Banner, college ramblings, and Reaper fic!

[lastnightblues]

1) Wee! Participation banner!


2) Lord, this month is ridiculously busy! I've had meets every weekend, general school craziness, AND planning a trip to California for Stanford's Admit Weekend (my first time seeing the campus)--which feels insane in and of itself.  My mom and I were looking at flights the other day and we both had to stop for a moment and be like, "We're scheduling a flight to San Jose right now. DUDE." 

At this point I'm leaning toward Stanford, which, of course, could be a defense mechanism as the date for acceptance from all the other schools I applied to draws closer (ONE week--how on earth did I get here so fast?). I don't know, maybe it's the spring, North Cali-esque weather around here, but Stanford's really appealing to me right now--assuming I didn't just dream the early acceptance letter, which I still check every now and then, because DUDE. How did I slip through the cracks on that one?

There are draws out east, too, of course--Harvard's got Boston and the Mythology/Folkore minor that sounds really nerdily awesome for my anthro major, Yale's got the residential colleges and the school in Jerusalem, Columbia got NYC and the Core and NYC (again, some more). Then again, I've never seen any of these places, so.

But Stanford... I think if I didn't go there, I might always regret not taking that chance and throwing myself out there. Its classes seem great--I'm being a total nerd lately and downloading lectures from iTunes--and it's got rock-climbing and students from everywhere and dance groups and bonfires and the Bay Area and eight thousand acres and yeah, it sounds awesome, and I totally never thought I'd EVER have to make this choice, because DUDE. 
 
*ahem*

3) Anyway. Reaper fic!

Title: Going Once, Going Twice
Fandom: Reaper
Pairing: Sam/The Devil
Rating: NC-17

Summary: “He’s pretty sure that all he did was accept a drink from some woman at the bar before the world went all turvy-topsy and he ended up dressed in this skirt-toga-thing and sitting in what would graciously be called a velvet-lined cage.”
Notes/Warnings: Written for round ten of rounds_of_kink, with the prompts of aphrodisiacs and slave auction. I was late getting it written (thanks, Calculus gods) but it was so much fun.
 

Any second now Sam's going to get up. Any second now, he's going to get up, he's going to find something to cover his business, and he's going to punch that auctioneer-guy-demon...thing in the mouth. Any second now, he's going to do all of those things, and he's going to punch that thing twice, because-

“Let's start the bidding at a hundred!”

Because that's just an insult to his dignity. His sex services for life should so be worth more than that!

 

“I’ve got one hundred, do I hear one fifty? One fifty for this young, strong, nubile-”

 

‘Nubile’? Definitely punching him.

 

“-reaper in his prime, ready and willing to do whatever you wish? There we go, one fifty, do I hear two hundred, two hundred, do I hear-”

 

Sam’s pretty sure the auctioneer is using the word ‘willing’ rather liberally, because last he’d checked, he hadn’t actually asked to be auctioned off as a sex slave to the highest bidder. He’s pretty sure that all he did was accept a drink from some woman—man? Little of both, but beautiful; definitely a demon of some kind, in retrospect—at the bar before the world went all turvy-topsy and he ended up dressed in this skirt-toga-thing and sitting in what would graciously be called a velvet-lined cage. Until now, of course, because now he’s reclining placidly on a table, on display for all to see, and he’d run if he could, but…

 

“Stand up, kid, let ‘em see what they’re buying,” commands the auctioneer, and it sounds like an awesome idea, it’s exactly what Sam wants to do. He slides off the table, bare feet hitting the warm, rough floor, and someone calls out, “Four hundred!”

 

“Four fifty!”

 

“Maybe we should have him turn around, show you fine folks that ass, huh?” A chorus of agreement rises from the assembled buyers, and Sam’s about to object, but the auctioneers says to him, “Turn around and bend over,” and it’s another awesome idea, he’d love to do that, even though he knows the short cloth of his outfit won’t cover him if he bends even a little, but that’s okay. Sam turns and bends as ordered, bracing his elbows on the table, spreading his legs a little to compensate for the height.

 

“Five hundred!”

 

“Six!”

 

“Six fifty!”

 

“His soul!” thunders a voice from the back, and not a soul in the room doesn't know from whom it comes. They cower as the Devil stalks forward, rage hot and palpable. He stops just at the edge of the stage, pivoting to glare at the crowd. “Can anyone match my bid? Anyone go higher than the boy’s soul?” The Devil mounts the stage, and Sam watches—craned from his position at the table—as he pins the auctioneer to the podium like an insect. “I believe you have my property.”

