#ruby !!

You’re cordial with her when you must be. It’s not often that you meet her face to face. The Winchesters like you, you think—more than they like most of the angels, at least—and they must know you’re not too keen on interacting with this Ruby. Though they call on you and Castiel like you’re their own personal guard dogs, though you can sense her continued presence all over Sam everytime you speak to them, the men do a good job of keeping the two of you entirely separate. You’d find it considerate if you didn’t have a job to do. Your mission is to protect the brothers, and Ruby’s presence sticks in your mind like a splinter. An itch you can’t scratch. The way she occupies your thoughts—she’s dangerous, she must be. You need to neutralize the threat.

You cannot track her, not the way you could anyone else. You’d fear she warded herself physically, but a few pointed conversations with the Winchesters lead to a bemused Dean telling you the shroud comes from some sort of spell. A hex bag. This, you know, will be much easier to deal with than any sort of markings on the skin—or, Father forbid, the skeleton—of her vessel. All you have to do is sabotage the spell, and all you have to do to accomplish that is find her. 

It’s not hard. Ruby may be hidden from you, but Sam is not. The younger Winchester is a bleeding heart; he trusts you. Following him to his pet devil, an angel on his shoulder, is no challenge at all. The motel he meets her at is exceptionally normal. Somehow, you expected something overtly evil. She is hellspawn, after all. But the room is simple, nearly identical to the ones you’d grown accustomed to Sam and Dean calling you to over the past few months. You’re not sure you like the association. 

You slip the hex bag from its place tucked in the pocket of a coat, careful to keep your actions as silent as possible. You may not be visible to the two occupants of the room, but if you make enough noise to draw them from their conversation, your cover may still be blown. Strangely, as you carefully untie the knot at the top of the cloth, you feel almost…guilty. It is true, you suppose, that you’ve betrayed Sam’s trust by following him here, but what you’re doing is for his good, in the end. That’s what you tell yourself as you remove a bone from the cloth and replace the bag exactly where you found it. If Sam Winchester’s trust is the only casualty in keeping him and his brother alive, then that’s simply a sacrifice you will have to make. 

Your sabotage works exactly as you expected it to. The next time you search for her, when you’re sure Sam is occupied on some hunt or another, you find her as easily as you’d find anyone else, demonic or otherwise. It sends something smug up your spine, and your wings, which usually after flying would return to relaxing at your back, flutter and spread wide like a preening bird, watching Ruby wipe the blood off her knife on the shirt of the fallen demon at her feet. 

It would be so easy to smite her, here and now. She could fight you, perhaps, if you don’t quite have the element of surprise you think you do, but she has no way to kill you. Her puny knife has no effect on the heavenly host. Still, something gives you pause. A hesitance that emanates somewhere near your gut, rather than your mind. It makes no sense, but gives you a moment to think. You may be willing to sacrifice the Winchesters’ trust in you, but Heaven needs the begrudging trust they’ve gained with the righteous man. Dean may not like Ruby, but for you to kill her despite their hesitant allegiance…he will see it as a betrayal, and in his eyes, a betrayal on your behalf is a betrayal on behalf of Heaven itself. So no, you can’t kill her, not without reason—a provable reason. 

You assume it would be fairly easy to find one, but Ruby doesn’t seem to do much of anything at all. She meets up with Sam, interrogates the occasional demon, but outside of that she seems mostly to be lying in wait. 9 times out of 10 you find her drinking, eating. Nothing really all that debaucherous at all. The lack of anything substantial should soothe your mind, but, if anything, you fixate even more with every day that passes by with no proof. Obsessive, every moment you have to yourself is spent over Ruby’s shoulder, watching. She will slip up, you know it, and when she does, you will be there to see it. 

You find yourself watching as she patters around a motel room. From your station at the corner of the room, you can see it all. She picks up a takeout menu, she picks up a phone, sets them both down, seemingly changing her mind. She stretches her arms over her head, and your eyes drop and catch on a strip of smooth, tan skin above the waistband of her jeans where the tank top she wears has ridden up. Her bare skin holds your attention even as she drops her arms. She doesn’t fix her top. Your heart—your vessel’s heart, technically, that still beats to keep the skin and muscles that contain your angelic form from decaying and rotting around you—stutters and begins to race. It’s such a novel event that you don’t notice Ruby’s approach until it’s too late. 

