Epitaph
Author's Note:
Slight spoilers up to 4x13. Written for The Vaults 'Ruby is a bitch' drabble challenge. Couldn't get it down to a drabble (yeah right, me do just 100 words? Are you off your nut?).
Rated M for people (almost) doing the McNasty.
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She closed the door quietly and looked at him, sitting on the bed, sliding the small rag over a gun with purpose.
"At last, just you and me," she smiled impishly. "No disapproving brother to get in our way."
He looked up at her. "Whut do you want?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrow slits of worry.
She crossed the room quickly, pulling off her jacket. It fell to the floor. He watched her move, his hands frozen on the weapon.
"You know what I want," she purred, sliding onto the bed on his side. "You know what I need," she hissed urgently. "And he'll only be gone an hour."
His eyes narrowed still further. She took the gun from him, tossing it over the side of the bed carelessly. She slid up the blankets, leaning her hands onto the mattress either side of him and sliding up against him smoothly. He didn't move away and she shifted up, putting her hands to his face.
He pulled his jaw up slightly to be out of reach but she smiled. She ignored the near-perfect poker expression regarding her, unable to disguise all of the disgust.
"Oh don't look like that," she breathed. "You've been waiting for this." She tipped his face down forcefully and pressed her mouth against his, savouring the touch.
She expected him to push her off. For a long moment he didn't respond. Then his hands caught at her sides. He pulled her against him quickly. She let herself squeak slightly in pleasure, arranging her knee over his to slide into his lap. He slid his hands up under her thin cotton top, reaching her shoulder blades. He pushed and turned them, weighing her down to her back.
She tore her mouth free.
"I was after--" She paused to gasp as his mouth went against her throat. "I was after him. But then I knew I was just - just using Sam to get to you."
"Oh," Dean rumbled curtly, his lips and hands tracing down her. She bit her lip against moaning in pleasure. "I kinda figured."
She put her hands in his hair desperately as he pushed at her top. He slid it up and re-applied his mouth.
She moaned and squirmed with enjoyment. "Sam's not - not like you," she gasped. He was too busy to answer. "He's frantic, commanding - ngghh - dominating."
His hands slid down her sides, encountering the jeans. He slid one hand round her back and down, just inside the waistband. She clutched at his hair, heaving in excitement. She let go as he lifted his head and he made his way back up over her.
"It's all going wrong," she heaved. "I thought I needed Sam - Sam to - to get what I want. But - ngghh - but he's weak. It's not - not working out."
His face slid up the side of hers. "Well tell me what you want, sweetheart, maybe I can help," he grunted.
She turned into his face and bit at his mouth eagerly. She ran her hands down his sides and lifted his t-shirt. She swept her hands up round his back toward her, over his chest gratefully. She pushed him up slightly, off her mouth.
"First off - he's not stepping up to the plate." She slid her hands up round his neck, finding his jaw and pulling his face down within reach again. But he lifted his chin slightly.
"Heard that before. What's he not doin' this time?"
She studied his eyes for a long moment. Then she grinned, sliding herself against him expertly, dragging his mouth against hers with a wild roughness.
She slid her hands down the muscles, pulling at his t-shirt to get it off him. He lifted up and pulled it free of his head. She slid her hands over his shoulders and squeezed at his skin.
"Oooh yeah, you and Sam really are different," she purred.
"You got that right," Dean breathed, moving his mouth up behind her ear.
She groaned and slid her front against his. "I can feel that," she grinned, her hands going down his back and under his belt. She squeezed at his skin in her hands. "Why Dean, you're enjoying this," she teased. "And I thought I made you - ngghh - uncomfortable."
"Oh, I been waitin' for this," he breathed.
"I know. I felt you - felt you - watching me. Now I need you to fill the gap Sam's not taking up. I need you - ngghh - need you to play for my team, Dean."
"I thought you needed some psychic boy," he grunted, the sound of his voice making her shiver in anticipation. "I ain't your type."
"Oh Dean," she heaved, squeezing at his skin, sliding herself under him and enjoying every nanosecond of contact, "it's not all about demon blood and Jedi Mind Tricks."
"Then whut?" he rumbled, his mouth hot on her neck.
