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the island of conclusions

Thermography (Dean/Lisa, NC-17)

the island of conclusions

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Thermography (Dean/Lisa, NC-17)

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Title: Thermography
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Dean/Lisa
Word Count: ~1K
Disclaimer: not mine, no profit
a/n: written for this prompt at the Dean-focused hurt/comfort comment fic meme : I have this THING. For fever!sex

Summary: Lisa had always loved the heat—loved saunas and hot tubs and long days at the beach—loved fooling around on August afternoons with the air conditioner off, just for the joy of the sweat-slicked slip and slide.


Lisa dreamt that she met an octopus. It wasn’t the ordinary kind of octopus that lived in the ocean. This one lived on the surface of the sun, and its tentacles weren’t cold and slimy, but warm, like scarves left too long on a radiator.

It wasn’t as bad a dream as you might think.

And so she was slightly disappointed to wake up and discover that the sun-octopus was only Dean, two days into what seemed, from Ben’s experience, to be a three-day flu, spiking a wicked fever just like he had the night before, pressing up against her back and curling a hand across her belly.

“Baby,” she said sleepily, twisting around so that her nose brushed his hot face. “You’re burning up—lemme get you some Tylenol or something.”

“Mmmm,” he murmured, fingers wandering down the curve of her hipbone, dipping into the hollow there. “Not yet. Feels good—been so cold all day.”

Dean being Dean, he’d lost most of his voice about two minutes after getting sick, and all that reached her was a cracked breath of sound. And God help her, the thrum of it did something irresistible to her, had her canting her hips ever so slightly into his hand.

Sensing an opportunity, Dean got closer, nuzzling into her hair, and tangling their legs together. She could feel the length of him now, hard and impossibly hot, at the small of her back.

“So nice and cool,” he murmured, stroking her, fingers hotter than the warmth starting to build inside her. “Like a mermaid. Like a mermaid in her palace.”

He sounded woozy, and halfway to delirious, but important parts of her didn’t seem to care. Because Lisa had always loved the heat—loved saunas and hot tubs and long days at the beach—loved fooling around on August afternoons with the air conditioner off, just for the joy of the sweat-slicked slip and slide of it. And so when Dean dipped his hand lower, between her legs, the game was up; she knew he could feel how ready for him she was.

Lisa sighed, halfway between pleasure and annoyance, and wiggled around until they were facing each other. “You,” she said, “are a menace to yourself and others. You’re supposed to rest when you’re sick, didn’t anyone ever tell you that?”

“Nah. “ His voice was the rumble of gravel in a stream. “Too busy killing monsters. Deprived of all good advice.” He spiraled the calloused pad of his thumb around her left nipple, and that was it, all rationality deserted her.

“Okay.” Lisa gently pushed him onto his bak. “But you let me do the work, okay? Don’t want you having a heart attack on top of everything else.”

“Mmm-hmmm. At the bottom of the sea, mermaids are always in charge.”

With a laugh, and a pang of guilt for taking advantage of his loopiness, she straddled him, pushing back the covers. She eased herself along his cock, aching now for the friction, and arched up, suddenly glad of the coolness on her face.

Such was the contrast between Dean’s skin and the air around them that Lisa had the uncanny sensation that if she were to look down now she would see his body mapped out against the dark like one of those infrared photographs, his heart and veins and mouth all traced in red.

Who’s having fever dreams now? she thought, and started in on her own mapping, fingering the strange ridged handprint on his shoulder, pausing on the blood hammering in the hollow of his throat, the muscles quivering in stomach.

And Lisa was pretty sure it was wrong, but Dean being this close to the edge, at the very limit of his strength, only made her hunger for him more.

“Lisa,” he almost moaned, fingers digging into her ass, pulling her down as she guided him inside her, “Lisa.”

And then it was like being filled up with fire.

They rocked together slowly, catching a familiar rhythm. Lisa honed in on the hitch and release of Dean’s breath, set the pace off that until she couldn’t help grinding down harder, welcoming Dean’s hand slipping between her legs to help her, fingers slick and a little sloppy on her clit.

And then the world was only tactile, all seeing and all hearing gone in the pulsing dark. She wondered whether Dean hadn’t been right about them being underwater, if any water could be that warm. And when she came, it wasn’t hard, but soft--no fireworks, just endless strands of sun-warmed silk unfurling.

She felt him follow her, almost gasping with the force of his climax, and she rode him through the aftershocks before pulling off him to tumble down next to him on the bed.

“You are going to have a heart-attack,” she said, a little worried by the railroad clatter under her hand.

“No way,” Dean croaked. “You cured me, sweetheart. That was the cure for all ills.” He sounded simultaneously happy and wrecked, and, as if to prove it, he hummed a couple of bars of the old Marvin Gaye song before abruptly turning away to cough harshly into the pillow.

“Sexual healing, my foot,” Lisa snorted. “I’ll be right back.”

She untangled herself from both Dean and the sheets and padded into the bathroom, the ordinary air of the house frigid on her skin. By the time she’d cleaned herself up a bit, located the nighttime flu stuff and gotten back to the bed, Dean was fast asleep, sprawled out boneless on top of the comforter, snoring little gusty snores.

Lisa shook her head fondly, and set about getting the pills into him in much the same way she would have done for a cat—slipping them into his mouth, and then stroking his throat til he swallowed. Dean was shivering hard by then, and she tugged at him until he was under the covers, then got it next to him. He wrapped himself around her without waking up, and she felt the curve of his lips against her breast as he smiled in his sleep.


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