spn - Christmas in Hell
Title: Christmas in Hell
Author: darkmagic_luvr
Story written for: tokenblkgirl at spn_het_love
Pairing: John Winchester/Demon Tammi
Rating: NC-17
Author’s Note: figured I’d post this here just in case there was anyone interested in reading it who isn’t a member at the comm.
There was something wrong about knowing the date in Hell. Time flew by in painful torrents; (torture, blood, screaming and sex, nothing but pain to pass the time away) but sometimes everything stopped, and the pain was so loud you could hear your blood slip out of your skin. The 25th of December was such a day, where all their world (in fire and pain and oh god, oh god, we’re all going to die) shuttered to a standstill, and your blood rushed in your ears.
John Winchester (or what was formally known as John Winchester, John Winchester who is now just John; broken beyond repair in fire and pain and darkness eating away at his soul. Just John who was broken so long ago he didn’t even recognize Dean, didn’t know him as his son when he was ripping him to pieces) used to be a man only to look now at what he had become. Something dark and sinister; the black, tore edges of his soul long ago forgotten. When their world stopped, John took a deep breath, and his pain crashed over him.
His keen’s were drowned by the silence of Hell, nothing close enough to hear or really care for his pain, when they were all reliving it, all feeling it, all being broken by it. A dark, smirking something clicked its heel’s next to John’s head (curled, as he was, into himself, his head in his hands and his knees on the floor), the sound of skin against skin and a disgusted scoff were all the warning John had before sharp nails bit into his neck, tracing fire down his skin and over his bare back.
“John Winchester.” the name was something else that clutched his heart, curling around the charred edged of his soul. “A man among demons.”
The voice was familiar, mocking…mocking him, the pain his sons were going through-are still going through. His gruff, broken, hard voice cut across the woman leaning over him. “Tammi.”
“Sure,” she whispered, her breath brushing against his neck. “Let’s go with that.”
John opened his eyes, burning from tears, and turned his head to look over his shoulder at the dark haired woman standing over him. Her sharp smirk was enough to sober his grief for the moment and even if Hell was stopped he was on his feet and breathing in her narrow eyed smirk before he could register his own movements. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of being startled, she didn’t even move.
“This is the equivalent of irony, John,” said Tammi. “Hell’s frozen over.”
“And you’ve decided to grace me with your presence, witch.”
“You were thinking it would be someone else?” hissed Tammi, her eyes sparkling, no longer with amusement, not entirely with rage. “You do have so many friends here.”
The slap of skin against skin against rock, crackling energy and fire filled their ears. Tammi (Tamasine was a person she loathed and forgot and remember nothing about until the world stood still. Tamasine, a weak woman, who sold herself for power and eternal life. A person who would forget her name and the meaning of it, only to come into the new world as a person with a name so similar) felt the iciness of pain leak through rips in her back, but leaned into it, her bare hips pressing up and against John, who pressed into her painfully, heatedly.
“What are you doing?” the pain made her voice waver. She wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t the feel of John pressed into her, the feeling of him, hard, against her. He leaned in closer to her, his mouth brushed against the shell of her ear. The hands gripping her shoulders slid down her sides, pressing against her hips, pushing her back against rock and energy.
“Hell’s frozen over. And this is a slow payback,” before Tammi could even frown, contemplate what it was he was talking about, John had his fingers twirled in her hair, jerking her head back and smirking into her exposed neck. Tammi’s breath hitched, not because she was scared, she wasn’t scared-
John’s teeth racked across the underside of her jaw, down her neck, nipping her collarbone. One hand gripped her hip, leaving bruises and crescent shaped pools of blood, the other moved between them, prodding through her folds roughly and making her throat constrict.
-she was aroused. John Winchester was a broken toy soldier and took what he was given, only ever gave as much as he needed, but this John, this John who was staring at her with black eyes, burning with heat and anger and revenge. His hands keeping her pressed against him and her body crackling with heat. He meant to punish her with feeling, with his teeth digging into her skin and his fingers twisting inside her.
Tammi could hear her skin breaking against John’s teeth, could feel his dark amusement in her chest, vibrating inside of her. His tongue ran across the jagged punctures of his teeth, swallowing her blood and blackness and smearing it across her skin as his face moved up to her mouth. Tammi’s eyes snapped open, staring darkly up at John. Her blood fell in droplets from his lips and onto hers, his breath washing over her face. In his closeness she didn’t notice the absence of his hand between her legs, the coldness, the aching. But his penis brushed over the top of her thigh and the ache of loss filled her up to her chest and she couldn’t manage to hold back a sob.
