The wolves all howl
What's one more scar?
Disclaimer: The Winchester boys aren't mine but I'd make Dean wear his boots all the time if they were.
Rating: M (Sexual Situations)
A/N: Written for The Song Remains the Same challenge at spn_het_love. The song I selected was "Pedestrian Wolves" by Oingo Boingo.
He fucks her in the bathroom, with her ass perched on the edge of the counter and water still running in the sink. Her legs wrap around his waist as he thrusts into her, the tang of tequila and bandages and bloody towels filling the room as he breathes the sweat off of the curve of her neck.
She's the bright thing smashed all to hell, skidding across asphalt and broken glass in slow motion when some thing swoops out of the sky. The bright thing broken in an alley on her way out of a library, on her way back to the car.
He closes his eyes, burying his nose in the curve of her neck, and the only clean thing is her sweat and her shampoo – cutting through the haze of alcohol and sterile bandages. He closes his eyes and remembers the way she smiles before she pops a piece of toast into her mouth. He remembers the way her neck twists when she slips one finger into his mouth, her hair feathering around her face as light as wisps of cotton candy while he sucks off the strawberry jam.
Fingers dig into her hips as she bucks against him, his rough breath echoing his scream while he watches her crash into a trash dumpster. A roar and a twitch in his hands when her laptop skids to a stop at his feet and the freak sitting on top of her licks one needle's edge and grins at him, a taunt flickering through the leathery flaps stretched between its fingers. A roar and a twitch before everything goes red.
Doesn't know if it's her blood or its blood or his blood on his hands when he's done, when he's standing over the fucker's crumpled body with a knife in his hand, his stiff fingers throbbing with the same ache that's in his lungs.
Throbbing with the same ache that cracks his throat when he groans, pulled out from his gut as he shoves his cock into her pussy and the only thing that fills the silence afterwards is the slap of skin against skin as her legs tighten and the edges of her boots leave their own ache against his thighs.
The bottle of tequila crashes to the floor, pooling around his boots the same way it pooled in the stretch of jagged skin on her arm – crossing against the scar that's already there, standing out in bas relief as torn flesh puffs around a crimson stripe.
He opens his eyes but he can still see the way she lifts her chin when gray eyes focus on the shining needle between his fingers, can still hear the hitch in her breath when the needle pierces her skin for the first time and she bites her lip. 'What's one more scar,' she says when the tequila splashes down her arm and her hands are curled into fists, her knuckles rubbed raw and covered with fresh scabs that glisten. 'What's one more scar,' she says as blood mixes with alcohol.
'What's one more scar,' she says with a laugh that was light once.
Her nails dig into his neck when the walls of her cunt clamp around his cock, her pulse fighting his while he fucks her mouth with his tongue as fast and hard and rough as he's fucking her pussy. She licks the blood from the inside of his cheek, hissing his name past the wince of her swollen jaw as they rut against each other. Sobbing his name past the wince as her body starts to shudder and moans start spilling out of him, 'God' and 'shit' and 'Jesus fuck' spilling past the hot burn shooting inside of her until all that's left is 'Charlotte.'
The one bright thing.
Her legs tighten around him one last time when her back arches, when he swallows up her moan as she comes with a kiss that's one breath shy of tender – pinning her to the counter with the weight of his hips, tilting her head backwards with one hand fisted in her hair. There's spunk and salt and wet staining her thighs, stronger than the tang of tequila and bandages and bloody towels.
'Not going anywhere,' she whispers against his temple, her arms holding him close as he breathes in the sweat off of the curve of her neck.
The title of this story is a song lyric from "Pedestrian Wolves" by Oingo Boingo. I guess that's a big "duh" given the author's note in the header.
This was, quite honestly, the hardest challenge I've written in a long time. And I chose a song that was almost ten minutes long. Glad I participated in it, though, even if I didn't finish it properly – it forced me out of my usual routine of self-editing while I write, which was pretty awesome.
So, confession time... This story is set in my Strange Angels 'verse. I didn't think I needed to disclose that since I felt this piece stood well on its own.