She stops in front of you, less than a foot away, and you are suddenly stuck between a rock and a hard place. You cannot back up, the bedside table directly at your back prevents you from doing so. Obviously, you cannot move forward past her. You’re stuck. 

Ruby faces you, but she does not look at you. Instead, her gaze casts downwards, and you follow her eyes to see her chest, cleavage accentuated by the deep cut neckline of her shirt. Your hand twitches, warm at your side. Her hands shift to the hem of her top, fingers hooking underneath it. With her arms in front of her, the space between you grows even slimmer. You don’t breathe, you have no need to; still, you hold your breath as if it would help you pass undetected. 

Time seems to slow—every inch of revealed skin feels like it takes hours as she removes her shirt. Your gaze lingers on every one, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes take in acres of tan skin, catching on the tuft of coarse hair below her navel. It becomes increasingly clear with each passing moment that she wears nothing underneath, clearer and clearer until her bare torso is laid out in front of you and there is—

There is something wrong with your vessel. It should have been obvious from the moment your heart began to race, but you allowed the hellspawn to distract you. Now, though, it is undeniable. Your skin is hot, especially your face, and your pupils are blown wide as if the room was pitch dark. Your muscles are tight, something twisting in your chest, your gut. She turns to the side, facing the bed, and stretches again, and the shift of her shoulders makes your heart beats so loudly you fear the sound will give you away. Most concerningly of all, though, is your wings. Again, they spread wide and preening at your back, almost as if you were presenting them. Something is very, very wrong. 

You stumble back in an effort to put as much distance between the two of you as possible, and you knock into the table in the process. Ruby’s attention snaps to the noise, and the grin on her face leaves no doubt in your mind. She’s done this. She knows you’re here, she knows you’re onto her, and she’s performed some sort of spell—though you know of none that would have this effect on your kind. 

In the split second between the flutter of your wings and your leaving, you swear you hear her laugh. 

You’re determined to keep your distance for a few days. You have no idea what she’s done to you to make your vessel react like that, and you have no idea what other effects it could have. Despite your urge to tail her even closer in response, you know it would be unwise. 

Except you can’t stop seeing the way she grinned, like she’d gotten exactly what she wanted. Except you can’t stop seeing her. The expanse of her stomach, the small of her back dusted with soft peach fuzz. The dip between her breasts. Her visage plagues your mind incessantly, and before you even realize what you’re doing, you find yourself in a motel room, staring her down. 

“I told you before, Ruby.” You’re so fixated that Sam’s voice startles you. You don’t know how you could have missed him; he sits on the edge of the bed, hands on Ruby’s waist where she stands between his legs. She cuts her eyes to the side, and if you weren’t sure there was no way she could see you, you’d be worried. “I’m not—I’m not doing that anymore. I meant it.” 

That piques your interest. If you could prove to Dean that Ruby was drawing Sam back to the dark he’d been so adamant on keeping away from his brother, he certainly would not protest putting her down.

Ruby smirks, drawing her hand up Sam’s chest. “I heard you. But you can’t think I’d be opposed to some good, old-fashioned hedonism.” Then, in a mirror of her actions the last time you saw her, she draws her shirt over her head, letting it fall from her fingers carelessly. Sam’s fingers tighten on her waist. Yours tighten into fists at your sides. “Hmm?” 

You really should leave. Following Sam to get to Ruby was one thing, but this, the look on his face, this is…vulnerable. You never wanted to get him caught up in your obsession, not like this. You shouldn’t be here. 

But then Ruby leans forward, her mouth brushing his skin, to speak quietly in his ear. You can’t quite make out what she says, but you’re almost sure she says your name, falling like a hymn from honeyed lips. Entranced, you take a step towards them just as Sam groans, his hand slipping across her skin to settle at the small of her back and drag her closer. He sinks his teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and you can almost feel it. The warmth of her back under your palm, the plush of her skin beneath your teeth. 

