Supernatural fic: one foot in the gate of hell
one foot in the gate of hell [Supernatural, Dean/Ruby/Sam, NC-17, 3,152 words, 4x10 coda. A huge thank you to athenejen for betaing. Title from The Box by Eastern Conference Champions.]
"I've been in Hell too," she says.
*
She watches them. They're both red-eyed and silent this evening, awkward around each other. She can guess what that means-Dean's talked.
*
Ruby saw him, in passing. Being sent on her way to her own little corner of torment. Saw him resisting, saw him giving in. She thinks he knows that she saw-she sees it in the way he can't look at her.
*
She stays at Bobby's, after Anna's gone back to heaven and the other angels have gone on their way. The old man would probably be pissed off, but that's just a bonus. She doesn't ask to stay, and they don't ask her, it just happens.
They don't need the panic room right now, so they camp out in the living room, the three of them. Like they're playing at happy families. Ruby snorts, and Dean raises an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't get the joke," she says, and he doesn't say try me. Just uncaps a beer and hands it to her, all polite, like she's a person. "Thanks," she says, and drinks.
The silence is strained and loud, and Ruby almost wishes the blind psychic woman had stayed. At least she might've fucked a smile or some sound into Dean. Still, it doesn't take a psychic to see what he needs, and doesn't take a psychic woman to give it to him.
She rubs her arms and shivers. Anticipation, not chill.
*
She can still feel the trace effects of the torture, even though her body's healed. A rawness across the soft flesh of her belly where the knife sliced deepest. A weakness in her limbs from loss of blood. She'll be pale for a while, but she's fit enough to cope. She needs a shower, though, and clean clothes. There's dried blood crusted on her top and it itches.
"Alright if I-? she asks, and motions to Sam's duffle bag. He nods, and she pulls out a shirt. Far too big, but it'll do.
Dean clears his throat and takes a swig of beer. Looks anywhere but at her, but she can tell he's about to speak to her. "You can, um, borrow something of mine. Just a shirt, mind, I'm not giving you free rein to steal my stuff, so don't go twisting my words and taking anything else."
Ruby grins. First time she's felt like it today. "Don't worry, Dean. I won't touch your gay porn stash." She pulls out a crumpled t-shirt. Smaller than Sam's, it'll be a better fit, though it's still too big.
She takes her time in the shower. The water's hot and stings her skin, washes away the feel of Alastair's touch. She rubs the blood off her arms.
She puts her head back and lets the water pour down her face until the rush of water is the only thing she can hear. Lets it wash away the lingering sound of being tortured, wash away the scent.
Her hair is sticky with blood, dried and crusty at the roots. She scrubs her scalp and shampoos it three times before the water runs clear. It swirls reddish-brown down the drain, this body's blood.
She stays until the water goes cold. Dean will bitch at her for it, and Sam too, maybe, but she can't bring herself to care. She dries herself roughly, getting chilled now, and pulls on Dean's t-shirt over still-damp skin. It's soft and warm and smells of him, faint trace of cheap aftershave and sweat and gunpowder. She knew it was used when she chose it.
She picks through her own clothes, but there's nothing that's not caked in blood, so she throws them all in the shower to soak. At least they didn't get cut up-she likes these jeans.
"Took long enough," Sam says when she gets out. She shrugs. She took as long as it took, that's all.
She wonders if he'll notice that the water's cold.
*
Dean's knocking back another beer. There's only the one empty by his side, though, and she's not his keeper anyway.
She stands in front of him.
"What?" he says irritably, then looks up and grimaces. "Tell me you've got something on under that."
She doesn't answer him, just takes the bottle from him and puts it down. It's telling that he doesn't stop her. Once he'd have been more likely to hit her with it than hand it over without a protest. She pushes his thighs together and kneels on either side. Not quite sitting on his lap.
"I've been in Hell too, Dean," she whispers in his ear.
She doesn't tell him she understands. He'd probably punch her for it. He doesn't want to hear that, doesn't need it, not from her. She's not even sure it'd be true, anyway. Everyone's hell is different. Why should she understand his?
Or he hers.
He kisses her first, and that surprises her. Hands cupping her face, and it's the shock that makes her lean in and let go until she's sitting pressed up against him, the roughness of denim against her bare thighs.
