Word Count: 1589
Warnings: Language, nudity, sex.
Ha, Me? Own the Winchesters? Only in my dreams *wink*
Summary: The Winchesters set out on a hunt, unaware the thing they're hunting has its eye on one of them.
A/N: Free-for-All fic for vinylroad's prompt: Sam/OFC and Voyeur!Dean (which I have adapted, slightly). I started this succubus fic a while ago, merged it together with vinylroad's great prompt to produce chocca's first Het fic, I think? *checks* Yes. *nods* It is \o/ Good luck!
Beta'd by the sweet, spectacular, tru_faith_lost *blows kisses*
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night. ~Paul Simon, "A Poem on the Underground Wall"
Covered only in perspiration, he shivered. Early autumn chill met bare skin, made hairs stand to attention, pores open wide.
"Sam?" Dean's voice croaked.
Sam parted cracked lips; his mouth was dry, thirsty, needed to be filled. He frowned as he searched his thoughts, tried to remember, and failed.
A grunt to his left, and he rolled over, naked. "Dean?"
~24 hours earlier~
"Dude, what crawled up your ass?" Dean cupped the back of his neck, tilted from side to side. His fingers manipulated muscles, trying to work off a tense four hour drive. Nothing he hadn't done a thousand times before. Nothing to wear on him the way it is, but this ache isn't about the drive or the old seats. It's more a vicarious ache filtering across the dead space between them, Sam like a raw, bleeding sore, a rotten tooth he can't stop jabbing his tongue into.
Sam spared him a glance, rolled his eyes, returned to looking out the window.
"Seriously, you've been in a foul mood since Dallas." Dean waited for a response, got only the creak of old leather, hot breath against glass. "So what? You're pissed with me?"
"No." Muffled, barely audible, like words are more energy than he has or is willing to expend, choked down like an engine with a plugged intake.
"I'm too fucking tired for this shit, Sam." He inhaled deeply. "I'm trying here." Trying to reach over a cliff to someone who's not reaching back, expecting any second to fall over the edge.
Sam straightened. "I'm not pissed at you, Dean…Just don't feel like talking."
And that was it. Both exhausted, Dean knew Sam well enough to know the conversation was over. For now.
Sam slid from one uncomfortable position into another. He ached inside and out, backside felt every bump, ripple and indentation of the road. He wished they had gone for the fleapit motel they'd past earlier.
An hour and thirty miles later found them in a damp smelling, retro themed, double room.
"I saw a diner a mile back…" Dean slipped his jacket on, grabbed the keys, "bar, too."
"Hm." Sam slammed his laptop shut, sighed.
"Fucksakes, Sam." It had bite, but was blunted by concern. "I'll be in the car."
His mouth opened in a pathetic attempt to say something, anything. Before words could formulate, he heard their door slam. Truth was, he had no idea why he was so pissed and sour; it wasn't Dean. He knew that much. Something inside him felt … off. He just couldn't shake it. Tired hands tangled into his hair. He tilted his head back, looked up to the ceiling. Stained, cracked and filthy, just like everything else.
The diner was full; waitresses whizzing around tables, clanking cutlery, drone of food chatter, everything two tired hunters didn't need after a long drive.
Dean shook his head, wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I'm going for a drink." He scrunched, threw the soiled item on the plate. "You coming?"
Sam looked up. "I'm gonna do more research and get some sleep." They shared a brief, hypnotic stare. Truce.
"Yeah." Dean got up as he spoke, threw some bills on the table. "Don't wait up."
"A succubus? You sure, Bobby?" Dean sipped his beer.
"No, I just thought I'd say that for the hell of it." A pause and audible sigh. "'Course I'm sure. These things are dangerous. You boys better watch yourselves. You might be hunters, but you wouldn't be the first ones they've got the jump on."
"Yeah, we will…What were those symptoms again?" The slur was from exhaustion rather than his second beer.
Bobby explained, filled Dean in on all the details. Suddenly his beer wasn't sitting well. A scattered puzzle gradually coming together, piece by piece he saw where each part slot in. Would have been perfect if he didn't feel like he and Sam were smack in the middle of the picture. He frowned, thought about it for another second. Nah, placed a bill on the counter and got up.
"Listen Bobby, I'm wiped. Gonna head back, hit the sack."
"Yeah okay, we'll talk more, tomorrow…Hey Dean, where's Sam?"
Dean nervously bit his lip, moved towards the door. Something felt…wrong, but he couldn't place his finger on it. "He's back at the motel."
"Damn it, Dean. You guys should stick together on this one. You and your brother are like fresh meat to these things."
