THE SACRIFICE
Summary: This is in response to a request by a lovely reviewer. Trickster/OC. This is kind of sweet and fluffy for me. See what you think.
Disclaimer: I do not own any Supernatural characters.
Isobel cast her eyes around the forest clearing; watching the gyrating, semi-clothed bodies of the revellers in the flickering firelight. Drummers placed around the edges of the clearing pounded out a fast tribal rhythm that kept the dancers in time.
Feeling a hand on her shoulder, Isobel turned slightly to see Freya standing by her side. She was holding a cup of red wine, and her dark curls fell lasciviously over the thin red material of her dress. Freya's eyes filled with delight, met Isobel's, " You look incredible! How are you feelings, honey?"
Isobel smoothed her hands along the tops of her thighs, feeling the chilly wind ruffling her long white dress. "A little worried, I suppose."
Freya laughed, "Oh lord, you don't have anything to be worried about! You are stunning; our god will be very pleased. Thank you for agreeing, Isobel."
Eyeing her sacrificial white dress dubiously, Isobel nodded. She became vaguely aware that the drumming had stopped and a hush had descended upon the clearing. Freya stepped into her line of vision, dress shimmering, arms raised high above her head.
Isobel swallowed hard, feeling moisture beading on her forehead. She watched as Freya dropped to her knees, scrabbling around in the dirt in front of her, muttering something. Then she stood, facing her congregation, "Loki! Trickster God! We invoke thee! Come to us, see the gift we have brought for you." Freya turned towards Isobel.
The knife in her hand glinted in the moonlight and Isobel's eyes widened; she began to wonder whether she should have asked a few more questions before agreeing to this whole ritual thing.
Freya frowned as she stepped towards Isobel, feeling the wind heighten and whip around the circle. As she moved she whispered the name of her god over and over, and the crowd echoed her, recreating the sibilant hiss; "Loki. Trickter. Loki. Trickster."
Isobel started to rise from her seat, but was knocked backwards violently by another gust of wind. As it moved around the circle the gust set siege to the fire burning in the middle, extinguishing it and hushing the revellers' chant.
Isobel's eyes darted around unnerved by the silence. She became aware of a growing rumble of excited voices from the back of the circle. There was movement also, as one by one the revellers dropped to their knees. One voice rose above the others; a man's voice.
"Ok, ok, I'm here, yes, lovely to see you all again." Isobel was confused as she saw the fairly normal looking man, dressed in jeans and a black shirt, push his way into the centre of the circle.
"Well, have you been kidnapping innocents again?" He raised his arms and looked at the people gathered around him. "Thanks for the last sacrifice guys; I must say she was utterly endearing and not at all an annoying little brat that I returned to her parents at the first opportunity."
The revellers seemed confused, and then the man laughed which seemed to comfort them somewhat. He rubbed his hands together, "So, which snotty nosed little kid have you managed to steal away from Mommy and Daddy this time then?"
Isobel found herself roughly dragged to her feet, a knife held at her neck, "No, this time we've done much better, we said we would. This is your sacrifice." Isobel's eyes met the man's for a second before she felt the sharp dig of the blade against her skin. She felt a small bead of wetness roll down her neck and onto her chest.
"Put that knife down, now!" The voice was louder than she could ever have imagined. Isobel opened her eyes again. The man moved closer, his hands raised in front of him, "How many times do I have to tell you; you do not need to actually spill blood for me. I can do that part myself."
Isobel felt the pressure around her neck vanish and she stumbled forward slightly, hand pressed to the slight cut on the tender part of her neck. Before she knew what was happening she found herself pressed against the man, his green jacket draped around her shoulders. He was swiftly shepherding her to the edge of the circle, towards the darkness of the forest. He was waving his hand back towards the crowd, "So, yeah, thanks for this. I'll see you all around."
Isobel looked back at the stunned revellers. They seemed highly confused. The man again, raised a placatory arm and waved in their direction, "I'll see you next year then. I promise to be good to you all and stuff, and to, er, repay you generously for this fine gift you've given me. Ok, seeya, bye."
As the man hustled her into the cool, damp nighttime forest Isobel wondered whether she might have jumped straight from the frying pan and into the fire. She looked up at him, her mouth open slightly, so many unanswered questions just waiting to escape.
He looked down at her and shook his head, placing a finger to his own lips, "Save the questions for later. We need to get out of here." He directed a thumb back over his shoulder, "You may not have noticed, but these people are insane."