Kissing Dean is nothing like kissing Sam.
She doesn't know why she thought it'd be the same.
There's salt on his face-she can taste it on his lips, sadness and guilt. She likes to think there's no trace of angel left, because that would be just too ironic.
She thought, as much as she's thought of this, that he'd be vicious. She thought he'd take his guilt and use it up on her, but he's gentle. He kisses her softly, and when he lifts her t-shirt (his t-shirt), he pauses and pulls back far enough to see her face and check silently that she's okay with this. She'd laugh if he weren't so serious.
His hands are smaller than Sam's, but still huge on her.
She's naked and he's still fully clothed when Sam returns, all damp hair and clean clothes. She turns to see him standing in the doorway looking-shocked? Horrified? Or something else, something less obvious. Ruby's not sure what it is. It isn't jealousy. Not that she would have expected that. Not over her.
He turns to walk back out, but she doesn't want him to go. "Sam," she says, and hopes he understands.
He doesn't look at her. He looks at Dean and Dean looks back. She can tell the moment they come to a decision, Dean's sharp nod and Sam's matching one, but she isn't sure what they've decided (she'll never speak their language) until Sam walks into the room and falls to his knees behind her.
When Sam touches her she thinks it will all change, the softness, that Sam will be the way he always is, angry and hurt and needy. But when Dean lets go of her face and Sam reaches from behind, he brushes his thumbs gently over her jaw, lingering over the dip in her neck where her pulse is. He smoothes his thumb there, as though he's amazed that she has a heart beat, has blood flowing through her body. He kisses her, slow and warm in the crook of her neck. He must feel the way her pulse is racing.
She can't look behind her. She's doesn't think she can bear to see Sam's face. So she watches Dean, rubs a finger down his spit-shiny bottom lip. He's pretty, she thinks, and is tempted to say so. A split lip doesn't appeal right now, but it might be worth it to hear Sam laugh.
"So pretty under that stubble, Dean," she says, and just gets a wry glare for her effort and a muffled chuckle from Sam. It rumbles through her, warms her.
She plucks at Dean's shirt. "It's hardly right that I'm the only one naked around here," she says, and lifts his shirt at the same time, wresting it up over his head. He raises his arms to let her, and for a moment he's exposed, arms up and tangled and he's wide open and vulnerable.
The possibilities race through her mind.
She dismisses them.
His amulet must have got caught up in his shirt-it's swaying on his chest. She lifts up a hand to it, but he bats it away.
She's never seen him without it, not since the day he came back from Hell, and Sam was keeping it safe then. She asked Sam about it once, when Dean was gone, but he choked up and couldn't answer, and she didn't press him.
She doesn't press now, just drops her hand and lets it fall to rest by itself.
There's a tattoo on his chest that matches Sam's - she should have known they'd have matching ones. And on his shoulder, a handprint. Huge and swollen, ugly like a burn. She doesn't need to ask - she can guess. Fucking angels, always wanting to leave their mark behind.
He's not as built as Sam, softer, somehow, but he feels good under her hands.
Sam's knotting her damp hair up out of the way, like he knows what he's doing, a familiar task, and she knows about Jess, did her homework long before she met Sam. Jess had blonde hair, long enough to tie back.
Ruby's glad coma girl's a brunette.
There's a coolness as air reaches the nape of her neck, then Sam's mouth follows it, kissing her, still softly, still like he's never touched her before. As though all this is new to him, and she's something, someone, to be careful with. She closes her eyes a moment, wetness in the corner of them. These foolish leaking human bodies.
She bites her lip and stops thinking. Pulls Dean's belt open and pops the buttons on his jeans. He helps her, shifting around to get out of them and Sam puts his hands on her waist and lifts her up, takes her weight off Dean so he can strip. Dean keeps his boxer briefs on though, whether from some freakish sense of prudery or because Sam's here, she's not sure.
She can work with that though. She cups him through the cotton, outlining the hardening length of him underneath.
"You're a big boy, aren't you, Dean. Not as big as your brother," she teases, "but then not many guys are.
"Does Sam ever gag you when he's fucking you?" Dean asks. "Because I really wouldn't blame him."