John smiled cruelly above her, his mouth close to hers, breathing the same air she was. His teeth stood out against the dark blood on his lips, his tongue catching between his teeth as his eyes (dark and angry and filled with something that registered in his brain as arousal) pulled down her face, watching the path her blood was making as it slid across her skin.
Tammi felt the urge to move, dropping her head back against rock and staring lazily at him through half closed eyes, sliding one pale leg up and around John’s waist. He grunted in surprise, his eyes closing briefly at the sudden change, pulling both hands away from her to brace against the structure pressing into her. John gritted his teeth, stretching his neck to the side, sliding one hand away from the wall and around the small of her back, digging his fingers into her skin (into her soul, tearing her to pieces) as his other hand came around to grasp himself firmly, pumping himself twice before moving his head to her entrance and surging into her.
Tammi’s eyes pulsed black like a heartbeat, her fingers curling uselessly at her sides, letting waves of heat coarse through her body. Sweat slide down the curve of her spine, her skin slide easily against his, her hips moving with his. She could feel his breathing on her skin, in her veins, against her chest. John pressed a bloody open mouth kissed to the side of her parted lips, snarling as he rocked against her.
She swelled and broke and her cold hands finally moved, pressing against John’s shoulder, pressing him into her…her head falling to the side, even as his mouth moved to cover hers completely, tasting blood and darkness and sulfur. She could feel herself falling, a dizziness behind her eyes until white broke out and all she could feel was white hot cold and the slick of John’s skin beneath her hands.
And as hours go, midnight fell away, the heartache fell away and Hell went back to it’s regularly scheduled program; the pain upping tenfold, skin ripping and stitching back together, the internal clock skipping seconds and blackening souls. Tammi went back to smirking and signing souls to Hell in magic and John went back to forgetting, to forgetting who he was and who she was and everything he had fought for his whole life. He fell back into racks, and his soul blackened around the edges a little more.
Author: darkmagic_luvr
Story written for: tokenblkgirl at spn_het_love
Pairing: John Winchester/Demon Tammi
Rating: NC-17
Author’s Note: figured I’d post this here just in case there was anyone interested in reading it who isn’t a member at the comm.
There was something wrong about knowing the date in Hell. Time flew by in painful torrents; (torture, blood, screaming and sex, nothing but pain to pass the time away) but sometimes everything stopped, and the pain was so loud you could hear your blood slip out of your skin. The 25th of December was such a day, where all their world (in fire and pain and oh god, oh god, we’re all going to die) shuttered to a standstill, and your blood rushed in your ears.
John Winchester (or what was formally known as John Winchester, John Winchester who is now just John; broken beyond repair in fire and pain and darkness eating away at his soul. Just John who was broken so long ago he didn’t even recognize Dean, didn’t know him as his son when he was ripping him to pieces) used to be a man only to look now at what he had become. Something dark and sinister; the black, tore edges of his soul long ago forgotten. When their world stopped, John took a deep breath, and his pain crashed over him.
His keen’s were drowned by the silence of Hell, nothing close enough to hear or really care for his pain, when they were all reliving it, all feeling it, all being broken by it. A dark, smirking something clicked its heel’s next to John’s head (curled, as he was, into himself, his head in his hands and his knees on the floor), the sound of skin against skin and a disgusted scoff were all the warning John had before sharp nails bit into his neck, tracing fire down his skin and over his bare back.
“John Winchester.” the name was something else that clutched his heart, curling around the charred edged of his soul. “A man among demons.”
The voice was familiar, mocking…mocking him, the pain his sons were going through-are still going through. His gruff, broken, hard voice cut across the woman leaning over him. “Tammi.”
“Sure,” she whispered, her breath brushing against his neck. “Let’s go with that.”
John opened his eyes, burning from tears, and turned his head to look over his shoulder at the dark haired woman standing over him. Her sharp smirk was enough to sober his grief for the moment and even if Hell was stopped he was on his feet and breathing in her narrow eyed smirk before he could register his own movements. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of being startled, she didn’t even move.
