Ma Bohème (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} maboheme) wrote,@ 2007-06-01 09:24:00 |
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| Current location: | work, work, work |
| Current mood: |  exhausted |
| Current music: | Both Hands~Ani Difranco |
| Entry tags: | crossoverfic, fanfic, spn/bsg, spn:het, supernatural, tv: bsg |
[FIC]: Earth Found, Hell Bound (Crossover: SPN/BSG, Dean/Kara, Adult)
Title: Earth Found, Hell Bound
Author: maboheme
mabohemeRating: NC-17
Genre: Het, PWP
Fandoms: Supernatural + Battlestar Galactica
Pairings: Dean Winchester + Kara Thrace
Words: 1,633
Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one and make no money. Sad, I know.
Notes: Just a little cross-universal fun. I was meta’ing about all the similarities between Starbuck and Dean…and you know got distracted by the potential therein...
Prompts: ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif)
spn_het_love's list #1–boots, moon, grove, roses, lightning.
spn_het_love's list #1–boots, moon, grove, roses, lightning.Beta: Thanks and much love to the phenomenally talented rillaotvalley.
rillaotvalley. Feedback: Makes the world go round:)
Summary: Somewhere in the universe, two moving bodies collide.
Earth Found, Hell Bound
*
“We are star-stuff.”—Carl Sagan
*
This is what Dean knows:
She is sun-drowned eyes, hard curves and tight, biting muscle rubbing against him. She is weathered, traveler skin and a mutiny of scars grinding low and fast. She is hard touch and hard metal delicately drawing blood, conjuring pain, bittersweet red heat simmering and settling between them.
She is rough hands, and dirty fingernails carving into his back, her sharp knife blade landing cold against his throat, and her dusty boots grinding raw into his calves.
She is angst and blood-stained and netherworld, and her blade has moved down from his throat to slowly dig into his heart. They are face to face now, eyes locked in a challenge.
She is lit by moonshine and huffs a gentle laugh, messy white-blonde bangs falling over cloudy grey-green eyes. She licks two bruised lips and smiles too big. She is all cockiness and bravado and hide-and-seek smirk, something too familiar for Dean’s own comfort.
*
“Are you human?” she asks him, her thick voice wrestles him down, pins him to the wet earth, like the rope she has tied firm around his wrists at his center. She tightens the rope with a playful leer as he tries to grab at her. Dean’s wrists feel the burn of the coarse fibers as his fingers skillfully work at the knot. Dean thinks maybe she knows his scent, his secrets; he watches her cunning wolf-smile lick at the residue of his aches.
“Are you human?” Dean growls her way, muttering “Christo” as he continues to fight against the ties that bind. The weight of her trembling heat compresses against his chest, liquefying his muscles. There is something about her so human-hot, it binds to his skin.
*
Dean doesn’t give up easily; he never has.
He waits until she is distracted, and he works his hips, heaving up, bucking and sending her onto her side. She is now just a tangle of warring limbs, thick curves, and battered skin against crushed leaves and storm-drenched soils.
But she’s fast—knocking him back on his ass with a growl that sends his every instinct firing. She’s on him in an instant, her thighs tugged tight at his hips. But it is already too late. His hands have already worked free of the binds completely. He wrestles her to the earth, flips her onto her back and, body pressed against body, they grind and fight for muddy supremacy.
“Frak,” she murmurs, whisper-hot and filthy-smooth, as she loses her momentum under Dean’s quick maneuvering. Dean straddles her waist, swiftly moving to tie her hands behind her head, gaining control.
“Yeah, frak,” he smiles, wide and lopsided, liking her language.
*
She feels human, he thinks. She feels real, underneath him.
*
They kick off their mud-coated boots last.
What are left—twin naked bodies, muscled expanse of smooth freckled backs, dappled and patterned white in the light of the moon.
Dean tugs her forward, her chest hot against his own. She is heaving loud, ribs arching through taut skin, muscles and bone bending and shifting against him. Freed of her bonds, her hands slide slick over his torso; she lingers long on his scars and lightly touches his bruises. Dean skims his tongue across her tattoos—her scattered art and scars and sacrifice.
When she exhales, Dean breathes her in, blood roses and cedar-green musk. She laughs and eases into his attentions.
*
Strangling hesitation, dig deeper, dig deeper, he is trying to get into her skin. She is much too warm and tastes like sweaty pain and dirt and pressure and life and death and the moments in-between. But he likes covering her body; he likes her fire breaking against his cold, hell-bound skin.
