Fic: In the Future 7/10 (SPN)
Title: In the Future, Down the Road, Into the Night, Waking Up, Walking Out, Coming Back, Moving Ahead 7/10
Author: Me
Spoilers: References “Bloodlust”
Disclaimer: Fan fic, nothing owned
Word count: 574 words
Notes: This is het, R, Sam/Lenore. Future fic.
They drive North, upstate New York becomes almost-Canada - with one brief stop at a cemetery near Albany. Lenore waits in the Impala for Sam. He says nothing specific about it but she knows it was a woman. Maybe a woman he loved.
She tries not to feel anything petty and ridiculous like jealousy.
In Niagara - the slightly seedier American side - Lenore remembers a bar, a bar where her kind frequently drop in. For humans to fuck or feed off of; they’re not saints but they’re also not butchers and Lenore thinks they might be safe long enough to make some beneficial conversation.
***
In the bar they sit at a corner table, Sam with his back to the wall and Lenore positioned in front of him. They’re several beers into the night, several beers towards a pleasant buzz where even the lackluster jukebox seems melodious. The woman that approaches them finally is tall and angular, like a well-kept former model, tossing her long glossy ponytail over her shoulder. She even does the one hand on the hip thing which Sam finds funny in an anthropological “gee, I wonder if that’s like a gene in hot women” sort of way.
Former Model Vampire sniffs the air, looking from Lenore to Sam and back to Lenore with a curious expression.
“Who is he?”
“My pet,” Lenore answers, deadpan, and Sam drops his head to her shoulder to keep from laughing. He sinks his teeth into her sweater, slides one hand up the inside of her thigh.
The other woman makes a sound of distaste, as if Lenore just admitted she was sleeping with her poodle.
“What do you want?”
***
Sam makes it all the way back to the car, starting up the engine as Lenore tosses the key to the cabin in the air.
“We should use this place as long as we can...base of operations.”
“Pet?”
Lenore turns her head slowly at the abrupt shift in conversation.
“I’m your pet.” It’s not a question; Sam’s tone is amused but curious as he pulls the car onto the highway.
“It was just something to say...”
“There were other things. The undead Christie Brinkley didn’t look overly impressed.”
“Maybe she thought you should have been leashed.”
Sam shrugs, turns the heater on so now the vibrations of the cold engine has a rattle to accompany in a symphony of noise to scream over.
“It just got me wondering...”
“Listen, if you want a collar and leash we’ll stop at the store tomorrow.” There’s a thread of tension now in Lenore’s voice, the key pressed into her palm. She hates it when Sam gets in one of his questioning moods. Especially when she doesn’t have a single answer.
He ignores her. “Is that how you think of me?”
“Sam.” It’s a warning.
He ignores her more. “Pet? Companion? Lover?” He’s so matter-of-fact she’s tempted to pull his hair.
“Pain in my ass. A snack I carry around just in case. Like a granola bar.”
Sam finds the latter rather funny and chuckles the remainder of the drive to the cabin.
***
He doesn’t have much to laugh about later, when Lenore has his belt wrapped around his neck and he’s face down on the bed with her on his back. She thinks if anyone looked through the tightly closed blinds right now they’d call the cops.
Sam, however, from the small sounds he’s making, doesn’t want her to stop.
Go to Part 8
Author: Me
Spoilers: References “Bloodlust”
Disclaimer: Fan fic, nothing owned
Word count: 574 words
Notes: This is het, R, Sam/Lenore. Future fic.
They drive North, upstate New York becomes almost-Canada - with one brief stop at a cemetery near Albany. Lenore waits in the Impala for Sam. He says nothing specific about it but she knows it was a woman. Maybe a woman he loved.
She tries not to feel anything petty and ridiculous like jealousy.
In Niagara - the slightly seedier American side - Lenore remembers a bar, a bar where her kind frequently drop in. For humans to fuck or feed off of; they’re not saints but they’re also not butchers and Lenore thinks they might be safe long enough to make some beneficial conversation.
***
In the bar they sit at a corner table, Sam with his back to the wall and Lenore positioned in front of him. They’re several beers into the night, several beers towards a pleasant buzz where even the lackluster jukebox seems melodious. The woman that approaches them finally is tall and angular, like a well-kept former model, tossing her long glossy ponytail over her shoulder. She even does the one hand on the hip thing which Sam finds funny in an anthropological “gee, I wonder if that’s like a gene in hot women” sort of way.
Former Model Vampire sniffs the air, looking from Lenore to Sam and back to Lenore with a curious expression.
“Who is he?”
“My pet,” Lenore answers, deadpan, and Sam drops his head to her shoulder to keep from laughing. He sinks his teeth into her sweater, slides one hand up the inside of her thigh.
The other woman makes a sound of distaste, as if Lenore just admitted she was sleeping with her poodle.
“What do you want?”
***
Sam makes it all the way back to the car, starting up the engine as Lenore tosses the key to the cabin in the air.
“We should use this place as long as we can...base of operations.”
“Pet?”
Lenore turns her head slowly at the abrupt shift in conversation.
“I’m your pet.” It’s not a question; Sam’s tone is amused but curious as he pulls the car onto the highway.
“It was just something to say...”
“There were other things. The undead Christie Brinkley didn’t look overly impressed.”
“Maybe she thought you should have been leashed.”
Sam shrugs, turns the heater on so now the vibrations of the cold engine has a rattle to accompany in a symphony of noise to scream over.
“It just got me wondering...”
“Listen, if you want a collar and leash we’ll stop at the store tomorrow.” There’s a thread of tension now in Lenore’s voice, the key pressed into her palm. She hates it when Sam gets in one of his questioning moods. Especially when she doesn’t have a single answer.
He ignores her. “Is that how you think of me?”
“Sam.” It’s a warning.
He ignores her more. “Pet? Companion? Lover?” He’s so matter-of-fact she’s tempted to pull his hair.
“Pain in my ass. A snack I carry around just in case. Like a granola bar.”
Sam finds the latter rather funny and chuckles the remainder of the drive to the cabin.
***
He doesn’t have much to laugh about later, when Lenore has his belt wrapped around his neck and he’s face down on the bed with her on his back. She thinks if anyone looked through the tightly closed blinds right now they’d call the cops.
Sam, however, from the small sounds he’s making, doesn’t want her to stop.
Go to Part 8