Characters: Sam/Dean (Wincest)
Summary: Four connected drabbles on channeling the rush that hunting leaves behind…
Author's Notes: For the lovely girlmostlikely on her birthday—who cherishes both Wincest and drabbles, and so what combination could be better?
Destroying the Li'kreth demon takes a crossbow.
That's Sam's weapon—smooth wood frame and tautly loaded string, the arrow metal-honed and waiting for its target.
Sam waits in the shadows, biding his time. The demon prowls and sights, beckoned by blood, and then it turns and bares its weakness to Sam's ruthless aim.
The kill is clean and the demon vanishes into dust.
Sam and Dean are back at the car before the last specks settle, shoving up hard against the side of the passenger door, with lips and teeth and pushy hands making the most of the fading rush.
Whether called by curse or created by betrayal, banshees cannot hide for long.
Easy to find, often easier to kill, they leave blissful silence in their wake and air that aches for something to fill the void.
Under trees or the shelter of nearby buildings, the brothers grasp each other—strong and sure and ready to sink into each other's skin. They chase kisses along goose-pimpled flesh, fingers over-ready and fumbling as buttons and zippers lose the battle to heated desire.
The night swells with throaty, desperate sounds then. In love's music, the balance of life is once again restored.
Laying a ghost to rest is quiet work, but still unsettling. Not the digging-- it's exposing the remains in order to salt and burn what's left.
There's no adrenaline rush from shutting down a ghost, and it leaves them both moody instead.
But it doesn't last—back at the car or motel, the smell is earthy, loam and wood-smoke drowning out gasoline and unwanted memories.
All that's left is the energy of flames, and they give into it without thinking.
They heat and scorch and brand each other with touch, and it's clear they somehow both like fire too much.
Vampire kills are messy—nothing like the thrust-and-dust on television, not fast or easy or quickly forgotten.
But the vampires themselves create a certain atmosphere before that ending. Their supernatural sex-appeal coats every word and movement and threat. Where normal people get pulled in, a Hunter stands apart—but can't help being swayed by the mood.
On the bad nights, it's gory or there's a victim to coddle afterward.
But on the good nights, the two of them speed off to safety, where they lick and suck over each other all flesh-fever frenzied-- searching for release, before that feeling fades.
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