Sam/Lenore- Like A Building Watch it Burn
Title: Like a Building, Watch it Burn
Author: Liv darkamgic_luvr
Rating: NC-17
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Green // Sam Winchester/Lenore
Spoilers: Season 2. Bloodlust and the finale.
Warnings: Sex
Author's Notes: I don’t know if I have anything to say...except by LJ standards I’m not allowed to read this. I'm starting something here. I've always wanted to write Sam/Lenore, and now I am. This will be the first part of my Sam/Lenore series- Memento Mori.
Author's Note again: Would I get fucked to hell if I didn't put down 'adult content'?
It had been a long time since I went to someone else for comfort. I don’t even know how she knew I needed it, or how she found me. It was probably easy enough for her. She knew before even looking at me that I was bitter and angry. She sat down next to me at the bar and ordered a drink, not making any eye contact with me. I stared at her, something that I was becoming accustomed to do nowadays. She didn’t look at me.
“Trying to remember me, Sam?” she asked, running her index finger over the rim of her glass.
“No,” I said. “No, not you.” She looked up at me after that. Her eyes were soft, just like I remembered them. She looked at me with a question on her lips. It was the same question everybody’d been asking me. My heart pounded in my chest, because I didn’t want to answer it. The moonlight shining in from the broken window next to where I was sitting was bouncing off her face, touching her hair just right.
“So it’s true.” She wasn’t asking, she didn’t need an answer, she knew it. She knew it from my posture, how I was drinking, how my eyes darkened. She could tell.
She got me into my motel room without my protest and somehow I ended up with my clothes on the floor and on my back. She pressed my shoulders into the dirty mattress, that had been slept on too many times to count and had too many slips to make it clean. Her hair was longer than I had remembered, the way it swept across my chest, the scares from my at-home botch patch ups. Her head dipped slightly and I felt her breath against my neck, her lips hovering over the pulse point in my neck. For a moment I wondered if she was still as strong as I remembered.
The tip of her tongue traced up my neck lightly, her mouth hovering over mine. I watched her as she stared at my mouth, debating internally if this was the right thing to do.
“Lenore.” My voice was slightly husky, but it made her look up at me. Straight in the eye. She was reading my mind. I watched her eyes darken, going from blue to a smokier color, almost green looking. It might have been my eyes reflected in hers.
"Burn for me," she whispered, her hand sliding across the side of my face and into my hair.
After that, she didn’t hesitate, but she didn’t kiss me either. Our eyes stayed locked as she reached behind herself and slid her hand down the length of my cock, running her palm from head to bases before lowering herself onto me. All the while we didn’t break our gaze. She fucking rode me, and barely blinked. I hadn’t felt that much of almost something in five years. Maybe longer.
My hands did what my eyes didn’t. They took on a mind of their own and moved up the sides of her body, over her breasts. Fingers grazing over nipples before the palm over my hands covered them, kneading them. Her head dropped closer to mine, our mouths hovering over each other. Her tongue slipped out from between her half parted lips and she licked mine, begging for me to join it.
She moaned my name when she came. She tossed her head back and stared at the ceiling, moaning my fucking name. Like she’d been waiting to do it for years or something. She collapsed on top of me, her hair covering her face, breathing heavily. I felt my arms wrap them selfs around her, my head falling back, releasing the tension I didn’t know I was holding. Our breaths were off, chests rising and falling differently for a few minutes until we found the same rhythm.
I let my right hand splay across her back, nearly covering the width of it. Her skin was cold against mine. Her hair was cold against my chest. Her breath was the only thing that let me convince myself that she was somewhat alive. I had missed laying with someone.
“I’m going with you,” she said, surprising me with a calm, out-of-breath tone. I felt myself frown, consciously not really knowing what she meant. She looked up at me, her head still resting on my chest and I strained my neck looking back down at her.
“For how long.” Her fingers tapped against my chest in a rhythmic pattern. She didn’t answer. It meant for as long as she was alive.
