In Sweat and Blood, Part One- Supernatural, NC-17
Fandom: Supernatural
Title: In Sweat and Blood, Part One
Pairings: John/OFC, John/OFC/OMC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam/OFC
Other Characters: Brief appearances by Bobby, Ellen and Pastor Jim
Rating: WAY NC-17
Word Count:11,191 (total)
Summary: There are monsters that have no names. They’re not written about, they exist in the shadows and even hunters do not know the ways to vanquish them. When John Winchester encounters such a monster he finds that beauty and lust are only the beginning.
Warnings: Please read the pairings and understand that this fic will include Daddy!cest. There is also non-con and dub-con here. There is use of drugs and alcohol. There is m/f, m/m, m/f/m and m/m/m sex. There is blood play. Please do not read if such things bother you.
A/Ns: Written for johnsgillygirl who bought me in this last go round over at Sweet Charity. This is an expansion on the very short piece “Almost” I posted in March. The idea behind the “bad guy” here is that it is an unknown type of vampire/succubus creature. I leave it unnamed and undescribed for the most part so that the reader can use their imagination.
It’s nearly autumn, the heat of summer faded into the warm of not yet winter and the smell of apples and dry leaves. It isn’t cold, but he shivers anyway as he watches her cross the parking lot. It’s been a long time, and he almost never looks…he has the memory of his wife and the presence of their boys and the job…always the job.
She isn’t his type, but he can’t keep his eyes from tracking her, the swell of breasts, the curve of hips, and the way she knows he’s watching and plays a hand over those curves is driving him crazy. It’s early in the day, and Sam’s already gone off into town to scout out the school, look for housing a little more permanent than the seedy motel he’d dropped them in two nights before.
School starts in a week…and Sam’s trying to convince him they need to stay for his junior year. Dean’s still inside, sleeping off pain meds and nursing a sprained ankle. And John, he’s sipping a beer and watching this woman touch herself in the doorway of her room, and it isn’t quite ten in the morning.
Slowly, so slowly it doesn’t really register at first, he’s standing, moving…crossing between the Impala and the truck. She licks her lips and he licks his in echo. There’s something not quite right about the way he wants her, the way he’s drawn to her, but when her hand touches his he can’t place what it is. When her lips find his, words flee and he doesn’t resist as she draws him into the dark of her room.
Hands take the bottle of beer, and his jacket. Lips touch his face, his cheeks. A tongue runs over his lip, begging to be let into his mouth. He hesitates, his eyes skirt around them, looking for danger, for the source of the unease in his stomach.
“It’s okay.” Her voice is deep, musical, sensual…like sweat and whiskey…and he feels it inside him, in his cock. The room is close and dark, and it smells of sex. He has an idle thought about who else had been here, of the men she’d brought into her den, but she drove the thought away with the feeling of her body rubbing over his. “I’ll make you happy.”
“Happy.” John echoes the word, but it’s hollow. He’s not sure he knows what happy is…or how this girl can give it to him. His body doesn’t seem to care though.
“Drink.” He looks down and there’s a bottle in his hand. He stares at it until she’s touching him again, urging his hand up to his mouth and then he’s pouring liquid-fire into his throat.
There’s music…something sultry and strange, and her hands are hot as they move over him, peeling back the layers of clothes. He’s only half aware of what she’s doing, only what it’s doing to him….he’s on fire, aching with need he hasn’t had for years…he pours more of the alcohol into him, feels it fingering its way through him, taking away what little he has of control. He’s nearly naked, and he doesn’t know her name, can’t remember why he’s there or why he should be worried.
“Easy, darling…not too much…not yet…” She takes the bottle and her hand glides over his skin, her nails seem longer than he remembers and he hisses as they rake over his chest. Her breath is hot, her tongue hotter still as she leans in and licks across the lines of red she’s left on his white skin.
John can hear himself moan, feel himself shudder…and something isn’t right, but he isn’t sure he cares as her lips close over his nipple and she sucks as if she could feed from him. That thought freezes him…makes him wonder if maybe she isn’t feeding in some way, if maybe she’s a witch…befuddling him.
He gasps for air and pulls back, tries to move away from her touch, but she moves with him, whimpering, needy…her mouth moves over the bloody marks, sucking and he’s helpless to stop her. Some part of him thinks it shouldn’t be as arousing as it seems, but his cock is screaming, wants to be inside her.