"Let's just say--" She paused to bite her lip, her eyes clamping shut in pleasure. She gasped and opened her eyes. "Let's just say what I need runs in the family." She slid her hands up his back to his sides. "I need you to help me, like any other - ngghh - any other gal needing a hunter. You'll help me, right? If it saves Sam?"
He grinned, she felt it against her neck. "You'd be surprised the kinda things I'd do to save Sam."
He pushed himself up on one elbow. She grabbed at his belt, pulling to get it undone. She looked up at him, knew he was sliding his hand under the pillow behind her. She grinned, pleased he was going for it and about to use the top edge of the mattress as leverage. She giggled wickedly as she ripped open the button fly, sliding her hands inside.
"Oooh," she teased. "You two really are different."
"Oh yeah," he grinned.
Something about his eyes sent a shiver down her spine. But she couldn't stop herself sliding her hands over him in anticipation. There was something magnetic, something dangerous about his proximity that made her skin tingle.
He looked down at her with a shining, perfectly angelic smile. "Sam never woulda done it like this."
He brought his hand out from under the pillow. He pushed himself further away on his elbow.
And then he rammed the demon knife into her chest.
She screamed and struggled. He slapped a hand over her mouth. His other arm held her down. The fire, the lights, the tiny sparks of burning, igniting demonic soul raged and spat strangely cold fire against him.
And then the girl outside was still, lifeless once more.
He pushed himself off the bed in obvious disgust. He dragged the knife free, breathing hard for a moment as he looked at his handiwork. He let his eyes run over the corpse, let the knowledge of what he had done sink in for a few moments. He looked at the blade in his hand, lifting it to study the tip, dripping slowly with human blood. He tutted in frustration and slung the knife at the bedcovers. He scrubbed his hands through his hair before he looked down at himself. He started buttoning up his jeans slowly.
There was a bump and scrape on the wooden door and Dean looked over quickly, spooked. It opened and he found himself looking at a surprised Sam.
"Perfect timing," Dean observed with a shedload of cynicism. "She really did plan this well."
"What? Who?" Sam asked, confused. He took in Dean's state of semi-dress, watching him do up his belt, and then looked away to the bed. He shut the door rather too loudly behind him, shocked. "Is she--? Did you--"
"Yeah!"
Sam stared at the corpse for a long moment. He looked at the knife, and then looked at his brother and his hair, standing up in strange ruffled patterns. "Cos she tried to--"
"Why d'you think I'm standing here like every shirt I own is in the laundry?" Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in disgust. "Told you she was our slutty little Yoda," he groused.
"So you knifed her?" he gasped, outraged. "Great! Now we'll never know why she was--"
"Sam," he said quietly, and the volume made him stop short. He looked at Dean with dark eyes full of regret. "Look, man… I tried to get it out of her, ok? She just wasn't sellin' anything but the obvious."
"Right," Sam accused. "Just how hard did you try?"
"You see? She didn't even finish the job, and it's still screwing everything up! You see how she works?" he protested.
Sam took a deep breath, nodding it out slowly.
"Do you honestly think I woulda touched that with someone else's ten foot pole if she would just tell us outright?" he added.
Sam turned back to look at the bed. "Yeah… yeah, I get it." He paused for a moment. "So… we should finally bury this poor girl."
"Yeah," Dean allowed quietly. He walked around the bed slowly, looking around the carpet. He paused, a look of vehement annoyance on his features. "Son of a bitch, man, she did it again," he cursed suddenly.
Sam's eyebrows lifted as he looked at him. "Did what?"
"Well we gotta get this girl in the ground, right? We even know her details, gotta get her name on the grave and everything."
"Oh," Sam blinked, surprised. "Yeah, I guess… That's very considerate of y--"
"But we're never gonna be able to get one on Ruby's," Dean tutted.
"You've thought about it?"
"Every damn day, Sammy, every damn day," Dean breathed, spotting something on the floor and bending to pick it up. It was his t-shirt.
Sam just let himself sit on the end of the bed slowly, staring in awful, awful mortification. "And why's that?" he managed quietly.
"Cos there's somethin' I'd love to piss into her tombstone, that's why."
Sam turned and watched him unfurl the t-shirt with a snap. He simply pulled it on, fishing his amulet out and letting it hang on top.
"Let me guess," Sam offered darkly.
Dean looked at him. "This Ruby chick - what a bitch."
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FIN
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