Unzip my Body
Oct. 5th, 2010 12:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
super_seme04AN: This came into being under sun like praise of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
blualbino and the title is taken from Roisin Murphy's "Ramalama (Bang Bang)". Same 'verse as this.
Pairing: War/Dean/Delilah (War's delicious looking Mustang)
Genre: AU, PWP
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Summary: Dean's pretty sure that they're eventually going to eat him alive. What a way to go, huh?
He would feel really stupid talking to a car if he already didn't personify his baby.
Don't tell Sam that he knows what that word means.
Just don't.
Dean only came outside because it's a slow day and Sam is taking a rare afternoon nap. It looks like someone spilled him across his bed, but he still manages to look like that cute, snot nosed brat whose first word was "Dee."
Seeing her out there glinting in the sun was a surprise, though.
"...Son of a bitch," Dean says as he glances around.
There's no sight of War, but Dean is suddenly wired and every nerve is screaming.
If the hair on the back of his neck starts to rise, he won't be ashamed to make a quick exit.
Her headlights wink at him and honestly, she's just a car.
A sentient car.
Don't tell Sam he knows that word, either.
"...Delilah?"
She revs lazily and it's like a low, heavy laugh that settles over his skin.
She's almost worse than War.
That shouldn't be amusing.
"Where's your daddy, girl," Dean asks as he pets her hood.
He gets the sudden image of something shapeless but definite eagerly pushing into his hand and blinks in surprise.
"Whoa, missed you, too," he chuckles.
The Impala is silent in the distance and Dean's going to do something extra special for her to atone for this.
"I really doubt that this is paint," he confesses to Delilah as he squints down at the unnatural brightness of her.
"That's Vikings and the Roman Legion and Hitler's supermen and all those revolutionaries that you worship, kiddo. Joan of Arc. George Washington. Cortes."
Delilah purrs under War's fingers and she sounds better than porn.
"The blood of murderers and kings and peasants keep her gorgeous," the Horseman proudly says. "You're in there, too."
"...That's actually gross."
War smiles against his neck and Dean can already feel his teeth.
"She likes it when you bleed for her, Dean. You know she loves every drop of you that she can get. Your sweat, your blood, your come. Blood isn't the only thing that gives life, pumpkin," War chidingly says.
"It's not even three yet," Dean complains though he still braces himself on Delilah.
She hums beneath his fingers and sinks beneath his skin to liquefy his bones.
"You guys suck," Dean unevenly says as his legs tremble, "s-so much."
One of them makes a noise so jarring and utterly inhuman that his ears pop.
"We've got you, we've got you..."
Dean grunts and tries to find some kind of friction because it should take more than this to make him a complete mess.
Then again, they are more than anything he's ever had.
Delilah slides into that almost inaudible shift of gears that makes him tingle all the way down to his toes. He's pretty sure that War is the only thing holding him up because gravity fucking hates him.
She's hot and slick under his hands now and it should be fucked up that he likes how she feels, but worse things have happened.
Considering the history Winchesters have with supernatural beings, going steady with a Horseman of the Apocalypse and his slightly psycho car doesn't seem that bad.
"...We're going steady?Just be easy, baby," War laughs into his ear.
Dean's fingers are wet and sticky and it's like Delilah is in his ear scrambling his thoughts with each rev of her engine. All he can do right now is feel with the limited senses that he has.
Someone, something needs to at least touch him so there can be a reason he's about to come in his pants like he's 14 again...
"Close your eyes, close your eyes..."
"W-war, I'm not gonna-"
Slim, soft fingers cover his eyes and Dean stills.
"Wha-"
"Dean."
He makes a noise because no.
No.
"Fuck," he breathlessly says. "Oh, f-fuck."
She laughs and it's like the open road with the sun down and Sam asleep, safe.
She's solid and there's no softness to her as he touches her with shaking hands.
There are scars across skin that feels like velvet but doesn't give an inch when he almost breaks his fingers on her.
