The following do not apply: omniscient, supernatural, sane. Shame, that.

this might be a loveletter (I'm not sure) pt1.

flutterfingers — Thu, 08 Jul 2010 14:10:25 GMT

It’s not all about the big things –
                                               you’re always there for me, without being my mother
                                               we can come back from anything
                                                                           every stupid fight
                                                                           every stupid word
                                                                           every stupid idea I ever had
                                                                           every time you held out your heart
                                                                                                     and I (stupidly) said no
                                             you’re the first person
                                                                          I want to tell everything
                                                                          I think about when I wake
                                                                         to tell me the truth
                                                                                      (no matter what it might break)
                                              you’re the last person
                                                                          I want to tell everything
                                                                         I think about at night
                                                                          I want to listen to
                                                                                      (you’re always fucking right)
                                              my number one choice for deserted island doom
                                                 (I could last for months on your legs alone)
                                              you always know what to say to me
                                                                          (it’s annoying)
                                              your eyes
                                                         you, because you’re a sasquatch.

if you won't play fairly then spare me

flutterfingers — Sat, 26 Jun 2010 06:03:40 GMT

I was on vacation! For four days! With my best friend who is also a hot jerk! Who I have stupid fights with about everything!
And two other friends. But they aren't the point. The hot jerk is. (Damn him.) And the disappearing act!

More on him (and his fabulous, fabulous arse) later.

I am too lazy to flick back through a zillion pages of spam spam spam. So please! If there is anything you think I should see, something important, something I should know, something I would like - anything you lovely bitches wanna tell me after my disappearing act - please linky me here here here.

I wouldn't wanna miss out just 'coz I skipped out.

Also I am probably gonna post another fanmix (a personal type one) either tonight when I get back from work (worrrrrrrrk D:) or tomorrow, so, that should be something to look forward to. It was basically growing like a fungus upon my brain the whole time I was away. Because friends? If your hotass jerk of a best friend invites you on a vacation for four days and three nights and you're gonna be sharing a hotel room and a bed - DON'T DO IT. Just don't. You'll squabble like pigeons (as per usual) over the stupidest shit and he won't take lovely, lovely, lively advantage of you like you were really really hoping he would. Because of the fighting.

So. Save yourselves the musical angsting and radio silences.

I'm OUT.

kiss me like you like me

flutterfingers — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 14:51:33 GMT

Basically I just watched Trueblood s3e1. And what I got out of it (aside from my ever-burgeoning EPIC LOVE for Terry, and my HUMONGOUS GIRL-HARD-ON for Eric --- [SIX HOURS, Y'ALL] ---! {If there was a God, he'd be allowing me to tap that arse.}), is this:

Bill tasted like iron and salt, a little rust in the chapped corner of his mouth, rough against the point of Sam’s tongue. The water running into his eyes made Bill swim and blur in his vision, made him seem like some sort of sweat-soaked hallucination, a mirage. The whole thing had a hazy, dream-like quality, what with the steam and the low light, the foggy heat of the shower, the slow, viscous trading of their kisses back'n'forth, stealing all the breath from his lungs and making his gut twist, a sinuous coil.

It took Bill’s hands cupping his biceps, it took the sweet-sharp jab of a fang on his inner lip, it took Bill’s wide, water-warmed hands walking their way down his back and slipping in the wet, running boldly along the cleft of his cheeks and in between, to make it all real.

“Sam,” Bill murmured, voice lowdown in his throat and soaked in southern; one deliberate thumb sliding square over his hole – “Turn around, now."

I also desire Pam/Lafayette, or Pam/Sookie, or maybe Pam/the tied-up chick in the basement that Eric was ramming ~~like I want him to ram me, now, now, now, OH BB.~~ Whatever! As long as it has Pam, I'm down. (Also, did anyone else get suspiciously turned on by the Queen grinding her stiletto into Eric's thigh, or was that just me? I DON'T EVEN LIKE HER, WHAT IS GOING ON, VAGINA? WHY DO YOU TAUNT ME? /o\)

In other news, I might like beetroot dip and apple pieces dunked in orange juice, but I like this fanmix better! It's called Pam: Sex Never Goes Out of Fashion by chairs and it is HOT. (cantarina , I am especially recc'ing this to you, I think it's your kinda music, babes. <3 Electronica, right?)

*rides ~~Eric~~ off into the sunset*

you to light my nights somehow - fic, 1189 words.

flutterfingers — Mon, 14 Jun 2010 16:41:31 GMT

Title: you to light my nights somehow
Characters, Pairing: Jo/Kat
Rating: NC-17.
Word Count: 1189.
Summary: For a girl who looks like she should be in a Midwestern Sunday school singing hymns or baking cookies, she is a crazy-good girl-kisser.
Warnings: Pornlicious. Possible tense-fuckery. ~~I need a perma-beta, damnit.~~
Notes: This would have been written for rarepair50, but nobody wanted to accept my sign-up ): So I stole their kink!prompt-table in retaliation. This one is prompt #1: Leather. Title from Leather and Lace by Fleetwood Mac which has absolutely nothing to do with this fic :D, though I do like it.

The first time they meet Jo’s wearing a beaten-up brown leather jacket, looks like it’d belonged to an ex-boyfriend or a brother or a father in it’s first life, sleeves hanging down over her pale little fingers and swallowing her up. Looks heavy and warm and like it’d been pummelled it’s way soft, the collar turned up about her stubborn chin and framing her face just so, gold hair shining loose in the dim light.

“Nice jacket,” Kat said and tipped her drink. It’ll be the first thing to go, pushed off Jo’s shoulders in a rush and dropped to the ground. Kat can’t wait to taste Jo’s bared skin, the smell of the leather lingering in the crease of her elbows, the sweat under her jaw.

“You like?” Jo said, dropping her eyes with a private little grin. “I borrowed it from a friend.”

“By borrow you mean permanently, right?” Kat asked, and ate one of her chilli cheese fries with deliberate focus, licked the greasy swell of her bottom lip clean. She watched as Jo’s eyes followed the movement, thought hell yes with the thrill of it running down through her gut. Being minus one stupid boyfriend had its definite perks, she was happily remembering. Hotass girls like Jo were just one.

“Only if he and his brother don’t find out it was me,” Jo said, casually stealing a couple of Kat’s fries and leaning in, elbows on the table. Her lips shined with something Kat wanted to taste, cherry or strawberry or watermelon staining that pretty mouth; she thinks she knows how Jo will kiss already, shy and unsure ‘coz this is her first time with a girl, opening up slow under pressure. She swallows and shifts on the blood-warmed barstool, curls her hand tight about her sweating glass. “Otherwise I’m sure they’ll think of something permanent they can do to me.”

“You’re on the lam,” Kat grinned, and took a sip, rum and coke sweet and trailing warmth down her throat.

“Something like that,” Jo laughed, little edge of something there that might be truth. She blinks up at Kat from under her lashes, and Kat forgets to care. “Should probably find a place to lie low for a while, out of the firing range, you know.”

“No doubt you already thought of where,” Kat said, arched a brow.

“Yeah,” Jo said. “No doubt.”

Jo doesn’t kiss shy and unsure; she kisses laughing and a little feral, struggling with Kat’s belt and shoving a hand down inside her jeans to palm her through cotton panties. Kat can feel the cold shock of the leather sliding along her belly, and a gasp cleaves her mouth as Jo strokes up cool fingers, leans back to watch Kat’s wide eyes and lick the sticky pink from her own mouth.

“First time with a girl?” Jo asks, gentle and low in the darkness. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you.”

If Kat could get in the breath to laugh she would – as it is she’s pushed back unexpected, knees hitting the mattress and dropping her down; barely has time to bounce before Jo’s back on her, sliding her jeans and underwear down her legs, running palms back up over her calves.

She climbs over Kat on all fours, hair swinging down, silver moonlit curtains that brush her neck and collarbone, the frozen teeth of her jacket brushing at Kat’s waist where her shirt’s ridden up. “Get this off,” Jo huffs, and helps Kat struggle it over her head, getting stuck in elbows and too many hands, her hair straggling free of it’s clip and glimmering on the pillows as they giggle breathlessly, throw it finally to the floor. “Yours is straighter’n mine,” Jo murmurs, almost curious, before shifting suddenly down to lick open Kat’s mouth again, the sweet curl of tongue, tiny teasing pecks at Kat’s lips to draw her up off the pillows and make her whine low down in her throat, before she melts once more into that surprising intensity.

For a girl who looks like she should be in a Midwestern Sunday school singing hymns or baking cookies, she is a crazy-good girl-kisser.

Jo’s eyes are fierce and dark when she moves back, her mouth already so wet and swollen from Kat’s teeth, bending over her. She groans, spreads her knees so Jo can fall between them, tilts up her hips so Jo can push her fingers back down through her heat and rub just to the left of her clit with her thumb. It’s an agonising tease, and Kat tries to shift, move herself so Jo can touch her right, but then they’re kissing again and it almost doesn’t matter, the smell of leather and sweat and Jo’s lipgloss, her hair fogging Kat’s brain. Jo stretching herself down to rub over her body like a cat, the exposed tops of Kat’s breasts, her stomach, shuddering at the cool skid of the leather jacket catching on her sweat.

The pleasure aches in her bones – it’s so good even as it’s awkward, first-time jostling for position and synchronisation. The two of them bumping foreheads when they move in together for another kiss, laughing, Kat’s hands tangled up under Jo’s jacket and shirt, trying to wrestle off her bra – and why is it so much easier to do this on herself? Finally she gives up, shoves her hands inside the cups and just rolls Jo’s nipples between two fingers each, swallows her gasp in her mouth and gives back a frustrated moan, a lick of tongue in return.

She undoes the top button of Jo’s jeans, slides in her hand and curls two fingers in her slick, Jo unsnapping Kat’s bra and pulling off the straps, one tangling doggedly around her wrist before it finally gets shaken off. Then Kat’s finally naked, and opening her eyes she realises – Jo’s not even kicked off her boots.

“You –” she says, but Jo’s finally hit the spot and it shuts her up fast, a moan clogging up her throat, back arching. “Jo –” she tries again, and that’s when Jo rolls her on top, the tender skin of her inner thighs riding denim and leather and Jo’s fingers. “Fuck,” she sighs, drawing it out, and decides it doesn’t matter, not right now. Not at all.

Jo sleeps light, on her stomach with her face mashed into Kat’s right shoulder, legs spread to take up the whole bed, barely-unbuttoned jeans sliding down to bare the dimples in her back. Kat, naked, dead asleep, soft wheezy little snores and grabby hands, curls into her and under the jacket to hide from the morning chill, their legs tangling together and one of Jo’s thighs cradled between her own.

When she wakes Jo’s gone, but she can still smell the leather on her own skin, can see the zipper line red and still pressed into the flesh of her back in the mirror; wishes she didn’t have to shower it off so she could remember the whole day.

She doesn’t stop remembering Jo anyway, not that day, nor the next, or the next.

I watch this sea creep 'round the corner.

flutterfingers — Fri, 11 Jun 2010 04:47:41 GMT

I hate fucking funerals.

and when her edges soften, her body is my coffin

flutterfingers — Tue, 01 Jun 2010 16:13:21 GMT

I wanna beg bloodred0_4 ’s forgiveness for taking so long with her one-sentence prompts! I remembered and then I forgot and then I remembered and then I felt bad, so. Here! Have some drabblets instead? [WARNING, THIS POST IS AN UNBETA'D ZONE!!!]

*crawls back into your good graces on hands and knees* *sends you flowers* *bakes you cupcakes*

Dean/Dean: I know how you like it.