"Ooh, kinky. And there was me thinking you're so much more vanilla than Sam." Another laugh from Sam, and he lowers her back down so she's naked flesh against naked flesh with Dean.
"He is," Sam whispers in her ear, and she's isn't sure if Dean is meant to hear.
She whispers back. "Aren't you going to get naked too?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says, and she hears the rustle and thump of clothes falling to the ground.
She wonders if they've done this before. Some other time, some other girl. They share everything. She doesn't think so, though, not with the way Dean's keeping his eyes resolutely on her when normally they're always on Sam, the way Sam is talking to her but not to Dean.
She'd feel special, but she knows that's not it. It's just a moment in time, something they need - Dean mostly, she thinks, but Sam too. Tension released. A distraction, a warm body to help them forget for a while.
She understands. She's used her human body, all the pleasures its senses allows, to block out everything else, to forget about all her plans and schemes and how she's going to save Sam and how she hopes she's not going to end back in hell for it but fears she will.
They're all distracting themselves, but that's all right when it means Dean almost naked under her, and Sam pressed up behind her and he's naked too, she can feel the damp warmth of his skin. She can smell the soap from the shower, the same soap she used, and when he wraps himself around her, water drips off his hair onto her bare shoulders. It feels intimate.
She curls her hand around Dean's cock, shaping the fabric around it. Smoothing it, stroking, and he's swelling in her hand, even harder. He looks almost ashamed a moment, and she doesn't want that. That's not what this is for, so she leans forward and kisses him, sweet, the way she thinks he likes it, sweet with her lips and dirty with her hands, and he moans under her. He likes it.
She reaches inside the elastic of his waistband, pulls it down a little, enough that the head of his cock peaks out. He's pretty here too, red and wanting, and she wants to taste. Leans down to do so-her new body is as limber as her old one-and licks the head like a lollipop.
It leaves them face to face, and she wishes she could see. Wonders if they're looking at each other or watching her.
The awkward silence is answer enough, and then Dean's hand's in her hair, not keeping her down but pulling her up. He shakes his head and looks uncomfortable, as though he doesn't want to admit that the problem is that he bared his soul to Sam today and now he can't face him. Not that he doesn't want his dick sucked by a demon that his brother fucks. She snorts, amused. She's never known two such messed up guys, and she's spent centuries in hell.
"Wanna fuck you," Dean says, cocky and confident sounding like that's the only reason he pulled her off his dick. He's not half as good an actor as he thinks he is.
But she doesn't mind. She wants to feel him inside her, wants Sam to watch and hold her while Dean fucks her. Just thinking about it makes her wet.
"Sure," she says, like it's no big deal to her either way, like her belly isn't aching for this. She's a better actress than Dean.
She peels down Dean's boxer briefs, awkward fumble and scramble as they work them down his thighs and he kicks them off one foot onto the floor.
"Got anything?" she asks, and holds out her hand.
He looks blank for a moment, then startled, embarrassed at having forgotten. "In my-" he starts, and Sam interrupts.
"I'll go," he says, hand on her shoulder holding her still, and Ruby knows that if she turns around he'll be flushed red. She won't tease him though, running for condoms for his brother, not when the balance is so precarious, her in the middle and them all that they are.
She tears the foil with her teeth, a satisfying sound, and rolls the condom on, taking her time, smoothing it on carefully. Sits back on her haunches after to admire. He's beautiful, and he thinks he's ugly, stained beyond cleaning, and she knows how that feels when it's true and it's not true for him.
She kisses him again, just once, then lifts herself up and sinks onto him. This body's tight, for all the times Sam's fucked her hard and fast, and Dean's huge inside her, filling her up and it's so good. He spans her waist, fingers sinking into the butter-soft flesh there, and holds her in place. Sets up a rhythm, his hips and his hands, lifting her and pulling her back down. She lets him, doesn't take her weight, lets her thighs go slack against his and her head fall back against Sam, and just feels it. Lets Dean be in control. She thinks it's what he needs, something he's chosen to do, no coercion, no wishing he could be somewhere else. He's enjoying this, grunts stifled but real, and Ruby's glad of it, glad for him.
