Takes Two To Tango
Title: Takes Two To Tango (1/1)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: taxidryer
Rating: R
Genre: Het, angst
Word count: 800
Spoilers: 4.09 - I Know What You Did Last Summer
Pairing: Sam/Ruby
Summary: Untamed, Sam Winchester is the living proof that in four hundred years, men haven’t truly changed.
Disclaimer: The less I own, the better.
Posted: supernaturalfic, sn_fic, spn_het, spn_ruby, and sam_ruby.
Thanks: to patita_fea for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Author’s note: I has new tragic ship. You all saw me coming with this, I know.
Takes Two To Tango
Some men call themselves humanist. Feminist, altruist, pacifist, respectful, communicative, positive. They seek truth rather than certitude, balance rather than domination, justice rather than vengeance. You know, evolved men.
She’s sure Sam used to be one of them.
Not anymore. He buried his armor of proprieties with his brother and drowned his IQ of 143 with waves of whiskey. His kisses are as delicate as the marking grip on her scalp and his eyes as hard as his body.
Driven only by death urges and life urges, he has unlearned everything in between. Alone in the world, stripped from all social worries, he appears in his greatest potency and brutality. There he is, back to a wild state.
Strong enough to break her, too weak to resist her.
Untamed, Sam Winchester is the living proof that in four hundred years, men haven’t truly changed.
*
Some women need to be tamed to become wild.
She used to be one of them, long before she tried forbidden positions, violated the sanctity of marriage and took part in satanic orgies.
She used to be one of those maidens who had no idea what her first husband was doing the first time he parted her legs. Weirdly, those first times are the only ones she remembers clearly. Because there’s something more intense about feelings when they’re too new to know if they’re good or bad. Because the other ones didn’t make as much sense. Because she never managed to love nor hate nor cry for the other ones as much as the first one.
She was one of those who had never known the taste of power until she found herself under an older, tougher man who, while ruling her entirely, gave himself to her completely. Everything always looked like he was the master, yet she always got exactly what she wanted.
*
Sam hates her. If she were purely demonic, she’d be delighted about it. If she were purely human, she’d suffer from it. Since she’s everything but pure, she simply doesn’t mind.
Sam pushes to make sure there’s no tenderness in the moment of his life when he needs it most. He struggles like a beautiful animal, dreading the trap behind the breast offered to weep on. He who used to be above average in terms of dealing with emotions, is now totally lost.
He hates himself, he hates her. He’s on the edge of having sex with someone he hates.
Isn’t it fortunate that she’s an expert in edges. She’s jumped all of them, one by one, so she knows what she’s talking about. She’s both pushing him and standing right where he’s about to fall, ready to catch him.
Only, it would be wrong to believe Sam is the only one to make a step. Her step is to forget. The more she experiences again pleasure and pain the way humans do, the more she forgets what it’s like to feel like a demon. The more obvious it becomes that the blood running through Sam’s bulging veins is more demonic than hers.
The dance is a clash. The meeting is a fight, and the fight is a celebration.
Let’s clink glasses of bodily fluids, drink to the fall of frontiers and boundaries! There is no such thing as a demon, no such thing as a human anymore.
The only distinction left without ambiguity is the fact of being woman or man.
*
Man, in the wild state, hunts and kills for his survival. Sam, in the state he’s in, has only one thing in mind : fighting for his rest.
Fight, fight, fight, with death as the only victory.
She must hinder his suicide mission and bring him to accept living with all the lines that have been crossed. She will stop him from hating himself and thus he will cease hating her.
She stands between him and the door, but she’s no match. Next thing she knows, she’s pinned between a wall and the knife. He towers over her, breathing in her face with the same tension and energy as the night before. That energy humans have, that can be either destructive or fruitful.
Surprisingly, the first worry that crosses her mind is about her body. The chances she could find another young woman who’s both comatose and attractive are practically nil, so she must take care of that body as if it was hers. Like a human would.
Human life has never been so valuable to Ruby while it’s never been so worthless to Sam.
She’s not going to fight him. Just going to be there at his side. Whatever he’ll want will be what she wants. But she’ll make sure he wants what she wants him to want.
He lets go of her and exits like a whirlwind, believing himself to be more determined than she is. Truth is, he may dominate her, but he’s not mastering anything.