He thinks it started with future-Dean and his dirtiest smirk, the one he’d perfected as a sixteen year old in spotty motel mirrors, the one that made his eyes all dark and sly, twisted his lips in a way that said, yeah, he knew exactly what they were good for. He’d said something, something provocative about maybe learning a few new tricks in the last five years, things past-Dean would not fucking believe, man. And Dean couldn’t ignore a challenge like that. Not from himself. Of course the other him would have known that, when he’d –

Or maybe it started with the Glenfiddich; two bottles of which were knocked back like water, burning the backs of their eyes, their throats. Scotch, as they both knew, fucked him up royally – made him do stupid shit that he’d usually think better of. Doesn’t matter, really – the fact is, they drank a lot of it, and weren’t exactly sober when –

Hey, maybe it was the situation? People do fucked-up shit when they’re in a bad place, and that future was definitely a bad place. Fucking awful. Probably the adrenaline and the combination of fear and anger and desperation writhing in his flesh had gotten to him, so he’d –

You know what? Fuck that noise. It’d started with future-Dean, slumped against his shoulder and mumbling something about those long-lost pink panties, and what other kinks he’d kept hidden from everyone, but couldn’t keep from himself. Mumbled them into his shirt, and then the skin of his throat, and then pressed the scotch-soaked words into his lips like he could hide them inside Dean’s mouth.

And it was weird. Dean knows how attractive he is, sure, he uses it to his advantage more often than not. But that never meant he wanted to fuck himself. He’d never been that much of a narcissist. (Until 2014, apparently.)

He wasn’t exactly thinking then, though – future-Dean was doing that little flick with his tongue he’d taught himself in ninth grade, licking into his mouth with just the right pressure, skimming his teeth along his bottom lip. And it figures that of course he’d be perfect at it. That he’d know exactly how to get Dean hot, stomach twisting, pulse jumping, his fingers clawing at his twin’s shoulderblades.

Any way, the point is, how it started doesn’t really matter. What matters right now is future-Dean, tonguing him open and leaving fingerprints with his thumbs, curling into him in ways that, fuck, make him hump sloppily into the twisted sheets and moan, desperate and sobbing and turned-on, hearing his own voice tell him, “Yeah baby, that’s it, take it, fuck, take it all.”

Sam/Dean: one last time.

“Please Dean? Please?” Sam said, all big brown eyes and pleading and milk moustache.

“No,” Dean said.

But he couldn’t say that word to Sammy for long, ever, especially not with his little brother looking at him like this again, five years old and all tiny chubby limbs, dwarfed by his chair, feet swinging off the edge. He was wearing one of his shirts, one of the ones that had fitted him too tight just yesterday and now puddled around him like a tent, big enough to come down almost to his wrists, his ankles.

Sam didn’t even have to say it again. He just pursed his mouth a little, wrinkled his brows. The bitch-face basics. So of course Dean had to do his walrus impression again.

Just one last time.

J2: dancing.

Jared can’t sing to save his life. Everyone else in the world probably thinks it’s endearing, but no one else has to live with it.

No one else has to live with Jared, who sings in the shower – stupid shit like Britney and Avril and the Spice Girls, ‘coz he thinks Jensen’s still asleep and can’t mock him for it.

He sings eighties music in the kitchen, and Tainted Love when he’s finally gotten desperate enough to do some of his mountainous pile of laundry (Jensen refuses). He mumbles snippets of indie lyrics in the car, driving, tapping his fingers on the wheel out of time.

He croons ridiculous nineties love ballads in Jensen’s ear when he wants attention and hums Metallica when he’s going down – it gets so that Jensen can’t hear Enter Sandman without getting hard, and that’s never not gonna be awkward.

He sings when he walks the dogs and he sings with his earphones on (even more horribly tonedeaf than usual) and he sings while he cooks.

And if you think that's bad? Well, don't even get Jensen started on the the dancing.

J2: tomorrow.

So maybe its not perfect – maybe there’s some stuff they regret, or some things they wished they could do, say, feel without worry. Maybe they wish they could just live their lives. Maybe they sometimes wish they'd never met. Maybe they worry about getting caught, maybe some days they’d prefer the waiting to be over. They're not very discreet after all.

Maybe they love each other, and that’s about thick and thin, for better or worse.

Maybe it’s still growing and changing and adapting, maybe it’s hard and sometimes they wonder if all the secrecy is worth it. Maybe it is, maybe it isn't. But they still have it. And today, right now, they still wanna keep it. They’re both pretty sure they have a good thing here.

Maybe that’ll change tomorrow. Or maybe tomorrow’ll never come.

Guess we’ll see.

or spend your days biting your own neck

flutterfingers — Thu, 27 May 2010 12:01:13 GMT

COPIED AND PASTED FROM sendthewolves's livejournal.

Give me a pairing and/or a prompt, and I will write you a one sentence ficlet.
Supernatural, Trueblood, Harry Potter, Batman (movieverse), J2, Sherlock Holmes (movieverse) -- seriously just suggest anything and I will give it a shot. :D

<3

ETA (3:28am EST): To bed, I am! Have no fear, leave as many prompts as you like, anyone and everyone - I promise you now, no prompt left here will go unfullfilled. *solemnly swears ~~she is up to no good~~*

Kiss kiss!

:|

flutterfingers — Thu, 27 May 2010 00:33:31 GMT

I was watching One Tree Hill for the first time ever this week - after Supernatural I needed something I had no chance of getting emotionally invested in to relax my brain.

And you know what?

I think I might actually, omg, wtf, be attracted.

You know.

To The Chad.

BECAUSE SCORP ASKED ME TO.

flutterfingers — Tue, 11 May 2010 18:50:21 GMT

More spnrarepairs advertisements.

my boy builds coffins with hammers and nails

flutterfingers — Mon, 10 May 2010 14:08:30 GMT

I've been thinking about pre-series stuff lately; this happened. 6 tracks around the Stanford era. I wanna know, peepz, do you have songs for Stanford too? Do you have songs for when they were little, little boys and Dean used to play ring around the roses with Sam to make him smile? Do you have songs for their childhood, growing up in a world where monsters are real?
I want to know.
These are things I think about. We should have a discussion. Anyone awake over there? <3
I don't think I can call six songs a fanmix, so it's just a compilation, or maybe a mini-mix. Can definitely be read as Sam/Dean. Feel free to add, bbs.

----Before

1. Just To Be Me – Josh Kelley
The intensity’s bound to get the best of someone

2. Don’t Leave Just Yet – Needtobreathe
Give up everything you have to get what you want

----During

3. Heartbreak Warfare - John Mayer
How much I’d love you, if you let me

4. I Took It Out On You – Newton Faulkner
Now that it’s done, unforgiven

----After

5. Where In The World Are You? – Great Lake Swimmers
I thought that I saw you in the oncoming cars

6. Set The Fire To The Third Bar – Snow Patrol & Martha Wainwright
It’s only finger-lengths that I see

Stanford makes me sad to think about: poor Sammy, poor Dean. And That Man, who whenever I think about Stanford, I will refuse to name. You know who you are.

springs in my wings; fanmix

flutterfingers — Mon, 10 May 2010 10:26:28 GMT

Title: springs in my wings
Pairing: Castiel/Jo
Warnings: Dean/Jo mention -- blink and you'll miss it.
Rating: PG if you stretch it
Notes: Originally made as a gift for scorpiod1 in spn_hetexchange.
Summary: So, hold this feeling like a newborn: freedom surging through your veins.

Steer by Missy Higgins
It was always simple, not hidden hard

Beg Your Pardon by Josh Pyke
Around you I forget behavior

Two Hands by Jars of Clay
I’ve been splitting hairs and blurring lines

Gravity by John Mayer
It’s wanting more that’s gonna send me to my knees

Modern Mystery by Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin
I’m so glad I don’t hear you say no

Drop Out - The So Unknown by Jack’s Mannequin
I will give you this confession

JackInABox by Turin Brakes
This is a nice mess, I don’t feel so lonely

Bonus:
I Am Not A Robot by Marina & The Diamonds
I’m vulnerable, I am not a robot

Like this? Sick of only ever seeing Sam/Dean, Dean/Castiel fanworks? Think Jo/Castiel, and other such rare pairs need more love? We do too! Join spnrarepairs ! Because the little pairings need love too. <333

Girls will be boys and boys will be girls.

flutterfingers — Thu, 06 May 2010 15:15:54 GMT

Title: Zooey as Cas
Artist: Me and mah sistah.
Rating: G
Summary: Castiel is a girl. (chibi!style, fast rough drawing about 3hours for everything)
Notes: My sister helped me to draw Cas (she's the one who usually draws; I'm just a fan), but I think I did about 90% of the work, including colouring, etc, etc. It's much more her actual style than mine though. She also used another picture as a reference to help draw Cas' trench, but I have no idea where it's from.
Also, fun fact: I used a feather brush for Cas' hair <3333
The awesome idea to have Zooey Deschanel as Castiel comes from familiardevil --- who is a genderswapping genius! --- so. She's my inspiration today. <33

APOCALYPSE NOW

flutterfingers — Thu, 06 May 2010 03:54:18 GMT

Today at the trainstation I actually thought I thought I saw a zombie with like sunken in purple eyes who was coming to eat my brains. I actually had to take a second look so as not to freak out.
It turned out to be this mouthbreathing guy wearing tiny sunglasses.
Guys.
I think I'm going crazy.
Or maybe I just watch too much supernatural.

Rude boy, can you get it up?

flutterfingers — Tue, 04 May 2010 20:42:01 GMT

Does anyone else do that thing where they stare at a fic they're attempting, write one sentence, change two words, rewrite a sentence before ctrl-Z'ing it back to the way it was, and then give up in disgust? I've been doing that for four hours. (Of course, it's three fics, but still.)

FOUR HOURS OF NOTHING. I HAVE 30 WORDS TO SHOW FOR THIS EFFORT.

WHYYYYY. *echoecho*

It is days like these I despair of the muse; obviously he is suffering from ~~erectile~~ creative dysfunction and should be replaced, as he is failing to stimulate my brain in a manner that is at all helpful. (Suggesting I write about Dean pulling out to come all over Sam's taut, golden ass, is not acceptable behaviour for a muse, boy. It would just be yet another exercise in mental onanism.)

You know what? Maybe I should give up trying to write actual, insightful, plotty shit, and write porn full time instead.

I like this idea.

In lieu of seventy two virgins, because I fear they are a myth.

flutterfingers — Mon, 03 May 2010 20:27:59 GMT

Happy birthday coyotesuspect !!
You asked for either Sam/Dean (schmoop), Anna/Ruby, or Bela/Henriksen. I am very indecisive; therefore I closed my eyes and stabbed a page with a pencil twice instead of actually making a choice. The pencil chose my fate, which means you get:

a) love would shine through; schmoopy established Sam/Dean in a bed (200 words)

Sam fits the curve of Dean’s back perfectly, knees tucked into his and one octopus arm wrapped tight about his waist, clinging. He sighs softly as he sleeps, and the warmth of his breath teases at the nape of Dean’s neck, leaving him half-hard all night, his face pushed into the pillow. Trying not to wake Sam with his restless limbs, harsh breath.

He sleeps for a while, finally; drowsy and laden down with the heat between them, thin blanket scratching his cheek. When the sun creeps in it heats up his bare legs, Sam having stolen Dean’s half of the covers, like always. At least his back’s still warm.

When Sam wakes he presses Dean blindly down into the pillow, and swaps their morning breath; he strokes a hand down the tender skin of Dean’s ribs and nuzzles at the hinge of his jaw, snuffling. Sucks a slow kiss into his adam’s apple.

“Dean,” he murmurs, sweet and soft with sleep, and this is the best part of Dean’s morning, always. The naked stretch of Sam’s back, hot and smooth under his palms, and Sam’s eyes when they open to the light, whole face melting into Dean’s favorite smile.

and b) "things we do for love"; darkish Anna/Ruby AU poem (just go with it?) wherein Ruby is a human (87 words)

Anna picks her up from where she’s fallen.
She sears Ruby’s eyes with her light.
Presses a kiss to the hollow of Ruby’s throat,
                             and her wrists when they’re rebound tight.

Her knife is placed back on the highest white shelf.
A lick of blood, shining wet.
Anna hides with her under the covers,
                             her wings a familiar silhouette.