Sam's gasping behind her, and she can hear the wet slap of him stripping his own cock. Then the warm splatter of come on her back, and he's leaning against her, forehead against her back while come trickles down her ass. She's cocooned between the two of them, and Dean is taking her nipple in his mouth. He lathes it with his tongue, suckles and nips just sharp enough to be on the edge of pain. Sam's hands are smoothing down her back and his tongue follows them, licking a clean stripe down the ridge of her back, and he keeps going, hands gripping her ass and pulling her apart, and he's tongue fucking her and Dean's sinking deeper inside her.
She's breathing heavy now, and it hurts, drawing in breath hurts.
Dean doesn't say her name when he comes, or anything sweet or meaningful. She'd have laughed in his face if he had. That's not what this was all about. But the tension in his shoulders has eased, and the tightness around his mouth, and he's almost smiling as he leans back.
She gives him a minute, doesn't complain, even though he's gone still just when she needed him to move faster. But maybe her face is telling him what she needs, because he doesn't pull out, just slips his hand between her thighs and curls his finger just right, and it's perfect, Sam flicking his tongue lower still, so far down she thinks he must be almost touching Dean's cock. Sam's tongue and Dean's finger, and it's too much, it's just enough, it's her shuddering and exhaling as hard as if she's being exorcised.
She stays there a moment, Dean softening inside her, Sam holding her up. Rests there, and feels like she's a part of them.
She wonders, briefly, if they'll try this again, the two of them without her. She sees the way they look at each other, and it's not brotherly, not all of it.
She isn't going to judge.
No one speaks, and Ruby's glad. There's nothing to say, and they'll move soon enough, Sam backing off and Ruby out of the way, and all of them looking anywhere but at each other, fumbling clothes back on so they don't have to watch each other naked.
They'll eat around the table in Bobby's kitchen, the three of them together, food and beer enough to wipe out the awkwardness. And she'll stay the night, because Sam trusts her, and Dean doesn't wholly distrust her, at least not enough to kick her out in the dark after fucking her. She'll leave them the living room to sleep in, Dean on the cot he's pulled out from somewhere, Sam curling somehow onto the couch. She'll find an empty room, one of the ones upstairs with the boarded up windows, and she'll settle in the corner.
She won't want to sleep, not tonight. Just sit and remember, over and over, until nothing will be able to wipe it out. Not even Hell.
//
"I've been in Hell too," she says.
*
She watches them. They're both red-eyed and silent this evening, awkward around each other. She can guess what that means-Dean's talked.
*
Ruby saw him, in passing. Being sent on her way to her own little corner of torment. Saw him resisting, saw him giving in. She thinks he knows that she saw-she sees it in the way he can't look at her.
*
She stays at Bobby's, after Anna's gone back to heaven and the other angels have gone on their way. The old man would probably be pissed off, but that's just a bonus. She doesn't ask to stay, and they don't ask her, it just happens.
They don't need the panic room right now, so they camp out in the living room, the three of them. Like they're playing at happy families. Ruby snorts, and Dean raises an eyebrow.
"You wouldn't get the joke," she says, and he doesn't say try me. Just uncaps a beer and hands it to her, all polite, like she's a person. "Thanks," she says, and drinks.
The silence is strained and loud, and Ruby almost wishes the blind psychic woman had stayed. At least she might've fucked a smile or some sound into Dean. Still, it doesn't take a psychic to see what he needs, and doesn't take a psychic woman to give it to him.
She rubs her arms and shivers. Anticipation, not chill.
*
She can still feel the trace effects of the torture, even though her body's healed. A rawness across the soft flesh of her belly where the knife sliced deepest. A weakness in her limbs from loss of blood. She'll be pale for a while, but she's fit enough to cope. She needs a shower, though, and clean clothes. There's dried blood crusted on her top and it itches.
"Alright if I-? she asks, and motions to Sam's duffle bag. He nods, and she pulls out a shirt. Far too big, but it'll do.
Dean clears his throat and takes a swig of beer. Looks anywhere but at her, but she can tell he's about to speak to her. "You can, um, borrow something of mine. Just a shirt, mind, I'm not giving you free rein to steal my stuff, so don't go twisting my words and taking anything else."
Ruby grins. First time she's felt like it today. "Don't worry, Dean. I won't touch your gay porn stash." She pulls out a crumpled t-shirt. Smaller than Sam's, it'll be a better fit, though it's still too big.
