Fic: Burn
Alright kids. Here you go, pr0nz. *hides*
For blindfold_spn(that kink meme)
Prompt: Sam/Ruby, holy water
Word Count: 576
Rating: The events are NC-17, but the descriptions are probably R. R-17? I suck at this.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, make no money, (not even at my real job), and Sera does this way better than me.
A/N: Set while Dean was dead, of course. Hence teh angst.
Ps - 3 people found me over there, you guys rock, don't forget to send me your bunnies!!
Burn
Sam stalks the devils trap like a predator. His bare chest ripples in the candle light, and he’s more lithe than any demon, pacing just outside the bright red line.
She shivers against the cold metal of the chair. His dark gaze burns into her, intense and threatening.
"Strip," he says, and the words are threaded with his power, dark like wine as it splashes across her senses.
She obeys, slow, eyes fully black, never leaving his as he moves. He takes in the sight grimly, face set, no warmth in his carefully guarded expression.
Task completed, she grips the chair seat firmly, trembling, awaiting his next order.
She can almost feel the weight of his stare as it moves across her skin. Sam’s gaze trails her jugular, circles her nipples until they stand hard and wanting, caresses her navel softly. She gasps at the feel of it; she never taught him how to do that.
His voice is deep and cracked and he narrows his eyes, whispering, “Touch yourself.”
She groans, unable to keep her eyes open any longer. She imagines that her fingers, too small and delicate, are his, and she strokes through the wetness between her legs lightly, biting her lower lip in concentration.
Suddenly he’s close, so close that she can smell him, the scent of alcohol and loss, of his power and grief and fear. Her eyes flutter open at the touch of his hand on her chin. She tilts her head far back to look - he’s still so far away. “Look at you,” he whispers, “so obedient. So sure of me.” She gasps at the loss of him as he turns away, stepping outside the trap.
But he undresses, his back to her, flames of the firelight licking up the length of him as he moves. When he turns back to her, he holds a flask in his hand. Their eyes lock, and his are full of hunger, so ravenous and deep she can’t breathe.
“How much do you trust me, Ruby?” He asks, moving closer.
Her black soul flutters in her chest. She stepped into the trap on her own, and not for the first time. She knows his power, knows he can make her pay if she ever were to betray him. But this isn’t about proving her loyalty. He’s asking her for proof that he’s worthy to have it in the first place.
“Completely,” she breathes.
The hunger deepens, and without further hesitation, he raises the flask high. The Holy water catches the light, gleaming beads of liquid spilling in streams down around him, soaking his hair, running over the planes of his chest, drenching him until he shines. He never breaks eye contact as he throws the flask away.
He crosses the line swiftly, reaching for her, and she goes without thinking, swept up in his arms as he lifts her high and plunges in deep. He pulls her close, one hand supporting her weight, the other tilting her lips to his as he swallows down her screams, breathing in her air, her life.
She burns, inside and out, caught between the pleasure and the pain, and she can’t bring herself to be afraid. Sam’s power crests and pulses, lightening striking fast and sure, steam rising all around her, eyes black, liquid heat inside.
It doesn’t matter because in the end, she was always going to burn for Sam.
The entire world will burn for him.