"Razor-Wire Shrine" (Sam/Dean/Faith, NC-17)
Title: Razor-Wire Shrine
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Faith
Rating: NC-17. Very.
Word Count: ~1100
Notes: So once upon a time there was discussion of how crazy-hot Sam/Dean/Faith is (and also how messy sex = YUM). And lo, after the conversation, there was porn. Beta'd by nomelon.
Summary: Want, have, give, take, see who bends and see who breaks.
"What took you so long?" is what she asks first, every time. It's her only question.
Everything else, she doesn't need to ask for.
*
When they told her they were brothers, she exhaled a long thin curl of smoke and trailed the tip of her tongue over her red, red lips. Her teeth were white and sharp in the languid curl of a predator's smile. Embers, once banked, smoldered awake; Sam could see it in the hungry rise and fall of her breathing.
"Wicked," she said, and flicked her cigarette aside, cherry sizzling out in a pool of spilled beer. "Your place, mine, or the alley out back?"
*
Dean holds her arms, slim wrists caught hand in hand. She scrapes her nails along his palms, could get free if she wanted, but they like to play the game. His back to the off-color once-green wallpaper, her head between his legs. Turned the wrong way to suck him, and when he rocks, he leaves sticky trails in her unbound hair.
Sam holds her legs, leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on the silky flesh of her thighs. Pushes her wide open, as far as a human can, and she takes the manhandling like it's nothing and everything, eats it up, only burning hotter for him. She laughs, whiskey-and-cigarette rasp, and asks, "Is that the best you've got?"
She's still laughing when he licks her open, hot and messy, tongue stabbing deep, drinking her down mixed with the taste of his saliva. He can taste Dean there too, salty and slippery, beads of his spunk trickling slick-warm from her.
Faith stops laughing when he slides three fingers inside and rocks, sucks her clit and takes the titanium ring between his teeth. Shakes his head and pushes her wider, his shoulders fitting between her legs and her heels hard to his back.
She raises her voice and it sounds like laughter again, too alive to be human, when Dean rubs his cock along her cheek and sucks her fingers in his mouth, tongue lashing between each in turn.
*
Dean's a breast man. Give him a chance and he's an ass man, a legs man, a pussy fiend, and he loves a sultry mouth, too.
Breasts, though. Dean could spend hours sucking a woman's breast, full or small, dusky or berry-red.
And Sam? Sam likes to watch.
Faith's right breast almost fills Dean's hand, heavy and ripe, sweet with the burned-molasses and dark amber flavors of her. Dean's mouth is fixed over her left breast while he kneads the underside, his calluses abrading tender flesh. Sam can see, when Dean has to stop and breathe, the glint of pierced silver riding Dean's tongue and the heavy redness of his stubble burn on creamy-pale skin.
Dean's nose and cheeks are still shiny-wet from going down and drinking Sam out of her.
*
"What took you so long?"
She leans on the doorway, one arm above her, legs crossed at the ankle and one hand at the juncture of her thighs. "You boys know how to hunt, I'll give you that. How're you at being caught?"
Sam slides one arm around Dean's waist and watches her over the taut line of Dean's shoulder, the pulse in Dean's neck throbbing against his ear.
"Step inside and find out," Dean says, resting his head on Sam, not yielding. Tempting. Velvet tongues or bared claws? Her call.
She pushes away from the door and slinks to them, panther-like in her pacing. "Maybe I will."
*
She's come three times already tonight, once for him and once for Dean and once for herself, and Sam's letting them take a breather.
If he closes his eyes he can still see Dean taking her from behind, locked together, animal, Faith pinching and rolling her nipples and Dean thumbing the silver on her clit in time with his strokes.
Sam watches the languid, cat-like grace of her body in sleep alongside Dean's harder planes, fitting together in ways that make him want to break them open again.
The smell of sex is thicker than smoke and he can taste all three of them every time he breathes.
*
Lying sprawled on her back, one hand idly between her breasts, she smokes her way through four cigarettes and watches Sam straddle Dean's chest, fucking his mouth. Dean's eyes are rolled back in his head and Sam's toes are curled, his fingers knotted in the tangled sheets.
She rises up and kneels behind him, licking the crease of his ass when he shoots down Dean's throat.