“I can make you feel better.”
Whispered into the curve of her nape.
“You can try,” Ruby’s says, holding on too tight,
                             and fills the void with Anna’s shape.

I know I promised fic, and actually, I started writing both an AU wherein Anna is a schizophrenic and Ruby is a junkie cutter, and another AU (a highschool one) for you; but both of them refused to form in the amount of time I was given. D: Damn stubborn fics.

Plus I was listening to The Things We Do For Love by Khin Myint, which is how that poem kinda came into being. (Sorry about that.)

Anyways! I hope you have a wonderful birthday and get loads of fabulous presents! Love, love, love from ME! And rest of the universe, obviously. *flutters away*

These Bright Lights; Or That One Time Jo Seduced An Angel, And Karma Smacked Her Down Like A Bitch

flutterfingers — Fri, 30 Apr 2010 18:20:36 GMT

Title: These Bright Lights; Or That One Time Jo Seduced An Angel, And Karma Smacked Her Down Like A Bitch.
Subject: Jo/Castiel Cracktastically Slutty Fanmix. Or as I like to call it, a slutmix!
Pairings/Warnings: Jo/Castiel; R for sexual situations, the f-bomb.
Disclaimer: THEY AREN'T MINE.
Summary:
Jo wants Castiel to be her boyfriend!!1one!!2!1!! – even if he’s probably crap in bed, having been junkless for 99.998634276% of his lifespan. She tries to seduce him with her “FEMININE WILES” (up to and including – but probably not limited to – pole dancing). If this is their last night on earth, she wants to go out with a BANG… and six billion orgasms.
Cas is rather hesitant to be jumping into bed with Jo, he’s heard “THINGS FROM DEAN”. Also, she’s clingy. And then the night after he finally taps that ass SHE DIES, which just adds to his MAN(GEL?) PAIN. Oh woe is Castiel. She had an IMPACT. He’s gonna miss her – and that thing she does with her tongue.
Notes: Originally made for the spn_land media challenge # 6, Driver Picks the Music. Reposted here. Somewhat alike to Putting On That Midnight Smile, my Anna/Ruby Groovemix, this fanmix is of an upbeat tempo, and somewhat dance-able - but there is more focus on a particular scene rather than a whole relationship.
Size: 57.7MB, 43 minutes.

* (JO) pops (CASTIEL)'s cherry on her last night on earth.
*A Jo/Castiel Slutmix.

01. Fucking Boyfriend | The Bird and The Bee
{Jo wants Castiel to be her boyfriend. Please, like, nao.}

There is something wrong, and there is something right | When (CASTIEL) can take (JO) by the hands and (JO) will close her eyes | When (CASTIEL) laid down with (JO) he took the other side | When (CASTIEL) laid down with (JO) he never slept that night. | Is (CASTIEL) working up to something? | But (CASTIEL) gives (JO) almost nothing. | Keeps (JO) helpless, up to something on her knees. | (CASTIEL) would you ever be (JO)'s, would you be (JO)'s fucking boyfriend? Ahh | (CASTIEL) are you an amateur, or is it you’re unkind?

02. Girl You Know | Scarface ft. Trey Songs
{Castiel sees right through Jo. He totes knows her type and he has NO TIME for trivialities like procreation. Also, he has important angel buisness to attend to, like finding God and pruning his wings.}

(JO) can’t be (CASTIEL)'s girlfriend, (JO) you know | ‘Cause (CASTIEL) don’t need that, (JO)'s mess up in his world and | (JO) you know, you can’t be (CASTIEL)'s, you can’t be (CASTIEL)'s girlfriend | You can never be (CASTIEL)'s main boo, you two can remain cool | But they can't be seen and for this (CASTIEL) can blame (JO) | Because (JO)'s got more miles than a F-350 | (JO)'s been ran through, and (CASTIEL) knows for a fact you got history | But since they met, (CASTIEL)'s been hearing (JO)'s name in certain circles | Pussy got a snap like a turtle | […] (JO)'s unlike no other, she a bad motherfucker | But (CASTIEL)'s too strong to let a ho undercover | Make him look fucked up, because unlike those (BR)others | (CASTIEL) done met a lot of freaky girls in his lifespan | So (JO), you can't get mad because (CASTIEL) is not your man | Your understanding was bad, (JO), it was not (CASTIEL)'s plan | For (JO) to fall in love with him, (JO) it's not like that

03. No Sleep Tonight | The Faders
{"Cas," Jo says. "I'm gonna give you the ride of your life."
"Where to?" says Castiel.}

(JO)'s got (CASTIEL), (JO)'s got (CASTIEL) on her mind | And it's time to make (CASTIEL) see what (JO) wants | So (JO)'ll just make this a little more obvious | 'Cos (JO) gets what she want and (JO) wants (CASTIEL) to get with her | Don't think (CASTIEL) knows | How far (JO)'s gonna go | (CASTIEL) can't stop this feeling | (CASTIEL) can't run away | (CASTIEL BABY), (JO)'s what's on your mind | (CASTIEL) can't stop this feeling | There's no escape | No sleep tonight | (CASTIEL) won't get no sleep tonight | (CASTIEL) wants (JO), he wants (JO) all the time | And (CASTIEL) don't need nothing else | But (CASTIEL) seems to be a little oblivious | So (JO)'ll show you the way

04. Ayo Technology | 50 Cent ft. Justin Timberlake & Timbaland
{Jo is surprisingly awesome at poledancing. Castiel can't seem stop watching her.}

Look at the way (JO)'s shakin', shakin' | Makes (CASTIEL) want to touch it, makes (CASTIEL) want to taste it | Has (CASTIEL) lustin' for (JO), go crazy, face it | Now don't stop, get it, get it | The way (JO)'s shakin' makes (CASTIEL) want to hit it | Thinks (JO)'s double jointed from the way she split it | Got (CASTIEL)'s head fucked up from the way she did it | (JO)'s so much more than (CASTIEL)'s used to | (JO) knows just how to move to seduce (CASTIEL) | (JO)'s gonna do the right thing and touch the right spot | Dance in (CASTIEL)'s lap ‘till he's ready to pop | (JO)'s always ready, when (CASTIEL) wants it, (JO) wants it like a nympho | […] (JO), why don't you come over here, you got (CASTIEL) saying | Ayo, (CASTIEL)'s tired of using technology – why don't you sit down on top of (CASTIEL), (JO)? | Ooh, (JO) wants it, uh uh, (JO) wants it | Ooh, (JO) wants it, so, (CASTIEL)'s gotta give it to her | (JO)'s hips, (JO)'s thighs, they got (CASTIEL) hypnotized, let me tell you

05. Love Game | Lady Gaga
{Jo thinks she can keep her heart out of it this time. If Castiel hurries the fuck up and takes advantage of her, already.}

(JO) wants kiss you | But if (JO) does then she might miss you, (CASTIEL BABE) | It's complicated and stupid | (JO) got her ass squeezed by sexy cupid | Guess (CASTIEL) wants to play, wants to play a lovegame, a lovegame | (CASTIEL) hold (JO) and love (JO) | She just wants to touch you for a minute | Maybe three seconds is enough | For (JO)'s heart to quit it | Let's have some fun, this beat is sick | (JO) wants to take a ride on (CASTIEL)'s disco stick | Don't think too much, just bust that kick | (JO) wants to take a ride on (CASTIEL)'s disco stick | Let's play a lovegame, play a lovegame | (CASTIEL) do you want love, or you want fame? | Are you in the game? | Doin’ the lovegame | (JO)'s on a mission | And it involves some heavy touching, yeah

06. Rude Boy | Rihanna
{Jo knows exactly what she wants when she finally gets her hands on Castiel. For once, he is not complaining.}

Tonight (JO)'s gonna let it be fire, tonight (JO)'s gonna let (CASTIEL) take her higher | Tonight, (CASTIEL BABY), you two could get it on, yeah, you could get it on, yeah | (CASTIEL), do you like it? | (CASTIEL BOY), (JO) wants, wants, wants whatchu want, want, want | Give it to (JO), (CASTIEL BABY) like boom, boom, boom | What (JO) wants, wants, wants is what (CASTIEL) wants, wants, wants | Nah nah-ah | Come here, rude boy, boy, can you get it up? | Come here, rude boy, boy, is you big enough? | (CASTIEL), take it, take it, (CASTIEL BABY), (CASTIEL BABY), take it, take it, love (JO), love (JO) | Tonight (JO)'s gonna give it to (CASTIEL) harder, tonight (JO)'s gonna turn (CASTIEL)'s body out | Relax; let (JO) do it how she wanna

07. Get Me Off | Basement Jaxx
{Jo is really gunning for those six billion orgasms.}

(JO) wants undress you, (CASTIEL), she wants to caress you | (JO) don`t wanna be coy | It's time to get (JO) off | Come on (CASTIEL BABY), thrust (JO), trust (JO), get (JO) off | You're (JO)'s poison and (JO) cannot get enough | […] (CASTIEL) give your body to (JO), give your body to (JO) | Let your body be free, free your body, your body with (JO) | Well, the music's pumpin’ and (JO) wishes (CASTIEL)'d do the same to her | Come on, (CASTIEL), you know you can do it, you know you wanna do it | (CASTIEL), you`re so freaky, treat (JO), make (JO) come | Oh (CASTIEL BABY), baby please

08. Feels Just Like It Should | Jamiroquai
{Castiel: "Am I doing it right?" Jo: "Unf. Oh, GOD!" Castiel: "What? Where?!" Jo: "SHUT UP AND DO THAT AGAIN."}

So (JO), take (CASTIEL) for the first time | (CASTIEL) needs a little sugar spice | (CASTIEL) wants see the city lights | (CASTIEL)'s gonna find a lover | (JO) said | Feels just like it should | […] Sugar spice, (CASTIEL)'s on the phone, (CASTIEL)'s outside | (CASTIEL) needs a little sexfunk about now | (CASTIEL) wants (JO), (CASTIEL) wants to lick (JO) up and down | It feels good, (JO) said it would feel that good and it does | Just like (JO) said it would | […] Feels just like it should | (CASTIEL)'s coming down tonight to taste y'all | Sugar-spice, (CASTIEL) want you, (JO), a sexy girl | Slips in, it feels good | (CASTIEL) loves it when (JO) tells him | Feels just like it should

09. FNT | Semisonic
{"Wow," Castiel says. "The human act of reproduction is much more fun than it looks." Cas is not the type to fall asleep straight after sex, Jo discovers; he is wont to engage in pillow talk.}

(JO), fascinating new thing | You delight (CASTIEL) | And (CASTIEL) knows you're speaking of him | (JO), fascinating new thing | Get beside (CASTIEL) | (CASTIEL) wants (JO) to love him | (CASTIEL)'s surprised that (JO)'s never been told before | That (JO)'s lovely and (JO)'s perfect | And that somebody wants (JO) | (JO), fascinating new thing | You're scene-makin' | Want a temporary savior?

10. On A Good Day | Oceanlab
{Cas misses Jo, but because of her, he has a little more faith in himself. Also he's no longer a virgin - always a plus.}

(CASTIEL)'s getting used to it, (JO) lit the fuse to it | (CASTIEL) likes to know who he is | (CASTIEL)'s been talking to himself forever | And how (CASTIEL) wishes he knew himself better | Still sitting on a shelf and never | Never seen the sun shine brighter | And it feels like (CASTIEL), on a good day | And it feels like (CASTIEL), on a good day | (CASTIEL)'s a little bit hemmed in | A little bit isolated, a little bit hopeful | A little bit cold | But (CASTIEL) holds on, and (CASTIEL) | Feels strong, and (CASTIEL) knows that he can

*BONUS SONG:

11. Bittersweet Symphony (Remix) | Moby

Instrumental.

download me!

the only noise beating out is ours - fic, 4,666 words.

flutterfingers — Tue, 27 Apr 2010 20:47:17 GMT

Title: the only noise beating out is ours
Author: *raises hand, guiltily*
Characters, Pairings: Its just a big Dean/Sam/Anna/Ruby foursome pwp, aiight? Go with it.
Rating: NC-17 (triple x size)
Word Count: 4,666 .aka. 8pages of porn.
Summary: There's this witch. And she's evil. And then there's the sex pollen.
Warnings: Abuse of Persian rugs, foursomes, orgies, explicit sex scenes, sex pollen fic. Swearing. The whole caboodle. Dirty, dirty porn.
Notes: ALL FOR YOU, scorpiod1 !! Originally meant to be a comment fic for her five_acts, it kinda mutated. So. Blame her. Not me. (Damn enabler.) Title from Snow Patrol lyrics, The Lightning Strike: What If This Storm Ends (i), The Sunlight Through The Flags (ii), Daybreak (iii). (AKA SIXTEEN MINUTES OF AWESOME THAT I HAD ON REPEAT.) Looked over for me by the insanely lovely familiardevil, thanks hon!!

