FIC: And with her singing, the Lorelei did this
Title: And with her singing, the Lorelei did this
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, slight implied Sam/OFC
Wordcount: 1,801
Thanks: To arabella_hope for the beta!! :D
Notes: For rejeneration on her birthday! (Which it still technically IS in her timezone anyway). I really hope you like it!! You gave me some lovely poetic lines to work with as inspiration, and I hope I did you right, Jen!! ♥ Also inspired by Die Lorelei
Summary: It's a party, and you're all invited. Wear white.
And with her singing, the Lorelei did this
It's a white bed. White mattress, white sheets and a bunched-up white-downy comforter between his fingers. Not just that it's white, but that it's clean, pristine and fine. Like bone china that you're just supposed to have, but not touch.
Dean likes darker colors, because it's easier to hide the blood and the grime, it's the first thing Sam learned. Never underestimate the usefulness of having a spare black t-shirt.
Sam fidgets in the bed, lying back against the white pillows and blowing the lock of hair that falls in his eyes away.
She comes in wearing the white dress shirt he wore the night before, and nothing else. Her white-blond hair almost matches it in the light. Carrying the breakfast tray to the bed, and there's coffee, so Sam perks up.
She smiles, crinkles at her eyes showing now that her face is clean and bare of makeup. Hands over the cup of coffee for him, extra hot and extra strong, just the way he likes it. Sam smiles back and sips before his eye is drawn to the small glass vial she's set on the tray with breakfast. In it, a simple white Lily of the Valley, and a little water.
Everything's perfect, pristine, white and clean. Nowhere to hide the blood.
"Sam, did you say something?" she asks.
Sam shakes his head. "There's nowhere to hide here, is there?" And she leans in to nip his ear with her lips.
"What do you have to hide from me?" Sam bites down the inside of his mouth.
*
"Fucking women in white," Dean snarls as he tears another fingernail against the craggy cliff.
*
Her name is Lorelei. She moves like water, flowing and filling the space with her presence. Moves the way the wind blows her, against the sheer white curtains blowing in the breeze.
"We've got to get ready for the party tonight," she says without moving her lips and Sam stays stuck to the edge of the bed, legs unmoving against his strain. He tries to focus, concentrate on lifting himself from the bed and moving out of the room.
Lorelei is a wave crashing into him, pinning him down against the bed. Pulling invisible strings against his arms and legs. "You should get dressed," her voice lilts out as Sam gasps for air, her hand closing around his throat.
*
"Of course there's a hedge maze. Of course the god damn haunted mansion is on an island on a cliff and of course there's a fucking hedge maze to walk through when you finally get across the water without fucking drowning, and somehow up the rocks without falling and dying. Because logically, that's what should come next! Fighting your way through topiaries!" Dean says as his machete cuts through the rows and rows of brambly bushes as he heads towards the house.
*
Sam adjusts his cufflinks as Lorelei slides beside him, giving him that sweet smile. He turns and zips up her white dress, with the gold clasp-chain. He runs a finger down her back and she turns to kiss him.
"It's going to be a wonderful party," she says.
Sam's mouth tightens like his fist hanging at his side, shaking with anger. "I'm going to send you to the other side, and you're going to let them all go, Lorelei."
Lorelei doesn't flinch, doesn't break her perfectly sculpted expression at all. "I think our guests are starting to arrive," she says and holds up her hand for Sam to take.
They leave the master bedroom and walk into the hallway towards the top of the staircase. Sam watches Lorelei glide across the floor, her feet never touching the marble ground. They pause at the top of the stairs and Lorelei narrows her eyes and the guests all turn, looking up at the couple at the top of the grand staircase.
The room applauds as they descend into the sea of people, their expressions betraying the panic they all feel as they've been trapped in their bodies, unable to leave.
*
Dean throws open the fancy French doors, leaving behind dirty, bloody handprints on the white frames. He's damp from the water, hands cut and scratched from climbing the rocks, and he's covered in dirt and brambles and leaves from fighting his way through the hedges.
So he's kind of under-dressed for the ball.
*
The waltz is slow and winding, winding, winding. His hand perfectly placed on Lorelei's hip. Her perfect beatific smile looking up at him before she lays her head on his shoulder, her bun still perfectly set-not a hair out of place.
And then the perfect little pocket of time comes face to face with Dean Winchester, his shotgun ripping her to shreds as a round of rocksalt blasts through her body and she screams.
The pain is immeasurable.
