spn_springfling | Give Me What You Need by strangeallure for <user site="livejour

springflingmod.livejournal.com posting in

Title: Give Me What You Need
Pairing: Soulless!Sam/Gwen Campbell
Rating: Hard R
Any warnings: None listed

Written by

strangeallure for

quickreaver!

Sometimes, Gwen’s so tired of all this. Of hunting and killing, winning and losing. Of living in a goddamn compound, part of an underground militia that has all the markings of a religious cult.

She feels trapped inside this place full of people who stopped feeling like family a long time ago.

At the same time, it’s all she knows. It’s in the blood she bleeds and the blood she spills.

She feels different, disconnected from the others. Too conflicted about Samuel, not conflicted enough about Sam.

Samuel talks about blood ties and loyalty, but that’s bullshit. It’s all about power. To gain it and yield it and use it against anybody standing in his path. The rhetoric’s just that - a strategy to keep everyone in line.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t talk much at all. He’s skilled and thorough and ruthless. He’s in it for the kill. Sam’s not a hunter, not really. He’s a mercenary, who just happens to fight with them instead of against them. If regular people were more challenging, more worthy prey, she knows he’d change sides. It’s one of the things she likes about him.

It’s why she likes fucking him. He never pretends it’s about more than sex, doesn’t even pretend it’s about her. She just happens to be there and willing. She could be anybody. Thing is, though, he’s driven and competitive enough to always give it his all. And Sam Winchester’s all is pretty damn good.

--

He’s sitting on a chair and she’s riding him, biting at the tendons in his neck and digging her fingers into the smooth muscles of his back. They both still smell of the hunt, of sweat and earth and gunpowder. He tastes of it, too, of something bitter, darker than just sweat. She wonders if some of it is the blood of tonight’s kill, and the thought makes her clench around him, makes her teeth dig deeper into his flesh.

“You know what I like about you?” he asks in a dark, velvety voice. The question catches her off guard. It’s not something she expects, not from him.

She pulls her head back enough to give him a knowing smirk. “That I’m the only lay around here,” she says and rolls her hips slowly, deliberately.

His grip around her waist tightens, and she can feel his chuckle reverberate through her whole body. “I had Mark long before I had you.”

She raises her eyebrows in question even as she keeps up a slow, steady rhythm on top of him.

Sam grabs the back of her head with one of his big, calloused hands and pulls her down close. “Didn’t like him nearly as much.” His breath is hot and wet against the shell of her ear. “He didn’t make me work for it,” he whispers roughly.

When his mouth latches onto her neck, she gasps and bites her lip. Sam sucks and nibbles at her throat, both hands around her waist again, broad and strong, guiding her hips up and down, up and down. Fast and faster, even as he pushes his own hips up in counterpoint, making wet, filthy sounds inside her.

She claws her hands into his hair and pulls his head down lower, leads his mouth to her breast. He catches her nipple between his lips and sucks, alternating between gentle and forceful. Bites one moment and soothing licks the next, the slight roughness of his tongue so good on her sensitive skin.

There’s fire eating at her flesh now. A deep, fierce heat that makes her whole body writhe, sweat forming everywhere on her skin. Her muscles seem to move of their own accord, and her breath comes in ragged bursts.

She doesn’t know when his finger finds her clit or when his mouth finds her lips, but it’s good. Teeth and tongue and violence. His touch, his smell, the filthy sounds that rise from deep within his chest, it all fuels her desire, her need to come; makes the tension inside her twist tighter until the coil bursts in a big, bright shout.

When she gets off of him, her movements are careful and a little stilted. The euphoria is wearing off, leaving her raw and used in the best way.

He gets up to throw away the condom and then turns around, not even bothering to tuck his cock back in. His muscles stretch in a smooth and sinuous, almost catlike motion, and he gives her a lazy smile.

“When you shout,” he says, his voice almost warm, “you mean it.”

She returns his smile and puts her clothes back on. She’s so fucked out, she knows that tonight she won’t remember the past, she’ll just sleep without dreams.

And that’s the thing she knows about herself and she knows about Sam: they hunt and they fuck and they do it to forget, to run away from something that can’t be killed.

Gwen knows she’ll be coming back for more.