Your eyes meet Ruby’s, the warm, chocolate brown irises of her vessel drawing you in, so much so that you ignore the echoing strangeness of the eye contact until it finally clicks in your mind. She’s looking at you; not just near you, but at you, as if she could see you, but that is not possible. Although, you consider the way she walked straight up to you the last time she antagonized you. The way she’s looking straight towards you now. She shouldn’t be able to, but she knows exactly where you are. And she is doing this on purpose, you know she is. And you are done playing her game. 

Your wings flutter, taking you out of the motel room and into the quiet rose garden of an elderly midwestern woman’s heaven. It’s peaceful here, and it leaves you with room to think, finally, a million miles away from that devil. What she’s done….you’re not really sure, exactly, what she’s done, but you know that it is vile, and you’re sure that if Dean Winchester knew what you do, he would not hesitate to agree that Ruby needs to be neutralized. 

Your hand tingles with phantom sparks, your teeth grinding where you pace along the edge of the garden. Righteous man be damned, the next time you get her alone, you will put that blasphemous creature down, so help you God. Heaven will thank you, in the end. 

You must wait. It’s hard to do so now that you’ve made your mind up, but patience is a virtue. The last thing you want is to end up in a similar position to the last time. Sam Winchester must be as far away from Ruby as possible when the deed is done. In the end, it takes two days for the distance to be wide enough for you to feel comfortable. 

Ruby lounges on a motel bed when you arrive. Her eyes are closed, but her smile tells you she knows you’re here. So much for taking her by surprise. “You know, I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me,” she says, speaking out loud to what to her is essentially an empty room. But, of course, she opens one eye to look right at you. “How about you come out and play, huh?” 

Her voice, so taunting, draws a billowing sort of rage from your chest. You cross the room before you appear before her, just so you don’t prove her right. “There should have been no way for you to even tell a difference,” you tell her, your own voice tight with your growing frustration. She’s toying with you. 

She rolls her eyes, her head lolling to the side to look at you. “Chill, feathers. Don’t get your halo in a twist.” She pushes herself up and tosses her legs off the side of the bed, now sitting facing you where you stand near the wall. Her hair is mussed from the cheap pillows. Your mind unhelpfully provides you with an image of your fingers smoothing it down.  “I thought it was only fair, seeing as you decided to ruin my hex bag. Was I supposed to let every holy roller from on high come and zap my ass just because you wanted to shadow me?” 

That certainly would’ve made your life a lot easier. You shift on your feet, straightening your spine as you stare her down. “So you have placed a spell upon me?” At least you’re not going crazy. 

Ruby scoffs. “No, I placed a spell upon myself, genius,” she retorts, her voice mocking as she shoots your words back at you. The irritation in your chest sparks and shoots down your spine where it twists into…something else. “Just so I’d know if you or any of your buddies were coming after me. Came in handy, though.” She shifts her eyes, then, from your face to somewhere to the side and just behind you, and she grins—that same, infuriating, ‘you’re playing right into my hand’ type grin that got you here in the first place. “Your wings are pretty, angel. You preening like that for me?” 

She’s bluffing. It doesn’t matter what sort of spell she’s using, there is absolutely no way she could see your wings. Her eyes would melt from her skull before she could even catch a glimpse. Still, your jaw grows tense, teeth clicking together as you close your wings behind your back self-consciously. “What have you done to me?” you growl, taking a step towards her that you hope is threatening. 

She just laughs, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. Your eyes flick down to the neckline of her shirt before you force them back to hers. “You poor thing,” she coos, the condescension twisting your gut even further. “You don’t even know you want me, do you?” 

Her words give you pause. Arousal. That is what you feel twisting around your spine and your gut and dipping between your legs, that is what has had your heart racing and your skin heating and your mind stuttering and stalling. Like many things when it comes to Ruby, it shouldn’t be possible—not for you, not for any part of the heavenly host—but as she points it out, you cannot deny it. Not to yourself, anyway. “I am an angel of the Lord,” you say, your voice carefully level. Purposefully impartial. “The only thing I want is your head on a pike.” 