While Dean fucks him, she smokes three more.
*
Her nails score fiery lines down Sam's back when he fills her; she can take all of him and still burn bright. He'll have red furrows on both sides tomorrow, rounded bruises at the small of his back from her heels, and she'll wear the shape of his hands in purple and blue.
Dean noses at the nape of her neck, whispering to her. "Look at you, feel you, so wet for us."
She's nowhere near worn down. Laughs, breath only a little ragged, and flicks her tongue over his temple. "What about you, huh?" She rolls her hips and Dean's cock slips, bumping the thin skin stretched tight around Sam.
They stop, shaking, nails biting into the skin over sharp bone and smooth curves.
Faith claws him playfully, her short nails sharp as they scrape his sides and his ass, teasing her way inside to finger him.
When he hisses she lights up, a dark and hungry gleam smoldering to life within her. "Could do you with a strap-on." She rocks up, down, up. "Want it?"
Dean growls.
"So you're the jealous type, huh?" She tries to turn and bite Dean's lip. "What if I did you instead?"
"Later." Sam noses her throat and thrusts deep. Dean doesn't back down and neither does Sam; they rock one against the other through her as Sam sets his teeth in her shoulder and fucks her hard.
Faith shimmies on his lap, her laugh breathless; she's rolling him tight and slick, wetter still for him. Them. "Kinky sons-a-bitches," she says. "Got more where that came from?"
Sam bares his teeth. "Can you take it?"
"Try me."
Sam lifts her with him, light as a feather and strong as braided leather, as he settles back on his heels, kneeling. She rides him with her head thrown back, hair clinging wetly to Dean's chest when he crowds in, catches her breasts, and lifts them for Sam to suck.
When Dean's fingers join Sam's cock in her cunt, stretching her open, Faith mewls and hisses, sounds like a cat in heat and she draws blood with her bite.
*
Both inside, Sam's cock to Dean's cock sheathed together, and no one moves. All they can do is shudder and breathe until they break.
*
"What took you so long?"
Sam signals the bartender for another shot and a beer. Dean drinks deeply of his own, hunter's dark gleam in his eye and the shape of his lips around the bottle. "Might ask you the same thing."
Pairing: Sam/Dean/Faith
Rating: NC-17. Very.
Word Count: ~1100
Notes: So once upon a time there was discussion of how crazy-hot Sam/Dean/Faith is (and also how messy sex = YUM). And lo, after the conversation, there was porn. Beta'd by nomelon.
Summary: Want, have, give, take, see who bends and see who breaks.
"What took you so long?" is what she asks first, every time. It's her only question.
Everything else, she doesn't need to ask for.
*
When they told her they were brothers, she exhaled a long thin curl of smoke and trailed the tip of her tongue over her red, red lips. Her teeth were white and sharp in the languid curl of a predator's smile. Embers, once banked, smoldered awake; Sam could see it in the hungry rise and fall of her breathing.
"Wicked," she said, and flicked her cigarette aside, cherry sizzling out in a pool of spilled beer. "Your place, mine, or the alley out back?"
*
Dean holds her arms, slim wrists caught hand in hand. She scrapes her nails along his palms, could get free if she wanted, but they like to play the game. His back to the off-color once-green wallpaper, her head between his legs. Turned the wrong way to suck him, and when he rocks, he leaves sticky trails in her unbound hair.
Sam holds her legs, leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises on the silky flesh of her thighs. Pushes her wide open, as far as a human can, and she takes the manhandling like it's nothing and everything, eats it up, only burning hotter for him. She laughs, whiskey-and-cigarette rasp, and asks, "Is that the best you've got?"
She's still laughing when he licks her open, hot and messy, tongue stabbing deep, drinking her down mixed with the taste of his saliva. He can taste Dean there too, salty and slippery, beads of his spunk trickling slick-warm from her.
Faith stops laughing when he slides three fingers inside and rocks, sucks her clit and takes the titanium ring between his teeth. Shakes his head and pushes her wider, his shoulders fitting between her legs and her heels hard to his back.
She raises her voice and it sounds like laughter again, too alive to be human, when Dean rubs his cock along her cheek and sucks her fingers in his mouth, tongue lashing between each in turn.