*
Dean cocks the gun and slings it back over his shoulder, running to Sam as he writhes on the ground like the other party guests. "Sam? Sam!" Dean shouts, trying to shake him back to reality. His dirty hands smudge the white tuxedo Sam wears, leaving behind dark fingerprints like stains. And then Dean's smudging the corners of Sam's face when he grabs him, cradles his head in his hand, trying to bring him back.
"Sam, focus! Focus on me, okay? It's all her doing this to you, it's not real-"
Sam gasps, sitting straight up. "Dean, you have to go, now!"
Dean shakes his head, running his thumb against Sam's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."
"No, you have to! The chandelier, she hangs herself from the chandelier!" Sam shouts, shoving Dean away just as Lorelei screams and the glass chandelier sways and breaks under the weight of her body.
The glass shatters over Sam's body.
*
Or it would if it was real, if it wasn't an echo that fades when she hits the ground. Sam looks through the hallucination into the reality. The broken chandelier and the dead body. The way the old house really looks, covered in graying dust and cobwebs.
And then Lorelei brings herself together again. Resets the game from start.
*
It's the white bed again. Sam blinking to wakefulness in the white room, with the sunlight and Lorelei and-
"Dean!" Sam shouts, "Dean if you can hear, me, I found the body, it's still here-mmmph!" Lorelei covers his mouth with her own. And Sam can't talk, can't breathe.
Sam manages to twist from her grasp, her power over him fading. Maybe Dean's shotgun blast bought them a window of opportunity now that Lorelei is off-balance.
"Dean! She's still where she died! They never moved the body!" Lorelei screams, shaking the room. The perfect white sheets start to tear and the perfect white walls stain and crack.
"They left you there, didn't they? All your friends, your party guests. You killed yourself and made yourself a spectacle and yet in the end they showed their true colors and ran away. No one ever spoke of you again. They took away what you wanted-"
Lorelei looks up, black tears running down her eyes. "All I ever wanted was to throw them a party they'd never forget," she says, in a small voice.
Sam looks away as she screams and burns into ashes.
*
Sam descends the staircase for the first time without Lorelei hanging off his arm; this time to the empty, decaying room of the abandoned house. Dean stands over the body as it burns away. The room is full of the others, strangers Lorelei had lured there, all wandering in every direction before realizing that they're no longer bound.
Sam waits at the foot of the stairs for them to leave, Dean snuffs out the fire before joining him. Dean bumps Sam's side as he sits. "You clean up real nice."
Sam pulls his mouth, "And you just need to clean up."
"Ouch," Dean says, thumping his hand over his heart, shaking a bramble loose from his clothes. Sam laughs sharply, a boom in the silence.
*
It's another bed, in another nondescript motel room. The sheets are cheap, the colors are garish. All the rooms tend to blur together for Sam, there's nothing quite different or special about any one of them.
But there's nothing better than the way Dean presses Sam into the lousy, cheap mattress. Nothing quite like the feeling of Dean's body over his own. Naked, wet and clean; his hair still sticking up in spikes and the smell of soap still clinging to his skin. Sam drinks it in with his eyes and tastes it on his tongue as he works his mouth against Dean's neck and shoulder, then runs down the marks and scratches lining his chest. Sam's hands grip Dean's hips tight, fingers pressing into damp skin. Dean's fingers pull at the drawstring of Sam's sweats, tugging until Sam strips bare to match Dean.
Dean throws off the sheets and presses directly against Sam's body, rutting against him and Sam reaches across Dean's torso to his cock, growing hard in his hand. "Sam," Dean says into his mouth as he presses his forehead to Sam's, their mouths just barely brushing against each other. And Sam can feel Dean's breath change as he starts moving into the touch.
"Want you to-" Sam starts.
"I wanna," Dean answers before he can finish. Reaches over to the edge of the bed to grab what he needs from his bag of tricks. Sam almost laughs at the thought, of how it kind of breaks the romance and reminds him of how real this all is.
There's no soft breeze, only the hum of the air conditioner. There's no gentle dawn light pouring in, but a neon sign too close to the window stains the room red. There's no elegant breakfast tray and carafe of coffee, and no scent of Lily of the Valley perfuming the air.
There's just the scent of sweat and sex and Dean, there's the feeling of Dean's cock, slicked up and sliding into him. There's the way Dean clenches his mouth and bites Sam's shoulder, telling him how tight, how sweet, how perfect he is.
Sam's nerves fire off at the scrape of Dean's teeth against his skin and he just breathes. Just breathes and grips tight around Dean's neck. He wants him right where he is, holding him tight, and right where he is, never letting go until-
*
Water breaking against rock. A woman dressed in white with her feet buried in the sand, lilies braided in her hair.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and she turns to him.
"Would you like to come to my party?" she says, beatific smile.