(later)
Isobel watched the man walk around the kitchen, opening and closing drawers. From the frustrated sighs he kept making, she assumed he couldn't find what he wanted. She looked down at herself, still dressed in white, still with his jacket draped round her shoulders. He had placed a steaming mug of liquid down on the table in front of her some time ago, but had told her she couldn't drink it yet.
Hearing footsteps approaching and sensing him standing by her side, she looked up. Slowly he dropped two marshmallows into the liquid in the cup and nodded at her, looking satisfied. "Now you can drink." He sat down opposite her at the table and smiled, crossing his arms in front of him, "So, questions, comments?"
Isobel had many of both, but looking at him and taking in the enormity of the situation she realised she could not form the words. Instead she looked down at the mug, watching the marshmallows bob and melt into the liquid.
The man watched her silently, still smiling. Inside his heart was racing. She was the first real companion he had had in centuries and yet she could not speak to him. Gently he reached out with his mind, trying to understand how she was feeling.
Isobel sighed, looking into the man's light brown eyes. Who are you? Where am I? What is going to happen to me? Why did you save me? When can I go home? The questions were there she just couldn't speak. She felt cold, the shock of the night finally catching up to her. Her hands were shaking slightly where they were bundled in her lap.
The man's eyes softened, the smile falling from his face. "I can answer those questions if you want me to."
(later)
The Trickster watched her sleep, curled up under his covers, his jacket still wrapped around her. The early morning light was threading fingers through her blonde hair, making it glisten.
In a few hours she would wake up and, knowing this he prayed for time to slow down, he would have to take her back home as he had promised her last night. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. He wished he had not made that promise.
He had talked for hours, sitting opposite her at the table. He had answered every question she had, leaving out a few important details about his past. He did not want to scare her anymore than he already had. When she had started to fall asleep he had felt disappointed. He wanted to hear all about her, wanted to know everything there was to know about her.
He looked at her again and started to reach out with his mind. In her dreams she was back in the clearing, knife at her throat, but he was not there. Nobody was going to save her.
Pulling back he sat gently by her side and ran a hand through her hair, whispering her name, "Isobel, wake up now."
Her eyes blinked open and her upper body flew away from the bed. She was still in the nightmare, looking around her wildly until her eyes fell on him. Not expecting it, but feeling happy nonetheless, the Trickster smiled when she wrapped her arms around him and clung on tight, burying her head under his chin.
Isobel couldn't believe what she was doing at first. Cosying up to a pagan god probably wasn't the best idea she'd ever had. She did feel a little guilty though, she had not thanked him for helping her last night and her nightmare had made it all too clear what would have happened to her if he had not turned up.
He groaned slightly, too quietly for her to hear, as he pushed her back. "I like you too." He laughed. "Now, breakfast, and then I'll get you home."
She saw his face fall slightly as he said those words, and Isobel felt the waves of guilt washing over her again. " I have to say though, you are by far the best sacrifice I've had in a long time, Isobel."
She laughed. Watching him move around the kitchen she remembered him telling her about some of his best pranks. She had laughed, purely because he told the tales with such passion and enthusiasm. She had known it was wrong of her to laugh; after all he had killed people, but she found she couldn't help herself. She couldn't remember having laughed so much before.
Over breakfast Isobel told him how she had become involved in the ritual last night; how she had met Freya. He thought it was hilarious, of course. He told her of the countless small children he had returned to their homes throughout the years; all of them meant to be sacrifices to him, the bloodthirsty Trickster god.
Soon enough though, breakfast was over and the plates had been washed and returned to their places in the cupboards. Despite enjoying her time with the man more than she thought she would, or should, she was surprised by the mixed feelings she felt as she stood outside her flat facing him.
(later)
He too was overwhelmed somewhat by the emotions he was feeling. He did not want to let her go. Even now, he was picturing whisking her away with him, never letting her leave. He found that he couldn't even look at her.
Isobel was upset to see that the smile had disappeared from his face; he looked so downcast it was heartbreaking. She bit her lip and placed a hand on his arm, "Will I see you again?"
He didn't meet her eyes, "You're forgetting who I am. Most people pray never to see me again."
She smiled slightly, "Oh, sorry, I forgot, big bad Trickster god, right?" She was slightly confused when he didn't laugh with her. "Listen, I just enjoyed spending time with you. I know it must sound really stupid to you."
Still not looking at her, he simply shrugged and nodded his head.