 

Sam’s starting to come back to himself, thankfully, because he’s really enjoying the horrified look on the auctioneer’s face once confronted with the rage of Satan himself. “Oh, shit, I- I didn’t know, I didn’t- I just get them, I didn’t he was-”

 

“Mine?” The Devil glances back at Sam, grinning that same evil grin. “Oh, yes, I bought Sammy here a long time ago. Paid in full. He belongs to me.”

 

The auctioneer nods emphatically. “Yeah, yeah, of course, yeah—he belongs to you, obviously. He’s yours.”

 

The words send some kind of shock through Sam’s body. It’s like the shocks before—shivery and hot—when he’d been ordered, but this one’s stronger. He feels his body loosen and suddenly he can stand again, freed from the auctioneer’s bonds.

 

Meanwhile, the Devil’s leaning back, and Sam’s once again glad he’s not the subject of that darkly amused, malicious look. “It’s nice to be clear about these things, isn’t it? We’re going to run along now, but I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other soon, don’t you worry.” He looks at Sam. “Come on, Sammy, we’ve got places to be.”

 

Sounds great. Oh, fuck, why does it sound great? He nearly trips keeping pace with the Devil, but the second they’re outside the auction room, the Devil halts and snaps his fingers. A huge, winged demon emerges from the shadows at Sam’s elbow, and Sam’ll deny the small screech he lets out at its appearance. Luckily, neither the demon nor the Devil pays him any mind. “Kill any buyers who get in your way,” the Devil says simply, “and bring the sellers to the pit. I’ll deal with them later.”

 

The demon nods silently and moves for the door, where Sam suddenly prefers they not listen in. Thankfully, the Devil has snapped them away to Sam’s apartment, where by the grace of someone Sock and Ben are not home, because Sam’s still in his toga. The Devil claps his hands together and says, “Well now! Bet that was a new experience for you, huh, Sam?” He tilts his head, looking Sam up and down. “Although I must admit, the outfit does wonders for you. Maybe I should add a uniform into your contract.”

 

And here’s the moment Sam knows something—well, okay, something else—has gone horribly, horribly wrong, because he really likes the idea of his outfit turning the Devil on. Likes it to the point that he might be straightening up and giving the Devil a fuller view right this second. “If that’s what you want,” he feels himself saying, and what? What?

 

The Devil narrows his eyes. “What was that?” And then he’s grinning again, reaching out to grip Sam’s chin and oh, yeah, there’s definitely something wrong, because Sam’s getting hard fast at just that little touch from his mas- Shit. The Devil regards Sam for a moment before saying, “Well, well. I should give these goons more credit! They’ve really found the good stuff this time.” He glances down and laughs. “Look at that! I’ve barely even touched you and you’re hard as a rock.”

 

Sam bravely ignores the images that leap into his brain when the Devil mentions his erection, clearing visible through the too-short fabric. “What is- why am I…?”

 

“Drugs,” the Devil replies matter-of-factly, dropping his hand and Sam can’t help the whimper, hating the way it makes the Devil smirk. “Magic. Probably a little of both, people are so innovative nowadays. Oh, don’t you worry, kiddo, it’ll wear off soon enough.” The Devil makes a concerned face, but there’s way too much mischief in his eyes for it to be comforting. “But man, you sure do seem like you’re in a bit of distress, huh?”

 

What sucks is that he’s really not wrong. Now that the Devil’s stopped touching him, Sam feels this weird ache, a tingling beneath his skin, and he’s clenching his fists before he realizes that he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch the Devil. “How long until it stops?” he asks, forcing the words to come as he wants them to.

 

“Hard to say,” the Devil answers casually. “Could be hours. Could be weeks.” But his gaze focuses in as he steps toward Sam, and the pull is so strong and magnetic that it’s a physical effort for Sam to stay still. “Of course, there is another way. Sex would clear that out of your system pretty quick if you’d stop fighting it and let it run its course.”

 

Sam shivers and he is so hard right now but the Devil hasn’t given him a specific order. Yet. “You’re lying.”

 

The Devil grins. “Oh, Sammy. I don’t need to lie to you right now.” And then he’s leaning forward, whispering sternly, “Get on your knees.” Sam sinks to his knees instantly, and god, he doesn’t want to fight it, his jaw ticking at the thought of tasting his owner, pleasing him, and fuck, he’s so screwed right now. The Devil just laughs, delighted. “See, Sam? With all the ways you belong to me, I don’t need to lie to you. I could take you anytime I wanted!”

 

Sam starts to reach for the front of the Devil’s pants, but the Devil catches his wrist and pulls him up. “Much as I enjoy seeing you there, Sam, I think I’ll enjoy hearing you ask for it even more.”