She laughs then bites at his lip and he doesn't know if it's his blood that he tastes.
"Easy, easy," War gently says.
Delilah lets out an impatient rumble against Dean's skin and this close, it's like thunder in his head.
She smells like blood and iron and smoke, but there's a sweetness under all of that. Something faint and teasing that makes his mouth water and his skin crawl because it shouldn't be there.
Her fingers are still pressed over his eyes as she nuzzles at his face like a cat and her hair tickles his nose.
"Dean," she happily says.
War coos indulgently and Dean peeks through her fingers to see a glimpse of pale, blood streaked skin and impossibly sharp, white teeth.
His stomach flips when an eye the color of rust peers back at him.
"Cheater," she drawls like a slow roll to a stop.
War bites at his neck and Dean groans as blood coated fingers trace his lips.
His hands are still braced on the Mustang and this could get confusing.
Delilah gently holds his face in her hands as War makes him fall to pieces with nothing but his mouth and his fingertips.
"I can't, I c-can't," Dean stammers out as she holds his eyes steady and it's like the ground is shaking beneath them and he can hear drums and cannons and horses and guns and it's so much, too much, but all she does is just watch him as they break him open with nothing but sound and sensation.
"Easy, easy..."
Nothing about this is easy but it's all so simple that it's terrifying.
War is savage, reckless, greedy.
Delilah is steel, grace, history.
And Dean is every sound that they rip from his lungs.
His shirt is seared to his back with sweat and Delilah hums against his skin as he clings to her. Dean lost the ability to stand when her fingers crept under his shirt and War spreads something like napalm across his skin with kisses.
When Dean finally comes, it's not a surrender.
There's no ceasefire or laying down of arms.
He reaches back for War almost blindly as he crushes a laugh out of Delilah's mouth with his lips and his tongue and his teeth.
"Good, good, so good," War murmurs with pride.
Dean would roll his eyes.
Really.
However, Delilah's fingers are combing through his hair and her lips are at the corner of his mouth, curved into a smile.
blualbino and the title is taken from Roisin Murphy's "Ramalama (Bang Bang)". Same 'verse as this.Pairing: War/Dean/Delilah (War's delicious looking Mustang)
Genre: AU, PWP
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: R
Summary: Dean's pretty sure that they're eventually going to eat him alive. What a way to go, huh?
He would feel really stupid talking to a car if he already didn't personify his baby.
Don't tell Sam that he knows what that word means.
Just don't.
Dean only came outside because it's a slow day and Sam is taking a rare afternoon nap. It looks like someone spilled him across his bed, but he still manages to look like that cute, snot nosed brat whose first word was "Dee."
Seeing her out there glinting in the sun was a surprise, though.
"...Son of a bitch," Dean says as he glances around.
There's no sight of War, but Dean is suddenly wired and every nerve is screaming.
If the hair on the back of his neck starts to rise, he won't be ashamed to make a quick exit.
Her headlights wink at him and honestly, she's just a car.
A sentient car.
Don't tell Sam he knows that word, either.
"...Delilah?"
She revs lazily and it's like a low, heavy laugh that settles over his skin.
She's almost worse than War.
That shouldn't be amusing.
"Where's your daddy, girl," Dean asks as he pets her hood.
He gets the sudden image of something shapeless but definite eagerly pushing into his hand and blinks in surprise.
"Whoa, missed you, too," he chuckles.
The Impala is silent in the distance and Dean's going to do something extra special for her to atone for this.
"I really doubt that this is paint," he confesses to Delilah as he squints down at the unnatural brightness of her.
"That's Vikings and the Roman Legion and Hitler's supermen and all those revolutionaries that you worship, kiddo. Joan of Arc. George Washington. Cortes."
Delilah purrs under War's fingers and she sounds better than porn.
"The blood of murderers and kings and peasants keep her gorgeous," the Horseman proudly says. "You're in there, too."
"...That's actually gross."