“You taste so good,” she murmurs. “Want to taste all of you.”
And just like that her tongue is in his mouth, searching out the walls and ceiling, running frantically over his tongue. There’s the faint taste of copper and tang, blood…his blood, he realizes slowly. He swallows reflexively and she’s pulling, pushing and he’s falling.
The bed catches him and she’s on top of him before he can speak, straddling over him, her small skirt hitched up so that her bare pussy is pressing against his chest…and she’s wet and pressing him deep into the mattress. He’s hard and his hands fall to her waist, wanting to push her onto him, to relieve the building tension, but she has other plans.
Her kiss tastes like sin, like blood and come and ozone. She licks over whiskers he hadn’t shaved that morning, down his sweaty neck, back to those nail marks, her body inching back until he can feel his cock nestling in the crack of her ass. She smiles down at him, wicked and devious as she rises up, her nails digging into his skin, into his chest as she moves and his cock slides in her wetness, unerringly into her.
Her nails dig in deeper as she sinks onto him, as he fills her up and he yells at the mix of pain and pleasure, bellowing, shaking, screaming. He’s bleeding and she’s riding him. The alcohol burns inside him, fire racing through his body and down to his dick and he can’t control himself, thrusting up almost violently.
She laughs, her head thrown forward, dark hair hiding her face, tickling against skin gone tender from the abuse of her fingers. He comes quickly, and she rocks over him, still rising and falling long after he’s stopped, long after he’s begged her to stop, because it hurts…it hurts so damn good and he hears himself whimpering, pushing at her.
She laughs, pours more of the fire over his open mouth. He swallows to keep from drowning, and the room spins, darkens…he’s falling into the dark and there’s nothing to stop him.
The room is stifling, hot and humid with sweat. He’s stretched out on the bed, his body slicked with the wanting he knows now is more than simple lust. He craves her, the touch of heated skin against his, the taste of her tongue…he’s shaking with the need for more, and when he opens his eyes, he’s rocked by the sight of her.
His hands are bound, pulled to the side and the ropes burn against his skin. He pulls on them, but she touches him, her fingers sliding over his mouth. Her voice burns in his ear. “Easy.”
The blade stings, pulling over naked flesh and he hisses, arches under her. She moves with him, then settles her mouth over the wound on his shoulder, sucking, pulling him into her mouth.
Vampire. His mind whispers the word, but there’s no evidence, no teeth…just her, just the way her lips pull at the wound, the way her tongue slides under his skin. She lifts her face, looks down at him with blood on her lips. It’s obscene and arousing the way she licks them, licks at his blood…the way she smiles, her teeth stained red and there aren’t any fangs, only teeth and tongue and blood.
“Shh…I promise you it will feel so good…just relax…just let go.” Her words whisper over his skin, over the wound, like fingers, touching and arousing. He wants to…but some part of him knows he can’t…that it was important…Dean. His eyes roll closed as her tongue maps out the lines of muscle on his stomach and delve into his navel.
Dean. He needs to get back to Dean.
He struggles to open his eyes, pulls again on his hands, on his feet. Alarm speeds through him as he realizes he is trapped, that he’d let lust lead him to this. “What…what are you?”
She lifts her face, rubs her naked breasts along his cock, smiles. “I’m just a girl who thinks you’re hot.”
He shakes his head. No. This isn’t right. Not real. “Witch?”
She pouts at him and he’s taken with the need to kiss her, to taste her. She shakes her head and slithers up his body. “I’m…temptation…sin.” She sits over him, her wet cunt pressing against the wounds in his chest. She rubs herself over him, and he can almost feel her fluid seeping into him. “I give you what you need, what your body wants…can you feel it John? Can you feel me?”
She leans down, kissing him. “Let me inside John…you don’t know what good feels like.” Her hand snakes down over him, under her, sliding over his cock. He gasps and tries to resist, but damn he’s so close and really…what could it hurt? It’s just an orgasm.
He yells as he comes, and she strokes him over and over, smearing the hot fluid over his skin before she turns and swallows him whole. He yells again…too much…too soon…as she laps over him, licking him clean.
Then her pussy is in his face and dripping into his open mouth. “Lick me baby,” she purrs at him and he shudders with want and need. It’s been a long time and the taste of her is like honey, sticky and sweet. Almost on its own, his tongue reaches for her, sliding through her slickness and pulling that honey into him.