 

“No way I’m going to ask-”

 

The Devil uses his grip on Sam’s wrist to yank him forward, wrapping his other hand around Sam’s neck, thumb at his jaw. Sam’s right up against the Devil, can feel the unnatural heat of his body and of his breath when the Devil leans in to whisper at his ear, “You think so?” He flexes fingers across Sam’s skin. “How’re you feeling now, huh?”

 

“Fuck, amazing, don’t-” He’s talking, talking out loud—he shouldn’t be talking out loud, that’s bad, right? But it feels so good, and Sam suddenly finds himself rubbing against the Devil’s hand on his face. “Please, don’t stop touching me.”

 

“That’s more like it,” the Devil chuckles, a rumbling sound Sam can feel through his chest. “You want to move this somewhere more comfortable?”

 

“Yes,” Sam gasps, because the Devil’s dropped his wrist to cup his hip. He blinks and they’re in a bedroom, dark and draped in red and kind of… rocky, and oh god, this has to be Hell, but the Devil’s stripping him of his toga and he suddenly can’t think anymore, he just wants.

 

“Now,” says the Devil, who’s back to grinning. “What do you want, Sam? Oh, just imagine the things I could do to you.”

 

He wants… “Everything, anything, please, just—I need you to keep touching me,” he says, panting because the Devil’s tracing fingers dangerously close to his impossibly hard cock. “Tell me, I do anything, please-”

 

“Okay, okay!” says the Devil, raising his hands. He rubs his chin, regarding Sam deliberately, and it’s a testament to how far gone he is that Sam’s hot for whatever the Devil’s planning instead of terrified. Suddenly, the Devil smiles. “I think that auctioneer had the right idea.” Reaching around, he passed a rough hand over Sam’s ass, stopping at the top of his thigh and leaving Sam shaking. “I’d like that tight little ass of yours—well, mine, technically, but who’s counting now, huh? Would you like that, Sammy? You want me to fuck you good and proper?”

 

Sam feels himself nodding, and god help him he does want it. The Devil’s words alone are almost enough to make him come on the spot.

 

But the Devil isn’t quite satisfied. He squeezes Sam’s ass and says, “Have some manners. Say what you want me to do to you.”

 

“I want you to fuck me,” he replies, way too fast, words tripping over each other, and it’s true. Now that the Devil’s got the idea in his head, it’s all he can think about. “I need you to.”

 

“Perfect,” purrs the Devil, and he kisses Sam, rough and possessive, as he presses him down on the bed. Sam’s scrambling at the Devil’s suit, throwing it off so quickly he thinks the Devil must have assisted somehow. “Easy now, tiger,” laughs the Devil, pulling back to see Sam, who’s already humping the small amount of friction between their bodies. “You won’t come until I tell you.”

 

And shit, that’s a command, and Sam’s so hard. “Come on, man—fuck, please…”

 

Another laugh. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it good. Now listen up, Sam—you looked so delectable earlier, so ready to suck my cock. And I’m guessing no one’s ever been in that ass before, correct? So since you’re so hot for both, why don’t you put that mouth to good use and ease the way for yourself?” Sam nods. It’s a great idea and his mouth is watering he wants it so bad. The Devil smiles wider and flips them so that he’s reclining back on dark sheets with Sam crouched over him. “I love it when you’re sensible. Now, let’s get to it, shall we? Get me ready, slave.”

 

Sam grips the base of the Devil’s cock. He’d be nervous—he’s never done this before, and he wants to please the Devil—but he can make it good, he knows he can. Tentative when he tastes the tip, but he gets bolder when the Devil growls his approval. He takes as much as he can, making up in eagerness what he lacks in finesse, and the Devil’s getting harder on his tongue so he must be doing something right. He loses himself in it so much that the Devil has to tug him up.

 

“Much as I enjoy the enthusiasm, I’d much prefer to fuck you open,” the Devil explains, moving Sam farther up his body. “I think you should ride me until you come, untouched, don’t you, Sam?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, I want to-” what’s he saying? “-wanna ride you.” But it feels awesome, letting the Devil position him above his cock and then the slow burn of lowering himself down. It’s too tight and it hurts a little but it’s getting better as he breathes. The soft roll of the Devil’s hips gets him moving, slow at first, but then he-

 

“Fuck!” he gasps as pleasure spikes up his spine, making his thighs tremble.

 

The Devil grins, panting, “Exactly, my boy. Now move faster. Show me what you’ve got.”

 

Now that Sam’s found the spot he can’t resist the Devil’s words—he moves up and down shakily, crying out every time he hits it until he’s rocking steadily on the Devil’s cock, pleading for release, when finally the Devil says, “Let me see you come for me,” and Sam’s coming so hard he whites out, spasming around the Devil tightly enough that the Devil comes with a growl, fingers leaving bruises where he grips Sam’s hips.

