Fic: Our Afterlife 4/10 (In the Future 2)
Title: Our Afterlife 4/10
Author: Me
Spoilers: References Bloodlust
Disclaimer: Fan fic, nothing owned
Word count: 528 words
Notes: This is het, R, Sam/Lenore. Future fic. Unbeta'd. Continues from the previous "In the Future" series.
When Lenore finally stirs again it’s night; moonlight filters through the one open curtain. Rolling over she sees Sam resting against the windowsill.
She starts to speak but holds her tongue since she doesn’t actually know what to say.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and she can hear the waiver and gravel pitch of his voice. It doesn’t bode well for a calm quiet evening of just sex and “food”.
“No,” Lenore lies, swinging her feet over the side of the bed to stand up. A wobble but nothing dramatic. She regains her balance - mentally, physically - and wanders over to the window, like it’s an afterthought of her movement and not like she’s drawn there.
Moth to flame. Bug to a zapper.
“Are you?” All right? Hungry? Full of regrets?
“I’m fine.” So Sam can lie too.
They stand in silence for a few moments and Lenore can feel the night calling to her. It’s the dark and the crickets and the far away sounds of the highway and the closer whisper of animals filtering through the underbrush.
“You can go out if you want,” he murmurs, winding his large hands through her hair with tenderness and need. Go but stay his hands say.
She shakes her head.
“I’ll wait until we can go together.”
“You might get a little bored waiting. I’m not sure...” His voice fades from mild amusement to something more haunted and Lenore doesn’t like it one bit.
“You’ll figure it out Sam. You will. You’re just young, you need some time to adapt.” She thinks maybe this was the worse idea ever, in the history of wrong decisions a gold medal winner. If Sam doesn’t find a way to live the way she does...
She doesn’t even think that one through to it’s bloody and vicious end.
Lenore doesn’t want to return to the monstrous lifestyle she once had. She doesn’t want to be looking over her shoulder any more than she already does. She doesn’t want to be cleaning up Sam’s messes - the homicidal type; running no longer suits her.
Heaven (or thereabouts) help her - Lenore yearns to settle down.
But it won’t be with Sam if he’s unable to control to himself.
The silence stretches out and Sam eventually uses the hold in her hair to walk her over to the bed. She doesn’t resist or protest because she requires distraction.
“I don’t want to ruin your life,” Sam murmurs as he pulls her tee shirt off.
“More of a ruining of my afterlife,” she points out, sprawling back on the brick of a motel pillow behind her head.
“Our afterlife.”
“Very romantic there Sam.” Her voice is a sigh, her mind stomping over and over the salient points. “Very romantic my uncontrollable yearning for blood pet.”
He stiffens against her (and not in a very romantic way), pressing his face against her stomach. She pets his hair.
“Okay, I’ll come up with another nickname for you...”
“Lenore...”
“Really Sam, I’ll figure it out. This isn’t really my first brush with very fucked up shit.”
“Me either.”
“See? This is nothing compared to say, demon possession.”
“That was temporary.”
“Welcome to permanent.”
Author: Me
Spoilers: References Bloodlust
Disclaimer: Fan fic, nothing owned
Word count: 528 words
Notes: This is het, R, Sam/Lenore. Future fic. Unbeta'd. Continues from the previous "In the Future" series.
When Lenore finally stirs again it’s night; moonlight filters through the one open curtain. Rolling over she sees Sam resting against the windowsill.
She starts to speak but holds her tongue since she doesn’t actually know what to say.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, and she can hear the waiver and gravel pitch of his voice. It doesn’t bode well for a calm quiet evening of just sex and “food”.
“No,” Lenore lies, swinging her feet over the side of the bed to stand up. A wobble but nothing dramatic. She regains her balance - mentally, physically - and wanders over to the window, like it’s an afterthought of her movement and not like she’s drawn there.
Moth to flame. Bug to a zapper.
“Are you?” All right? Hungry? Full of regrets?
“I’m fine.” So Sam can lie too.
They stand in silence for a few moments and Lenore can feel the night calling to her. It’s the dark and the crickets and the far away sounds of the highway and the closer whisper of animals filtering through the underbrush.
“You can go out if you want,” he murmurs, winding his large hands through her hair with tenderness and need. Go but stay his hands say.
She shakes her head.
“I’ll wait until we can go together.”
“You might get a little bored waiting. I’m not sure...” His voice fades from mild amusement to something more haunted and Lenore doesn’t like it one bit.
“You’ll figure it out Sam. You will. You’re just young, you need some time to adapt.” She thinks maybe this was the worse idea ever, in the history of wrong decisions a gold medal winner. If Sam doesn’t find a way to live the way she does...
She doesn’t even think that one through to it’s bloody and vicious end.
Lenore doesn’t want to return to the monstrous lifestyle she once had. She doesn’t want to be looking over her shoulder any more than she already does. She doesn’t want to be cleaning up Sam’s messes - the homicidal type; running no longer suits her.
Heaven (or thereabouts) help her - Lenore yearns to settle down.
But it won’t be with Sam if he’s unable to control to himself.
The silence stretches out and Sam eventually uses the hold in her hair to walk her over to the bed. She doesn’t resist or protest because she requires distraction.
“I don’t want to ruin your life,” Sam murmurs as he pulls her tee shirt off.
“More of a ruining of my afterlife,” she points out, sprawling back on the brick of a motel pillow behind her head.
“Our afterlife.”
“Very romantic there Sam.” Her voice is a sigh, her mind stomping over and over the salient points. “Very romantic my uncontrollable yearning for blood pet.”
He stiffens against her (and not in a very romantic way), pressing his face against her stomach. She pets his hair.
“Okay, I’ll come up with another nickname for you...”
“Lenore...”
“Really Sam, I’ll figure it out. This isn’t really my first brush with very fucked up shit.”
“Me either.”
“See? This is nothing compared to say, demon possession.”
“That was temporary.”
“Welcome to permanent.”