Fic: Deliverance (1/1)
Title: Deliverance
Rating: R
Pairing: Juliet Burke/Castiel
Word Count: 644
Summary: They trade hells, swap ecstasy. For ozmissage, who requested “Juliet/Castiel + Kissing/Scars” at the Five Acts Meme. Mild Spoilers through Supernatural 5.04 - The End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Because this pairing is brilliance. Pure and utter brilliance and I wanted to try and play with it, just a little
Deliverance
The wood is damp, decaying -- drags loose and dark against her skin, and it reminds her of Then, and There; and she thinks, even now, that they’re just as isolated. She thinks that even now, they’re just as lost.
She wonders how this happened, how she escaped one Hell to find another. She wonders if there’s such a thing as fate, even, wonders if God has a plan; she doesn’t mean to say it out loud -- and maybe she doesn’t, maybe it’s conjecture and a sob in her throat that slips through, but he bites down on her lip and sucks the tender swell like a benediction, retribution, and she moans into his mouth like it’s the last place in creation left for her to hide.
His hands are rough, dry and calloused like they’ve seen wear, and fear, and war, but only just; his touch is warm, though, warm and firm like he’s finding his bearings and leaving a trace, like he wants to be sure that in the morning, when the fires die and sunlight gives them up, that he’ll remember the way back to the beginning, footsteps and a prayer to lead them home.
His hands cup her breasts, trembling, and he thumbs her nipples as he sucks welts, bruises at her clavicle, colorful and radiant in the shadows -- she can feel the deep places, violets and blues, the tender shallow golds and greens like watercolors, suspended in the skin. She rolls her hips, traps the way he strains between them and grinds, slow until he’s gasping, nipping and mindless for the want of release, of control, and she’s not ready for dawn to break, not yet; so she eases away, drags her thigh against the length of him and swallows his gasps until his chest stops heaving, until his eyes come back to earth.
He bends around her, once he’s grounded -- turns, licks at the brand on her spine: top to bottom, left to right, a Sign, and for the first time, it feels sacred in her flesh, something less than shameful. He presses his lips against it, breathes slow and cool at the center before he trails up, lilts about her ribs and up her sides -- careful, like he sees worth a worth in her soul that’s hidden from her, blind against her eyes.
He pulls back and looks at her, and his gaze shines in a way that catches in her pulse and surges, runs frantic and quick before he leans in and lines his parted mouth to hers, breathes her in and lays her out, defenseless, sucks her air and begs it, owns it until she pushes, takes -- until she owns herself and him inside of her, takes them both in and saves them from what lingers at the edges, looms beyond the fringe.
He doesn’t taste like the dark.
They break, and he tongues at the push of her heart against the skin: wings in flight, like he mourns the cadence, scorns the beat -- like it’s everything, a memory, pieces of a place that they never stopped to know.
She grips tight and pulls him down close, doesn’t look him in the eyes.
When they’ve both reached a peak they know will never touch the skies; when they tumble farther than they know to redeem, but still not far enough: she watches the ceiling and thinks of treetops and rain; his lips move without speech or sound, his eyes leak with soft tears, too perfect to know regret.
She can’t make out what it is he means to say, can’t recognize the pleas he lets fly to a careless divinity, a capricious flicker in the night: she can’t know, but she feels it shiver through her bones when she breathes, like the secrets she’s lost in lifetimes forgotten.
She cries, too, before the night is over.
Rating: R
Pairing: Juliet Burke/Castiel
Word Count: 644
Summary: They trade hells, swap ecstasy. For ozmissage, who requested “Juliet/Castiel + Kissing/Scars” at the Five Acts Meme. Mild Spoilers through Supernatural 5.04 - The End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: Because this pairing is brilliance. Pure and utter brilliance and I wanted to try and play with it, just a little
Deliverance
The wood is damp, decaying -- drags loose and dark against her skin, and it reminds her of Then, and There; and she thinks, even now, that they’re just as isolated. She thinks that even now, they’re just as lost.
She wonders how this happened, how she escaped one Hell to find another. She wonders if there’s such a thing as fate, even, wonders if God has a plan; she doesn’t mean to say it out loud -- and maybe she doesn’t, maybe it’s conjecture and a sob in her throat that slips through, but he bites down on her lip and sucks the tender swell like a benediction, retribution, and she moans into his mouth like it’s the last place in creation left for her to hide.
His hands are rough, dry and calloused like they’ve seen wear, and fear, and war, but only just; his touch is warm, though, warm and firm like he’s finding his bearings and leaving a trace, like he wants to be sure that in the morning, when the fires die and sunlight gives them up, that he’ll remember the way back to the beginning, footsteps and a prayer to lead them home.
His hands cup her breasts, trembling, and he thumbs her nipples as he sucks welts, bruises at her clavicle, colorful and radiant in the shadows -- she can feel the deep places, violets and blues, the tender shallow golds and greens like watercolors, suspended in the skin. She rolls her hips, traps the way he strains between them and grinds, slow until he’s gasping, nipping and mindless for the want of release, of control, and she’s not ready for dawn to break, not yet; so she eases away, drags her thigh against the length of him and swallows his gasps until his chest stops heaving, until his eyes come back to earth.
He bends around her, once he’s grounded -- turns, licks at the brand on her spine: top to bottom, left to right, a Sign, and for the first time, it feels sacred in her flesh, something less than shameful. He presses his lips against it, breathes slow and cool at the center before he trails up, lilts about her ribs and up her sides -- careful, like he sees worth a worth in her soul that’s hidden from her, blind against her eyes.
He pulls back and looks at her, and his gaze shines in a way that catches in her pulse and surges, runs frantic and quick before he leans in and lines his parted mouth to hers, breathes her in and lays her out, defenseless, sucks her air and begs it, owns it until she pushes, takes -- until she owns herself and him inside of her, takes them both in and saves them from what lingers at the edges, looms beyond the fringe.
He doesn’t taste like the dark.
They break, and he tongues at the push of her heart against the skin: wings in flight, like he mourns the cadence, scorns the beat -- like it’s everything, a memory, pieces of a place that they never stopped to know.
She grips tight and pulls him down close, doesn’t look him in the eyes.
When they’ve both reached a peak they know will never touch the skies; when they tumble farther than they know to redeem, but still not far enough: she watches the ceiling and thinks of treetops and rain; his lips move without speech or sound, his eyes leak with soft tears, too perfect to know regret.
She can’t make out what it is he means to say, can’t recognize the pleas he lets fly to a careless divinity, a capricious flicker in the night: she can’t know, but she feels it shiver through her bones when she breathes, like the secrets she’s lost in lifetimes forgotten.
She cries, too, before the night is over.