She takes her time in the shower. The water's hot and stings her skin, washes away the feel of Alastair's touch. She rubs the blood off her arms.
She puts her head back and lets the water pour down her face until the rush of water is the only thing she can hear. Lets it wash away the lingering sound of being tortured, wash away the scent.
Her hair is sticky with blood, dried and crusty at the roots. She scrubs her scalp and shampoos it three times before the water runs clear. It swirls reddish-brown down the drain, this body's blood.
She stays until the water goes cold. Dean will bitch at her for it, and Sam too, maybe, but she can't bring herself to care. She dries herself roughly, getting chilled now, and pulls on Dean's t-shirt over still-damp skin. It's soft and warm and smells of him, faint trace of cheap aftershave and sweat and gunpowder. She knew it was used when she chose it.
She picks through her own clothes, but there's nothing that's not caked in blood, so she throws them all in the shower to soak. At least they didn't get cut up-she likes these jeans.
"Took long enough," Sam says when she gets out. She shrugs. She took as long as it took, that's all.
She wonders if he'll notice that the water's cold.
*
Dean's knocking back another beer. There's only the one empty by his side, though, and she's not his keeper anyway.
She stands in front of him.
"What?" he says irritably, then looks up and grimaces. "Tell me you've got something on under that."
She doesn't answer him, just takes the bottle from him and puts it down. It's telling that he doesn't stop her. Once he'd have been more likely to hit her with it than hand it over without a protest. She pushes his thighs together and kneels on either side. Not quite sitting on his lap.
"I've been in Hell too, Dean," she whispers in his ear.
She doesn't tell him she understands. He'd probably punch her for it. He doesn't want to hear that, doesn't need it, not from her. She's not even sure it'd be true, anyway. Everyone's hell is different. Why should she understand his?
Or he hers.
He kisses her first, and that surprises her. Hands cupping her face, and it's the shock that makes her lean in and let go until she's sitting pressed up against him, the roughness of denim against her bare thighs.
Kissing Dean is nothing like kissing Sam.
She doesn't know why she thought it'd be the same.
There's salt on his face-she can taste it on his lips, sadness and guilt. She likes to think there's no trace of angel left, because that would be just too ironic.
She thought, as much as she's thought of this, that he'd be vicious. She thought he'd take his guilt and use it up on her, but he's gentle. He kisses her softly, and when he lifts her t-shirt (his t-shirt), he pauses and pulls back far enough to see her face and check silently that she's okay with this. She'd laugh if he weren't so serious.
His hands are smaller than Sam's, but still huge on her.
She's naked and he's still fully clothed when Sam returns, all damp hair and clean clothes. She turns to see him standing in the doorway looking-shocked? Horrified? Or something else, something less obvious. Ruby's not sure what it is. It isn't jealousy. Not that she would have expected that. Not over her.
He turns to walk back out, but she doesn't want him to go. "Sam," she says, and hopes he understands.
He doesn't look at her. He looks at Dean and Dean looks back. She can tell the moment they come to a decision, Dean's sharp nod and Sam's matching one, but she isn't sure what they've decided (she'll never speak their language) until Sam walks into the room and falls to his knees behind her.
When Sam touches her she thinks it will all change, the softness, that Sam will be the way he always is, angry and hurt and needy. But when Dean lets go of her face and Sam reaches from behind, he brushes his thumbs gently over her jaw, lingering over the dip in her neck where her pulse is. He smoothes his thumb there, as though he's amazed that she has a heart beat, has blood flowing through her body. He kisses her, slow and warm in the crook of her neck. He must feel the way her pulse is racing.
She can't look behind her. She's doesn't think she can bear to see Sam's face. So she watches Dean, rubs a finger down his spit-shiny bottom lip. He's pretty, she thinks, and is tempted to say so. A split lip doesn't appeal right now, but it might be worth it to hear Sam laugh.
"So pretty under that stubble, Dean," she says, and just gets a wry glare for her effort and a muffled chuckle from Sam. It rumbles through her, warms her.
She plucks at Dean's shirt. "It's hardly right that I'm the only one naked around here," she says, and lifts his shirt at the same time, wresting it up over his head. He raises his arms to let her, and for a moment he's exposed, arms up and tangled and he's wide open and vulnerable.