She wriggles, pressing closer and he looses himself to the scent and taste, sucking on her labia, fucking her with his tongue. When she comes, it flows into him and he is forced to swallow it as she laughs, the sound of it tickling his balls.
He catches his breath and tries to think around the lust in his stomach, the need for more. The clock says it’s two. He’d been gone a few hours. Sam wouldn’t be back for a while, Dean probably hadn’t missed him. He was on his own. “Relax, John.”
She’s beside the bed, holding the bottle. He squints up at her in the dark of the room. She’s pretty, dark hair that hung around her face and over her shoulders, dark blue eyes. “I don’t even know your name,” he manages, lifting his head.
“My momma named me Angela, but Daddy calls me Angel.”
Angel. Right. John smiled. “You’re no Angel.”
Her grin is wicked. “No John…but neither are you.”
“Why don’t you untie me, and we can not be angels together.”
Her hand slides down over his arm, up to his face. “It’s so much easier when you don’t fight.”
He’s about to ask what was easier, when the door opens, flooding the room with the flare of afternoon sunlight. John starts, tried to move, but he’s bound, naked and spread for the world to see. A shadow moves into the doorway, a deep chuckle rumbling over the floor and then the door is closing, the world disappearing as John’s eyes try frantically to adjust.
The figure moves closer, the chuckle still hanging in the corners of the room. She licks her lips, her fingers playing with her nipples. “Did I do good?”
The shadow becomes a man, a little taller than her, older, dark hair just starting to gray. He’s smiling, drawing Angel to him, kissing her though his eyes never left John’s. “You did beautifully, baby.”
The man’s hand slips to ghost over the wounds marking John’s chest. “Does he taste good?”
She licks her finger, as if she can still taste him, nodding.
“He’s a big man, may take both of us, Angel.” The man leans in, licks at blood spread on John’s chest.
“Can I keep him, Daddy? After?”
The man’s tongue swipes over his lips. “We’ll see Angel.”
The room is still…quiet…warm…he doesn’t move, other than to breathe softly, groaning into the damp, dirty air. His body is loose, lost in the ache and burn, in the dark that envelopes him, seeking entrance. He’s changing, he can feel it inside him. It comes with the sweat and come and blood, they take from him, and give back, and he’s helpless to stop them.
They’ve been at him for hours, and he hasn’t been allowed to come. His cock is purple with need and it hurts. She licks it and he keens. The man is nearby, hovering. “He’s close, Angel.”
John moans as the bed dips, every sensation adding to the need to come, to let go and escape the torment. Her mouth is on his thigh, sucking a bruise into his skin. He’s trembling and can’t remember why he’s fighting, holding back…a gentle finger strokes over his face…a gentle voice whispers under his skin…he can’t make out the words, but he knows what they want.
“Please…” Is that his voice? It seems so broken, so needy. Broken. When did he get so broken? It’s inside him, sliding under his skin, adding to the pressure in his cock, adding to his want, his need…he’s no longer bound, they know he doesn’t need it…not now…he’s not leaving until he’s come.
The dark gathers in his belly, heavy, swirling dark that invades him, clouds his thoughts, makes him crave unnaturally. She slides along his side, up to his ear. They’re both whispering now, into him, hands and tits and cock and lips touch him and he arches up, seeking out relief.
Hot tears slide over his cheeks as they laugh, pull away, pull back. They stand beside him now, wrapped up in one another. Kissing, touching…but not him…some small part of him knows this is what they want, that they need his surrender, need him to ask, to come to them, and that once he does he’s lost…but the languid lust in his veins, the fire burning in his blood is too much and he’s already swallowed so much of the dark…he can’t leave this room until he finds release.
John watches his hand move over filthy hotel sheets, wet with bodily fluids that have seeped out of him, replaced by whatever they have given him…blood and come and sweat and spit…he reaches for her hand. She turns, her smile wicked, her eyes burning brightly. “You ready John? Know what to do?”
He hears himself growl, drags her to him. His kiss is deep and he can taste himself on her tongue. He pulls her to the bed, presses her beneath him, takes control, takes charge, plunges his raging cock into her sloppy wet cunt and she squeals in pleasure.
