Fic: (Sex has come) Between Us | Otherside!verse
Author: rei_c
Title: (Sex has come) Between Us - An Otherside prequel
Pairings: Sam/OMC (background Sam/Dean, OMC/OMC)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: Prostitution, drug use, knifeplay, bloodplay, referenced incest
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and any (and all) errors relative to canon spoken of herein are mine and mine alone.
Author's Notes: This is a past-fic for the 'verse created in Otherside, elaborating a little on the relationship between Sam and Liam. Like everything else in this 'verse, it's not exactly pretty.
Sam crawls up the mattress. Liam’s watching him, leaning back against the headboard and pillows of Sam’s working room. The lights are on and harsh, glaringly bright. Sam smiles, sits there and watches for a minute before he pushes two fingers past Liam’s lips, eyes darkening as Liam’s tongue drags along the edge of Sam’s nails.
“And where’s your cousin tonight?” Sam asks in a murmur. He shifts, kneeling between Liam’s spread legs. The mattress underneath them gives way. Liam licks white powder off of Sam’s skin, closes his eyes and doesn’t answer. “Don’t be like that,” Sam says next, a half-enticing beg, and takes his hand back. “It’s only a harmless question, Liam. Getting the small talk out of the way, you know that. If you don’t want to answer, then tell me what you want, yeah?”
Sam’s naked, has been working all night. Signs of his last appointment are still scattered over his body. The marks are healing slowly, bites and bruises from teeth and fingers, long thin lines from whips and floggers. Sam hadn’t dressed before Liam came up, hadn’t bothered to clean himself off, met Liam at the door covered in sweat and blood and another man’s come, like the sacrifice in a black ritual.
It’s not the first time Liam’s seen him like that.
Sam picks up the bag of white powder, Liam’s gift, from the pillow, holds it in one hand and watches as the heroin Liam had licked off his fingers hits the man’s bloodstream. Liam, stripped down to his skin and breathing through his mouth, opens his eyes.
“Shoot for me,” he says, accent catching on every letter, drawing out every sound. The bass from the club downstairs thrums like a heartbeat. “I want to see a needle in your arm.” The gift, the powder in the baggie, isn’t meant to be ingested by Sam; Sam tosses it dismissively to the foot of the bed. Liam watches; Sam moves, footsteps smooth, measured, unnatural, for the needle and vial on a silver tray, showpiece on the centre of the dresser, sandwiched between keys and paddles, cuffs and condoms. “Shoot up, and then I want you on the bed.”
It’s the same most times Liam comes to Frankie’s.
Sam doesn’t bother with alcohol, doesn’t prep at all, just picks up the needle. He turns, faces Liam, leans against the dresser. One bruise, yellow and high on his cheekbone, fades. Sam licks his lips, looking at Liam, then drops his eyes. He draws cloudy liquid from the vial, slides the needle into the crook of his elbow, and pushes down the plunger. Metal glitters next to Sam’s skin: silver against gold, cold against fever-hot, clinical against calculating.
He sighs as the drug hits, takes the needle and tosses it carelessly to one side. Liam’s eyes are dark, desperate, glued to Sam as Sam places one foot in front of the other and hip-swing glides his way to the bed.
“On my stomach or my back?” Sam asks. Heroin threads his voice, furs over the coiled sensuality with abandoned amusement.
“Your back,” Liam says, and as Sam crawls onto the bed, Liam shifts, moves to let Sam stretch out, head on the pillows. Sam reaches up, grips the headboard, and laughs when Liam bends down, licks blood from the puncture spot on Sam’s arm, hums in pleasure when Liam sucks.
Liam sits up, smear of crimson on his chin, and uses rope to tie Sam’s wrists to wrought-iron. Sam tests the knots -- he does every time -- and can’t get free. He smiles, near to laughter, but stops and smiles in something approaching appreciation when Liam moves unsteadily, snagging an ornate dagger from the second drawer of the dresser as well as the baggie of powder from the foot of the bed.
The first bite of the blade cuts a path through Sam’s skin an inch long under his left nipple. Sam arches into the knife’s kiss; Liam lets it drag a mirroring path under Sam’s right nipple. Above both, then, and a line down between, more criss-crossing over Sam’s abdomen, hipbones, chest. Knifepoint traces over Sam’s tattoos, turning the black ink red.
Blood wells, beads, then oozes, sluggish more than anything, and Liam sets the knife to one side, tips out patches of heroin, scatters the powder over Sam’s wounds. White sticks, forms clumps in the red, turns the pink of bloody sunsets. Sam’s smile is more relaxed even as it looks increasingly serpentine.
Liam bends down, licks the blood and the heroin both from Sam’s skin, echoes of sweat and some other man’s pleasure underneath the taste. “Taste so good like this,” Liam murmurs, teeth dragging across Sam’s body from one cut to the next, digging in and leaving marks. “All spread out and covered in H.” Liam’s tongue darts out, curls and licks, before he leans up, bites Sam’s collarbone. The tang of fresh blood spills out; Liam adds, “Fucking buffet,” and laps at the blood like it’s wine and he’s desperate for a drink.