She doesn’t seem to believe you. In fact, she doesn’t seem threatened at all, hasn’t since you got here. “Sure. So why don’t you kill me then?” She stands and takes a step towards you. You take a step back. “If you want me dead so bad, why didn’t you kill me right after you sabotaged my hex bag?” For every step she takes towards you, you take another away. It doesn’t deter her—it only makes her smirk as she mocks you. “Or when you were watching me change? Or, you know what, how about when you were watching me and Sam?” Your back hits the wall, and she laughs in your face. “You know, I think he likes you—”

“Enough,” you grit out, ignoring, once again, the pounding of your heart. She stands so close. You could count her eyelashes, if you wanted to. You almost do. 

Her lips turn down in a little pout. You kind of want to bite it. “Oh, don’t get all upset, angel,” she purrs, lifting her hand to brush her fingers against a strand of your hair. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, and you watch her eyes follow the movement. It’s a little intoxicating. “I like you too. Why else do you think I put up with you trailing me like a lost puppy for so long?” 

The space between you—what little remains of one, anyway—sparks with tension, heavy and thick like the air before a storm. You gather yourself, dragging your voice up from where it’s dropped out along with your stomach. “I don’t…” you trail off, lost for words to describe this because you don’t know. In the abstract, of course, you understand. Sex, desire—you understand these things in perhaps the same way a human might understand your metaphysical form. Something entirely theoretical, something that wasn’t meant for you. But here you are, wanting, yearning. Desiring. And you are left with no concept as to how. 

Ruby smiles again, but this one is…not quite so biting. Not soft, nothing about her is soft, but it’s something close. “I know,” she mutters, and her voice brushes over your skin brimming with mirth, a joke passed between the two of you that you’re not sure you quite understand. Then her hand slips behind your head, firm against the back of your neck, and you don’t care anymore. “That might just be the best part.” 

Then she draws you in, presses her lips against yours, and as your eyes flutter shut, you know you were wrong. She is not soft, not even now, not even as she kisses you, deep and intent, but her lips where they move against yours, the skin on her face where you lift your hand to hold her, they are soft. They are plush and warm and deceiving, and you understand, in an instant, why Eve bit the apple. You sink your teeth into Ruby’s bottom lip, swallowing her groan as sweet, ripe fruit. 

You chase her lips as she pulls away, and she laughs as you land another kiss, two, three, before she catches you with a hand buried in the hair at the back of your neck. “You sure you’ve never done that before?” she teases, tugging at your hair and sending shocks of pleasure-pain down your neck until you open your eyes to meet hers. “You’re a quick learner, angel.” 

It takes you a moment to catch your breath again, your hands smoothing down her neck and across her shoulders. Her skin is warm under your hands, and you want to feel more. You want to feel it all, you want to draw up a map on her flesh, mark down all the places that make her shudder. “My…vessel, perhaps—” you start, but she interrupts you before you can get much further. 

“I don’t actually care,” she tells you, and though the words are blunt, they are not unkind. You think she may be just as impatient as you are. Her hand drops from your neck to your waist and the other comes up to meet it, shoving their way under your shirt to press against your bare skin. “I’ve got something better planned for that mouth of yours. Come on, arms up.” 

Ever obedient, you lift your arms and hers follow, tugging your shirt up and over your head. You feel her heated gaze like a physical thing as it roves over your skin, a phantom touch as her eyes linger on the line where the fabric of your bra ends and the swell of your breast begins. She raises her eyes to meet yours again, and then she smirks, and for the third time, you watch her remove her top. The difference is this time, you get to touch. 

She presses you back against the wall in another all-consuming kiss, distracting you from her hands fiddling with the button of your jeans. You give as good as you get, a new mission growing clearer and clearer in front of you. You want to know every part of her, you want to leave your fingerprints on every inch of her skin. You start at the small of her back, drawing her closer until she shoves her knee between your thighs, sending jolts of pleasure up your spine. The noise that it draws out of your throat shocks you, leaves you panting into Ruby’s mouth as she smirks against yours. 

“Yeah?” she murmurs, ducking her head to lay a line of biting kisses up your throat as her fingers finally pop the button on your pants. “I’m not so bad, am I?” 