Hands on his hips steady him, slow him and the bed moves, the man climbs behind him and as John thrusts down into Angel, the man thrusts down into John and the noise in the room is like wild animals rutting. Words fail, flee and he’s left with grunting and groans, whimpers and moans, with the feeling of wet heat around him, of blood and sweat slipping out of him, painting her, the taste of them on his tongue…he’s slipping away, into the dark shadow that penetrates him, fills him…and he’s turning, he can feel it…though what he’s becoming isn’t clear.
The knife sings and two mouths find their way to blood, drinking the last of him, and his orgasm rockets out, draining him. She draws his head to her breast, to the blood welling and he suckles it like a baby, rocking with the rhythm of the cock inside him. The hot blood sears his throat, as the hot come burns in his ass and he falls, spent and lost and weak to the bed…alone at last.
The bed groans as he rolls over, and it’s unfamiliar when he opens his eyes. Daylight is pouring in the window. The motel room is dank, thick with the smell of bodies and sex…or maybe it’s just the mattress that smells that way. He pulls himself up and off, searches the shadows for his clothes.
He can’t remember why he’s here, or what he’s done. There’s a vague image of an Angel…with dark hair and dark eyes. He shakes his head and reaches for his jeans on the floor by the bed. His body protests each movement with an achy whine that reminds him he’s not as young as he once was.
It takes a few minutes, but he manages to find his clothes without much incident. His head is reeling and his stomach growling with a hunger that rumbles through him as he stumbles to the door and stands in the bright morning light squinting out at the parking lot of the motel. The Impala sits beside the truck, pointing him at the door to the room he’d gotten when they’d finished the hunt.
He rubs a hand over his eyes and shuffles across the gravel, fishing in his pocket for the room key. Dean is on the bed, his ankle propped up on a pillow. John grunts, drops his key on the dresser, makes a line for the bathroom. Needs to shower the grunge off him, he’s sure he must smell like sex.
“Where the hell have you been?”
John shakes his head, mutters something, hopes Dean will leave it be.
Dean’s eyes follow him. He can feel them. “You’ve been gone for two days, Dad. Sam’s freaking out.”
“Hunt…” John says over his shoulder. “Got away.” He pushes into the bathroom, shoves the door closed, but it’s warped and doesn’t stay shut. He starts the shower and pulls at his clothes, staring at the marks on his torso as he peels the shirt off. Bite marks and bruises, healing wounds…they should mean something, but he isn’t sure what. He drops the shirt and his pants and steps in under the shower.
“What hunt, Dad?” Dean asks, the door open now. John can see him through the plastic film of the shower curtain…he’s a shadow, movement and scent. “Are you okay?”
“Dean.” It comes out as a groan. John can smell him, his skin, the coffee he drank. His cock is hard and he wants things he can’t begin to voice. “Go lay down.”
“I’m tired of laying down. Tell me. What was it?”
John runs a hand through the water, over his face. This is Dean. His son Dean. He holds on to that. “Not sure. It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“You could have at least told me what you were doing.” Dean says, but he’s gone, the bathroom quiet again.
His hands are around his cock now, stroking it lightly. “You should get off that ankle. I’ll be out in a minute.” He pulls a hand down his cock and groans in relief. His orgasm comes quick and he breathes through it, watching the thick white goo slide down the tub and into the drain. It feels better now.
He steps out, slicking away the water with a towel too small to be much good. When he’s mostly dry, he pulls the medical bag to him. There’s a small pharmacy in the bag, pain meds, antibiotics, sedatives. A hunter never knew what he might need.
Dean is back on the bed, flipping through television channels, none of which actually come in very well. John moves to him, not bothering with clothes, with covering his nakedness. “Where is your brother?”
Dean shrugs, looks at him, then away. “Dad…come on.”
“I want to look at your ankle. Where’s your brother?”
“Geeking out at the library. Put some pants on.”
“In a minute.” John puts the bag on the bed. He lifts Dean’s ankle, unwraps the bandage. It’s black and blue and purple, but the swelling has gone down. He glances up, but Dean’s eyes are on the TV. “Looks better.” His hands work over the ankle, and Dean doesn’t look, and John’s hand is on the syringe. There’s a tiny voice in the back of his mind yelling at him, but he pricks Dean’s skin and presses the plunger.
Dean looks up, surprised. “Dad?” His voice is already thick, the drugs working quick. John pulls the needle out, puts it in the bag, runs a hand down Dean’s leg. He’s hungry. So hungry it hurts.
“It’s okay son…it’s easier if you don’t fight.”