Isobel shook her head, feeling her eyes start to water. Quickly she pulled her keys out of her bag and fumbled with them, trying to get her door open before he saw her crying.
"Please, Isobel, don't be sad." His hand was on hers again, stopping her completing her task of opening the door. "I don't mean to hurt you, but I'm only trying to do the right thing." She looked confused, and he felt his own eyes start to sting. "You just, can't understand. You're the first person who has understood me, known who I am, and not been terrified of me. You're the first person who has laughed when I told them I've killed people for fun. I just… don't want you to go… I've been so lonely."
Isobel shook his hand away from hers and opened her door. Stepping in she looked at him, "Please, come inside. Just for awhile."
He felt what little will he had fade away as he stepped towards her, closing the door behind him and gently holding her against it.
Isobel closed her eyes, feeling his warmth pressed against her, and placed her hands on his chest.
He studied her carefully; her eyes fluttering slightly, mouth slightly open. He smiled to himself as he took in the white sacrificial dress covering her. Under him he could feel her heart pounding wildly in her chest.
When his lips met hers, he was more gentle and tentative than she imagined he would be. He almost teased her with his mouth, nudging against her lips until she gave in and responded.
The Trickster felt his heart beat faster as she moaned in satisfaction. He felt her curl her hands around the material of his shirt, pulling him closer. Gently, he pushed her head back further against the door, breaking contact with her lips and kissing down her jaw to her neck. Slowly he ran his lips and his tongue over the small, ragged cut she had sustained last night, earning him another moan of pleasure. When he looked at her again, the cut was gone, replaced by smooth, white skin.
Slowly, he ran his hand up her leg, dragging the filmy white material up until her thigh was uncovered.
Sensing what he wanted, Isobel bent her knee and lifted her leg, placing it around his waist. Feeling his warmth between her legs made her cry out again. She bit her lip, lowering her head to his shoulder and placing small kisses and bites on his skin.
He grasped hold of her other leg tightly, pulling it up till she was supported only by his arms, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist. The cries and muffled moans coming from her caused a lump in his throat; infuriated him and excited him at the same time. He forced himself against her more tightly, grinding himself against her.
Gasping, Isobel threw her head back. She wanted to cry out, to say his name, but she had no name to say. Instead she begged him to continue, "Please…please don't stop."
The Trickster moved his hand between them and under her dress, pushing her underwear aside. Isobel felt the familiar aching deep inside her and begged him to take her.
He freed himself from his jeans and leaned closer to her, hearing her sharp intake of breath at the feel of him. Placing a hand on the door above her head to steady himself, he moved closer, whispering in her ear, "I want you to call me Gabriel."
Isobel nodded and closed her eyes, gritting her teeth as he pushed against her. This time there was no barrier and he entered her, smoothly, pushing into her as far as he could until the small of her back was tight against the door.
At first he was slow and gentle, not wanting to hurt her. He slid in and out of her slowly, over and over again, feeling the delightful clenching of her muscles each time he plunged back into her. She was shaking in his arms, but he held her tightly, biting her neck softly, whispering to her and not even really knowing what he was saying.
It felt like torture to Isobel; each time he pulled away only to spread her wide again, invading her and forcing a soft moan from her mouth.
As he pushed into her with his body, he also did so with his mind. He felt like he was swimming, drowning in her. He could hear her, almost screaming at him with her mind, to go faster, harder. He wouldn't though, not till she said it.
She was so quiet, her voice cracking as she dug her nails into his back, that he almost didn't hear her. "Please… faster. Gabriel, please."
So he obeyed. Placing his hands on her hips and forcing her closer to him, he relentlessly, savagely pounded into her until she could barely speak. He loved each sound she made, every sigh, moan, strangled yelp. Each time his name fell, tumbled, from her lips he responded to whatever she commanded.
Some time later, he realised they were no longer against the door. Instead he was on top of her on the floor, still thrusting into her, testing the boundaries between pleasure and pain, as he held her hands above her head.
Isobel sighed as he collapsed on top of her, finally spent. She looked to the window and saw the sky had darkened, casting shadows around the room. Only in this light could she seem them, darker shadows curling and unfurling behind her lover. The shape of wings on the wall.
They sat talking again that night, wrapped in each other's arms. He told her what he really was, explained everything, whispered gently to her when she was at first afraid of him.
She promised she would never leave him that night. Neither knew whether it was really true; but in that moment it felt like it was.