“This is the equivalent of irony, John,” said Tammi. “Hell’s frozen over.”
“And you’ve decided to grace me with your presence, witch.”
“You were thinking it would be someone else?” hissed Tammi, her eyes sparkling, no longer with amusement, not entirely with rage. “You do have so many friends here.”
The slap of skin against skin against rock, crackling energy and fire filled their ears. Tammi (Tamasine was a person she loathed and forgot and remember nothing about until the world stood still. Tamasine, a weak woman, who sold herself for power and eternal life. A person who would forget her name and the meaning of it, only to come into the new world as a person with a name so similar) felt the iciness of pain leak through rips in her back, but leaned into it, her bare hips pressing up and against John, who pressed into her painfully, heatedly.
“What are you doing?” the pain made her voice waver. She wasn’t used to it. It wasn’t the feel of John pressed into her, the feeling of him, hard, against her. He leaned in closer to her, his mouth brushed against the shell of her ear. The hands gripping her shoulders slid down her sides, pressing against her hips, pushing her back against rock and energy.
“Hell’s frozen over. And this is a slow payback,” before Tammi could even frown, contemplate what it was he was talking about, John had his fingers twirled in her hair, jerking her head back and smirking into her exposed neck. Tammi’s breath hitched, not because she was scared, she wasn’t scared-
John’s teeth racked across the underside of her jaw, down her neck, nipping her collarbone. One hand gripped her hip, leaving bruises and crescent shaped pools of blood, the other moved between them, prodding through her folds roughly and making her throat constrict.
-she was aroused. John Winchester was a broken toy soldier and took what he was given, only ever gave as much as he needed, but this John, this John who was staring at her with black eyes, burning with heat and anger and revenge. His hands keeping her pressed against him and her body crackling with heat. He meant to punish her with feeling, with his teeth digging into her skin and his fingers twisting inside her.
Tammi could hear her skin breaking against John’s teeth, could feel his dark amusement in her chest, vibrating inside of her. His tongue ran across the jagged punctures of his teeth, swallowing her blood and blackness and smearing it across her skin as his face moved up to her mouth. Tammi’s eyes snapped open, staring darkly up at John. Her blood fell in droplets from his lips and onto hers, his breath washing over her face. In his closeness she didn’t notice the absence of his hand between her legs, the coldness, the aching. But his penis brushed over the top of her thigh and the ache of loss filled her up to her chest and she couldn’t manage to hold back a sob.
John smiled cruelly above her, his mouth close to hers, breathing the same air she was. His teeth stood out against the dark blood on his lips, his tongue catching between his teeth as his eyes (dark and angry and filled with something that registered in his brain as arousal) pulled down her face, watching the path her blood was making as it slid across her skin.
Tammi felt the urge to move, dropping her head back against rock and staring lazily at him through half closed eyes, sliding one pale leg up and around John’s waist. He grunted in surprise, his eyes closing briefly at the sudden change, pulling both hands away from her to brace against the structure pressing into her. John gritted his teeth, stretching his neck to the side, sliding one hand away from the wall and around the small of her back, digging his fingers into her skin (into her soul, tearing her to pieces) as his other hand came around to grasp himself firmly, pumping himself twice before moving his head to her entrance and surging into her.
Tammi’s eyes pulsed black like a heartbeat, her fingers curling uselessly at her sides, letting waves of heat coarse through her body. Sweat slide down the curve of her spine, her skin slide easily against his, her hips moving with his. She could feel his breathing on her skin, in her veins, against her chest. John pressed a bloody open mouth kissed to the side of her parted lips, snarling as he rocked against her.
She swelled and broke and her cold hands finally moved, pressing against John’s shoulder, pressing him into her…her head falling to the side, even as his mouth moved to cover hers completely, tasting blood and darkness and sulfur. She could feel herself falling, a dizziness behind her eyes until white broke out and all she could feel was white hot cold and the slick of John’s skin beneath her hands.
And as hours go, midnight fell away, the heartache fell away and Hell went back to it’s regularly scheduled program; the pain upping tenfold, skin ripping and stitching back together, the internal clock skipping seconds and blackening souls. Tammi went back to smirking and signing souls to Hell in magic and John went back to forgetting, to forgetting who he was and who she was and everything he had fought for his whole life. He fell back into racks, and his soul blackened around the edges a little more.