She grabs his hair, pulls his head back forcefully. Her hot, full lips nip at his ear, warm saliva easing, drowning previously desiccated flesh. She bites at Dean’s throat; she marks him, teeth sinking into his flesh, breaking skin, drawing blood to mingle with sweat. She laps it up, and he shivers, pain so real he thinks maybe he’s more than alive tonight.
Dean grips her silk thighs, and she grips his tight ass. They leave imprints.
*
She slithers her mouth past his crisp curls, her lips moist and scaling down his shaft. Her tongue is warm and snakes against the skin of his balls. She engulfs him, envelopes his cock deep. Dean arches, hips rising off the dirty ground. She holds on to his thighs as she sucks him off.
“Yeah, fuck, yeah,” he swears, acid-rough voice, a whisper to a scream.
*
Sticky sweat clings to his fingers as he mouths over a trail of downy hair. He pants into her warmth, burying his lips at her center. He winds curious fingers, slip-slide, teasing at her clit, thumbs circling, striking. She groans a throaty vibration that reverberates through his body, tenses his muscles. He’s so hard now he might just burst. In a deep thrust, his fingers move deep inside her channel, silky moist, hot skin welcoming. As her slick tightness expands around him, he presses deeper and deeper, knuckles swallowed by tense velvet.
She fists in his hair as she arches forward, fingers tearing at his scalp. “Harder,” she shudders, her voice low, deep. She mews and rocks, bucking her hips and riding his fingers. When she comes, she writhes and convulses wildly, the muscles of her passage walls clamping down hard.
Dean lets her ride it out, and then he eases his fingers out of her, raises them to his mouth, and sucks them clean.
*
Dean is myth-making against her body. He thinks she recognizes his history, as her lips cover his roadmap of bruises, fucking into miles and miles of his humanity.
When she falls onto her back, Dean leans in to trace kisses up the dewy-soft skin of her inner thigh. She hooks both her legs firmly around his shoulders, and her hips thrust up. Dean grabs hold of her waist and leans in so that his face is flush against her core—his mouth moves to line up and down the crease of her thighs, before his lips tease and nuzzle into the hair of her sex.
Dean explores his way around her heat. His tongue glides up and down the slit, making smooth, slow rhythms. He opens wide, greedy to mouth around her clit, sucking, rolling, licking until she growls. His tongue enters her channel and nestles in the tang of spicy-sweet juices.
He tongue fucks her hungry and deep, crafts slow arcs, lost for days in her velvet folds. When she comes again, she is smooth islands rising across oceans. He, situated between land and sea, wades into her, drinks her dry.
*
Her sex is legend, fate, gods, and things destined. Everything he is, but refuses to believe in.
*
Dean’s leaking against her—his pre-come drip painting her stomach and thighs. He almost loses himself as his cock rubs along the crease of her hips, a slow rub against her smoothness. She chuckles and her hand finds his cock and tugs hard. His hips arch up, thrusting, jerking.
She releases him and shoves his chest, until Dean sprawls onto his back. She crawls over him and wraps a hand around his length. She mounts him slowly and teases his tip into her valley before lowering herself onto him. Up and down, she milks him fast and steady—nothing but the rush of wet skin against wet skin.
Teeth biting into her lips, she throws her head back, watching the stars explode in the black bowl sky of luminescent fire.
Every stroke electric, Dean feels his ass grind into the rhythm of nature. He’s buried deep in her core as they move together, synchronized, so much heat, he cannot breathe.
*
Dean doesn’t know what she’s trying to forget but he knows hell still waits for him.
So they fuck like the world’s ended, and Dean thinks maybe it has and he’s just slept through it all.
*
So they fuck like hunters—all intensity and longing and bittersweet. Dean clutches at her because she burns her way inside him.
*
So they fuck slow and deep, earth musk and wet sex, and climax together, powerful quakes, shaking them both as the world ruptures around them.
Some kind of earthbound bodies, colliding, into stardust and gas and light and energy; heaved and splayed across the galaxy.
*
As she walks out of the grove, Dean realizes they never kissed on the lips, never exchanged names, never said hello or goodbye.
When she turns to look back, he half smiles, wondering at her mystery, offering her a gentle quirk of perfect sex-sore lips in parting. “You’re not from around here are you?”
She looks at him thoughtfully; soft haunted eyes blink as she licks her own pink-pouty lips. Her words are crisp like lightening. “No, but I’ve been looking for this place for a long time.”
A nomad in search of a home, Dean muses. Now that’s something he knows.
*
Fini