Because in four hundred years, women probably haven’t changed either. And Ruby, even less.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: taxidryer
Rating: R
Genre: Het, angst
Word count: 800
Spoilers: 4.09 - I Know What You Did Last Summer
Pairing: Sam/Ruby
Summary: Untamed, Sam Winchester is the living proof that in four hundred years, men haven’t truly changed.
Disclaimer: The less I own, the better.
Posted: supernaturalfic, sn_fic, spn_het, spn_ruby, and sam_ruby.
Thanks: to patita_fea for the beta. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Author’s note: I has new tragic ship. You all saw me coming with this, I know.
Takes Two To Tango
Some men call themselves humanist. Feminist, altruist, pacifist, respectful, communicative, positive. They seek truth rather than certitude, balance rather than domination, justice rather than vengeance. You know, evolved men.
She’s sure Sam used to be one of them.
Not anymore. He buried his armor of proprieties with his brother and drowned his IQ of 143 with waves of whiskey. His kisses are as delicate as the marking grip on her scalp and his eyes as hard as his body.
Driven only by death urges and life urges, he has unlearned everything in between. Alone in the world, stripped from all social worries, he appears in his greatest potency and brutality. There he is, back to a wild state.
Strong enough to break her, too weak to resist her.
Untamed, Sam Winchester is the living proof that in four hundred years, men haven’t truly changed.
*
Some women need to be tamed to become wild.
She used to be one of them, long before she tried forbidden positions, violated the sanctity of marriage and took part in satanic orgies.
She used to be one of those maidens who had no idea what her first husband was doing the first time he parted her legs. Weirdly, those first times are the only ones she remembers clearly. Because there’s something more intense about feelings when they’re too new to know if they’re good or bad. Because the other ones didn’t make as much sense. Because she never managed to love nor hate nor cry for the other ones as much as the first one.
She was one of those who had never known the taste of power until she found herself under an older, tougher man who, while ruling her entirely, gave himself to her completely. Everything always looked like he was the master, yet she always got exactly what she wanted.
*
Sam hates her. If she were purely demonic, she’d be delighted about it. If she were purely human, she’d suffer from it. Since she’s everything but pure, she simply doesn’t mind.
Sam pushes to make sure there’s no tenderness in the moment of his life when he needs it most. He struggles like a beautiful animal, dreading the trap behind the breast offered to weep on. He who used to be above average in terms of dealing with emotions, is now totally lost.
He hates himself, he hates her. He’s on the edge of having sex with someone he hates.
Isn’t it fortunate that she’s an expert in edges. She’s jumped all of them, one by one, so she knows what she’s talking about. She’s both pushing him and standing right where he’s about to fall, ready to catch him.
Only, it would be wrong to believe Sam is the only one to make a step. Her step is to forget. The more she experiences again pleasure and pain the way humans do, the more she forgets what it’s like to feel like a demon. The more obvious it becomes that the blood running through Sam’s bulging veins is more demonic than hers.
The dance is a clash. The meeting is a fight, and the fight is a celebration.
Let’s clink glasses of bodily fluids, drink to the fall of frontiers and boundaries! There is no such thing as a demon, no such thing as a human anymore.
The only distinction left without ambiguity is the fact of being woman or man.
*
Man, in the wild state, hunts and kills for his survival. Sam, in the state he’s in, has only one thing in mind : fighting for his rest.
Fight, fight, fight, with death as the only victory.
She must hinder his suicide mission and bring him to accept living with all the lines that have been crossed. She will stop him from hating himself and thus he will cease hating her.
She stands between him and the door, but she’s no match. Next thing she knows, she’s pinned between a wall and the knife. He towers over her, breathing in her face with the same tension and energy as the night before. That energy humans have, that can be either destructive or fruitful.
Surprisingly, the first worry that crosses her mind is about her body. The chances she could find another young woman who’s both comatose and attractive are practically nil, so she must take care of that body as if it was hers. Like a human would.
Human life has never been so valuable to Ruby while it’s never been so worthless to Sam.
She’s not going to fight him. Just going to be there at his side. Whatever he’ll want will be what she wants. But she’ll make sure he wants what she wants him to want.
He lets go of her and exits like a whirlwind, believing himself to be more determined than she is. Truth is, he may dominate her, but he’s not mastering anything.
Because in four hundred years, women probably haven’t changed either. And Ruby, even less.