It meant forever. Whether I liked it or not.
Author: Liv darkamgic_luvr
Rating: NC-17
fic_variations Prompt/Claim: Green // Sam Winchester/Lenore
Spoilers: Season 2. Bloodlust and the finale.
Warnings: Sex
Author's Notes: I don’t know if I have anything to say...except by LJ standards I’m not allowed to read this. I'm starting something here. I've always wanted to write Sam/Lenore, and now I am. This will be the first part of my Sam/Lenore series- Memento Mori.
Author's Note again: Would I get fucked to hell if I didn't put down 'adult content'?
It had been a long time since I went to someone else for comfort. I don’t even know how she knew I needed it, or how she found me. It was probably easy enough for her. She knew before even looking at me that I was bitter and angry. She sat down next to me at the bar and ordered a drink, not making any eye contact with me. I stared at her, something that I was becoming accustomed to do nowadays. She didn’t look at me.
“Trying to remember me, Sam?” she asked, running her index finger over the rim of her glass.
“No,” I said. “No, not you.” She looked up at me after that. Her eyes were soft, just like I remembered them. She looked at me with a question on her lips. It was the same question everybody’d been asking me. My heart pounded in my chest, because I didn’t want to answer it. The moonlight shining in from the broken window next to where I was sitting was bouncing off her face, touching her hair just right.
“So it’s true.” She wasn’t asking, she didn’t need an answer, she knew it. She knew it from my posture, how I was drinking, how my eyes darkened. She could tell.
She got me into my motel room without my protest and somehow I ended up with my clothes on the floor and on my back. She pressed my shoulders into the dirty mattress, that had been slept on too many times to count and had too many slips to make it clean. Her hair was longer than I had remembered, the way it swept across my chest, the scares from my at-home botch patch ups. Her head dipped slightly and I felt her breath against my neck, her lips hovering over the pulse point in my neck. For a moment I wondered if she was still as strong as I remembered.
The tip of her tongue traced up my neck lightly, her mouth hovering over mine. I watched her as she stared at my mouth, debating internally if this was the right thing to do.
“Lenore.” My voice was slightly husky, but it made her look up at me. Straight in the eye. She was reading my mind. I watched her eyes darken, going from blue to a smokier color, almost green looking. It might have been my eyes reflected in hers.
"Burn for me," she whispered, her hand sliding across the side of my face and into my hair.
After that, she didn’t hesitate, but she didn’t kiss me either. Our eyes stayed locked as she reached behind herself and slid her hand down the length of my cock, running her palm from head to bases before lowering herself onto me. All the while we didn’t break our gaze. She fucking rode me, and barely blinked. I hadn’t felt that much of almost something in five years. Maybe longer.
My hands did what my eyes didn’t. They took on a mind of their own and moved up the sides of her body, over her breasts. Fingers grazing over nipples before the palm over my hands covered them, kneading them. Her head dropped closer to mine, our mouths hovering over each other. Her tongue slipped out from between her half parted lips and she licked mine, begging for me to join it.
She moaned my name when she came. She tossed her head back and stared at the ceiling, moaning my fucking name. Like she’d been waiting to do it for years or something. She collapsed on top of me, her hair covering her face, breathing heavily. I felt my arms wrap them selfs around her, my head falling back, releasing the tension I didn’t know I was holding. Our breaths were off, chests rising and falling differently for a few minutes until we found the same rhythm.
I let my right hand splay across her back, nearly covering the width of it. Her skin was cold against mine. Her hair was cold against my chest. Her breath was the only thing that let me convince myself that she was somewhat alive. I had missed laying with someone.
“I’m going with you,” she said, surprising me with a calm, out-of-breath tone. I felt myself frown, consciously not really knowing what she meant. She looked up at me, her head still resting on my chest and I strained my neck looking back down at her.
“For how long.” Her fingers tapped against my chest in a rhythmic pattern. She didn’t answer. It meant for as long as she was alive.
It meant forever. Whether I liked it or not.