Three dollars and some change

Look, Sunday crossover porn!



Summary: It's the first time Sam Winchester has faced a succubus, but for once in his life he's not thinking about stopping the supernatural.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Anita Blake.
Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to the CW and those nice folks. Anita Blake belongs to Laurell K. Hamilton. No profit has been made from this fic, and the only benefit to me is the writing.
Rating: NC-17 for swearing and sexual situations of the oral variety.
Words: 890
Note: Two words, people. Ardeur Emergency. Yet another of those weird ideas that just won't leave me alone. Also, I think at one point in this I use the future-past verb tense. This story needs a grammar hammer.

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He can't understand why he's out here, but ohgod right there he never wants it to stop.

This is the kind of shit Dean pulls, dragging some girl out to the car while Sam's settling the bar tab. This isn't what Sam does, dragging a desperate girl out to the car, letting her undo his belt and pants and right there tongue lips mouth have her way with him.

Yet here they are, in the backseat of the car while Dean plays pool, the dark soft around them while she makes quiet hungry sounds, muffled around the weight of his cock in her mouth, desperate and wanting and more please more.

He doesn't know her name. He's half a minute away from coming in her mouth and he doesn't even know her name.

She looks up at him, dark eyes wild and hungry, as her fingernails rake over his hips. He moans as her lips brush against his body so deep too deep ohgod never stop and he tries desperately to hold on, trying to figure out why this is wrong, why the sight of her in the bar twisted up his head so much.

She has to be as old as Dean, held so primly together, but there was wild desperate hunger in her eyes when he said hello at the bar. Five minutes later they'd been out in the dark behind the building, his hand cupping her breast under her bra and her tongue in his mouth and no questions, just burning need.

As she swallows him down, he makes a noise he's not sure he's ever made before and then he's coming down her throat. It's the most intense orgasm he's ever had in his entire life. It goes on and on until he thinks he might just die like this, pleasure in every nerve of his body. He might die like this and he wouldn't fucking care, as long as this nameless, beautiful woman keeps him in her mouth.

Finally, it stops. He can't catch his breath and he has to close his eyes, wishing she'd let him be but never wanting to let her go. There's a gentle slurping sound, and he's cold suddenly as he feels the seat of the Impala sink under her weight as she joins him on the cushions.

Fumbling, Sam tucks himself back into his jeans. The woman is watching him, her cheeks flushed in the moonlight. She's embarrassed and he can't figure out why, when she was the one who first reached for his hand.

"Um..." His voice is loud in the still air, and now he's the one who's blushing. He hasn't been with a woman since Jess, and it took him less than five minutes and thirty words for him to drop his pants for this beautiful stranger with the amazing tongue. "So."

"Yeah." She tucks a wild strand of hair behind her ear, eyes down, and all Sam wants to do is push her up against the seats and fuck her senseless. He's getting hard again just thinking about it. "Sorry about that."

"No, it's okay," he says automatically. He knows it's not okay, that something is wrong with all of this, but all he can remember is the warm wetness of her tongue. He clears his throat. "You?"

"I'm fine."

Sam clears his throat again and shifts on the seat. His cock is too sensitive for the hard press of the denim, and the euphoria of the climax is fading. "Really?"

The woman looks at him straight on, the frankness of her gaze heavy on him. He can't move, can't even speak. It's for the best. Otherwise, he'd be begging her to take him with her, take him anyway she wanted.

Then the moment passes, and Sam's itching for a knife or a gun, something solid to hold. He knows what she is now, what she can do.

But in the end, all she says is, "I should go."

"Right." Sam waits until she straightens her skirt and opens the Impala door before asking, "What's your name?"

Her hand stills on the handle, one foot on the ground outside. She hesitates for a moment. "Anita."

There's something about the wistful way she speaks her name, something fresh and clear and not weighed down with what they just did in the dark. "I'm Sam."

She smiles at him, making her beautiful in the way Jess was beautiful, alive and young and powerful in her innocence. "Goodbye, Sam," is all she says.

He watches her walk across the dark parking lot to her car.

She doesn't look back.

He waits until her car drives away before he lets his head fall back onto the headrest. He runs through that catalogue of supernatural beings in his head, wishing he could think of something else that would have wanted to drag him outside for sex. He can't think of anything worse than having to admit that he was seduced by a succubus.

No, there is something worse. Having Dean find out he was taken down by a succubus in the backseat of the Impala.

Sam closes his eyes. He knows better, he really fucking well does.

But the memory of the desperation in Anita's eyes, and the gentle softness of her mouth, won't let him regret it quite that quickly.

--end