War smiles against his neck and Dean can already feel his teeth.
"She likes it when you bleed for her, Dean. You know she loves every drop of you that she can get. Your sweat, your blood, your come. Blood isn't the only thing that gives life, pumpkin," War chidingly says.
"It's not even three yet," Dean complains though he still braces himself on Delilah.
She hums beneath his fingers and sinks beneath his skin to liquefy his bones.
"You guys suck," Dean unevenly says as his legs tremble, "s-so much."
One of them makes a noise so jarring and utterly inhuman that his ears pop.
"We've got you, we've got you..."
Dean grunts and tries to find some kind of friction because it should take more than this to make him a complete mess.
Then again, they are more than anything he's ever had.
Delilah slides into that almost inaudible shift of gears that makes him tingle all the way down to his toes. He's pretty sure that War is the only thing holding him up because gravity fucking hates him.
She's hot and slick under his hands now and it should be fucked up that he likes how she feels, but worse things have happened.
Considering the history Winchesters have with supernatural beings, going steady with a Horseman of the Apocalypse and his slightly psycho car doesn't seem that bad.
"...We're going steady?Just be easy, baby," War laughs into his ear.
Dean's fingers are wet and sticky and it's like Delilah is in his ear scrambling his thoughts with each rev of her engine. All he can do right now is feel with the limited senses that he has.
Someone, something needs to at least touch him so there can be a reason he's about to come in his pants like he's 14 again...
"Close your eyes, close your eyes..."
"W-war, I'm not gonna-"
Slim, soft fingers cover his eyes and Dean stills.
"Wha-"
"Dean."
He makes a noise because no.
No.
"Fuck," he breathlessly says. "Oh, f-fuck."
She laughs and it's like the open road with the sun down and Sam asleep, safe.
She's solid and there's no softness to her as he touches her with shaking hands.
There are scars across skin that feels like velvet but doesn't give an inch when he almost breaks his fingers on her.
She laughs then bites at his lip and he doesn't know if it's his blood that he tastes.
"Easy, easy," War gently says.
Delilah lets out an impatient rumble against Dean's skin and this close, it's like thunder in his head.
She smells like blood and iron and smoke, but there's a sweetness under all of that. Something faint and teasing that makes his mouth water and his skin crawl because it shouldn't be there.
Her fingers are still pressed over his eyes as she nuzzles at his face like a cat and her hair tickles his nose.
"Dean," she happily says.
War coos indulgently and Dean peeks through her fingers to see a glimpse of pale, blood streaked skin and impossibly sharp, white teeth.
His stomach flips when an eye the color of rust peers back at him.
"Cheater," she drawls like a slow roll to a stop.
War bites at his neck and Dean groans as blood coated fingers trace his lips.
His hands are still braced on the Mustang and this could get confusing.
Delilah gently holds his face in her hands as War makes him fall to pieces with nothing but his mouth and his fingertips.
"I can't, I c-can't," Dean stammers out as she holds his eyes steady and it's like the ground is shaking beneath them and he can hear drums and cannons and horses and guns and it's so much, too much, but all she does is just watch him as they break him open with nothing but sound and sensation.
"Easy, easy..."
Nothing about this is easy but it's all so simple that it's terrifying.
War is savage, reckless, greedy.
Delilah is steel, grace, history.
And Dean is every sound that they rip from his lungs.
His shirt is seared to his back with sweat and Delilah hums against his skin as he clings to her. Dean lost the ability to stand when her fingers crept under his shirt and War spreads something like napalm across his skin with kisses.
When Dean finally comes, it's not a surrender.
There's no ceasefire or laying down of arms.
He reaches back for War almost blindly as he crushes a laugh out of Delilah's mouth with his lips and his tongue and his teeth.
"Good, good, so good," War murmurs with pride.
Dean would roll his eyes.
Really.
However, Delilah's fingers are combing through his hair and her lips are at the corner of his mouth, curved into a smile.