The possibilities race through her mind.
She dismisses them.
His amulet must have got caught up in his shirt-it's swaying on his chest. She lifts up a hand to it, but he bats it away.
She's never seen him without it, not since the day he came back from Hell, and Sam was keeping it safe then. She asked Sam about it once, when Dean was gone, but he choked up and couldn't answer, and she didn't press him.
She doesn't press now, just drops her hand and lets it fall to rest by itself.
There's a tattoo on his chest that matches Sam's - she should have known they'd have matching ones. And on his shoulder, a handprint. Huge and swollen, ugly like a burn. She doesn't need to ask - she can guess. Fucking angels, always wanting to leave their mark behind.
He's not as built as Sam, softer, somehow, but he feels good under her hands.
Sam's knotting her damp hair up out of the way, like he knows what he's doing, a familiar task, and she knows about Jess, did her homework long before she met Sam. Jess had blonde hair, long enough to tie back.
Ruby's glad coma girl's a brunette.
There's a coolness as air reaches the nape of her neck, then Sam's mouth follows it, kissing her, still softly, still like he's never touched her before. As though all this is new to him, and she's something, someone, to be careful with. She closes her eyes a moment, wetness in the corner of them. These foolish leaking human bodies.
She bites her lip and stops thinking. Pulls Dean's belt open and pops the buttons on his jeans. He helps her, shifting around to get out of them and Sam puts his hands on her waist and lifts her up, takes her weight off Dean so he can strip. Dean keeps his boxer briefs on though, whether from some freakish sense of prudery or because Sam's here, she's not sure.
She can work with that though. She cups him through the cotton, outlining the hardening length of him underneath.
"You're a big boy, aren't you, Dean. Not as big as your brother," she teases, "but then not many guys are.
"Does Sam ever gag you when he's fucking you?" Dean asks. "Because I really wouldn't blame him."
"Ooh, kinky. And there was me thinking you're so much more vanilla than Sam." Another laugh from Sam, and he lowers her back down so she's naked flesh against naked flesh with Dean.
"He is," Sam whispers in her ear, and she's isn't sure if Dean is meant to hear.
She whispers back. "Aren't you going to get naked too?" she asks.
"Yeah," he says, and she hears the rustle and thump of clothes falling to the ground.
She wonders if they've done this before. Some other time, some other girl. They share everything. She doesn't think so, though, not with the way Dean's keeping his eyes resolutely on her when normally they're always on Sam, the way Sam is talking to her but not to Dean.
She'd feel special, but she knows that's not it. It's just a moment in time, something they need - Dean mostly, she thinks, but Sam too. Tension released. A distraction, a warm body to help them forget for a while.
She understands. She's used her human body, all the pleasures its senses allows, to block out everything else, to forget about all her plans and schemes and how she's going to save Sam and how she hopes she's not going to end back in hell for it but fears she will.
They're all distracting themselves, but that's all right when it means Dean almost naked under her, and Sam pressed up behind her and he's naked too, she can feel the damp warmth of his skin. She can smell the soap from the shower, the same soap she used, and when he wraps himself around her, water drips off his hair onto her bare shoulders. It feels intimate.
She curls her hand around Dean's cock, shaping the fabric around it. Smoothing it, stroking, and he's swelling in her hand, even harder. He looks almost ashamed a moment, and she doesn't want that. That's not what this is for, so she leans forward and kisses him, sweet, the way she thinks he likes it, sweet with her lips and dirty with her hands, and he moans under her. He likes it.
She reaches inside the elastic of his waistband, pulls it down a little, enough that the head of his cock peaks out. He's pretty here too, red and wanting, and she wants to taste. Leans down to do so-her new body is as limber as her old one-and licks the head like a lollipop.
It leaves them face to face, and she wishes she could see. Wonders if they're looking at each other or watching her.
The awkward silence is answer enough, and then Dean's hand's in her hair, not keeping her down but pulling her up. He shakes his head and looks uncomfortable, as though he doesn't want to admit that the problem is that he bared his soul to Sam today and now he can't face him. Not that he doesn't want his dick sucked by a demon that his brother fucks. She snorts, amused. She's never known two such messed up guys, and she's spent centuries in hell.