Lemme tell you a story, okay baby? Aiight.

So.

There's this witch.

She's nasty, like, always snacking on babies as though they were candy corn – or maybe its kittens? Whatever! They are so interchangeable. The point is, she totally likes to chow down on things that are cute and innocent, with huge, dewy eyes. Obviously she’s evil.

In any case, our boys have to go and kill her, seeing as how they found all these suspicious deaths in the town’s obits, and they all led back to her. (Not to mention the kitten/baby-boneyard.) Still, it's kinda sad, 'coz she's hot like the burn of a California sun, and Dean fell a little in love with her wicked brown eyes on first meeting.

It was somethin’ about her perfume, he thinks, somewhat wistful, before shoving it out of his mind. Because, hey, whatever. Job’s a job. Witch’s a witch. And Dean, well. Dean really hates witches.

The boys've got an angel and a demon ridin' in the backseat - Ruby 'coz she's a'wantin' to dig through the witch's magical hodgepodge for anything of use when she’s rolled over dead, and Anna 'coz she needs the witch's soul for a spell later on down the track.

Truthfully, Sam doesn't know which motive is more disturbing.

What’s that?

Dean?

Eh. He doesn’t really care, so long as Ruby doesn’t get her supernatural cooties all over his girl. (Anna’s already been there, done that.)

Anyways, this witch. I told you she’s evil, right? Yeah, well, when our heroes (and heroines, right, sorry) show up locked and loaded for bear, there she is with a big ol’ smile, sweet as green apples. Waitin’ for ‘em.

She’s standin’ on the staircase with her fingers crooked and her head cocked, Latin streaming from her lips in a sinuous flow. Finishes that up with them all standin’ there in the foyer, mouths agape and thumbs stuck up where the sun ain’t shinin’, ‘coz they’ve all been caught in a sticky sort of webbed-time spell; then she’s lobbing a ball of spice and flowers over their heads.

It explodes into this sparkly yellow powder at a single word, and she – coverin’ her nose and mouth with one hand – runs into another room with a tinkly little laugh.

What did I tell you? Totally evil bitch.

~

The smell of cinnamon and red roses and something weirder, crackly, like sunlight, is soaking’ into the air, Dean’s pores, his face, making his head spin and his heart pound in the base of his wrists. The big vein in his neck.

He tries not to breathe it in – a lost cause ‘coz he can feel the glittering cloud settle like dust in his hair, his lungs, in his nose and fuck,, he mustn’t have closed his gaping mouth in time ‘coz he can even taste it.

And, hey, he’s already breathed it in enough that tasting it, rolling his tongue against the roof his mouth and swallowing it down to get more, more, more of the intoxicating flavour won’t matter much, right? Why shouldn’t he? Just a little? Just a bit.

It tastes – it tastes like cinnamon and honey, smoky sweet, burning a trail over his tongue and down his throat, lower, lower, fuck, filling him all up with this urgency that his body can barely contain. Expanding all throughout him to his fingertips, his toes. His skin feels too small, too tight and overheated, and god, god, the dust tastes so good in his mouth, like liquid light.

And suddenly, killing a witch doesn’t seem so urgent anymore, and actually, hey – Anna and Sam are making out.

Anna’s got her legs all wrapped up tight around Sam’s waist, and his big hands are spanning the entirety of her arse, fingers digging in. She’s clutching at his hair, pulling, and Dean watches as Sam slips his head back with a moan, throat exposed, for her to bite the white skin, and mark it all up with her teeth. Her hair’s falling into Sam’s face like fire, brushing his cheekbones.

“Shit,” Dean curses, and his voice sounds faraway. Watching, ‘coz, oh god, he wants to touch, – the arching poetry of Anna’s spine, and the steel bands of muscle in Sam’s arms, his legs, planted and steady. He wants to bite the tendon in his brother’s neck, he wants to line himself up against Sam’s back and lay his hands on familiar hips, kiss the nape of Sam’s neck where his hair curls sweetly into his skin.

God, he wants it, wants it, he wants it all ten times more’n he usually does, Sam, the endless need baking him from the inside out, flushing his cheeks red, his lips parted and shining wet. Sam, god. It’s always been Sam, for Dean.

He blinks and then, all unexpected-like, he’s got Ruby’s hands creeping into the fabric over his stomach, her warm breath on his shoulder blade, moist and sulphuric. “Shit,” Dean says again, lower. His voice resembles something that’d been recently hauled over gravel.

“Hey there, sailor,” Ruby purrs, and it’s almost comical, it would be stupid but for the way even her touch twists the tension tighter in his gut, and yeah – cheese always works for Dean. He leans back into her hands, grabbing at her wrists, and turns his head over his shoulder so’s she can bite at his mouth, teeth sharp on his flesh.

Dean can’t think why he’s never gone here with a demon. He can’t think. Can’t think. Can’t – ‘coz Ruby feels just like any other woman, her breasts soft and full, straining against his back, and she’s biting at his earlobe, pulling it into the damp heat of her mouth.

For Dean its crazy-good, just watching as Sam and Anna devour each other, Anna’s hands scratching at Sam’s back, rutting her hips up against him. Sam’s groans echoing in the foyer, bouncing back off the hall mirror, and the crappy retro painting of a bowl of fruit. Just feeling as Ruby’s red-painted nails slither under his shirt and scritch at the soft flesh of his belly as they’re goin’ down. One small hand covers his denim-trapped dick, and squeezes.

Oh, oh, and Dean’s hard and leaking at the tip already, wet spot soaking through his briefs (always briefs, on a hunt) and his jeans. Then Sam’s taking two wobbling, coltish steps over, coiling a hand around the back of Dean’s neck and bringing his face up close to crush their mouths together.

Sam’s licking into Dean’s mouth, all tongue and teeth, no subtlety; sucking on his bottom lip like it’s all he ever wanted in the world. And Dean? Baby, Dean’s keeping his eyes open ‘coz he doesn’t wanna miss a second of this.

He feels like his skin is burning up, filled to bursting of heat and light and Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. His heart is beating so fast, he feels it everywhere, the backs of his knees, in his mouth, everywhere he and Sam are touching. Can’t seem to stop moaning, panting, grabbing on to the sides of Sam’s over-shirt and clinging tight, refusing to let go, or pause, or think, reeling him in as close as possible with Anna still clutched between their bodies. Dean feels desperate, greedy, his whole body heavy and lush with heat, his dick swollen and leaking pre-cum all over his thigh.

Then Anna – still stuck like a limpet to Sam’s waist, shirt lost and bra straps falling down her arms – bends to the side, bends down to press her lips to where Ruby’s angled up her red, red mouth for a kiss. Ruby, who’s skipped ahead of them and stripped naked, all heavy, rounded breasts and waving dark hair, eyes glazed over black with her lust.

The inside of Ruby’s slim thighs are all slippery – Dean can see it, shit – and she’s got already a hand curling’ into herself, not shy at all, fast and perfect, dirty-sweet. Dean can hear the filthy wet noises of her flesh, her whimpers swallowed up by Anna’s mouth; can see the stuttering of her hips into her own fingers and the slick dribbling down the inside of her wrist. He wants to bury his face in her cunt; wants to get her mess all over his face and make her beg for it. Make her beg him. Wants Sam to lick the taste of her off his nose, chin, tongue. Wants Sam to taste her on him, before all he can taste is Sam.

He wants to fuck her raw.

Dean leans in and licks the shell of Ruby’s ear, Sam a mirror image on her other side; he meets his brother’s eyes over her head as he bites at the delicate whorl and flicks his tongue.

Then, then, Ruby’s coming, back arching, jesus she’s loud, unabashedly so, Sam and Dean both pulling back to watch her come undone, with Sam’s big warm hand still cupping the curve of Dean’s skull. Anna’s plucking Ruby’s nipples like harp strings throughout, breathless, palming the fullness of her breasts, and the soft skin of her throat, eyes wide and hungry and all over Ruby’s skin.

The next thing that was worth focusing on, after a haze of jerked off pants and shirts, and Anna’s frenzied writhing at Ruby’s teeth worrying the underside of one pale breast, is this: Sam, the shape of his huge shoulders bent over Dean, and their bodies fused together at the hips, erections slotting together perfectly.

Dean grinds up as Sam grinds down, and fuck, approximately three seconds of that and he’s coming all over his own stomach and his brother’s dick, digging his nails into Sam’s bare arse the entire time. Breaths pulled in harshly through his open mouth, and all Dean can taste is the shimmering cinnamon-rose powder on the meat of Sam’s shoulder, the taste of burning honey, and Sam, Sam all over his tongue.

“Sam,” he’s saying, hoarse. He can’t remember when he started. He can’t find a reason to stop. “Sammy.”

Aftershocks of light and heat are spiking through his limbs, and Dean can still feel the sparkling lust deep in his belly, weaving through him, consuming him. He drags a hand over the come on his stomach, his chest, and then slides it lower to fist Sam’s cock, the whole length of him burning hot like a brand between Dean’s fingers. He's nowhere near satisfied; whole body feeling heavy with desire, and his dick already starting to twitch, refilling itself even as he watches Sam buck into his grip, throw his head back and groan, long and loud like he can’t help himself. The carpet of the foyer is burning the skin on his shoulder blades, but Dean can’t care. Barely notices.

Sam’s leaking all over Dean’s palm, and it’s not enough, Dean wants to taste him. Now. He flips them both over, fast, and kisses Sam’s gasping mouth, before moving down to where Sam’s dick lies curved into his stomach, leaving smears of pre-cum just under his bellybutton.

Dean wants to lay claim to every inch of Sam’s body, mark him up – the soft, fragile skin of his inner elbow, the heavy muscle of his thigh, the wavy little scar on his ribcage – but he needs everything too fast, and right now, needs it all at once. He’s never wanted anything as much as he wants Sam in his mouth right this second. So he ducks his head down to lave the soft head of Sam’s dick, pushes his forehead into Sam’s stomach and moans with him in tandem – salty sweetness coating his tongue, and fuck, he’s wanted this so long he can barely stand it, his whole skin stretching to encompass the sunlight bursting in his chest.

He stops fucking around, and puts his mouth on Sam’s cock, jesus, the head sliding over Dean’s tongue, so hot and wet. The taste of Sam in his mouth is intoxicating, crazy, making Dean's dick swell and pulse against the carpet, already impossibly hard again, rubbing and grinding and hurting – but so good. He tastes like salt and sweat and come, incredible, and Dean ducks his head down too fast, trying to get all of him in at once – choking on the size. Oh god, fuck, it doesn’t even matter when Sam's cock pops out to slap back wetly onto his belly, because he still wants it all, doesn’t even take a second out to get his breath back. Dean just cups it in his hand, mouths along the length of it, getting it all sloppy and wet with his tongue, scraping a little with his teeth because he's too far gone to be gentle.

Shit, fuck, he wants – he wants, he just wants, and he props Sam up in one hand, swallowing down what he can, dick sliding down deep into the back of his throat, Sam yelling his name over his head, nails scratching along Dean’s scalp as he thrusts up, careless and uneven into Dean’s mouth.