"I hear ya," Dean quickened his pace, moved towards the Impala. He cleared his throat, "Bobby?"
"What is it, Dean?
"Would you know?"
"No, not really. She'd latch onto emotions; grief, sadness, loneliness; use them to draw you in while you're blinded by it all. Basically you wouldn't know till it's too late.
He cursed, pressed on the gas. "We may have a problem."
Sam sat frozen in the bench, glad that Dean was gone, wasn't here to see his pathetic state. He wanted to move, to get out, but couldn't, so he just sat in the diner, alone. Watched and listened.
His food and coffee had grown cold by the time she came.
"Wanna refresher?" She had dazzling blue eyes, held out a steaming pot of coffee.
"Huh?" He had to turn away, her eyes burned through him. "Err…Yeah. Thanks."
Long golden hair. "No Problem." Spring-like locks bounced off her shoulders.
"Can I get you anything else?"
Strawberries. Sam inhaled deeply, held it. Yes.
"Hey…" She frowned, laid a hand on his, "you okay, Sweetie?" She smelled of plump, ripe strawberries, fresh from the field.
A gentle pull inside had him curling his toes. Pulsating warmth spread through his groin-- he wanted, needed to know if she tasted of strawberries, too.
She gasped as her back contacted the wall. Sam slipped a hand up her skirt, squeezed her ass. The girl inhaled deeply, blew out expressively.
"What's your name?" Sam sucked, pulled on her bottom lip. So good.
She groaned, brushed Sam's hair from his face, "Star."
"Sam?" She whispered into his ear, bit his lobe.
"Yeah…" He winced and drove closer.
"I'm no prude, but perhaps we should take this into your room?" Her hand slid down his back, finger dipping into his jeans. She rimmed round to his front, pulled on his belt buckle. Want.
Sam clumsily placed the key in the lock, fumbled until it opened. His actions careless enough, hunter skills didn't pick the subtle absence of bolts unlocking, or how the key remained unturned and never used. His sweaty grip clenched the handle, pushed forward.
Star wrapped herself around him, felt his hard dick through the jeans; they tumbled in, bouncing off a wall before landing on the first bed. A second set of room keys ricocheted off a bedside table, the lamp glow eclipsed as it rocked on its base.
"I want you!" Her voice smooth, "now!" Sharp, like rich, black coffee.
Their clothes were off in seconds, flung left, right and center.
Sam was passenger, freewheeling downhill, desperate to slow down but couldn't. At this rate, things weren't gonna last long. Breathe. Light headed, dick hard, he was more than ready for action.
He wasn't the only one.
Star gripped his shoulders, flipped then straddled him. She guided his hands to cup her naked breast as she gyrated around his dick.
"Ahhhhh." They worked up a fast propulsive rhythm.
God, she's good. He was close.
Sam pressed his index finger through her lips, with closed eyes he arched his back, thrust deeper. She exhaled, looked at him excitedly, bit down on his finger. He winced, retracted then slid the finger down her front to where the action was. Moist, he investigated all crevices, sliding in and out through suction and pressure.
So close. So good. His dick throbbed, aching for release. But then…
His eyes caught movement, drawn toward a shadow. He tensed. "Dean?" Voice fragmented. The warm sensual feeling below began to drain; blood rushed from his shaft, leaving him placid, and empty.
"Noooooooo." Star was on top one minute, off the next. She moved with lightning speed.
"Shit." Dean cursed.
"You were watching!?" Sam didn't like the sound of his voice, too exposed; "the whole time?" Didn't like the chill that followed Star's swift exit, filled the room in an uncomfortable coldness, it went straight through him. She was gone, vanished.
"Dude, she's not who you think she is. I had to be sure."
"What the fuck, Dean?" Sam's anger didn't have time to fully manifest.
A bitter snarl, piercing, full of rage, "Mine!"
Star stood naked before them. Motionless, red eyes shot daggers towards Dean, she sneered. "Mine." It was a statement. With veracious speed she vaporised into darkness.
Sent both hunters into unconsciousness.
It wasn't clear what she had done to them, whatever it was, she really laid it on big time. Last he remembered it was early evening. Dean was woken by intrusive morning rays and the soft confusion of Sam's voice. Bobby had warned him to be careful, best opportunity was when she fed. He also mentioned to be sure he didn't get noticed. That part hadn't quite worked to plan.
Dean turned towards his brothers voice, ignored the throbbing in his head. Sam was close, he cracked an eye, tried to validate, with sight, his brother's presence.
"Sam, we're so screwed."
And screwed they were; a pissed off, horny succubi hot on their tail, Dean knew the real hunt had only just began.