"Wanna fuck you," Dean says, cocky and confident sounding like that's the only reason he pulled her off his dick. He's not half as good an actor as he thinks he is.
But she doesn't mind. She wants to feel him inside her, wants Sam to watch and hold her while Dean fucks her. Just thinking about it makes her wet.
"Sure," she says, like it's no big deal to her either way, like her belly isn't aching for this. She's a better actress than Dean.
She peels down Dean's boxer briefs, awkward fumble and scramble as they work them down his thighs and he kicks them off one foot onto the floor.
"Got anything?" she asks, and holds out her hand.
He looks blank for a moment, then startled, embarrassed at having forgotten. "In my-" he starts, and Sam interrupts.
"I'll go," he says, hand on her shoulder holding her still, and Ruby knows that if she turns around he'll be flushed red. She won't tease him though, running for condoms for his brother, not when the balance is so precarious, her in the middle and them all that they are.
She tears the foil with her teeth, a satisfying sound, and rolls the condom on, taking her time, smoothing it on carefully. Sits back on her haunches after to admire. He's beautiful, and he thinks he's ugly, stained beyond cleaning, and she knows how that feels when it's true and it's not true for him.
She kisses him again, just once, then lifts herself up and sinks onto him. This body's tight, for all the times Sam's fucked her hard and fast, and Dean's huge inside her, filling her up and it's so good. He spans her waist, fingers sinking into the butter-soft flesh there, and holds her in place. Sets up a rhythm, his hips and his hands, lifting her and pulling her back down. She lets him, doesn't take her weight, lets her thighs go slack against his and her head fall back against Sam, and just feels it. Lets Dean be in control. She thinks it's what he needs, something he's chosen to do, no coercion, no wishing he could be somewhere else. He's enjoying this, grunts stifled but real, and Ruby's glad of it, glad for him.
Sam's gasping behind her, and she can hear the wet slap of him stripping his own cock. Then the warm splatter of come on her back, and he's leaning against her, forehead against her back while come trickles down her ass. She's cocooned between the two of them, and Dean is taking her nipple in his mouth. He lathes it with his tongue, suckles and nips just sharp enough to be on the edge of pain. Sam's hands are smoothing down her back and his tongue follows them, licking a clean stripe down the ridge of her back, and he keeps going, hands gripping her ass and pulling her apart, and he's tongue fucking her and Dean's sinking deeper inside her.
She's breathing heavy now, and it hurts, drawing in breath hurts.
Dean doesn't say her name when he comes, or anything sweet or meaningful. She'd have laughed in his face if he had. That's not what this was all about. But the tension in his shoulders has eased, and the tightness around his mouth, and he's almost smiling as he leans back.
She gives him a minute, doesn't complain, even though he's gone still just when she needed him to move faster. But maybe her face is telling him what she needs, because he doesn't pull out, just slips his hand between her thighs and curls his finger just right, and it's perfect, Sam flicking his tongue lower still, so far down she thinks he must be almost touching Dean's cock. Sam's tongue and Dean's finger, and it's too much, it's just enough, it's her shuddering and exhaling as hard as if she's being exorcised.
She stays there a moment, Dean softening inside her, Sam holding her up. Rests there, and feels like she's a part of them.
She wonders, briefly, if they'll try this again, the two of them without her. She sees the way they look at each other, and it's not brotherly, not all of it.
She isn't going to judge.
No one speaks, and Ruby's glad. There's nothing to say, and they'll move soon enough, Sam backing off and Ruby out of the way, and all of them looking anywhere but at each other, fumbling clothes back on so they don't have to watch each other naked.
They'll eat around the table in Bobby's kitchen, the three of them together, food and beer enough to wipe out the awkwardness. And she'll stay the night, because Sam trusts her, and Dean doesn't wholly distrust her, at least not enough to kick her out in the dark after fucking her. She'll leave them the living room to sleep in, Dean on the cot he's pulled out from somewhere, Sam curling somehow onto the couch. She'll find an empty room, one of the ones upstairs with the boarded up windows, and she'll settle in the corner.
She won't want to sleep, not tonight. Just sit and remember, over and over, until nothing will be able to wipe it out. Not even Hell.
//