He can hear the girls next to them, Ruby face shoved between Anna's quivering thighs, and fuck, it's so hot, Anna's head tossing against the floor, strangling screams in her throat. And shit, she's clutching Ruby's hair between her fingers and writhing, bucking up, hips twisting away and back into Ruby's hands where she’s barely being held down. Dean can see Ruby’s tongue, just dipping in lazily to Anna's cunt, licking all along her folds and over her clit, the lewdest thing he's ever seen.

He bobs his head, dragging his tongue over the head of Sam's dick and meets Ruby's inked-over eyes as she licks delicately at Anna, both of them far gone and smirking – and then Sam's slipping out of his mouth again, pre-cum slurring over Dean's cheekbone and the side of his mouth before he comes with a shout, calves quaking where they’ve curled themselves around to cradle Dean's ribs.

~

Anna feels so hot and full it's like she's burning up – she's never felt anything like this heat before, stripping her limbs down to the bone, making her moan and scream and shout, her whole being consumed with shudders like her very body, her bones, are being pulled apart at the seams.

Ruby's got one hand gripped into her hip, nails pinching the tender skin, the other buried between her own thighs, and is finally sucking on Anna’s clit, fierce, relentless, her face and chin all wet with Anna's slick. Anna can't do anything but grind up into Ruby's tongue and fall apart, once, twice, three times maybe – it's ongoing, it won't stop, she keeps needing more, now, now. She wants all of Ruby, she wants anything this demon is willing to give her, wants to fill up the bare spaces inside with Ruby’s fingers, her tilted smile, the hungry look in her eyes, instead of this empty white light.

Then Ruby's climbing up her body, licking into her mouth, rubbing herself full-length against Anna. Anna wants to get her closer, so close that the heat melts them into each other, no difference in their shape – she wants to mark up every inch of Ruby’s skin with handprints and possess her.

Anna can feel where Ruby's soaking, right against her thigh, and she shoves it up to grind, Ruby throwing her head back with gritted teeth, black hair writhing on her bare, white shoulders. God, Anna can't stand it, can't stand just to watch her like this – so hot, so wanton, and she slides a hand down to Ruby's pussy, parting her folds and shoving her fingers up and in, two at once, gasping at the tight-wet-hot feel of Ruby clenching around her fingers, sucking her in up to the base of her third knuckles, greedy. She feels a flicker of triumph; this, this is everything she wants, and she’s just going to take it, she’s going to take Ruby, she’s going to own her.

Desperate, Ruby is thrusting down onto Anna's fingers, breasts swaying and bouncing with her motion, and Anna leans up, bites at a nipple when it brushes her mouth, licks and sucks, and tucks her face into the hollow of Ruby's chest, face sweaty and flushed. She can feel Ruby's stolen heart thudding, violent, against her forehead, and shit, she wants to taste it in her mouth, wants Ruby's life throbbing, pulsing against her tongue – fragile and hers alone. But Ruby's coming a second time, long and luxurious, screams echoing up to the ceiling.

They twist against each other, then twine together on their sides, Anna flinging a leg up over Ruby's thigh, trying to get close, closer, please, oh. Ruby's fingers sink into her, curling up and rubbing, and finding the place inside that shoots light through Anna’s veins, the heat gripping like tendrils in her guts, her fingers still pumping into Ruby, wanting to see her face, wanting her to come apart again for Anna. She wants to lay waste to this demon, wants the shaking line of her shoulders and the panting of every breath that tastes of damnation; she wants to make Ruby anew, just for her.

Then Dean – or Sam – or both of them, yes, it’s both of them Anna can see barely through the haze – are looming over the girls where they're clutched together, sweaty, heaving bodies. Dean leans over, kisses into Anna's mouth, thrusting his tongue. Anna can taste come there, Sam's – it must be, at the corner of Dean's mouth, on his chin, and opens her mouth to take more of it into her.

Sam's pushing his way in between the two girls, his huge body demanding, and Anna feels her fingers leave Ruby with a beautiful, carnal squelch, her hand slick with Ruby's mess all over her palm, all her fingers, and when Dean pulls away she sucks them into her mouth, a base instinct. Dean and Sam and Ruby's eyes are all on her as she licks between the digits and over her hand and wrist, eyes turned up in a knowing smile all the while.

Dean's big and hot, somewhat familiar pressed against the curve of her arse, his dick riding the crease. When he lifts her leg and slides into her, Anna throws her head back against his shoulder with a gasp, hair sticking to her face with sweat, watching as Sam picks Ruby up effortlessly and slides her onto him, her body curved over his and shaking, hands on his chest and thighs either side of his hips.

"Sam," Ruby groans, low, and Anna whines high in the back of her throat in answer, watching the exquisite picture that is Ruby and Sam, rutting like animals on a twelve thousand dollar Persian rug, Dean's dick filling her up so deep she could choke on it. It’s perfect.

Dean latches his teeth onto the side of her neck, tongue following to soothe the bite marks, and Anna just rocks back into him, his arm curved around her waist. One hand cups her breast, kneading it, rolling the nipple between thumb and fingers as they watch Sam and Ruby reach climax together again – one following the other over like they're falling off a cliff, both loud and shameless in their desire.

Fuck, fuck, Anna thinks, when Ruby meets her eyes, and she's coming – again, shit, like a lava bubble bursting in the middle of her body, sweeping through her frame and taking over, the taste of blood and honey in her mouth. Dean shudders against her with a soft, breathless grunt into her hair, and stills. "Sam," he's saying into the hair behind her ear, and Anna understands completely. The name on the tip of her tongue's is not his, no, even as his dick twitches with life inside her, not having the decency to go soft for even a second after spilling into her core.

Anna shakes, still unsatisfied; she needs more, she needs everything, she doesn’t know how to stop.

Dean’s dick pulses with his heart and Anna can feel it the beat of it both inside her and against her back, the whole of her over-sensitised and breathless. She closes her eyes, bites her bottom lip, trying to find some sort of peace from this chaos inside, and then he's pulling out and climbing over Anna on his hands and knees, kissing into Sam's mouth again. "I want –" he's whispering, "Sammy, I want you to fuck me," and Sam's groaning, because Ruby's still twisting herself down against his cock, reaching urgently for another orgasm, this one arriving with a helpless little hiccup, her cheeks flushed red, half-closed eyes dark as pitch. “Later,” he says, and even Anna shudders at that, at the dark promise his voice is laden with.

Anna wants nothing more than to slide in behind Ruby and taste where she and Sam are joined, or maybe sit on Sam's rippling stomach muscles, her front pressed to Ruby’s, and kiss her wide, perfect red mouth, the hinge of her jaw, her breasts. But then Dean's kneeling in behind where Ruby is, between Sam's spread thighs, and frantically pulling her head back by the hair, kissing into her mouth, whispering something in her ear that makes her keen and nod her head, fast and unsteady.

"Yeah, Dean," Ruby's saying, and her voice sounds broken, shredded up. "Come on, fuck me, do it," and Dean bends her over Sam, and crooks a finger at Anna from where she's lying, a hand having crept back between her own thighs, keeping her full.

"Come here, Anna," he says, low, and she crawls over, trembling. "Here,” he whispers, rough, into the shell of her ear, his fingers slipping along the groove of Ruby’s arse, down to where she and Sam are one. “I want you to lick her, stretch her out, so I can fuck her too," and Ruby's mewling at this, Sam's legs are quivering, and Dean just smirks at her, easy, easy. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to all of them. Anna moans.

"Yeah," she says, as though she’d had to be convinced, and bends down to where Ruby and Sam are joined – she can see his big dick just disappearing endlessly into the swollen pink core of her, can hear the dirty wet sounds of their bodies slapping together – not stopping even for a second.

Ruby doesn't need Anna to lick her cunt, Anna can see Sam's come dribbling out from inside her and spreading onto his high, tight balls, she can see all of Ruby's slick sliding around on her thighs and Sam's, and fuck, Anna doesn't care – she wants to taste, now, now.

She bends her head down, curves her neck, pushes her tongue up to where she can feel Ruby's slit, stretched wide around Sam's dick, and moans into it, the taste of them mixing together on her tongue. Slides a finger in beside it, and can feel the clenching of Ruby’s inner walls about her, the smooth, pulsing length of Sam’s dick. Fits another up inside as Ruby makes a high sound in the back of her throat and Dean shushes her, takes her noises into his mouth and swallows them down.

Anna can feel Dean watching her even as he kisses Ruby, watching her eat them both, Sam’s dick gliding against her tongue as he thrusts up, and up again. The way Ruby’s shaking around both of them, sopping wet and so obviously ready. Anna moves back, and licks her mouth, voice thready as she nods at Dean, says, “Now.”

“Wait,” Dean says, “let me –” and he’s kissing the taste of Sam and Ruby out of Anna’s mouth, tongue licking over her palate, the backs of her molars. Anna burns with it, it’s not enough, it’s never enough. She wants – something nameless, she wants every possibility, and every one of them, she wants Dean’s dick in her mouth, and Ruby inside her, she wants Sam under the wide press of her hands, holding him down. She needs it, to seal the empty space the light occupies inside her, the empty space she’s had for as many millennia as she can remember.

Dean pushes into Ruby, slow, and Anna watches all of them, together, moves up to kiss into Sam’s mouth, and searches for absolution in the wet, broad coil of his smile.

~

You still with me baby? Okay. What? Yeah, I know this story is mostly gratuitous sex, so what?

You wanna hear the rest or not? Yeah? Well, then. Shut your bloody pie-hole.

They're comin’ down now, maybe, for short stretches of time, the heat leaving their bodies in fits and starts. The powder the witch had thrown is startin’ to lose its potency, and their heartbeats slow, slow, slow as the pulsating light of it leaves them.

Dean no longer feels as though he’s gonna split apart at the seams, whole body consumed in an explosion of sunlight, heat, and cinnamon. But, yeah, he can taste it still, and knows it’s not yet over. (Even after the marathon orgy these four had just run. Darlin’, don’t I know it. That’s what happens when y’all have got supernatural stamina and a shot of sex pollen, I guess.)

Lemme just paint this picture for you; all four of ‘em lyin’ there, bare-assed naked, every single body slick and sheened with sweat, dried semen scratchy on stomaches and thighs and the curve of every spine, the whole of room smelling like sex and musk. Shit. I’m turnin’ myself on.

Anyways, "Fuck," Dean groans, sprawled out on his stomach, his bare arse red and slapped sore (Ruby), scratches all down the long line of his back (Anna), bite marks sucked into the crease where his thighs meet his bum (Sam). "She got us."

"You think?" Sam says, too fucked out to be caustic, a smile tugging at the side of his mouth. And lookit there, hon; Anna and Ruby are slumped in a pile together on the opposite end of the rug, rubbin’ against each other slow and careful. Obviously they've started up again. (Anna is makin’ the little moan in the back of her throat that Sam's realised is the one she makes every time she’s entered; a full body shiver plays accompaniment.)

"We gotta –" Dean says.

"Yeah," Sam says.

Neither of ‘em move to get up from their positions spreadeagled on the debauched Persian rug. Instead, they curl a little closer together, heads tucked in, and breathe each other’s air. Sam reaches out and strokes the corner of Dean’s mouth where it’s red and used with his thumb; Dean calls him a pussy.

Another while later – an hour, mebbe two, wherein Dean gives it up like the greedy little cock-slut we all know he is – Sam finally perks his head up once more, stretchin’. “Man," he says, a little more lucid, heat seeming to drip from out of his limbs and into the carpet, "fuck, I needed that."

Dean laughs, but his hand is already creepin’ out to curl about the length of Sam's dick once more, which, red, and swollen, is already awake again, lyin’ close against his stomach. "Sam," he says, and swallows the rest down, before he can choke it out.

"We're gonna talk about it, Dean," Sam says, flippin’ over to lie on top of him, his beautiful brother all stretched out beneath his body, green eyes wide and flicking away from his to the girls, and back again. Obviously not wantin’ to meet Sam's eyes. (Apparently incest is wrong in some states – I know darlin’, who’d’ve guessed? What’s that? Every state? What the fu- )

Sam kisses Dean with all the conviction he’s had for five years, and before that, what feels like his whole life, all of it revolvin’ around this man, right here. "Just, not right now," he smirks, and thrusts down once more against Dean, feeling full at last.