You slide your hands over her waist, drawing your fingers through the hair at the center of her lower belly. Your mouth waters at the thought of it. “No. No, you’re…” you trail off, too busy cupping her breasts in your hands to come up with a word to describe what she’s making you feel right now. 

You feel her moan against her neck, and the vibrations of it against your skin encourage you to brush your thumb over her nipple. She rewards you with the sensation of her teeth against your collarbone and her fingers hooking into your belt loops and dragging you bodily forward. Your senses are so overwhelmed that you don’t even realize she’s flipped your positions until she’s using your belt loops to pull your hips against hers as she backs against the wall.  

“You know, angel, I’ve gotta say…you look good like this,” Ruby tells you, dragging a line of hot, wet kisses all the way up your throat and smoothing her hands over your stomach, your ribs. She pauses when she gets to your bra, paying a little extra attention to your clothed breasts and huffing out a laugh when it gets you to whine. But, soon enough, her hands continue their journey until they land on your shoulders and begin to push you down, down, down, until she’s got you kneeling in front of her. She draws a finger along your jaw before using just the tip to tilt your head back, until you can see her smirking down at you. Towering over you. She’s an idol, and you’ve fallen at her feet. “But I think you look better on your knees.” 

There isn’t a view on Earth or in Heaven that could compare to the one you have right now. You draw your hands up her thighs, the denim of her jeans rough against your palms. With your hands on her hips and your eyes cast up to meet hers, you press your lips to the soft skin above her waistband, just to watch her pretty lips part around a gasp. And then, because you can’t help yourself, because you’ve wanted to since you first saw it, you lave your tongue over the trail of hair there, a low, satisfied moan escaping your throat as you do. 

You can feel her lungs inflate with the sharp breath she takes. Her knuckles brush your throat as she fumbles with her jeans’ button. “Damn, that fucking face,” she mutters, shoving her jeans down her hips. You take over pretty quickly, dragging them down her legs until she steps out and kicks them away. “Can’t wait to cover it in my cum. C’mere, pretty thing.” She gets a hand in your hair, firm on the back of your head, and then draws you closer, practically shoving your face against the fabric of her panties. 

You can feel the warmth of her through the lace, and you groan, open mouth dragging over her as she uses her grip on your hair to shove you even closer. God, you can smell her arousal—it’s so distinctive, sharp and musky, and your mouth waters with the need to taste it. You stick your tongue out, moaning as it drags over the rough fabric. 

“Oh, you’re just a natural, aren’t you, angel?” Ruby says, her voice pitched deep and almost raspy. It sends a shiver down your spine to know that you’re the reason for that. “You want it? You wanna taste?” You don’t even need to breathe, and yet you’re panting like a dog against her. You nod, and she reprimands you with a sharp tug at your hair. “Uh-uh, ask. Come on, nice and polite. I wanna hear it.” 

She doesn’t have to ask twice. Right now, you’d rip your grace from your chest and present it to her with a bow without a second thought if it meant you could get your mouth on her. “Can I taste you? Please?” 

Her hand leaves your hair in favor of hooking her fingers under the waistband of her panties. “I’ve got an angel begging at my feet,” she mutters, a short laugh punctuating the statement. “Yeah. You can have it.” 

It takes longer than it maybe should for her to tug her underwear off, entirely due to your unwillingness to budge even an inch from where you’re pressed against her. The fabric snags on your nose, your chin, but soon enough, it’s gone. Or, at the very least, out of your way. It makes no difference to you; you get what you want either way. 

Although, now that the opportunity is right in front of you, you hesitate. You want to do this right; you want to hear more of those sweet, raspy moans, you want to hear your name in that low, affected voice of hers. But you have no idea where to start. 

Ruby, of course, has no patience for your internal dilemma. She shoves her hand into your hair and drags you in, her stance wide to leave room for you. “Do I have to do everything for you?” she complains, even as she presses your face against her cunt, your nose buried in a shock of coarse curls. “You were so eager before, fuckin’ begging for it. You really gonna get shy on me now?” Well. When she puts it like that. 

