Prompt: Fever dreams + feverish sex + really disturbing images/waking dreams while having sex but Dean doesn't want to stop, can't stop and maybe the fever's breaking during this faltering sexcapade, sweat's pouring off him, he's delusional, maybe jumpy or scared or terrified or fuck knows what. Would he get held after? Sponged off? Left to sleep? Run from? Do tell me. :)
A/N: Vague mid-S4 setting, with Katie!Ruby. Quick and dirty beta by kalliel. Thanks, babe, you know what I like. ;) Title from the song "Lucid Dreams" by Franz Ferdinand.
You like poetry, she says, and he says no but means yes.
I never got into all that Romantics crap, she tells him, leaning her head against his shoulder. Never mind if I was there to witness it or not, let me tell you, the eighteenth century was not conducive to much beauty or hell, love.
He barks out a laugh, fake.
Don’t pretend, baby, she says, and blows hair out of her face. You and me, we’ve got no boundaries.
tend, isn’t that what meg told him once twice a thou-
sand times ago.
this is the real deal, dean, don’t close your eyes, you wanna see just how many carats this diamond’s got. let me just rough up your ed-
ges a little bit first]
He must’ve fallen asleep there for a while, because when he wakes up, Ruby’s digging around the kitchenette cabinets in her underwear, and he’s got the covers pulled up to his chin. Hell knows why, since he feels like he’s baking.
He kicks off the blankets, and hears Ruby clinking around some more, her back to him. He watches the curve of her ass, rasps, What’re you doing, making me tea?
Ruby pivots, a mug in her hand. Fuck no, she laughs. Couldn’t find a shot glass.
She raises the mug to him, and then throws her head back and drinks its contents. Licks her lips and smiles again. You ready, stud?
Dean coughs into his fist, drags the covers back up under his armpits.
Like hell, he says. Like hell I am.
[you taste like dirt, he’d told her that first time and she’d
laughed, laughed, laugh-
you ever heard of phantom limb syndrome, she’d asked, drawing the question in cursive with her ambidextrous tongue.
shit, yeah, dean had told her, gritting his teeth, but
what does that have to do with
hate to break it to you, angel, but not everything down here revolves around you.
hello, copernius, it’s the earth calling. please hold.
meg’s nose was touching his, and her breath was starting to blister what was left of his face.
she’d taken a chunk out of his lip, chewed it for a second, and then swallowed.
but in this case, i have to say, this is all about you.
a one man show. you’re on baby, tonight, today, this morning, for the rest of time. the main act.
what, dean had spit. there no ritalin down here, bitch? you forget what you were telling me about phantom li-
nope, she’d said, and left a scratch mark down his back. i never for-
get, and neither will
phantom limbs, she’d laughed. you’ve got a phantom body. what you’re
tasting, that’s just
dirt, illinois special. sifting through your jawbone. now come here, baby, i’
ve got better things for you to
It feels like she’s taking a magnet and running it along all his electrified veins. Close to the skin, pretty soon she’s going to start lifting them right out. Ball up his capillaries and the avenues to his heart in her fist, like yarn. Dean hopes she uses it to knit him a sweater. He’s fucking cold.
Dean, Ruby says again, and this time he’s not sure whether he hallucinates the next part of the sentence or if he dreams it. Reality hasn’t been quite so real lately.
Dean, she says, you’re starting to feel like home.
[home, this is where you
are and always will
be. topside downside inside out, this is
where you are, dean.
meg licked her lips, and said, this isn’
t cannibalism, you know. she blinked black and said, you
haven’t made the change over
Ruby licks his ear, clamps her teeth down gently. Dean shudders. This isn’t what he wants, it’s (so much more).
Ruby puffs out breath, on top of him, and he watches it freeze in front of her. He’s so cold, and Ruby’s so damn hot. They’re going to melt together, drown in tepid water.
In the battle between hot and cold, werewolf and vampire, Dean’d end up the mangled, lukewarm human in the middle, because everyone knows that’s how that movie should’ve ended.
[thrusting into meg so hard her nose started bleeding, but she’d just poked her tongue out to catch the droplets, and smiled.
that terrible dead nymphomaniac smile, the one that dean had always hated or
loved. he could never decide.
her tongue in his mouth, he tastes rust and
the sweetest thing imaginable, only his imagination had been left by the side of a
desert road, desiccated.
just like his eyeballs just like his
One thing about Ruby, she always remembers to gasp out his name at climax. Not his brother’s, but his own. That’s at least when she gasps out a name at all- other times she just opens her mouth and lets out a silent scream, hitting octaves only audible to hellhounds.
Her breathing slowing down, she buries her face in his sweaty shoulder and says, Guess I don’t need to get out the hex bags after all.
She sounds almost disappointed, but Dean’s still fighting his own raspy rate of respiration, and doesn’t comment.
Another thing about Ruby, she’s not so great with goodbyes.
Here, she says, shoving the NyQuil bottle in his hand. Don’t choke.
Your concern is—Dean breaks off, coughing—touching.
She reaches down, squeezes his crotch through the blanket.
You bet it is.
The medicine looks too much like blood, so Dean swigs straight from the bottle.
Eyes half-shut, Ruby clomping around the motel room in her spiky boots, Dean says, Later, bitch.
She pauses by the door, lifts her arm in the air, pivoting her wrist from side to side. She either gives him the Vulcan equivalency of a peace sign, or something a little more intimate.
Dean snorts, and lets his eyes fall completely closed. Fuck me, Ruby, he thinks, too tired to form audible words. Thought you already did.