~end

Dribbly, Drabbly

flutterfingers — Mon, 26 Apr 2010 11:09:39 GMT

Happy birthday to my shiny new friend vikingprincess !! It is still the 25th somewhere in the world! (I am assured of this.)
You asked for either young!John/Castiel, or young!Mary/Castiel, and I had so many ideas where to take the latter it kind of came in fits and starts and bits and pieces and I ended up with a whole beginning scene, and about three(?) drabbly middle pieces. But no cohesion, and no ending. So! I will just post what I have here, and hope you like it. :D (Because I am seemingly incapable of writing short stories, and if I continue with this beginning it may turn into a 5k piece of waffle, and NO ONE WANTS THAT.)
In any case, here is your present! And I have been reliably informed that it is the thought that counts. So shhh.

Title: N/A
Author: I will claim responsibilty. (LIES, ALL LIES IT'S vikingprincess 's FAULT)
Characters/Pairings: young!Mary/Castiel, John-as-Meatsuit
Warnings: comma abuse, unbeta'd, unfinished, wafflecopter, angel!brain
Summary: Eventually he becomes convinced that something is missing, that perhaps he was made imperfectly. Something more is needed, that Castiel will not have this burning inside of him, this ache.

Castiel has watched humans since their Creation; he has loved them as he would any of his Father’s work – homo sapiens mean as much, as little, to him as the endless depths of the oceans; the seamless melding of desert and sky; the birth and death of a sun.

Millennia come, millennia go, and some of his brethren develop unhealthy fascinations with the beings, others a deep-rooted hatred. He has found it easier to admit to no opinion but that of the Word; of course he loves humans more than God – it is what he has been told to do, and who is he to question?

Some are not so smart. Castiel has seen many of his brothers and sisters fall like burning stars in the wake of Adam and Eve. Even Lucifer, the brightest of them all.

Castiel, though. He just watches, and loves with an angel’s endless capacity to do so, as he is bid. As yet though, he is uncomprehending – what is there to rebel or fall for in these primitive, unenlightened souls? These savage, irrepressible beings with whom he will admit to being somewhat intrigued and confused by – drawn in to watch over their mindless fucking, feeding, fleeing, fighting.

How could these creatures be his Father’s favourites? he has often questioned; they may be thought of as his Father's greatest work, but they are also irrevocably flawed, and Castiel finds he will always crave the quiet perfection of nature over their loud, brash existences.

He keeps his thoughts to himself, as much as it is possible to do so, because Castiel – he is a soldier, first and foremost. Loyalty and the potential for unquestioning faith are written into the core of his design, if he chooses to take them up. And he tries.

He tries to trust that the plan is just. To trust in his superiors and believe in his Father, a power to which he has never spoken to, or seen. He tries to tell himself he does not need to understand humans, and that he is not bothered by the idea that he, perhaps, never will, despite his millions of years of surveillance.

Still, three millennia or so is a long time to know, and be given evidence of, nothing; posted away from home and shielding an unknowable race from his own brother.

Eventually he becomes convinced that something is missing, that perhaps he was made imperfectly. Something more is needed, that Castiel will not have this burning inside of him, this ache. This desire for something unnamed.

~~

It is sometime in the twentieth century when he is surprised by a cupid flitting by just under his metaphysical nose. It is obviously on what it’s kind perceive as missions – and Castiel, bored, and floating somewhere on a plane vaguely over the Sierra Nevada, follows closely on it’s heels, curious and without thought as to why he is suddenly stalking such an inferior being.

Castiel has had very little experience with cupids, a personal resolution he had made after his first and last encounter with one, and it’s – enthusiastic – form of greeting. (That accursed Anael, tricking him into helping her with the Mary and Joseph assignment; if it wasn’t for her artifice he could have gone his whole existence without receiving a cupid’s embrace. Oh, how she’d laughed at the look on his face.)

Castiel follows the cupid to a small town in Kansas, populated with humans and their machines, their primitive dwellings, then further down into a sparsely occupied coffee shop on the main street. He sees the creature, naked as the day it had come into the world, flying over the top of a blonde head. A woman, with eyes the colour of sun on a Welsh sea, and a plump, pink mouth that curlicues up in the corners over her coffee mug, where she is cupping it close with both hands.

If Castiel had a stomach in his natural form, the feeling he underwent right then might have been likened to someone king-punching him in it; winding, painful, and shocking. His essence – usually closely contained – floods out from his core to fill the entire room.

It causes the majority of patrons to undergo what is referred to among the angels as ‘overexposure’, though very few in their entire history had ever been weakened or graceless enough to cause such an event. It is, essentially, exposing ill-equipped humans to the unadulterated, unfocused source of angelic power. God’s will.

Maybe five are immediately overcome with the urge to join the nearest congregation and confess their (many, varied) sins – one is already gibbering hers out to her mother over scones with jam and cream. Two more collapse in a dead faint and another is startled into the hallelujah chorus, before a middle-aged gentleman in the centre of the room gets up and announces his lifelong dream to become a priest to his (unimpressed) date, before walking out.

Most importantly, there is this – a man in the corner of the room is having what Castiel knows is his very first prophetic vision, triggered by Castiel’s embarrassing loss of control, and proximity. Realising that if he does not regain command of himself soon an archangel will step in to do it for him, Castiel panics. Yet another mistake, one which causes his essence to be immediately and painfully sucked into the body of the nearest vessel that can hold him, without either of their consent.

He blinks, and opens his eyes on the face that started it all – a face that has gone curiously hard and focused with readiness, studying the room. She turns to Castiel and opens her mouth; but his is already opening against his better judgement.

“You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen,” Castiel says.

The woman blinks, and frowns at him. “John,” she says, "this is not the time," and stands quickly, overturning her chair. “I’ve got to go. See you later, alright?”

She leaves the coffee shop, and Castiel is left to sit there alone, staring down at a plate of untouched bacon and eggs, half a glass of orange juice, and a cupid, who is gesturing urgently for him to follow.
This, he thinks, is why Castiel does not make a habit of following his whims.

Middle-ish Drabble 1:

"Castiel," she says, voice quiet and low. "What are you doing here?"

"I had to see you," he says, and he trembles within the skin he's borrowing at the look in her eyes, flicking over him with that familiar look of censure, of disapproval. Today, though, there is something lurking behind the stillness there, and Castiel holds onto that, and breathes.

quot;What is it?"

This is the hard part.

"I came because I cannot help but to think of you, all the time, it is an affliction! It is unproductive." He takes a step towards her, watches her eyes narrow and her stance widen, readiness in the shape of her limbs and her hands held by her side. He quiets his voice, takes another step. She doesn't back down. "I want to know what is to be done, to rid myself of your face in my mind?"

Her lips quirk. "You - you're here because you've a crush on me?" she says, disbelieving, eyebrows raised high, and Castiel frowns.

"A fitting word," he allows. "I feel remarkably without air in your presence."

She flicks her eyes up and to the side, a laugh tucked into the side of her mouth - Castiel can see it, has spent what feels like three more millennia studying the minutiae that make up her expressions. He knows the curves of her face, the way her nose crinkles when she laughs, the light in her eyes when she'd told him that if she knew this was how angels were watching over her, she would have become an atheist years ago.
He knows her.

"Castiel, you can't just say stuff like that," she says, and he can hear the laughter buried in her voice, despite her tone.

"Why not? It is the truth." And once more he steps closer to her, watching the way the sun strokes along the curls of her hair and the skin of her cheekbones. "Mary," he says softly, experimental.

She goes still, watching him back, and says, "Yes?" Just as quiet.

"Why can't I say such things?"

" I - I love John," she says, unsteadily. Uncertainly. "And you're - well. You're an angel."

"I am sick of just watching," Cas says. He grabs her by the biceps and pulls her to him. "I want to taste your mouth, I want to lay between your thighs as a man does, and kiss the curve of your throat. I want -"

Mary grabs his chin and pulls him down to her, licking over the roof of his mouth, just once, with precision. When she pulls back, leaving him stunned, she says, "What? I thought you wanted -"

He kisses her plump pink mouth and the smoothness of her cheek, hearing her breath whoosh out over the curve of his ear, lifting the short hairs. This, he thinks. This is what he'd been searching for.

Middle-ish Drabble 2:

Castiel has watched humans since they were Created. None of them have ever done to him what Mary does; the soft skin of her inner elbow, the peculiar tilt of her mouth when she smiles down into a cup of chai tea.

It makes him crazy, makes him feel something strange in the pit of his stomach. Castiel can taste the tingling of his grace burning up inside his chest even as his heart thuds at her closeness; feels it filling up and spilling over with something uncontainable, unquantifiable.

She looks at him sideways, with a laugh tucked into the corners of her mouth, and he can't help but lean into her, to feel her breath on his borrowed skin, the swelling of her belly under his palm.

Middle-ish Drabble 3:

"Cas," Mary says, and he jerks; he is still not used to her silent steps, crowding up behind him, the round press of her stomach into the small of his back as unfamiliar as the touch of her hand on his too-vulnerable nape. "What are you doing?"

"Thinking," he says, and allows himself a small smile in her direction, expression almost seeming to soften as he looks down into her wide eyes. "Mary. Why are you here?"

"You still have to ask?" Mary says, her voice low and sweet, meeting him smile for smile. She curls her hand around the curve of his skull and pulls him down to her mouth.

Q. "How Many Times Does 25 Go Into 41?" A. "As Many Times As He Possibly Can."

flutterfingers — Sun, 18 Apr 2010 11:22:52 GMT

Title: He'd Be This Guy
Author: Me, me, me.
Summary: Sam’s a biter. Ellen doesn’t mind. PWP.
Word Count: 1558

Notes: Written for the spnwomen_kink round one, which everyone ever should go visit. It has been spit-polished and reposted here.

Disclaimer: It's a tragedy of epic handkerchief proportions; but they're not mine.

Sam's a biter.

Ellen hadn't known before she'd taken the boy to bed, hands pulling at his seemingly endless layers of shirts, desperate to get at the smooth, burning skin beneath. Laughing into his wide, generous mouth as he'd stumbled over his own stupid feet and toppled them onto a mattress that had screamed.

The afternoon sun had limned his whole body, the white of his grin, the green in his eyes, turning his hair caramel-golden at the very edges as he’d struggled out of his shirts, balancing on his knees above her. Shoulders, stomach, rippling.

Ellen'd been breathless with it, fingers digging into that high, tight ass, his weight crushing the air out of her lungs as he’d dropped back down to her. She’d started to get the memo as he’d held her down with strong hands, the better to lick and nip along the curve of one ear; to press eager, open-mouthed kisses into her ticklish throat.

Not that she'd cared.

It'd been so long since she'd known that urgency, the bass-pounding, sweat-soaking throb of desire, the shape of it in her mouth, her body, had made her feel young and foolish. So foolish, giving in to the temptation that was Samuel Bloody Winchester, whose skin smelled like beer and dirt and sunlight; who, underneath his clothes and sweet-tasting mouth, was Satan’s raincoat.

It’d been hard to think about that. Sam'd trapped her wrists against the pillows and grinned down; his smile all curves piling on top of each other and sly, slanted fox eyes. "I'ma take you apart," he'd promised, sure and so dirty-sweet it had made Ellen's clit throb, a quick, sharp clench.

She'd barely been able to suck in the thick air, mouth fallen open as she'd watched that stark intensity on his face, finally turned on to her instead of dusty old books, the smell of which still clung to his hands – his hands, which’d cupped her face, the pad of his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth, her tongue flicked out to taste old spells and prayers.

She’d watched him trailing his hands down her flushed skin to the neck of her shirt, each button down to her navel flicked open, easy. His head ducked down to watch his own fingers, ridiculous hair falling into his face.