*
Rating: R
Pairing: Sam/Dean, slight implied Sam/OFC
Wordcount: 1,801
Thanks: To arabella_hope for the beta!! :D
Notes: For rejeneration on her birthday! (Which it still technically IS in her timezone anyway). I really hope you like it!! You gave me some lovely poetic lines to work with as inspiration, and I hope I did you right, Jen!! ♥ Also inspired by Die Lorelei
Summary: It's a party, and you're all invited. Wear white.
And with her singing, the Lorelei did this
It's a white bed. White mattress, white sheets and a bunched-up white-downy comforter between his fingers. Not just that it's white, but that it's clean, pristine and fine. Like bone china that you're just supposed to have, but not touch.
Dean likes darker colors, because it's easier to hide the blood and the grime, it's the first thing Sam learned. Never underestimate the usefulness of having a spare black t-shirt.
Sam fidgets in the bed, lying back against the white pillows and blowing the lock of hair that falls in his eyes away.
She comes in wearing the white dress shirt he wore the night before, and nothing else. Her white-blond hair almost matches it in the light. Carrying the breakfast tray to the bed, and there's coffee, so Sam perks up.
She smiles, crinkles at her eyes showing now that her face is clean and bare of makeup. Hands over the cup of coffee for him, extra hot and extra strong, just the way he likes it. Sam smiles back and sips before his eye is drawn to the small glass vial she's set on the tray with breakfast. In it, a simple white Lily of the Valley, and a little water.
Everything's perfect, pristine, white and clean. Nowhere to hide the blood.
"Sam, did you say something?" she asks.
Sam shakes his head. "There's nowhere to hide here, is there?" And she leans in to nip his ear with her lips.
"What do you have to hide from me?" Sam bites down the inside of his mouth.
*
"Fucking women in white," Dean snarls as he tears another fingernail against the craggy cliff.
*
Her name is Lorelei. She moves like water, flowing and filling the space with her presence. Moves the way the wind blows her, against the sheer white curtains blowing in the breeze.
"We've got to get ready for the party tonight," she says without moving her lips and Sam stays stuck to the edge of the bed, legs unmoving against his strain. He tries to focus, concentrate on lifting himself from the bed and moving out of the room.
Lorelei is a wave crashing into him, pinning him down against the bed. Pulling invisible strings against his arms and legs. "You should get dressed," her voice lilts out as Sam gasps for air, her hand closing around his throat.
*
"Of course there's a hedge maze. Of course the god damn haunted mansion is on an island on a cliff and of course there's a fucking hedge maze to walk through when you finally get across the water without fucking drowning, and somehow up the rocks without falling and dying. Because logically, that's what should come next! Fighting your way through topiaries!" Dean says as his machete cuts through the rows and rows of brambly bushes as he heads towards the house.
*
Sam adjusts his cufflinks as Lorelei slides beside him, giving him that sweet smile. He turns and zips up her white dress, with the gold clasp-chain. He runs a finger down her back and she turns to kiss him.
"It's going to be a wonderful party," she says.
Sam's mouth tightens like his fist hanging at his side, shaking with anger. "I'm going to send you to the other side, and you're going to let them all go, Lorelei."
Lorelei doesn't flinch, doesn't break her perfectly sculpted expression at all. "I think our guests are starting to arrive," she says and holds up her hand for Sam to take.
They leave the master bedroom and walk into the hallway towards the top of the staircase. Sam watches Lorelei glide across the floor, her feet never touching the marble ground. They pause at the top of the stairs and Lorelei narrows her eyes and the guests all turn, looking up at the couple at the top of the grand staircase.
The room applauds as they descend into the sea of people, their expressions betraying the panic they all feel as they've been trapped in their bodies, unable to leave.
*
Dean throws open the fancy French doors, leaving behind dirty, bloody handprints on the white frames. He's damp from the water, hands cut and scratched from climbing the rocks, and he's covered in dirt and brambles and leaves from fighting his way through the hedges.
So he's kind of under-dressed for the ball.
*
The waltz is slow and winding, winding, winding. His hand perfectly placed on Lorelei's hip. Her perfect beatific smile looking up at him before she lays her head on his shoulder, her bun still perfectly set-not a hair out of place.
And then the perfect little pocket of time comes face to face with Dean Winchester, his shotgun ripping her to shreds as a round of rocksalt blasts through her body and she screams.
The pain is immeasurable.
*
Dean cocks the gun and slings it back over his shoulder, running to Sam as he writhes on the ground like the other party guests. "Sam? Sam!" Dean shouts, trying to shake him back to reality. His dirty hands smudge the white tuxedo Sam wears, leaving behind dark fingerprints like stains. And then Dean's smudging the corners of Sam's face when he grabs him, cradles his head in his hand, trying to bring him back.