You open your mouth, experimentally pressing your tongue flat against her wet cunt. The taste of her explodes on your tongue, the sensation so overwhelming that for a moment, it’s almost blinding, deafening—the entire function of your mind too focused on consuming her to make use of any of your other useless senses. The two of you moan in tandem, and in an instant, your hesitance fades, replaced with a gluttonous desire for more, more of her taste on your tongue, more of the feeling of her pussy against your lips. 

Your hands slip from her hips to spread over her ass, pulling her hips forward to press her more firmly against your mouth. You’re not sure what’s more obscene: the noises coming from you as your tongue works her over—the slurping, the whining and moaning—or the words falling from Ruby’s lips between her moans. 

“Look at you, angel,” she coos, using her hand on your head to guide you even closer, even deeper. You press your tongue inside her, and the gasping moan you pull from her is more beautiful than the choirs of Heaven by far. “Eating me out like a pro. Only took one taste to turn you into the perfect little whore for me, huh?” 

Her words only spur you on, encouraging you to be better, to press deeper. You’re glad you don’t need to breathe because you know, as your nose smushes against her clit, that you wouldn’t be able to. Her core spasms around your tongue as you fuck it in and out of her, the entire bottom half of your face slick with her cloying wetness. 

Her thighs have started to tremble beside your head, and her hand holds you steady against the back of your skull as her hips rock against your face. “Oh, fuck, don’t stop—” she moans, as if you would ever dream of stopping, come Hell or high water. Not when her cunt is pulsing so beautifully, not when she’s keening with every movement of your tongue. Her hand twists in your hair, pulling at it, and you moan, muffled against her skin. 

Her arms and her stomach and her thighs tense, and the whole world holds its breath. And then she cries out, her cunt gushing as she comes on your tongue; and she certainly fulfills her promise to cover you in her cum, smearing all over your mouth and chin. She’s breath-taking, riding out her orgasm with a firm grip in your hair just to make sure you stay right where you’re meant to be. You don’t want to pull away, anyway, lapping at her clit until she twitches with oversensitivity and quite literally drags you away. 

For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, both panting and messy with her slick. That is, until she drops to her knees in front of you, on your level now, and drags you into a bruising kiss, moaning into your mouth when she tastes herself on your tongue. “Fuck, you’re so good, angel,” she murmurs, hardly even pulling back to talk, just muttering against your lips. “Gonna make you come so hard for that, gonna rock your multidimensional world.” Her hands paw at your jeans, shoving them down your hips as she licks into your mouth. You hardly even notice. 

Your chest practically glows with the praise, and you draw your hands through her hair, smoothing it like you’d imagined when she’d first sat up what feels like a million years ago now. “It was good?” you ask when she pulls away, her forehead still pressed against yours, to yank your jeans down your legs, apparently frustrated with her inefficient shoving. You don’t pay attention to where they land, focused instead on the soft flush to her cheeks, exertion and pleasure coloring them rosy. 

She lifts her eyes to meet yours and grins, snapping the elastic of your panties against your hip as she reprimands, “Don’t fish. I told you you were good, didn’t I? Greedy.” Her voice, while teasing, seems to hold some finality. Take what you get. You suppose if you wanted soft, if you wanted praise, you shouldn’t have chosen to do this with a demon. You don’t regret it for even a moment. “God, I can’t believe how good you look. I just know Sam’s gonna be so jealous that I’m the first person to touch you like this.” 

You open your mouth to tell her you don’t think Sam would ever find out, not that you’re sure he’d care even if he did, but your words cut off with a gasp as she shoves her hand between your legs, cupping your clothed pussy with a soft pressure that sends sparks throughout your whole body. You hadn’t realized how much your cunt was aching for relief until now, with Ruby dangling it just out of your reach.

“You’re so wet,” she says, teasing a fingertip over you through ruined, messy fabric and laughing when it makes you whine. “Look at you. God’s perfect little soldier soaked through her panties like a slut, just from eating me out.” 

You reach down, closing your fingers gently around her wrist. “Ruby…” You’ve never heard your voice sound like that, breathy and downright needy, and it almost shocks you when it reaches your ears. You’d be embarrassed, but it makes her eyes darken and the meat of her hand press more firmly against you, so instead you lean into it, brushing your lips against hers. “Please.” 