“Should tell you to eat me, then,” Sam says, near a croon, half-suggestion. Power floats in his words, drawn out by the blood-letting, by the sex implicit in every word and movement.
Liam shudders, sways as he sits up, pupils dilated and movements already turning hazily fluid. “Could rim you like it’s going out of style,” he says, hands scraping down Sam’s body. One ends up circling Sam’s dick, jerking lazily, the other, smeared in blood, finds its way to Sam’s ass, one finger sliding in. “Or fuck you dry, just like this and nothing but your own blood for lube.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, expression dispassionate even as his body writhes under Liam’s touch. “Not too high?” he asks, crooks one leg and spreads his knees for easier access.
Liam looks down, eyes wandering over Sam and settling on the spot where his fingers, now, two of them, are disappearing inside of Sam. “Never too high to fuck you.” Liam grabs a condom off the dresser, tears the packet open with this teeth. “I’ll prove it.”
“I look forward to the evidence,” Sam replies, though his eyes slide closed when Liam puts the condom on and presses forward. No stretching to speak of, no lube save blood, and yet Sam merely smiles long and lazy when Liam forces his way inside of Sam’s body, pushing past resistance. “And I’ll be sure to tell Connor, next time I see him,” Sam adds, tone not louder than breath.
Liam’s too high to snarl, too intent on fucking Sam to stop now, but his fingers dig into Sam’s hips, nails breaking the skin, and he leans down, tears his teeth into Sam’s neck.
Sam laughs, undulates to take Liam deeper inside, and tilts his head to whisper in Liam’s ear. “Punish me, then, for bringing your cousin between us.”
As Liam fucks Sam deep and hard, he says, “Connor’s not the only one between us, is he. Your brother’s there too, Sam.” He looks at Sam, pushes. “What would Dean do if he saw you like this, Sam? Hard and leaking, letting yourself break to pieces for anyone who has the money to buy you? Living on heroin and sex, not even human anymore?”
“He’d still want to fuck me,” Sam says, clenching around Liam. Liam gasps, his rhythm stutters, and he comes. Sam leans up, as much as he can with Liam inside him and his hands tied to the headboard. He smiles, teeth bared, and whispers, “He’ll always want to fuck me, just like you will always want to fuck me,” before he throws his head back, comes over both of them with Dean’s name on his lips.
Liam snorts the rest of the heroin, leaves Sam tied up, goes downstairs and pays Frankie for the privilege.
Title: (Sex has come) Between Us - An Otherside prequel
Pairings: Sam/OMC (background Sam/Dean, OMC/OMC)
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1300
Warnings: Prostitution, drug use, knifeplay, bloodplay, referenced incest
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and any (and all) errors relative to canon spoken of herein are mine and mine alone.
Author's Notes: This is a past-fic for the 'verse created in Otherside, elaborating a little on the relationship between Sam and Liam. Like everything else in this 'verse, it's not exactly pretty.
Sam crawls up the mattress. Liam’s watching him, leaning back against the headboard and pillows of Sam’s working room. The lights are on and harsh, glaringly bright. Sam smiles, sits there and watches for a minute before he pushes two fingers past Liam’s lips, eyes darkening as Liam’s tongue drags along the edge of Sam’s nails.
“And where’s your cousin tonight?” Sam asks in a murmur. He shifts, kneeling between Liam’s spread legs. The mattress underneath them gives way. Liam licks white powder off of Sam’s skin, closes his eyes and doesn’t answer. “Don’t be like that,” Sam says next, a half-enticing beg, and takes his hand back. “It’s only a harmless question, Liam. Getting the small talk out of the way, you know that. If you don’t want to answer, then tell me what you want, yeah?”
Sam’s naked, has been working all night. Signs of his last appointment are still scattered over his body. The marks are healing slowly, bites and bruises from teeth and fingers, long thin lines from whips and floggers. Sam hadn’t dressed before Liam came up, hadn’t bothered to clean himself off, met Liam at the door covered in sweat and blood and another man’s come, like the sacrifice in a black ritual.
It’s not the first time Liam’s seen him like that.
Sam picks up the bag of white powder, Liam’s gift, from the pillow, holds it in one hand and watches as the heroin Liam had licked off his fingers hits the man’s bloodstream. Liam, stripped down to his skin and breathing through his mouth, opens his eyes.
“Shoot for me,” he says, accent catching on every letter, drawing out every sound. The bass from the club downstairs thrums like a heartbeat. “I want to see a needle in your arm.” The gift, the powder in the baggie, isn’t meant to be ingested by Sam; Sam tosses it dismissively to the foot of the bed. Liam watches; Sam moves, footsteps smooth, measured, unnatural, for the needle and vial on a silver tray, showpiece on the centre of the dresser, sandwiched between keys and paddles, cuffs and condoms. “Shoot up, and then I want you on the bed.”
It’s the same most times Liam comes to Frankie’s.
