Poison
The bitter taste in his mouth was sharper than blood, and he'd tasted blood countless times; his own, his brother's, his father's; that of monsters and the dead alike. It was sharp and it burned, and something told him that he was only just opening the door on something more volatile and dangerous.
She was beautiful, she looked just like Cate Blanchett if he was honest, and every brush of her hand against his skin had always sent an amalgamation of emotions surging through him. Every time was different, like the caress of a mother, a sister, and now, as they watched each other with guarded desperation, it was the touch of a lover.
Dean set aside the cup of wine, something he only ever drank in her company, and he could feel his own breathing shallow as Elizabeth's gaze held his. She was something he'd never aspired to have for himself. She was royalty, and of course she would see herself best suited to an archangel, but here they were, and she was enticing, as much as the bitter wine on his tongue, like poison ebbing through his veins, making him lose every shred of sanity.
Fingers ran through red hair as Dean pressed forward, not quite meeting his lips with hers, and his green eyes studied her blue as the smallest little smirk graced her face.
"Surely you aren't becoming shy, Master Winchester."
Dean's breath caught in his throat at the laughter that escaped him, and his lips pressed firm to hers, commanding and controlling for only a moment. He was never forceful with the women he went with. That just wasn't him. Yet something in him was always sparked ablaze when he felt the moment approach, and Dean wondered if this would be the time when her presence in his head, the throbbing poison in his veins, would ignite and send him reeling from desperation.
Neither said a word as they struggled out of clothes; neither gave the other a chance. Lips, tongues, teeth, a veritable dance of passion and frustration ebbed out between them, and both knew the other was aching to the core for just the smallest of relief.
Not since Lisa, Dean thought to himself, and still the memory of her gave him pause, making him break from the kiss with a moment to regain himself. He'd loved her, but she wasn't his anymore, and Elizabeth had been right when she had told him he didn't need to be alone. Now, at least, he had a chance to forget and with a woman he was sure would never want for anything from him besides company. That much he could give.
Neither was certain how they had found their way to Elizabeth's bed, but she caressed his jaw as he took that pause, smiling up at him with all the sweetness in the world, and for a moment Dean believed it. For a moment he was sure she was made of something only Heaven could form, but he knew her. He knew the sarcasm and the cynical thoughts, he knew her forceful tone and how damn frightening she was when she was mad at him for being stupid again.
Dean chuckled against her hand and closed in for another kiss. It was a mere misstep, the pause, something forgotten in an instant as they sparked another flame between them, his hands dragging over her pale flesh, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders. Sweat-slicked limbs slid together, and neither would give the other a moment to rest, unwilling to stop in the exploration of each other's bodies, the rough rhythm increasing with every moment gone by.
She sang his praises with her gasps and moans. He praised her existence with his tongue and his body.
Every motion was fluid, wrang out by their clutching hands and aching muscles. He didn't give a single moment of reprive, she didn't want one from him, and as she arched her neck, Dean's teeth found the pale flesh, leaving a mark for which he knew she'd curse him for days.
It was sudden, and like blinding light behind her eyes. His shoulders stung with the sharpness of her nails, and his body siezed as his own moment came, mere seconds after hers.
When stillness fell, and they simply breathed beside each other, Dean watched her for a moment, wondering how she'd become such poison for him, and if he even wanted to find an antidote.
She was beautiful, she looked just like Cate Blanchett if he was honest, and every brush of her hand against his skin had always sent an amalgamation of emotions surging through him. Every time was different, like the caress of a mother, a sister, and now, as they watched each other with guarded desperation, it was the touch of a lover.
Dean set aside the cup of wine, something he only ever drank in her company, and he could feel his own breathing shallow as Elizabeth's gaze held his. She was something he'd never aspired to have for himself. She was royalty, and of course she would see herself best suited to an archangel, but here they were, and she was enticing, as much as the bitter wine on his tongue, like poison ebbing through his veins, making him lose every shred of sanity.
Fingers ran through red hair as Dean pressed forward, not quite meeting his lips with hers, and his green eyes studied her blue as the smallest little smirk graced her face.
"Surely you aren't becoming shy, Master Winchester."
Dean's breath caught in his throat at the laughter that escaped him, and his lips pressed firm to hers, commanding and controlling for only a moment. He was never forceful with the women he went with. That just wasn't him. Yet something in him was always sparked ablaze when he felt the moment approach, and Dean wondered if this would be the time when her presence in his head, the throbbing poison in his veins, would ignite and send him reeling from desperation.
Neither said a word as they struggled out of clothes; neither gave the other a chance. Lips, tongues, teeth, a veritable dance of passion and frustration ebbed out between them, and both knew the other was aching to the core for just the smallest of relief.
Not since Lisa, Dean thought to himself, and still the memory of her gave him pause, making him break from the kiss with a moment to regain himself. He'd loved her, but she wasn't his anymore, and Elizabeth had been right when she had told him he didn't need to be alone. Now, at least, he had a chance to forget and with a woman he was sure would never want for anything from him besides company. That much he could give.
Neither was certain how they had found their way to Elizabeth's bed, but she caressed his jaw as he took that pause, smiling up at him with all the sweetness in the world, and for a moment Dean believed it. For a moment he was sure she was made of something only Heaven could form, but he knew her. He knew the sarcasm and the cynical thoughts, he knew her forceful tone and how damn frightening she was when she was mad at him for being stupid again.
Dean chuckled against her hand and closed in for another kiss. It was a mere misstep, the pause, something forgotten in an instant as they sparked another flame between them, his hands dragging over her pale flesh, her fingernails sinking into his shoulders. Sweat-slicked limbs slid together, and neither would give the other a moment to rest, unwilling to stop in the exploration of each other's bodies, the rough rhythm increasing with every moment gone by.
She sang his praises with her gasps and moans. He praised her existence with his tongue and his body.
Every motion was fluid, wrang out by their clutching hands and aching muscles. He didn't give a single moment of reprive, she didn't want one from him, and as she arched her neck, Dean's teeth found the pale flesh, leaving a mark for which he knew she'd curse him for days.
It was sudden, and like blinding light behind her eyes. His shoulders stung with the sharpness of her nails, and his body siezed as his own moment came, mere seconds after hers.
When stillness fell, and they simply breathed beside each other, Dean watched her for a moment, wondering how she'd become such poison for him, and if he even wanted to find an antidote.