Managed to grind out a, "Shoulda known you were all talk, Winchester," her hips tilted up in blatant invitation, tryin'a goad him on. C'mon, she'd thought, feeling the twist of lust pull at her deep inside, his hooded eyes sweeping over her, c'mon, c'mon.

And he'd just casually thumbed open the button on her jeans, snuck a hand down there inside her waistband, warm palm pressed to her stomach. Fingers just a bare inch from where they needed to be, right fucking now. Looked down at her with a half-smile.

"You're a fucking tease," she'd growled, back arching, trying to slip his hand further south to where she was damp and shuddering. Ellen had looked down the curves of her own body, and could just see his hand lying there casual-like between her legs, tan hand dark against her own pale skin. Fuck, if it wasn't the hottest thing she'd seen in years.

She'd reached over and curled a hand in his hair, pulling. He'd smirked, resisting, asked, "You want somethin'?"

"Yeah," Ellen'd said. "Your dick in me."

Sam'd bent down, then, eyes dark, and nuzzled aside her shirt, exposing one breast in its sensible white cotton bra. Ellen hadn't had time to claw in a breath before his lips were on her, wet, the edge of teeth, pulling her pebbled flesh into the heat of his mouth, not even bothering to move her bra outta the way.

"Shit," she'd cursed, writhing. And that's when he'd slipped his thumb down through her cunt, sliding across her clit and settling in, rubbing tiny, playful little circles. Mouth still eating at her breast, other hand huge and curled half-way round her waist.

Ellen hadn't wanted this slow tease, she'd wanted to be held down and fucked open, raw, wanted to ride him 'till the wheels fell off, wanted rough and ready and now. She'd clutched at his hair, his neck, raked her nails over his shoulders and cussed up a blue streak.

She didn't want to wait.

"C'mon, Sam, fuck," she'd hissed and for a second hated the fact that he was so tall, that she couldn't stick a hand down the front of his jeans and jerk him, fast and filthy. Maybe he'd get a clue, then. Settled for rubbing her entire body along every part of him she'd been able to reach, gasping as another finger joined the first, dipping into her where she'd been burning up, soaking wet and desperate to be filled.

He'd bitten his way along the underside of her breast at that, listening to her tell him how much she wanted him in her, deep, wanted to see if he was as big as he looked - did he know she'd been lookin'? Thinking about him fucking into her, inch by inch?

"Ellen," he'd laughed breathless, voice like it'd been dropped down a mineshaft, his forehead pressed into her stomach. And then he'd licked, lapping delicately at her navel, and bitten the soft flesh of her belly, chasing all the breath out of her lungs.

Still too slow, Sam had unzipped her jeans and scraped his teeth on the elastic of her panties, breath skidding along the slick, shining paths his tongue had left, warmed by the sun. His stubble had pricked the tender skin, chin rubbing, and it had gotten her so hot, God, just, just –

"Just fuck me already," she'd grunted, thrust up and slung a thigh over his shoulder. Looked down her body and managed a raised eyebrow. "You scared, Sam?"

"Nah. Think I'll just stay here a while," he'd murmured, before pulling at her denim and cotton both, down off her hips, just enough that her legs were still trapped and he could shove his face into her beside his fingers, big tongue sloppy and wet all over her.

Fuck, and Ellen shoulda known he'd be this guy – the guy who loved eating pussy, licking all the wet out of a cunt, getting the girl off, and off, and again, until she begged him to fill her up, to fuck into her, desperate beyond coherency to be dicked, at last.

Ellen'd been the independent woman, responsible for her own orgasm for decades now – she hadn't wanted Sam servicing her, she'd just wanted to sit on his cock and give herself a good time. If he came along for the ride, well, that was sweet too.

But even she couldn't help but to clutch at the sheets, legs both hooked over his shoulders now and trembling, helpless to do anything but lie there with her head thrown back against the pillows and tossed, side to side. 'Cause, fuck, the boy knew what he was doing – no coyness now, just sucking at her clit and flicking his tongue. Fingers still pumping away, drawing it on, and then he'd done some sort of twist and grind with his lips and tongue and thumb together that'd made her shake, and fall apart, sudden and screaming.

Twice.

The other'd followed quick on it's heels, as Sam'd stuck his tongue in beside his curling fingers, pressing up, as Ellen twisted and strained and closed her eyes against the glittering squeeze of it throughout her entire body, taking her over.

Her jeans had gotten lost somewhere over his shoulder, and Ellen was on her stomach, Sam pressing big and blunt at her entrance before she'd regained her senses. Whole body curved over hers, hot against the sweaty skin of her back where her shirt had ridden up, hands digging into her hips, and she'd shoved her ass back at him, managing a, "Do it," through the leftover moans.

He'd pressed his dick into her then, slow and easy, parting her lips, and Ellen had bit at the sheets, panting, fingers twisted in them, and groaned, long and low. Sam was so big, all over her, and fuck, fuck she’d had to have it. "Sam," she’d said, rough, and had barely recognized her own voice, it was so blown.

Over her head, Sam had been swearing; she’d felt his thighs tremble against the back of her own, coarse hair tickling. Then he'd started fucking into her in earnest, hips snapping, pulling Ellen back onto his dick, over and over, relentless.

His breath had been ragged in her ear, his mouth leaving open-mouthed kisses all over her shoulders, her neck, Ellen's hair swinging into her mouth as he shoved into her, driving, and Jesus, it was good, so good –

"God," Sam’d said, voice all broken up, and fitted his hand against her clit, long fingers touching where they were joined and milking another orgasm out of her shaking bones. Ellen's arms had slid out from under her, unable to hold her up, and Sam's teeth had latched onto her shoulder then, bitten down hard as he cursed into the skin, and followed her over.

Days later Ellen could still feel all the marks where his teeth had scored the skin, under her clothes, sore and tender.

She gets wet again just thinking about it.

~ end.

Need more heterosexual lovin's in your life? Are you sick of only ever seeing Sam/Dean, Dean/Cas, Sam/Gabriel fictitious works -- or just think Supernatural needs more vagina? YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

Join the spn_hetexchange . You know you want to.

The Girls; Ruby/Ruby/Anna Manipulation

flutterfingers — Tue, 30 Mar 2010 19:34:11 GMT

Artist: flutterfingers
Rating: R to be safe.
Warnings: Nipples/full frontal females.
Pairing: Vaguely Anna/Ruby/Ruby...though really only in my head. :D
Disclaimer: I do not own the following: the models, the original photograph, Julie McNiven, Genevieve Cortese, Katie Cassidy. Sad, but true.
Summary: Hmm. Three girls in a room.
Notes: OTP! Or... OT3?

As ever, Genevieve's face remains the hardest to manipulate. Damnit.

I have another, but I think I shall work on it some more. If I'm not entirely happy with Gen's head in this one, it goes double for the other. :)

Why, Hello There.

flutterfingers — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 20:41:24 GMT

Artist: flutterfingers
Rating: R?
Warnings: Not worksafe. Because of the NAKED.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Disclaimer: I do not own the following: the models, the original photograph, Jensen Ackles. Sad, but true.
Summary: Dean: Angel Of The Lord, or That One Time Cas Winchester Got Resurrected By Heaven's Degenerate
Notes: This Dean/Cas manipulation I did at about two am this morning. Which is better than three am! (Which is what time I usually suffer myself to do manips...)

“Who the hell are you supposed to be?” Cas asks, his voice raw with the fear tightening his throat, and the guy drops Ruby’s knife - still slick and shiny with his blood – to the floor, smirks at him.
“I’m the one who dragged your sorry ass out of hell,” the guy says. “But you can just call me Dean.”

I think I may have to write more for this.
WHO COULD RESIST ANGEL!DEAN?
Not me.
Obviously.

I Am Bound

flutterfingers — Sat, 27 Mar 2010 10:45:46 GMT

Author/Artist: flutterfingers
Rating: R, language & adult themes
Warnings: Season 4 Finale?
Pairing: Meg/Ruby
Summary: Maybe after everything, they could still have something.
Notes: Probably these songs should be listened to in order (for at least the first go round), as it tells the following story from my head.

1. I’m On Fire – Bat For Lashes

Hey little (SAMMY) is (DEAN) home?
Did (DEAN) go and leave you all alone? No
(RUBY)’s got a bad desire
Oh, (RUBY)’s on fire
Tell me now (RUBY) is (SAM) good to you?
Can (SAM) do to you the things that (MEG) can do
Oh, (MEG) can take (RUBY) higher
Oh, (MEG)’s on fire
Sometimes it's like (RUBY) took a knife, baby, edgy and blunt
Put a six inch valley through the middle of (MEG)’s soul

He’s so easy to manipulate there’s almost no pleasure in it; his loss and the alcohol running through his veins make him weak and pliable beneath her hands. Ruby licks a trail along his neck and hears him groan, a hand fisting in her hair tight enough to tip her head back, exposing her throat to his teeth.
When she kisses him he tastes like cheap whiskey and despair, and she can barely keep back the laugh bubbling up in her throat. How far the mighty have fallen: here he is, the great Sam Winchester, gripping a dead girl’s hips tight enough to bruise, his panting breaths in her ear short and choked.
She pretends to enjoy it, too fast, too rough, missionary style on the crappy wooden floor of this hovel. Afterwards she stares up at the ceiling, Sam having rolled off to her side, his ribcage shuddering. She allows herself a small smile.
It’s all going according to plan.

~~~

2. Bloody Mother Fucking Asshole – Martha Wainwright
Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
And (MEG)’s young and (MEG)’s strong
But (MEG) feels old and tired
Overfired
And (MEG)’s been poked and stoked
It's all smoke, there's no more fire
Only desire
For you, (RUBY), whoever you are

Meg won’t look at her, Ruby, the traitorous bitch, the lying whore. She hasn’t just betrayed Meg, she’s in the middle of betraying everything they believe in. It makes Meg sick to her stomach; bile rising in her throat to choke her, a burning like the holiest of waters from Jerusalem at the back of her eyelids.
She had to go and fuck Sam Winchester, of all the six billion mud-crawlers she’d had to choose from.
Ruby won’t explain herself. She shrugs, smiling carelessly, says, easy and sweet, “I’m just bored of you.”
It’s enough to make Meg want to rip out her lungs, her heart; enough to make her dream of taking Ruby’s own knife and carving up her vitals, slicing them to ribbons. She can almost taste it: the desire to hurt so strong it tingles in her essence, searing through her like the deepest fires of the ninth circle.
And still the worst part has to be this: she can’t look at Ruby without that old, stupid feeling.