Title: In Sweat and Blood, Part One
Pairings: John/OFC, John/OFC/OMC, John/Dean, Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam, John/Dean/Sam/OFC
Other Characters: Brief appearances by Bobby, Ellen and Pastor Jim
Rating: WAY NC-17
Word Count:11,191 (total)
Summary: There are monsters that have no names. They’re not written about, they exist in the shadows and even hunters do not know the ways to vanquish them. When John Winchester encounters such a monster he finds that beauty and lust are only the beginning.
Warnings: Please read the pairings and understand that this fic will include Daddy!cest. There is also non-con and dub-con here. There is use of drugs and alcohol. There is m/f, m/m, m/f/m and m/m/m sex. There is blood play. Please do not read if such things bother you.
A/Ns: Written for johnsgillygirl who bought me in this last go round over at Sweet Charity. This is an expansion on the very short piece “Almost” I posted in March. The idea behind the “bad guy” here is that it is an unknown type of vampire/succubus creature. I leave it unnamed and undescribed for the most part so that the reader can use their imagination.
It’s nearly autumn, the heat of summer faded into the warm of not yet winter and the smell of apples and dry leaves. It isn’t cold, but he shivers anyway as he watches her cross the parking lot. It’s been a long time, and he almost never looks…he has the memory of his wife and the presence of their boys and the job…always the job.
She isn’t his type, but he can’t keep his eyes from tracking her, the swell of breasts, the curve of hips, and the way she knows he’s watching and plays a hand over those curves is driving him crazy. It’s early in the day, and Sam’s already gone off into town to scout out the school, look for housing a little more permanent than the seedy motel he’d dropped them in two nights before.
School starts in a week…and Sam’s trying to convince him they need to stay for his junior year. Dean’s still inside, sleeping off pain meds and nursing a sprained ankle. And John, he’s sipping a beer and watching this woman touch herself in the doorway of her room, and it isn’t quite ten in the morning.
Slowly, so slowly it doesn’t really register at first, he’s standing, moving…crossing between the Impala and the truck. She licks her lips and he licks his in echo. There’s something not quite right about the way he wants her, the way he’s drawn to her, but when her hand touches his he can’t place what it is. When her lips find his, words flee and he doesn’t resist as she draws him into the dark of her room.
Hands take the bottle of beer, and his jacket. Lips touch his face, his cheeks. A tongue runs over his lip, begging to be let into his mouth. He hesitates, his eyes skirt around them, looking for danger, for the source of the unease in his stomach.
“It’s okay.” Her voice is deep, musical, sensual…like sweat and whiskey…and he feels it inside him, in his cock. The room is close and dark, and it smells of sex. He has an idle thought about who else had been here, of the men she’d brought into her den, but she drove the thought away with the feeling of her body rubbing over his. “I’ll make you happy.”
“Happy.” John echoes the word, but it’s hollow. He’s not sure he knows what happy is…or how this girl can give it to him. His body doesn’t seem to care though.
“Drink.” He looks down and there’s a bottle in his hand. He stares at it until she’s touching him again, urging his hand up to his mouth and then he’s pouring liquid-fire into his throat.
There’s music…something sultry and strange, and her hands are hot as they move over him, peeling back the layers of clothes. He’s only half aware of what she’s doing, only what it’s doing to him….he’s on fire, aching with need he hasn’t had for years…he pours more of the alcohol into him, feels it fingering its way through him, taking away what little he has of control. He’s nearly naked, and he doesn’t know her name, can’t remember why he’s there or why he should be worried.
“Easy, darling…not too much…not yet…” She takes the bottle and her hand glides over his skin, her nails seem longer than he remembers and he hisses as they rake over his chest. Her breath is hot, her tongue hotter still as she leans in and licks across the lines of red she’s left on his white skin.
John can hear himself moan, feel himself shudder…and something isn’t right, but he isn’t sure he cares as her lips close over his nipple and she sucks as if she could feed from him. That thought freezes him…makes him wonder if maybe she isn’t feeding in some way, if maybe she’s a witch…befuddling him.
He gasps for air and pulls back, tries to move away from her touch, but she moves with him, whimpering, needy…her mouth moves over the bloody marks, sucking and he’s helpless to stop her. Some part of him thinks it shouldn’t be as arousing as it seems, but his cock is screaming, wants to be inside her.