*
Dean's a breast man. Give him a chance and he's an ass man, a legs man, a pussy fiend, and he loves a sultry mouth, too.
Breasts, though. Dean could spend hours sucking a woman's breast, full or small, dusky or berry-red.
And Sam? Sam likes to watch.
Faith's right breast almost fills Dean's hand, heavy and ripe, sweet with the burned-molasses and dark amber flavors of her. Dean's mouth is fixed over her left breast while he kneads the underside, his calluses abrading tender flesh. Sam can see, when Dean has to stop and breathe, the glint of pierced silver riding Dean's tongue and the heavy redness of his stubble burn on creamy-pale skin.
Dean's nose and cheeks are still shiny-wet from going down and drinking Sam out of her.
*
"What took you so long?"
She leans on the doorway, one arm above her, legs crossed at the ankle and one hand at the juncture of her thighs. "You boys know how to hunt, I'll give you that. How're you at being caught?"
Sam slides one arm around Dean's waist and watches her over the taut line of Dean's shoulder, the pulse in Dean's neck throbbing against his ear.
"Step inside and find out," Dean says, resting his head on Sam, not yielding. Tempting. Velvet tongues or bared claws? Her call.
She pushes away from the door and slinks to them, panther-like in her pacing. "Maybe I will."
*
She's come three times already tonight, once for him and once for Dean and once for herself, and Sam's letting them take a breather.
If he closes his eyes he can still see Dean taking her from behind, locked together, animal, Faith pinching and rolling her nipples and Dean thumbing the silver on her clit in time with his strokes.
Sam watches the languid, cat-like grace of her body in sleep alongside Dean's harder planes, fitting together in ways that make him want to break them open again.
The smell of sex is thicker than smoke and he can taste all three of them every time he breathes.
*
Lying sprawled on her back, one hand idly between her breasts, she smokes her way through four cigarettes and watches Sam straddle Dean's chest, fucking his mouth. Dean's eyes are rolled back in his head and Sam's toes are curled, his fingers knotted in the tangled sheets.
She rises up and kneels behind him, licking the crease of his ass when he shoots down Dean's throat.
While Dean fucks him, she smokes three more.
*
Her nails score fiery lines down Sam's back when he fills her; she can take all of him and still burn bright. He'll have red furrows on both sides tomorrow, rounded bruises at the small of his back from her heels, and she'll wear the shape of his hands in purple and blue.
Dean noses at the nape of her neck, whispering to her. "Look at you, feel you, so wet for us."
She's nowhere near worn down. Laughs, breath only a little ragged, and flicks her tongue over his temple. "What about you, huh?" She rolls her hips and Dean's cock slips, bumping the thin skin stretched tight around Sam.
They stop, shaking, nails biting into the skin over sharp bone and smooth curves.
Faith claws him playfully, her short nails sharp as they scrape his sides and his ass, teasing her way inside to finger him.
When he hisses she lights up, a dark and hungry gleam smoldering to life within her. "Could do you with a strap-on." She rocks up, down, up. "Want it?"
Dean growls.
"So you're the jealous type, huh?" She tries to turn and bite Dean's lip. "What if I did you instead?"
"Later." Sam noses her throat and thrusts deep. Dean doesn't back down and neither does Sam; they rock one against the other through her as Sam sets his teeth in her shoulder and fucks her hard.
Faith shimmies on his lap, her laugh breathless; she's rolling him tight and slick, wetter still for him. Them. "Kinky sons-a-bitches," she says. "Got more where that came from?"
Sam bares his teeth. "Can you take it?"
"Try me."
Sam lifts her with him, light as a feather and strong as braided leather, as he settles back on his heels, kneeling. She rides him with her head thrown back, hair clinging wetly to Dean's chest when he crowds in, catches her breasts, and lifts them for Sam to suck.
When Dean's fingers join Sam's cock in her cunt, stretching her open, Faith mewls and hisses, sounds like a cat in heat and she draws blood with her bite.
*
Both inside, Sam's cock to Dean's cock sheathed together, and no one moves. All they can do is shudder and breathe until they break.
*
"What took you so long?"
Sam signals the bartender for another shot and a beer. Dean drinks deeply of his own, hunter's dark gleam in his eye and the shape of his lips around the bottle. "Might ask you the same thing."