Sam doesn’t bother with alcohol, doesn’t prep at all, just picks up the needle. He turns, faces Liam, leans against the dresser. One bruise, yellow and high on his cheekbone, fades. Sam licks his lips, looking at Liam, then drops his eyes. He draws cloudy liquid from the vial, slides the needle into the crook of his elbow, and pushes down the plunger. Metal glitters next to Sam’s skin: silver against gold, cold against fever-hot, clinical against calculating.
He sighs as the drug hits, takes the needle and tosses it carelessly to one side. Liam’s eyes are dark, desperate, glued to Sam as Sam places one foot in front of the other and hip-swing glides his way to the bed.
“On my stomach or my back?” Sam asks. Heroin threads his voice, furs over the coiled sensuality with abandoned amusement.
“Your back,” Liam says, and as Sam crawls onto the bed, Liam shifts, moves to let Sam stretch out, head on the pillows. Sam reaches up, grips the headboard, and laughs when Liam bends down, licks blood from the puncture spot on Sam’s arm, hums in pleasure when Liam sucks.
Liam sits up, smear of crimson on his chin, and uses rope to tie Sam’s wrists to wrought-iron. Sam tests the knots -- he does every time -- and can’t get free. He smiles, near to laughter, but stops and smiles in something approaching appreciation when Liam moves unsteadily, snagging an ornate dagger from the second drawer of the dresser as well as the baggie of powder from the foot of the bed.
The first bite of the blade cuts a path through Sam’s skin an inch long under his left nipple. Sam arches into the knife’s kiss; Liam lets it drag a mirroring path under Sam’s right nipple. Above both, then, and a line down between, more criss-crossing over Sam’s abdomen, hipbones, chest. Knifepoint traces over Sam’s tattoos, turning the black ink red.
Blood wells, beads, then oozes, sluggish more than anything, and Liam sets the knife to one side, tips out patches of heroin, scatters the powder over Sam’s wounds. White sticks, forms clumps in the red, turns the pink of bloody sunsets. Sam’s smile is more relaxed even as it looks increasingly serpentine.
Liam bends down, licks the blood and the heroin both from Sam’s skin, echoes of sweat and some other man’s pleasure underneath the taste. “Taste so good like this,” Liam murmurs, teeth dragging across Sam’s body from one cut to the next, digging in and leaving marks. “All spread out and covered in H.” Liam’s tongue darts out, curls and licks, before he leans up, bites Sam’s collarbone. The tang of fresh blood spills out; Liam adds, “Fucking buffet,” and laps at the blood like it’s wine and he’s desperate for a drink.
“Should tell you to eat me, then,” Sam says, near a croon, half-suggestion. Power floats in his words, drawn out by the blood-letting, by the sex implicit in every word and movement.
Liam shudders, sways as he sits up, pupils dilated and movements already turning hazily fluid. “Could rim you like it’s going out of style,” he says, hands scraping down Sam’s body. One ends up circling Sam’s dick, jerking lazily, the other, smeared in blood, finds its way to Sam’s ass, one finger sliding in. “Or fuck you dry, just like this and nothing but your own blood for lube.”
Sam raises an eyebrow, expression dispassionate even as his body writhes under Liam’s touch. “Not too high?” he asks, crooks one leg and spreads his knees for easier access.
Liam looks down, eyes wandering over Sam and settling on the spot where his fingers, now, two of them, are disappearing inside of Sam. “Never too high to fuck you.” Liam grabs a condom off the dresser, tears the packet open with this teeth. “I’ll prove it.”
“I look forward to the evidence,” Sam replies, though his eyes slide closed when Liam puts the condom on and presses forward. No stretching to speak of, no lube save blood, and yet Sam merely smiles long and lazy when Liam forces his way inside of Sam’s body, pushing past resistance. “And I’ll be sure to tell Connor, next time I see him,” Sam adds, tone not louder than breath.
Liam’s too high to snarl, too intent on fucking Sam to stop now, but his fingers dig into Sam’s hips, nails breaking the skin, and he leans down, tears his teeth into Sam’s neck.
Sam laughs, undulates to take Liam deeper inside, and tilts his head to whisper in Liam’s ear. “Punish me, then, for bringing your cousin between us.”
As Liam fucks Sam deep and hard, he says, “Connor’s not the only one between us, is he. Your brother’s there too, Sam.” He looks at Sam, pushes. “What would Dean do if he saw you like this, Sam? Hard and leaking, letting yourself break to pieces for anyone who has the money to buy you? Living on heroin and sex, not even human anymore?”
“He’d still want to fuck me,” Sam says, clenching around Liam. Liam gasps, his rhythm stutters, and he comes. Sam leans up, as much as he can with Liam inside him and his hands tied to the headboard. He smiles, teeth bared, and whispers, “He’ll always want to fuck me, just like you will always want to fuck me,” before he throws his head back, comes over both of them with Dean’s name on his lips.
Liam snorts the rest of the heroin, leaves Sam tied up, goes downstairs and pays Frankie for the privilege.