Categories > TV > Supernatural
Devil's Blue
2 reviewsInspired by "Crossroad Blues," with some spoilers from "In My Time of Dying." The camera skips away from Dean and the demon and comes back to them kissing. What happened in-between? Sexual, but ...
1Insightful
"Devil's Blue"
For devils who keep their promises.
"So, how do we do this?" He shuffled forward, pulling a hand out of his pocket and holding it out, careful to keep fingertips out of the white lines painted on the bridge above them. When she laughed it was cruel amusement, lifting and falling in the evening's air.
"Oh Dean." A crook of her finger and his foot again inched forward. "For a deal like this, the usual method won't do." And that inch must have been one too close because her hand caught on his jeans and tugged, inhuman strength in that slender wrist. Dean let out a gasp despite himself as her fingers thrust inside his pants, beneath the boxers, and grasped him just right.
"Wha - ?!" was all he could manage and then she was stroking, face close to his while he struggled to breath.
"Shh... You won't even remember this once the contract is bound."
Dean's hand slammed against the post of the bridge, fingers clawing into the wood in a desperate attempt to ground his mind and body. Even as the try was failing, his mouth at least didn't let him down. "I'll bet you say that to all the guys you seduce into a sale."
"No, just you. I told you this was special." Her lips stole his air, sucking it into her own lungs, also stolen. "You should have taken my offer Dean Winchester. Do you want to know what hell feels like?"
He could only answer in panting and groans as her fingers worked him, stroking in unceasing rhythm, firm to the point of pain but never crossing over it. And he knew she was right. It was a good deal; best he'd ever been offered. Certainly the most honest. He'd get Dad back, those ten bonus years; hell, he might even get those steak knives! And in a decade she'd be back and her hellhounds would drag his bloody soul into something that felt a little like pleasure, a little like pain, and a lot like screaming in quicksand.
Oh, wait. That was the hand-job.
He came into her demanding clasp, choking, and right then Dean knows why he could never accept her bargin. Even if it was for real (did that mean she was stronger than the Demon, that she could undo its work?), even if she would keep her word (for some reason he felt sure she would), he couldn't accept it. What he said to Sammy: to live after someone's made that unwanted sacrifice for you, to be left without even a damn gift receipt? Dean loves (hates a little) his father; he can't do that to Sammy. Not ever.
There's something that could almost be sympathy in this demon's eyes, except that it couldn't be, and it only confuses Dean when she closes her lips around his. But then it slips from his mind, along with the previous few minutes and the feel of the rosary held between them returns to his fingers. And deep inside of the Hunter, the pit tightens just that much more.
For devils who keep their promises.
"So, how do we do this?" He shuffled forward, pulling a hand out of his pocket and holding it out, careful to keep fingertips out of the white lines painted on the bridge above them. When she laughed it was cruel amusement, lifting and falling in the evening's air.
"Oh Dean." A crook of her finger and his foot again inched forward. "For a deal like this, the usual method won't do." And that inch must have been one too close because her hand caught on his jeans and tugged, inhuman strength in that slender wrist. Dean let out a gasp despite himself as her fingers thrust inside his pants, beneath the boxers, and grasped him just right.
"Wha - ?!" was all he could manage and then she was stroking, face close to his while he struggled to breath.
"Shh... You won't even remember this once the contract is bound."
Dean's hand slammed against the post of the bridge, fingers clawing into the wood in a desperate attempt to ground his mind and body. Even as the try was failing, his mouth at least didn't let him down. "I'll bet you say that to all the guys you seduce into a sale."
"No, just you. I told you this was special." Her lips stole his air, sucking it into her own lungs, also stolen. "You should have taken my offer Dean Winchester. Do you want to know what hell feels like?"
He could only answer in panting and groans as her fingers worked him, stroking in unceasing rhythm, firm to the point of pain but never crossing over it. And he knew she was right. It was a good deal; best he'd ever been offered. Certainly the most honest. He'd get Dad back, those ten bonus years; hell, he might even get those steak knives! And in a decade she'd be back and her hellhounds would drag his bloody soul into something that felt a little like pleasure, a little like pain, and a lot like screaming in quicksand.
Oh, wait. That was the hand-job.
He came into her demanding clasp, choking, and right then Dean knows why he could never accept her bargin. Even if it was for real (did that mean she was stronger than the Demon, that she could undo its work?), even if she would keep her word (for some reason he felt sure she would), he couldn't accept it. What he said to Sammy: to live after someone's made that unwanted sacrifice for you, to be left without even a damn gift receipt? Dean loves (hates a little) his father; he can't do that to Sammy. Not ever.
There's something that could almost be sympathy in this demon's eyes, except that it couldn't be, and it only confuses Dean when she closes her lips around his. But then it slips from his mind, along with the previous few minutes and the feel of the rosary held between them returns to his fingers. And deep inside of the Hunter, the pit tightens just that much more.
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