Fic: I'm on fire
Title : I’m on fire
Author : Joans23
Rating : R
Paring : Dean/Jo, Jo/Sam, Sam/Dean, implied Dean/Jo/Sam
Prompt : A while ago theladyscribewas thinking of opening a comm for fic inspired by Bruce Springsteen songs. I had this idea of using the lyrics of the song as actual dialogue and I’ve always thought I’m on fire is an incredibly dark and sexy song, so I tried to capture that feel.
“Hey, little girl”
If he startles her, she doesn’t show it, just keeps on wiping down the bar in lazy circles. It doesn’t matter that the last customer, the one with the grabby hands, left an hour ago or that she had locked the door herself. Double bolts and a thick line of salt. In her bar salt is used for more that tequila shots and margaritas.
“Is your daddy home?”
His voice is low, seductive, a little menacing and it makes something tighten low in her belly. He’s closer, about halfway between her and the door now and she knows exactly how many tables and chairs are between them.
“Did he go away and leave you all alone?”
Finally her hands slow and stop. She slowly turns around and peers up at him from behind the bangs hanging over her eyes. He’s standing right there, close enough for his breath to push the hair against her forehead, the sweat and grime making it stick there. She looks him in the eye with a look that says she doesn’t have a daddy anymore. He knows she hasn’t had one for a very long time now. He reaches out, runs his hands up her arms, over her shoulders until he’s cupping her face between two cold, callused hands. She’s got goose bumps all over, but she doesn’t shiver. She’s strangely proud of herself for that. He leans in and whispers in her ear before covering her mouth with his.
“I got a bad desire.”
She doesn’t kiss him back, but she’s wet when his fingers dip down the front of her pants, groping and stroking her through her sodden panties. He fucks her bent over the bar, her pants only pushed down far enough for him to get inside of her. She doesn’t call out, concentrates on the white of his knuckles where he grips her hands over the edge of the bar, on the cruel way her wedding band cuts into her finger. Doesn’t say his name when he pulls out to come all over her back and thighs. She just lets her forehead fall forward to rest on the counter she wiped clean just a couple of minutes ago and starts to softly cry. When he roughly asks if she’s okay, she can only shake her head. She waits to hear the door swing shut behind him again before she straightens. She stares at the taillights’ diminishing red glow through the window and it’s only when the night is dark again that she can quietly answer him.
“I’m on fire.”
******
She’s still in the shower when Sam gets home. The water is threatening to run cold, but she still doesn’t feel clean. She looks down at her hands turning the bar of soap over and over between them and wonders whether she ever will again. Tries to remember when last she did and can’t. She hears him come in through the bedroom door and knows he’ll see her dirty clothes all over the floor where she stripped out of them as quickly as her trembling hands had let her. Will he stop to look at them, maybe pick up her shirt and finger the white stickiness belonging to his brother? What will he do when he realizes that while Sam was out looking for him, he came to find her? She’s standing dead still, trying to hear his movements over the insistent hiss of the water when he slides through the curtain, stepping into the shower with her. She barely has time to register that he’s naked too before he wraps those two strong arms around her and pins her to the back wall. She can feel his erection pressing against her when he hisses into her hair.
“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”
She doesn’t say anything, still can’t. He pulls away from her, holds her at arms length, letting his eyes search all over her face and body. She gives a tiny shake of her head, so slight she’s not even sure if he can see it, but it’s all she can do. He steps forwards, lifts her up to wrap her legs around his waist and pushes into her slick wet heat.
“Can he do to you the things that I do?”
He pumps into her, softly at first, speeding up when she tightens her grip around his neck, when he hears her breath catch in her throat, when he knows her eyes are pinched shut and her mouth is open wide in a silent scream. She can feel him trembling and she knows he’s close when he pulls away a little to look at her face again. He looks down, his mouth working open and closed, and just when she thinks he’s not going to say anything, he lifts his eyes to meet hers and there is water glistening in the corners.
“I can take you higher.”
He pushes her over the edge with those words and as she comes with his name on her lips, finally finding her voice, so does he, pulling her close to empty himself as deep inside of her as he can get. They stay like that until their breaths slow and even out, only then does he let her unhook her legs to slide down. He turns from her, resting his head against the cool tiles as silent tears spill from his clenched eyes. She stands staring at him for an instant, shivering and unsure, then steps forward to rest a hand against his broad back. She doesn’t know what to say back when he whispers.
“I’m on fire.”
They’re sitting in the kitchen, two untouched cups of black coffee long since grown cold between them. The rickety table that dips and spills when Sam leans forward to brush Jo’s hair out of her eyes. She wants him to stay, doesn’t know the words to make him believe that it’s him she wants, him she needs. He knows, is tempted to let her think that he’s doing this for her. It’ll be easier that way, but he’s been living with the lie too long already.
“Sometimes, it’s like… someone … took a knife, baby.”
Knives, she understands knives.
“Edgy and dull.”
She looks down and away, the curtain of hair falling between them again. He doesn’t know if she hears, if she’s even still listening. He watches the silent rise and fall of her breasts and pushes out the rest of his words as he pushes back his chair.
“And cut a six-inch valley through the middle of my soul.”
*****
He knows where Dean is now, would’ve had him earlier if he had been there when he broke into the cheap motel room. When he tries the door this time, it’s open and Dean sits waiting for him on the unmade bed framed by the soft amber light of the bedside lamp. He closes the door, leaning against it with his back, feeling like a gangly teenager again, taking up too much space. He had his whole speech worked out, knew Dean wouldn’t … couldn’t say anything. Isn’t that why he left in the first place? Easier to run and hide than talk about what happened between the three of them. But the words are all gone now, he can only stare at his brother’s hand wiping over his short cropped hair, across his mouth. His fingers are still covering his lips, making it hard for Sam to hear, when he starts to speak.
“At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head.”
Sam doesn’t want to hear any more, wants it to mean what he needs it to. He takes three strides forward, takes Dean’s hand and presses it to his chest. Dean can feel the rumbling of his voice vibrating through his palm before he hears the words spill from Sam’s lips.
“Only you can cool my desire.”
Hours later Sam turns the Impala out of the parking lot as the sun starts to tint the new day orange and red. He’s bringing Dean home, home to them. Dean is slumped down in the passenger seat, looking out at the approaching dawn and Sam is too intent on the road to see him make foggy clouds on the window with his breath like when they were little. He lifts a finger, wants to write it out in ghostly letters that will swiftly disappear. He lets it hover for an instant and then folds his arms, tucks his right hand back under his left armpit, leaving it unwritten, the admission unspoken.
“I’m on fire.”