“You taste so good,” she murmurs. “Want to taste all of you.”
And just like that her tongue is in his mouth, searching out the walls and ceiling, running frantically over his tongue. There’s the faint taste of copper and tang, blood…his blood, he realizes slowly. He swallows reflexively and she’s pulling, pushing and he’s falling.
The bed catches him and she’s on top of him before he can speak, straddling over him, her small skirt hitched up so that her bare pussy is pressing against his chest…and she’s wet and pressing him deep into the mattress. He’s hard and his hands fall to her waist, wanting to push her onto him, to relieve the building tension, but she has other plans.
Her kiss tastes like sin, like blood and come and ozone. She licks over whiskers he hadn’t shaved that morning, down his sweaty neck, back to those nail marks, her body inching back until he can feel his cock nestling in the crack of her ass. She smiles down at him, wicked and devious as she rises up, her nails digging into his skin, into his chest as she moves and his cock slides in her wetness, unerringly into her.
Her nails dig in deeper as she sinks onto him, as he fills her up and he yells at the mix of pain and pleasure, bellowing, shaking, screaming. He’s bleeding and she’s riding him. The alcohol burns inside him, fire racing through his body and down to his dick and he can’t control himself, thrusting up almost violently.
She laughs, her head thrown forward, dark hair hiding her face, tickling against skin gone tender from the abuse of her fingers. He comes quickly, and she rocks over him, still rising and falling long after he’s stopped, long after he’s begged her to stop, because it hurts…it hurts so damn good and he hears himself whimpering, pushing at her.
She laughs, pours more of the fire over his open mouth. He swallows to keep from drowning, and the room spins, darkens…he’s falling into the dark and there’s nothing to stop him.
The room is stifling, hot and humid with sweat. He’s stretched out on the bed, his body slicked with the wanting he knows now is more than simple lust. He craves her, the touch of heated skin against his, the taste of her tongue…he’s shaking with the need for more, and when he opens his eyes, he’s rocked by the sight of her.
His hands are bound, pulled to the side and the ropes burn against his skin. He pulls on them, but she touches him, her fingers sliding over his mouth. Her voice burns in his ear. “Easy.”
The blade stings, pulling over naked flesh and he hisses, arches under her. She moves with him, then settles her mouth over the wound on his shoulder, sucking, pulling him into her mouth.
Vampire. His mind whispers the word, but there’s no evidence, no teeth…just her, just the way her lips pull at the wound, the way her tongue slides under his skin. She lifts her face, looks down at him with blood on her lips. It’s obscene and arousing the way she licks them, licks at his blood…the way she smiles, her teeth stained red and there aren’t any fangs, only teeth and tongue and blood.
“Shh…I promise you it will feel so good…just relax…just let go.” Her words whisper over his skin, over the wound, like fingers, touching and arousing. He wants to…but some part of him knows he can’t…that it was important…Dean. His eyes roll closed as her tongue maps out the lines of muscle on his stomach and delve into his navel.
Dean. He needs to get back to Dean.
He struggles to open his eyes, pulls again on his hands, on his feet. Alarm speeds through him as he realizes he is trapped, that he’d let lust lead him to this. “What…what are you?”
She lifts her face, rubs her naked breasts along his cock, smiles. “I’m just a girl who thinks you’re hot.”
He shakes his head. No. This isn’t right. Not real. “Witch?”
She pouts at him and he’s taken with the need to kiss her, to taste her. She shakes her head and slithers up his body. “I’m…temptation…sin.” She sits over him, her wet cunt pressing against the wounds in his chest. She rubs herself over him, and he can almost feel her fluid seeping into him. “I give you what you need, what your body wants…can you feel it John? Can you feel me?”
She leans down, kissing him. “Let me inside John…you don’t know what good feels like.” Her hand snakes down over him, under her, sliding over his cock. He gasps and tries to resist, but damn he’s so close and really…what could it hurt? It’s just an orgasm.
He yells as he comes, and she strokes him over and over, smearing the hot fluid over his skin before she turns and swallows him whole. He yells again…too much…too soon…as she laps over him, licking him clean.
Then her pussy is in his face and dripping into his open mouth. “Lick me baby,” she purrs at him and he shudders with want and need. It’s been a long time and the taste of her is like honey, sticky and sweet. Almost on its own, his tongue reaches for her, sliding through her slickness and pulling that honey into him.