"Sam, focus! Focus on me, okay? It's all her doing this to you, it's not real-"
Sam gasps, sitting straight up. "Dean, you have to go, now!"
Dean shakes his head, running his thumb against Sam's cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."
"No, you have to! The chandelier, she hangs herself from the chandelier!" Sam shouts, shoving Dean away just as Lorelei screams and the glass chandelier sways and breaks under the weight of her body.
The glass shatters over Sam's body.
*
Or it would if it was real, if it wasn't an echo that fades when she hits the ground. Sam looks through the hallucination into the reality. The broken chandelier and the dead body. The way the old house really looks, covered in graying dust and cobwebs.
And then Lorelei brings herself together again. Resets the game from start.
*
It's the white bed again. Sam blinking to wakefulness in the white room, with the sunlight and Lorelei and-
"Dean!" Sam shouts, "Dean if you can hear, me, I found the body, it's still here-mmmph!" Lorelei covers his mouth with her own. And Sam can't talk, can't breathe.
Sam manages to twist from her grasp, her power over him fading. Maybe Dean's shotgun blast bought them a window of opportunity now that Lorelei is off-balance.
"Dean! She's still where she died! They never moved the body!" Lorelei screams, shaking the room. The perfect white sheets start to tear and the perfect white walls stain and crack.
"They left you there, didn't they? All your friends, your party guests. You killed yourself and made yourself a spectacle and yet in the end they showed their true colors and ran away. No one ever spoke of you again. They took away what you wanted-"
Lorelei looks up, black tears running down her eyes. "All I ever wanted was to throw them a party they'd never forget," she says, in a small voice.
Sam looks away as she screams and burns into ashes.
*
Sam descends the staircase for the first time without Lorelei hanging off his arm; this time to the empty, decaying room of the abandoned house. Dean stands over the body as it burns away. The room is full of the others, strangers Lorelei had lured there, all wandering in every direction before realizing that they're no longer bound.
Sam waits at the foot of the stairs for them to leave, Dean snuffs out the fire before joining him. Dean bumps Sam's side as he sits. "You clean up real nice."
Sam pulls his mouth, "And you just need to clean up."
"Ouch," Dean says, thumping his hand over his heart, shaking a bramble loose from his clothes. Sam laughs sharply, a boom in the silence.
*
It's another bed, in another nondescript motel room. The sheets are cheap, the colors are garish. All the rooms tend to blur together for Sam, there's nothing quite different or special about any one of them.
But there's nothing better than the way Dean presses Sam into the lousy, cheap mattress. Nothing quite like the feeling of Dean's body over his own. Naked, wet and clean; his hair still sticking up in spikes and the smell of soap still clinging to his skin. Sam drinks it in with his eyes and tastes it on his tongue as he works his mouth against Dean's neck and shoulder, then runs down the marks and scratches lining his chest. Sam's hands grip Dean's hips tight, fingers pressing into damp skin. Dean's fingers pull at the drawstring of Sam's sweats, tugging until Sam strips bare to match Dean.
Dean throws off the sheets and presses directly against Sam's body, rutting against him and Sam reaches across Dean's torso to his cock, growing hard in his hand. "Sam," Dean says into his mouth as he presses his forehead to Sam's, their mouths just barely brushing against each other. And Sam can feel Dean's breath change as he starts moving into the touch.
"Want you to-" Sam starts.
"I wanna," Dean answers before he can finish. Reaches over to the edge of the bed to grab what he needs from his bag of tricks. Sam almost laughs at the thought, of how it kind of breaks the romance and reminds him of how real this all is.
There's no soft breeze, only the hum of the air conditioner. There's no gentle dawn light pouring in, but a neon sign too close to the window stains the room red. There's no elegant breakfast tray and carafe of coffee, and no scent of Lily of the Valley perfuming the air.
There's just the scent of sweat and sex and Dean, there's the feeling of Dean's cock, slicked up and sliding into him. There's the way Dean clenches his mouth and bites Sam's shoulder, telling him how tight, how sweet, how perfect he is.
Sam's nerves fire off at the scrape of Dean's teeth against his skin and he just breathes. Just breathes and grips tight around Dean's neck. He wants him right where he is, holding him tight, and right where he is, never letting go until-
*
Water breaking against rock. A woman dressed in white with her feet buried in the sand, lilies braided in her hair.
"Are you okay?" he asks, and she turns to him.
"Would you like to come to my party?" she says, beatific smile.
*