[SPN]: What You Do Best.
For spn_30snapshots , prompt 30: the mermaids singing.
R
OFC, Sam/Dean (Mild though).
530 words
Warnings for bad language, slash themes and psychosis. And character death, but not major.
Disclaimer: Not mine, cept for the girl.
A/N: Title from Val McDermid's The Torment of Others, which is part of the Tony Hill Series of books in which The Mermaids Singing is the first. And yes, that's where I picked my prompt from. Title essentially from this: And then you'll be back out there, doing what you've discovered you do best. Kiling women.
A/N 2: I'm still not entirely happy with it.
A/N 3: I'm terribly terrible with author's notes. But I wanted to mention that originally, this one came after two other stories that I suppose, were going to be a serial killer 'verse kind of thing. But this one, despite my posting plans, is the only one that's even remotely ready to be posted, and I was kind of sick of hanging on to it while waiting for the other two to be done. So it's coming out first.
Summary: Dean likes the girls- a lot. Sam just likes watching Dean have his fun.
~
What You Do Best.
He licks a stripe up the inside of her thigh and she shudders all over again.
His tongue whirls the taste through her mouth and she moans breathily, fingers clenching and unclenching in sheets. A shiver passes over his spine and he turns his head to the corner of the room, grins and bites her collar bone, eyes trained on the darkness. He can feel the anticipation, the adrenaline making the air thick and heady. Excitement presses in to his skin and makes it tingle, and his heartbeat kicks up an arrhythmic pattern. He tears his eyes from the edge of the room and dances his fingers up over her stomach, chest, neck and finally slips under the black material over her eyes and lifts it. She blinks, and smiles softly at him.
Got something for you sweetheart, he murmurs into her neck, and she lets out a shaky breath. Even better than the last two hours, she asks and Dean laughs. Oh yes, my sweet, much better.
Well, she huffs, what is it then? Dean slips his hand under her head and draws out a dagger. Just something to get the blood moving.
Her eyes are focused on the blade, the twang from the moonlight slicing thin pale lights across her body. Dean stares at them, maps the path they show. They point upwards, shards of ghostly stripes that finish at her neck. She laughs. Oh, I didn’t take you for such a freak in the bedroom. You really want that?
He doesn’t answer, just stares at her. She fidgets. Okay- I guess, she shrugs, but nothing too extreme.
Dean locks her gaze in his. Pity you feel that way darlin’, he says, and draws the knife up and down the lines the reflections had made, stopping just under her heart. ‘Cause you don’t really get a say in that anymore.
Her eyes go wide, and it’s a shame that he doesn’t know whether it’s an expression of fear or simply just her reaction to the blade slipping up under her skin. Doesn’t matter in the end, she still looks pretty like that.
She jerks sharply, causing the knife to slide in deeper, causing her to gasp. Dean can imagine what’s happening, the lung clenching around the tip of the metal as her heart spasms, and he can feel the tug tug tug of muscles as they work to do something. She coughs, and it’s red splattered, and Dean catches it on his tongue before sucking at her neck, measuring the pulse as her body trembles.
He isn’t sure how long he lies there, but it’s somewhere around her losing consciousness that soft chuckles permeate the room, and Dean turns his attention back to the corner and the darkness as the laughter intensifies, until his brother is grinning wide and happy and moving out of the chair and the shadows and slipping his hand around Dean’s, guiding the dagger out with a smooth glide, blood slicking the way and turning their fingers red.
Sam licks the blood from the corner of Dean’s mouth. Such a freak, Sam echoes with a smirk.
And Dean hooks his ankle behind Sam’s knee.
R
OFC, Sam/Dean (Mild though).
530 words
Warnings for bad language, slash themes and psychosis. And character death, but not major.
Disclaimer: Not mine, cept for the girl.
A/N: Title from Val McDermid's The Torment of Others, which is part of the Tony Hill Series of books in which The Mermaids Singing is the first. And yes, that's where I picked my prompt from. Title essentially from this: And then you'll be back out there, doing what you've discovered you do best. Kiling women.
A/N 2: I'm still not entirely happy with it.
A/N 3: I'm terribly terrible with author's notes. But I wanted to mention that originally, this one came after two other stories that I suppose, were going to be a serial killer 'verse kind of thing. But this one, despite my posting plans, is the only one that's even remotely ready to be posted, and I was kind of sick of hanging on to it while waiting for the other two to be done. So it's coming out first.
Summary: Dean likes the girls- a lot. Sam just likes watching Dean have his fun.
~
What You Do Best.
He licks a stripe up the inside of her thigh and she shudders all over again.
His tongue whirls the taste through her mouth and she moans breathily, fingers clenching and unclenching in sheets. A shiver passes over his spine and he turns his head to the corner of the room, grins and bites her collar bone, eyes trained on the darkness. He can feel the anticipation, the adrenaline making the air thick and heady. Excitement presses in to his skin and makes it tingle, and his heartbeat kicks up an arrhythmic pattern. He tears his eyes from the edge of the room and dances his fingers up over her stomach, chest, neck and finally slips under the black material over her eyes and lifts it. She blinks, and smiles softly at him.
Got something for you sweetheart, he murmurs into her neck, and she lets out a shaky breath. Even better than the last two hours, she asks and Dean laughs. Oh yes, my sweet, much better.
Well, she huffs, what is it then? Dean slips his hand under her head and draws out a dagger. Just something to get the blood moving.
Her eyes are focused on the blade, the twang from the moonlight slicing thin pale lights across her body. Dean stares at them, maps the path they show. They point upwards, shards of ghostly stripes that finish at her neck. She laughs. Oh, I didn’t take you for such a freak in the bedroom. You really want that?
He doesn’t answer, just stares at her. She fidgets. Okay- I guess, she shrugs, but nothing too extreme.
Dean locks her gaze in his. Pity you feel that way darlin’, he says, and draws the knife up and down the lines the reflections had made, stopping just under her heart. ‘Cause you don’t really get a say in that anymore.
Her eyes go wide, and it’s a shame that he doesn’t know whether it’s an expression of fear or simply just her reaction to the blade slipping up under her skin. Doesn’t matter in the end, she still looks pretty like that.
She jerks sharply, causing the knife to slide in deeper, causing her to gasp. Dean can imagine what’s happening, the lung clenching around the tip of the metal as her heart spasms, and he can feel the tug tug tug of muscles as they work to do something. She coughs, and it’s red splattered, and Dean catches it on his tongue before sucking at her neck, measuring the pulse as her body trembles.
He isn’t sure how long he lies there, but it’s somewhere around her losing consciousness that soft chuckles permeate the room, and Dean turns his attention back to the corner and the darkness as the laughter intensifies, until his brother is grinning wide and happy and moving out of the chair and the shadows and slipping his hand around Dean’s, guiding the dagger out with a smooth glide, blood slicking the way and turning their fingers red.
Sam licks the blood from the corner of Dean’s mouth. Such a freak, Sam echoes with a smirk.
And Dean hooks his ankle behind Sam’s knee.