~~~

3. Seven Nation Army – Nostalgia 77 & Alice Russell
(RUBY) doesn't want to hear about it
Every single (DEMON)’s got a story to tell
Everyone knows about it
From (LILITH) to the hounds of hell
And if (RUBY) catches (MEG) coming back (RUBY)’s way
(RUBY)’s gonna serve it to (MEG)
And if that ain’t what (MEG) wanted to hear
But that’s what (RUBY)’ll do

Every demon wants to spill the beans to Sam – that maybe Ruby’s not even half as trustworthy as she seems, that truth be told she’s been fucking one of the Winchesters’ long-time demonic acquaintances way-down deep in the pit. For centuries, even.
Ruby doesn’t even want to think about Meg, about the way her mouth had twisted at Ruby’s last words, the tiny spark that was always there for her smothered with fury. The wild light in Meg’s eyes had thrilled Ruby somewhere down low, a familiar quicksilver heat flickering in her belly.
She’s never been happier to employ her knife than now, the vicious delight of watching demon after demon’s black core crack and combust inside their hosts almost satisfies her need for violence. She’s been wanting to break a lot of things lately.
She settles for Sam.

~~~

4. Girl With One Eye – Florence + The Machine
(MEG) took a knife and cut out (RUBY)’s eye
(MEG) took it home and watched it wither and die
Well, (RUBY)'s lucky that (MEG) didn't slip her a smile
That's why (RUBY) sleeps with one eye open
That's the price (RUBY) paid
(MEG) said, hey, girl with one eye
"Get your filthy fingers out of my pie."
(MEG) said, hey, girl with one eye
“I'll cut your little heart out cause you made me cry.”

Ruby can’t believe this is where she’s been cornered – a dingy little truck stop in Maine, where the pimply attendant had tried to rip her off, and the sky was so blue it hurt the eyes.
How Meg had managed to crawl her way back out again, Ruby didn’t want to know – the bitch was full to the brim of ingenuity. She always found a way. And now here she was, getting in Ruby’s face, the eyes of her new host inked over black with some sort of emotion.
“Stalking’s a crime,” she says, refusing to turn around or look back, watching her hands under the running tap after she’s seen the reflection of Meg’s true face, hiding under the flesh of a twenty-something blonde.
Maybe Meg was here to kill her, the Winchesters’ pet demon – maybe she just wanted to rip Ruby a new one, after their last meeting. Or maybe it was this –
Meg saying, “Ruby,” her teeth bared in something of a smile, “shut the fuck up.” and grabbing her shoulders, spinning her around. Ruby barely has time to blink before Meg’s got a hand in her long black hair, slamming Ruby’s head back against the mirror.
The sink digs into Ruby’s back, and she swings a half-assed punch that Meg blocks with a laugh, crowding ever closer through Ruby’s struggles until she can lick her way into Ruby’s mouth. Meg acts like she’s greedy for the burning taste of her, her teeth scraping on Ruby’s bottom lip, desperate, until it comes down to this :–
Ruby, gasping and writhing, trying to get away still, maybe, or trying to get closer, neither demon is sure.
Ruby’s hands twisted tight and white in Meg’s borrowed bangs, making the savage joy in her black eyes evident, hair pulled taut on her skull.
Ruby, pushed up onto the sink, while Meg shoves her way between splayed-wide thighs.
Meg, grabbing Ruby’s frantic wrists and slamming them against the mirror above her head, one hand keeping them there as she slips a hand under Ruby’s skirt, her fingers dipping inside the slippery wet cotton between Ruby’s legs.
Ruby hissing, thrashing against the hand that holds her while Meg grins up, showing too many teeth, looking feral and crazy with her hair tangling around her face and her cheeks blood-red with lust.
Ruby, looking down at her, unable to think anything but beautiful.
And then, just this :–
Ruby, lunging forward to bite her way inside Meg’s mouth, wanting to taste that violence again, and again, and again, until it’s all she knows.

~~~

5. Tainted Love - Christina Camacho
Sometimes (MEG) feels she’s got to
Run away, (MEG)’s got to
Get away
From the pain that (RUBY) drives into the heart of (MEG)
The love (MEG & RUBY) share
Seems to go nowhere
And (MEG)’s lost her light

Meg doesn’t know why she bothered to crawl out of hell at all – especially after Maine, where Ruby had left without a word, a strawberry-coloured bruise in the shape of Meg’s mouth high up on her neck.
No. That’s a lie.
Meg does know why she did it. Why she tried. Why she’s trying, has been for decades now.
She just, well.
She really wishes she didn’t.

~~~

6. Honeythief – Halou
Sometimes (RUBY) doubts the path (RUBY) chose
Sometimes (RUBY)’s dreams feel all on hold
There's no doubt that this will make (RUBY) strong
Because it's the hardest thing (RUBY)’s ever done
Despite this cruel world
And all (RUBY)’s best efforts
(MEG) surprises (RUBY) with just how perfect (MEG) is
Even with all (RUBY)’s flaws
And (RUBY)’s bad examples
(MEG) surprises (RUBY) with
Just how perfect (MEG) is

Meg keeps coming back and Ruby – Ruby is so sick of it, of seeing her. She makes sure to tell her so, every time. Tells Meg to leave her alone, to fuck off, to go find someone else to infuriate.
And yet.
The sight of Meg’s smile flashing is as white as the burn of magnesium, instant and blinding. It makes Ruby’s blood boil and her heartbeat thunder in her ears. She can remember moments – the delicate skin of Meg’s moon-pale/chocolate/ebony thighs – the way her eyes widen, darken when Ruby skims touches across her, there, there – her gasps when she’s under Ruby’s mouth, the taste of her sharp and coppery, like blood.
Always she feels stupid afterwards, giving into the impulse – Ruby can’t afford distractions like this, seeing Meg once, twice, three times a week, having to wash the smell of her skin off alone before she runs back to Sam’s side, hickeys on her collarbone.
And yet she can’t help it, can’t help but say (yes, yes, yes) every time Meg comes to her, can’t help but think of Meg’s blonde/black/red head between her thighs when Sam’s down there, licking blood out of a new cut, his hair clenched between her fists.
She hates it, hates it, and still she is surprised at how Meg won’t go.
At how much she thinks of the brainless, persistent bitch.
At how fucking perfect she is.

~~~

7. Maddening Shroud – Frou Frou
Sometimes (RUBY) likes to get away from this maddening shroud
Sometimes, (RUBY)’ll have you know, it's all insane
Maybe it's time for (RUBY) to pack it in
Maybe it's time for (RUBY) to chuck it in
Maybe it's time for (RUBY) to halt
Oh, (RUBY)’s got a good mind to throw it all away
Throw it all away
Throw it all away
After all, what is it worth?

Ruby thinks about the way Meg used to hold her hand as they sat on one of hell’s endless cliffs; how she’d tell Ruby stories about when she used to be human – a few centuries after Ruby herself had been burned as a witch.
About modelling nude for an Italian painter, the way he’d depicted her as an angel, titian hair falling carelessly across her breasts, the flame of God’s love in her hand. How she’d laughed when she said the words angel and God; “Whatever they are.”
Ruby wonders sometimes what she’s doing. She has doubts. She thinks of Meg, and Lucifer seems far away, like some sort of field dream – something distant and unknown and unattainable, and harder to believe in everyday that she’s on earth, coddling Sam Winchester and missing eyes that mirror her own soul.

~~~

8. Slow Me Down – Emmy Rossum
Rushing and racing and running in circles
Moving so fast (RUBY)’s forgetting (RUBY)’s purpose
Blur of the traffic is sending (RUBY) spinning
Getting nowhere
(RUBY)’s head and (RUBY)’s heart are colliding, chaotic
Pace of the world, (RUBY) just wishes (RUBY) could stop it
Try to appear like (RUBY)’s got it together
(RUBY)’s falling apart

Ruby thinks about how lost Sam is without her, his fix, his drug of choice, and the look in Dean’s eyes when he looks at his baby brother – how far gone they both are already, coming closer and closer to where they need to be.
Thinks about Lucifer, and the apocalypse, hell on earth and every dream her brethren have ever had coming to fruition.
She thinks about it, and she doesn’t care.
Wanna know why?
Because Ruby knows why Meg keeps coming around. She always knew, really.
It’s just that, now, she knows she’s always felt the same way – and she’s ready to do something about it.
Maybe, after everything, they could still have something.

~~~

9. Use Somebody – Pixie Lott
(MEG) knows that (RUBY) could use somebody
Someone like (MEG) and all (MEG) knows and how (MEG) speaks

This time Meg doesn’t bother to introduce herself to the Winchesters; when Sam nabs her from the hospital and Ruby stuffs her in the trunk of their car, she laughs softly and smiles in the dark.
Ruby ties her up while Sam’s outside, and licks once into her mouth, with care and precision. She steps back and grins. “You ready for this, baby?”
“Always thought I’d been robbed of a career as a pro actress,” Meg says, stretching against the ropes holding her down, just to see Ruby’s eyes bleed into black. “I won’t be able to think straight, you keep doing that,” she scolds.
Ruby strokes a hand down the centre of her chest, just once, before putting on her game-face and turning around; Meg closes her eyes as she hears Sam coming.
Show time.

~~~

10. Bound – Suzanne Vega
The way of the world
Has taken it's toll
Ravaged (RUBY)’s body
Bitten (RUBY)’s soul
And (RUBY) asks
(RUBY) is asking you, (MEG)
Asking (MEG) if she
Might still want (RUBY)?

What they have could never exactly be called perfect – there's alot to be forgiven, and they are demons after all.
What they do have, though, is exactly what they want.

~~~

Aaaaaaannnd an uber special bonus song!

(BONUS!): Gently – Alcoholic Faith Mission

Just ‘cause (RUBY)’s a whore
(MEG) knows it doesn’t mean (RUBY) don’t feel it

.zip

Whoops?

flutterfingers — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 23:05:21 GMT

My staff Christmas party was last night. Do not ask me why it was in March. Do not ask me why it was on a Tuesday night. Just know that it WAS.
Now, normally I am one of those smug bitches that brags about being the responsible girl at the party who never gets drunk, and takes care of everyone else while they puke everywhere and make a general ass of themselves. Congratulations to me on finally popping that cherry.
*waves* Hi, have you met me? I am that indiscreet chav from last night who laughs too loud while she's out (yes, even when she's sober), manages to consume about five times the legal limit over five hours, uses the boys legs as her personal footrest, and debates giving one of her 18 year old workmates an ~UNDISCLOSED~ sexual favour in the bathroom stall with two of her bestfriends over her iphone in drunken, grammatically embarrassing text messages. Oh, and then after the third pub manages to vomit all over her front in an act that will get her mocked at work for MONTHS.
Which is then followed up by vomitting all over the toilet floor, being given one of the boys undershirts to wear instead of her lovely, puke-covered t-shirt and jacket, and poured into a friend's car by the rest of the guys, where she procedes to take off her bra, and close her eyes in the front seat, wishing she could actually fall asleep, and forget about everything that had happened, like everyone else she knows seems to do after a particularly successful night out.
Am I that lucky? Nope. I remember every single detail about last night. And I don't even have a hangover as a souvenir.
Thank God I managed to hold off on actually sharing my thoughts with the class until it was just me and the driver left in the car. If I had started informing the (very tall, very cute) 18 year old how much I wanted to ~BEEP BEEEEEEEEEEEP~ him, I would never recover.
For shame. For shame.
Also, FUCK YEAH BITCHES, LAST NIGHT WAS AWESOME.

View Poll: Ignorance Will Save You

Figuring it out: a survival guide to html

flutterfingers — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 19:51:27 GMT

Thank you, familiardevil , you are awesomesauce. On toast. My first ever fanmix only made it into existence because of your kindness to a newb.
Thank you, livejournal, for not being as difficult as I thought you'd be.
Thank you, mediafire, and photobucket, for BEING.

I am going to roll myself onto a flat surface and pass out in about .03 seconds, but before that happens, I am going to say this:

OMG YES!!!! IT IS DONE!!!!!!

If I Was Going to Shoo-Bop-Bop to Your Dysfunctional Love

flutterfingers — Sat, 20 Mar 2010 19:36:00 GMT

Title: Putting On That Midnight Smile
Subject: Anna/Ruby
Rating: R, probably, for mature language and boobalicious graphics.
Disclaimer: IT IS ALL AN ILLUSION, A SWEET DELUSION. Flutterfingers only wishes she owned these beautiful women. However, the CW is still refusing to return her calls. (Please, don't rub it in.) If she owned the royalties to these songs, she'd buy an island, populate it with scientists, and pay them to clone her a certain smirking hunter... (a girl can dream). The graphics, however, were made at about 3am, while she stared blearily at the screen wishing for death. To them she lays claim. (Especially the manip, which she expected to take about a quarter of the time it actually did. Feel free to mock.)
Notes: How naive are you, flutterfingers, thinking this was going to be a quickie? As ever, these things have a way of expanding, and there you are, sixteen songs later, staring at something that was supposed to be half the size of that and realizing - you have no concept of "quick" or "small". Flutterfingers would have made a cover for each girl's individual mix - but beat her perfectionist nature into submission, and is saving energy for pinch!hits.
THIS is a fun little Anna/Ruby fanmix of songs you can dance - or at least headbang - to. An upbeat sort of tempo - although the majority of the lyrics are - what's the opposite of upbeat again? Hmm.