She wriggles, pressing closer and he looses himself to the scent and taste, sucking on her labia, fucking her with his tongue. When she comes, it flows into him and he is forced to swallow it as she laughs, the sound of it tickling his balls.
He catches his breath and tries to think around the lust in his stomach, the need for more. The clock says it’s two. He’d been gone a few hours. Sam wouldn’t be back for a while, Dean probably hadn’t missed him. He was on his own. “Relax, John.”
She’s beside the bed, holding the bottle. He squints up at her in the dark of the room. She’s pretty, dark hair that hung around her face and over her shoulders, dark blue eyes. “I don’t even know your name,” he manages, lifting his head.
“My momma named me Angela, but Daddy calls me Angel.”
Angel. Right. John smiled. “You’re no Angel.”
Her grin is wicked. “No John…but neither are you.”
“Why don’t you untie me, and we can not be angels together.”
Her hand slides down over his arm, up to his face. “It’s so much easier when you don’t fight.”
He’s about to ask what was easier, when the door opens, flooding the room with the flare of afternoon sunlight. John starts, tried to move, but he’s bound, naked and spread for the world to see. A shadow moves into the doorway, a deep chuckle rumbling over the floor and then the door is closing, the world disappearing as John’s eyes try frantically to adjust.
The figure moves closer, the chuckle still hanging in the corners of the room. She licks her lips, her fingers playing with her nipples. “Did I do good?”
The shadow becomes a man, a little taller than her, older, dark hair just starting to gray. He’s smiling, drawing Angel to him, kissing her though his eyes never left John’s. “You did beautifully, baby.”
The man’s hand slips to ghost over the wounds marking John’s chest. “Does he taste good?”
She licks her finger, as if she can still taste him, nodding.
“He’s a big man, may take both of us, Angel.” The man leans in, licks at blood spread on John’s chest.
“Can I keep him, Daddy? After?”
The man’s tongue swipes over his lips. “We’ll see Angel.”
The room is still…quiet…warm…he doesn’t move, other than to breathe softly, groaning into the damp, dirty air. His body is loose, lost in the ache and burn, in the dark that envelopes him, seeking entrance. He’s changing, he can feel it inside him. It comes with the sweat and come and blood, they take from him, and give back, and he’s helpless to stop them.
They’ve been at him for hours, and he hasn’t been allowed to come. His cock is purple with need and it hurts. She licks it and he keens. The man is nearby, hovering. “He’s close, Angel.”
John moans as the bed dips, every sensation adding to the need to come, to let go and escape the torment. Her mouth is on his thigh, sucking a bruise into his skin. He’s trembling and can’t remember why he’s fighting, holding back…a gentle finger strokes over his face…a gentle voice whispers under his skin…he can’t make out the words, but he knows what they want.
“Please…” Is that his voice? It seems so broken, so needy. Broken. When did he get so broken? It’s inside him, sliding under his skin, adding to the pressure in his cock, adding to his want, his need…he’s no longer bound, they know he doesn’t need it…not now…he’s not leaving until he’s come.
The dark gathers in his belly, heavy, swirling dark that invades him, clouds his thoughts, makes him crave unnaturally. She slides along his side, up to his ear. They’re both whispering now, into him, hands and tits and cock and lips touch him and he arches up, seeking out relief.
Hot tears slide over his cheeks as they laugh, pull away, pull back. They stand beside him now, wrapped up in one another. Kissing, touching…but not him…some small part of him knows this is what they want, that they need his surrender, need him to ask, to come to them, and that once he does he’s lost…but the languid lust in his veins, the fire burning in his blood is too much and he’s already swallowed so much of the dark…he can’t leave this room until he finds release.
John watches his hand move over filthy hotel sheets, wet with bodily fluids that have seeped out of him, replaced by whatever they have given him…blood and come and sweat and spit…he reaches for her hand. She turns, her smile wicked, her eyes burning brightly. “You ready John? Know what to do?”
He hears himself growl, drags her to him. His kiss is deep and he can taste himself on her tongue. He pulls her to the bed, presses her beneath him, takes control, takes charge, plunges his raging cock into her sloppy wet cunt and she squeals in pleasure.
