret she thought she knew for saving Dean. Thinks of Jo, who almost died in Philadelphia. Thinks of the second time they met Bela, of how she fucked them over and ruined their investigation and then how handsomely she paid for the privilege.
And then she presses the little amethyst figurine into his hand, and all he can think is Dean.
"Deal," Sam says, turning to face her. He hands her the flask with the cash, and leaves his hand extended, so they can shake on it.
She pockets the cash, takes his hand, and says, "I think we can do better than that." Then she wraps her other hand around the back of his neck, rises to her tiptoes, and kisses him.
Her mouth is hot on his and she tastes like the jasmine tea she was drinking at the coffeeshop. It's a good kiss.
He hasn't kissed a woman since Madison died, and suddenly he realizes that he's missed it.
When she breaks away, he reaches up to brush her hair away from her eyes. "What are you doing?" he asks, eyes fixed on the wet red curve of her mouth.
"Taking it in trade," she murmurs, and surges forward to meet his mouth again.
Her eyes fly open in surprise when all she meets is air.
He takes a hasty step backward. "Christo."
She folds her arms across her chest, looking affronted. "I'm not a demon. And it would be rather late for that if I were."
Honestly? Sam thinks it's already pretty damn late. "Yeah, well, I'm not a whore."
She smiles like she's genuinely amused, and pats the pocket where she stowed the flask. "Money's going the wrong way for that."
He looks down at the carved stone still in his hand, blinking, wondering what the hell she's doing, trying to figure out her angle. "I'm not stupid, either."
"I know." She cocks her head at him, looks for a second like she's going to reach for him, but then she appears to think better of it. She sits back down on the bed instead, sheds her jacket, and starts unbuttoning her shirt.
"The hell are you doing!?"
"And you just said that you weren't stupid." She takes off the shirt, reaches for the clasp at the front of her bra. "Sam."
His eyes lock with hers as she shrugs off the bra, and he takes an inadvertent step forward. "This is insane."
She smiles. "Perhaps." And then she reaches out, hooks her fingers in his belt loops, and pulls him to her.
Her hands are cool on his stomach and hips, and one of her legs curls around the back of his thigh, urging him down to cover her. Her lips burn through his shirt, touching his chest, his bicep, the jut of his collarbone.
"Touch me," Bela breathes against his throat, catching one of his hands and bringing it to her chest, arching as it covers one white breast. "Please."
"I don't-" The warm flesh of her breast is soft in his hand, her nipple jutting hard against his palm, and her eyes are dark and liquid with desire.
She wants him. She wants him, and he owes her.
He takes a measured, deliberate step back, turns around to put the figurine in his duffel. Takes off his pearlsnap and pulls off his undershirt as he turns to face her again.
She murmurs, "Sam," and then he's on her, pushing her back onto the cheap chintz bedspread, licking into her mouth.
Her legs fall open, making room for him between her thighs, and her hands flutter over his back before sliding down, tracing his ribs and then slipping possessively under his waistband.
"I want you naked," she says into the curve of his throat, her hands wandering from his ass to his belt buckle.
"Yeah, okay," he replies, getting a hand under him to help, the back of his wrist brushing the heat between her legs.
Bela makes a tiny sound, hips hitching up, and then wriggles out from under him and pushes insistently at his shoulder until he turns over. She undoes his jeans, pushes them down his thighs with his boxers, and then sits back on her heels and looks at him, hungry, like she can't decide where to touch first. "Oh," she breathes, fingertips skimming the skin of his hips and thighs, framed by the V of his unbuttoned jeans.
He feels his chest flushing, and his dick twitches, filling under her gaze.
She bats his hands away when he reaches for her, smiling, and bends over his chest. Her hair trails over his skin as she licks delicately at his nipple.
God, the woman's a tease, mapping his chest with her teeth and tongue, softly stroking the insides of his thighs as she drags his jeans all the way off. All he can do is prop himself up on his elbows and watch.
He cries out when she finally sucks the head of his cock into her mouth, and she presses her fingers against his hipbone to shush him, humming low in her throat. "Fuck, Bela," he moans as she goes down, watching her lips meet her fingers where they're wrapped around the base, and her eyes flick upwards to meet his, amused.
"Yes?" she asks after she comes up for air. She curls her tongue against the sweet spot behind the head of his dick, looks up at him expectantly.
"Let me touch you," he murmurs, twitching his fingers against the bedspread, shivering as her saliva dries on his skin. "Please."
She laughs, quiet and filthy. "That's what a girl likes to hear," she says, and she crawls up the bed to seek his mouth again, curled against his side.
The taste of his precome is sharp and slick on her lips as he attacks the fly of her jeans. His breath catches when he finds she isn't wearing anything under them, just a little gasp that turns into a moan when he gets two fingers into her slit, slipping inside her as he thumbs at her clit.
"Ah," she sighs, rolling her hips against his hand, shimmying out of her pants. He hears the telltale crinkling of a condom packet, arches as she puts it on him.
She gently tugs his hand out of her cunt and throws a leg over his hips; she grips his cock again, fumbles for a moment, and then he's inside her, surrounded by the tight heat of her as she rocks backward.
He curls one hand around the back of her neck, rests the other on the curve of her hip as she rides him. They're both panting as they move together, Bela making a soft, startled little sound whenever he hits her just right, her eyes all pupil, unfocused. "God," she whimpers. "Wanted so much." Her head drops back as she ripples around his cock, her mouth working soundlessly as she comes, and Sam groans.
Her eyes snap back to him, and she moves her hands to his chest from where they're braced on the bed, scratching her nails over his nipples, pressing her fingertips against a bruise she sucked into his collarbone earlier.
"Come for me," she says, like it's an order, grinding down hard, taking him even deeper.
"Yeah," he gasps. He digs his fingers into the flesh of her hip as he pulses inside her, eyes squeezed shut, battered by pleasure.
She kisses him when he opens his eyes again. Gently, he rolls her off him and goes to ditch the condom in the bathroom trash.
"I'm cold," she complains as he glances at himself in the mirror.
"There are blankets," he says. She rustles the covers as she slides under them, the top sheet demurely covering her breasts.
Her eyes follow him across the room as he salts the door, the window.
He spoons up behind her when he gets into bed, kisses the nape of her neck. Slips a hand between her thighs, seeking the heat of her again.
She shifts, looking back over her shoulder, arching an eyebrow in question.
"I haven't made good on that deal yet," he says.
He closes his eyes when she closes the distance between their mouths.
Sam wakes up before dawn and silently slips out of bed. He packs his gear, makes sure that the fetish is carefully swaddled in cloth and tucked into his bag. He debates with himself for a minute before he takes his six thousand back from her jacket; it's small change to her, but it's all the money he has, except for a single bogus card and the fourteen dollars in his wallet.
She's still sleeping, wrapped naked in the sheets with her lips curled in a dreamy smile, when he walks out.
He doesn't stop until he's two states away, and he doesn't check the arsenal until he's knee-deep in the next case.
Somehow it doesn't surprise him when he finds the Colt gone.
***
Oh hey, look at that, it's done! :D