She hums, her gaze flicking down to your lips. “Mm. Pretty whore,” she mutters, her breath puffing over your skin like the words are a physical thing, wrapping around your core and pulling tight. “Yeah. I’ll give you something to rut against.” Her fingers, deft and sure, tug the fabric of your panties aside to dip into your cunt, and her mouth swallows your gasp as she presses her lips to yours in a lingering kiss. All too soon, though, her hand draws back along with her kiss. She taps your waistband before flattening her hand there and shoving you back, just a little. “Take those off.” 

You do as she orders, dragging your underwear down your legs and placing them to the side once they’re off, although you think they might be well and truly ruined. When you turn back to Ruby, she’s sitting on her calves with her back against the wall, her legs spread just enough that you can see her glistening cunt. Her eyes rove down your body, then she lifts them to meet yours again and beckons you closer. “C’mere.” 

You shuffle towards her until she can reach out and grab you by the hips, guiding you to settle over her thigh. “Oh,” you breathe, finally understanding her intentions. 

She laughs at you as she encourages you to lower, to settle fully over the plush of her thigh. Even just that, just straddling her, has you clutching her shoulders, searching for something solid. “Yeah. Oh.” Her hands on your hips guide them forward, rolling against her skin, and your mouth falls open—this is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before. This is carnal, this is pure sin, and you’re not sure you’ve ever felt need like this before. 

“Oh.” A broken record, that exclamation seems to be the only thing that can fall from your lips as her hands guide you back and forth, white hot pleasure zipping from your aching clit all the way up your spine. Your hands move from Ruby’s shoulders to bury themselves in her hair; you’d kiss her, but you’re not sure you’d be able to do much more than moan and whine into her mouth. 

She doesn’t seem to mind. She moves one hand from your hip—the other still encouraging your movements—to cup one of your breasts over the thin fabric of your bra, brushing her thumb over your hard, pebbled nipple. You drop your head to her shoulder, your whimper muffled against the skin of her neck. “You were just made for this, weren’t you?” she coos, shoving your bra out of her way to get her hand on your bare skin. Your hips stutter in their rhythm, shocked by the chill of her hand against your sensitive nipple, but Ruby doesn’t hesitate, her other hand immediately dragging your hips right back into their rocking. “Forget the leagues of Heaven, baby, you were made to be my pretty little slut.” 

“Oh, my—Ruby—” The pleasure builds and builds and builds in your core, and you can’t help but sink your teeth into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, desperate for something, anything, to ground you against the overwhelming onslaught. 

She rewards you with a bounce of her leg, pushing her thigh even firmer against your pussy. Your panting breaths catch on a sobbing moan, your hands white knuckled in her hair. The muscles in your abdomen go tense and tight, and you recognize it only because you had seen it in Ruby just minutes ago: you’re close. “Yeah? Are you gonna come for me, angel? Gonna soak my leg like the whore you are?” 

Your cunt clenches, and you’re sure she can feel it where you’re pressed against her, humping her leg like a bitch in heat. You’re so close, you only need a nudge now to tip over the edge. “Please, please, Ruby. Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, only that Ruby is the only one who could give it to you.

She knows what you need. Of course she does. She ducks her head to close her lips around your nipple, the warmth of her mouth and her sweet, velvety tongue dragging you ever closer to your peak, the coil in your gut growing ever tighter. And then her hands—both of them on your hips now—drag you, firm and slow, over her thigh at the same time her teeth graze your nipple, and the hint of pain coupled with the intense pleasure has the coil finally snapping, your pussy spasming as you come for her. 

Your vision goes white, your whole body buzzing and humming with ecstasy. Distantly, through ringing ears, you think you hear something shatter. You can’t bring yourself to care, not with Ruby’s mouth on your breast and her hands guiding you as she works you through your orgasm. 

Of course, once you come to and open your eyes—when had you closed them? You can’t remember—you can’t help but notice the room is significantly darker than it had been before. Ruby laughs and, with a hand on your chin, guides you to look to the side, where the shattered remains of the lamp’s lightbulb litter the floor. “Talk about explosive,” she quips, bouncing her thigh underneath you just to hear you whimper. “Next time, I’ll make sure to turn the lights off first.”