SPN ficlet: "this is a land could eat a man alive"
For the Porn Battle - 7 1/2 hours to go, folks!
this is a land could eat a man alive
Supernatural, Dean/girl!Sam, white
NC-17, 585 words, beta thanks to flipmontigirl and romanticalgirl.
this is a land could eat a man alive
They're rolled up together, tight and tangled limbs. The two of them and empty space.
It's cold, the fire dying down to hazy slow red. She stirs to get up and feed it.
"Leave it, Sam," Dean tells her, knowing what she's about before she's even sat up. He does that, even though she's the psychic one. "It'll last."
He's right, and Sam knows he'll get up later and bank it for the night. Protecting them. Protecting her. She puts her head back down on Dean's shoulder. Cold nose - she nuzzles into his neck, warming up.
"Bitch," Dean complains, but doesn't push her away. Holds her, careful, like a sister, like a precious thing.
She doesn't want careful. She wants dirty and spent and exhausted. Desert cowgirl, fucked on a bedroll until her pussy is raw and opened up like ripe fruit. She wants his fingers, all of them, she wants his big cock between, in her, she wants to feel. How much he needs her.
Hands between them, she undoes his fly. Dean's breath hitches, but he doesn't say anything. Lies there, silent, acquiescent. She'd think he didn't want her, but he's never been able to fool her. It's her game, see how long it takes. She presses her tits up against him, feels her nipples rub to hard under her t-shirt, against him. He'll crack soon, and it'll be as though he forgets she's precious, forgets she's his baby sister, forgets everything but the heat of her pussy swallowing him up and the taste and scent of sex, and then.
She whispers against his neck, almost too soft for him to hear. "I love the feel of you inside me, your hands on my tits," she says. "I love you," she says, quieter still, words only for the dark. He shudders under the feel of it, his dick grows in her hand, hot with blood.
"Sam," he says. Begs. It didn't take long. "Sammy." Urgent now, "God, Sammy," their blanket cocoon flung open so he can move in, move over, envelope her.
He leaves her jeans around her ankles - a hobble, but she's not going to run - and her panties on. Slides one hand under the tight fabric and she's so wet already, sticky on his fingers. Other hand under her t-shirt, finding her little tits. Cold air, and Dean's pressed up tight against her, fitting his dick in beside his fingers. Fucking her with both.
She shivers, and Dean soothes her. "It's okay," he says, and she thinks he's telling himself that really. She already knows. She's seen it, the future, and she knows this is okay.
The now she hasn't seen, but she still knows. She knows the feel of Dean filling her, the rough slam down of his hips, the brush of sparse wiry hairs against her skin.
She knows, but it's still new, each time. And she doesn't think she will ever tire of the not-pain after, the ache and stretch between her legs and the lingering warmth in her belly. And the grunt of contentment that Dean can never hold back, the moment when he lets her see how much he needs this, loves it, loves her, and never forgets who she is.
There's a scurry of something, close. The scritch of claws on baked-hard soil. It doesn't brave the small fire-lit circle though. The world feels large tonight, and Sam feels small. She curls into Dean, he holds her tight, and she knows he'll never let go.
*
Title from Low Desert by R.E.M.
this is a land could eat a man alive
Supernatural, Dean/girl!Sam, white
NC-17, 585 words, beta thanks to flipmontigirl and romanticalgirl.
this is a land could eat a man alive
They're rolled up together, tight and tangled limbs. The two of them and empty space.
It's cold, the fire dying down to hazy slow red. She stirs to get up and feed it.
"Leave it, Sam," Dean tells her, knowing what she's about before she's even sat up. He does that, even though she's the psychic one. "It'll last."
He's right, and Sam knows he'll get up later and bank it for the night. Protecting them. Protecting her. She puts her head back down on Dean's shoulder. Cold nose - she nuzzles into his neck, warming up.
"Bitch," Dean complains, but doesn't push her away. Holds her, careful, like a sister, like a precious thing.
She doesn't want careful. She wants dirty and spent and exhausted. Desert cowgirl, fucked on a bedroll until her pussy is raw and opened up like ripe fruit. She wants his fingers, all of them, she wants his big cock between, in her, she wants to feel. How much he needs her.
Hands between them, she undoes his fly. Dean's breath hitches, but he doesn't say anything. Lies there, silent, acquiescent. She'd think he didn't want her, but he's never been able to fool her. It's her game, see how long it takes. She presses her tits up against him, feels her nipples rub to hard under her t-shirt, against him. He'll crack soon, and it'll be as though he forgets she's precious, forgets she's his baby sister, forgets everything but the heat of her pussy swallowing him up and the taste and scent of sex, and then.
She whispers against his neck, almost too soft for him to hear. "I love the feel of you inside me, your hands on my tits," she says. "I love you," she says, quieter still, words only for the dark. He shudders under the feel of it, his dick grows in her hand, hot with blood.
"Sam," he says. Begs. It didn't take long. "Sammy." Urgent now, "God, Sammy," their blanket cocoon flung open so he can move in, move over, envelope her.
He leaves her jeans around her ankles - a hobble, but she's not going to run - and her panties on. Slides one hand under the tight fabric and she's so wet already, sticky on his fingers. Other hand under her t-shirt, finding her little tits. Cold air, and Dean's pressed up tight against her, fitting his dick in beside his fingers. Fucking her with both.
She shivers, and Dean soothes her. "It's okay," he says, and she thinks he's telling himself that really. She already knows. She's seen it, the future, and she knows this is okay.
The now she hasn't seen, but she still knows. She knows the feel of Dean filling her, the rough slam down of his hips, the brush of sparse wiry hairs against her skin.
She knows, but it's still new, each time. And she doesn't think she will ever tire of the not-pain after, the ache and stretch between her legs and the lingering warmth in her belly. And the grunt of contentment that Dean can never hold back, the moment when he lets her see how much he needs this, loves it, loves her, and never forgets who she is.
There's a scurry of something, close. The scritch of claws on baked-hard soil. It doesn't brave the small fire-lit circle though. The world feels large tonight, and Sam feels small. She curls into Dean, he holds her tight, and she knows he'll never let go.
*
Title from Low Desert by R.E.M.