Hands on his hips steady him, slow him and the bed moves, the man climbs behind him and as John thrusts down into Angel, the man thrusts down into John and the noise in the room is like wild animals rutting. Words fail, flee and he’s left with grunting and groans, whimpers and moans, with the feeling of wet heat around him, of blood and sweat slipping out of him, painting her, the taste of them on his tongue…he’s slipping away, into the dark shadow that penetrates him, fills him…and he’s turning, he can feel it…though what he’s becoming isn’t clear.
The knife sings and two mouths find their way to blood, drinking the last of him, and his orgasm rockets out, draining him. She draws his head to her breast, to the blood welling and he suckles it like a baby, rocking with the rhythm of the cock inside him. The hot blood sears his throat, as the hot come burns in his ass and he falls, spent and lost and weak to the bed…alone at last.
The bed groans as he rolls over, and it’s unfamiliar when he opens his eyes. Daylight is pouring in the window. The motel room is dank, thick with the smell of bodies and sex…or maybe it’s just the mattress that smells that way. He pulls himself up and off, searches the shadows for his clothes.
He can’t remember why he’s here, or what he’s done. There’s a vague image of an Angel…with dark hair and dark eyes. He shakes his head and reaches for his jeans on the floor by the bed. His body protests each movement with an achy whine that reminds him he’s not as young as he once was.
It takes a few minutes, but he manages to find his clothes without much incident. His head is reeling and his stomach growling with a hunger that rumbles through him as he stumbles to the door and stands in the bright morning light squinting out at the parking lot of the motel. The Impala sits beside the truck, pointing him at the door to the room he’d gotten when they’d finished the hunt.
He rubs a hand over his eyes and shuffles across the gravel, fishing in his pocket for the room key. Dean is on the bed, his ankle propped up on a pillow. John grunts, drops his key on the dresser, makes a line for the bathroom. Needs to shower the grunge off him, he’s sure he must smell like sex.
“Where the hell have you been?”
John shakes his head, mutters something, hopes Dean will leave it be.
Dean’s eyes follow him. He can feel them. “You’ve been gone for two days, Dad. Sam’s freaking out.”
“Hunt…” John says over his shoulder. “Got away.” He pushes into the bathroom, shoves the door closed, but it’s warped and doesn’t stay shut. He starts the shower and pulls at his clothes, staring at the marks on his torso as he peels the shirt off. Bite marks and bruises, healing wounds…they should mean something, but he isn’t sure what. He drops the shirt and his pants and steps in under the shower.
“What hunt, Dad?” Dean asks, the door open now. John can see him through the plastic film of the shower curtain…he’s a shadow, movement and scent. “Are you okay?”
“Dean.” It comes out as a groan. John can smell him, his skin, the coffee he drank. His cock is hard and he wants things he can’t begin to voice. “Go lay down.”
“I’m tired of laying down. Tell me. What was it?”
John runs a hand through the water, over his face. This is Dean. His son Dean. He holds on to that. “Not sure. It’s okay. I’m fine.”
“You could have at least told me what you were doing.” Dean says, but he’s gone, the bathroom quiet again.
His hands are around his cock now, stroking it lightly. “You should get off that ankle. I’ll be out in a minute.” He pulls a hand down his cock and groans in relief. His orgasm comes quick and he breathes through it, watching the thick white goo slide down the tub and into the drain. It feels better now.
He steps out, slicking away the water with a towel too small to be much good. When he’s mostly dry, he pulls the medical bag to him. There’s a small pharmacy in the bag, pain meds, antibiotics, sedatives. A hunter never knew what he might need.
Dean is back on the bed, flipping through television channels, none of which actually come in very well. John moves to him, not bothering with clothes, with covering his nakedness. “Where is your brother?”
Dean shrugs, looks at him, then away. “Dad…come on.”
“I want to look at your ankle. Where’s your brother?”
“Geeking out at the library. Put some pants on.”
“In a minute.” John puts the bag on the bed. He lifts Dean’s ankle, unwraps the bandage. It’s black and blue and purple, but the swelling has gone down. He glances up, but Dean’s eyes are on the TV. “Looks better.” His hands work over the ankle, and Dean doesn’t look, and John’s hand is on the syringe. There’s a tiny voice in the back of his mind yelling at him, but he pricks Dean’s skin and presses the plunger.
Dean looks up, surprised. “Dad?” His voice is already thick, the drugs working quick. John pulls the needle out, puts it in the bag, runs a hand down Dean’s leg. He’s hungry. So hungry it hurts.
“It’s okay son…it’s easier if you don’t fight.”