 

Minutes pass until Sam can move. He tumbles off the Devil, collapsing on the sheets next to him. The urgency is gone, along with—hopefully—most of whatever they dosed him with. He feels oversensitive and exhausted and—crap, yeah, his ass is sore.

 

“Well,” says the Devil, sounding quite pleased with himself. And where did he get that cigarette? “That’s what I call satisfaction guaranteed.”

 

Sam swallows hard. Sleeping with his boss would be one thing, but sleeping with his boss, Satan Incarnate, is wholly a new problem. “Yeah, um. Great for you. Am I cured now?”

 

“Now that’s an interesting question, isn’t it?” Suddenly the Devil is sitting up against the headboard, fully clothed but still with his cigarette. He grins down evilly at Sam. “Hard to say exactly what they did to you. Maybe you’ll never get over the effects entirely.” He lowers his voice conspiratorially and adds, “Or maybe you were cured ten minutes ago.”

 

Sam scrambles up, ignoring the ache in his muscles. The Devil lies; it’s what he does. He’s- “Lying. You’re just trying to mess with me.”

 

The grin spreads wide. “That’s a definite possibility, Sammy,” he says magnanimously. “Guess you’ll just have to think that one over, long and hard,” and with a clap of his hand on Sam’s shoulder—a clap that leaves his skin tingling a way that makes him really nervous—Sam’s back in the apartment.

 

Wearing the toga in front of Sock and Ben.

 

This day just sucks. 
 

Comments

[gracecourage.livejournal.com]

Are you going to get a chance to see SF -- or at least the Pacific -- while you're out here?

RE: Harvard -- a friend of my daughter transferred there from our little, local community college. She said she was expecting Harvard to be a manageable amount of work, but for the work to be incredibly difficult. Instead, she had an overwhelming amount of work but it wasn't at all challenging (she said a lot of it felt like busy work). In the interest of full disclosure, though, she's very, very, very smart; that could have just been the PoliSci department; and she did wind up with a degree from Harvard.

Last but not least, Sam/Satan FTW! \o/ (Now I have to watch Reaper.)

(Oh, and I realized that when I offered to read for you if you need it, I should have dropped you my e-mail: gracecourage@gmail.com. Yeah, I know you can hunt it down from my profile, but you shouldn't have to.)

[lastnightblues.livejournal.com]

I probably won't be able to get out to SF (although possibly the Pacific) unfortunately--we fly out on Wednesday and leave on Saturday, and Admit Weekend'll will take up most of that time. I'd stay longer, but that Sunday is Prom and my friends'll eviscerate me if I miss it; they were very stern ;-).

Aaah, Reaper's so much fun! It's kind of like if Dead Like Me, Supernatural, Dogma, and Ray Wise had a ridiculous and unholy love child. And you should totally join the ranks, because I'm relatively sure we're on the bubble.

(And thanks for the e-mail address--I think my senioritis is manifesting itself in plot bunnies, and now that I'm no longer writing for round ten's deadline, I think I'm gonna let 'em run rampant!)

[gracecourage.livejournal.com]

That stretch of the Pacific is gorgeous, so I hope you get to at least do a drive-by. (I do have to warn that most of the media representations of the Pacific are from Southern California; up here, the water's chilly cold most of the year).

if Dead Like Me, Supernatural, Dogma, and Ray Wise had a ridiculous and unholy love child

OK, now I'm intrigued....

[lastnightblues.livejournal.com]

I went to Northern California years ago, as well as Washington and Oregon (Oregon more recently, because my mom and I visited Reed). It's SO beautiful--everything's so green! Of course, I saw the Redwood Forest in California--my brother's a hiker and my family's big on camping, so we usually went to national parks on vacations--so that would inform my impression. The upper West Coast has always been my favorite--does the Bay Area get a decent amount of rain?

Reaper delivers on a couple different levels for me: it's got enough clever humor to balance the gags, it doesn't take itself too seriously but can still work its pathos when necessary, and it has some very pretty people. Plus, Ray Wise as the Devil is hilarious and terrifying and awesome. And check out Ken Marino and Michael Ian Black as the demonic next door gay couple. It's a hoot!

[gracecourage.livejournal.com]

Our rainy season is January through March, and is cyclic. Some years it feels never-ending, other years we're praying for rain. We were near drought this year, and are all saying "hallelujah" because late February & early March were very, very wet (we could use more; the reservoirs aren't at capacity and the snow pack in the Sierras -- which replenishes them in the dry season -- is light).

[gracecourage.livejournal.com]

Aaaand, ignore my Harvard comment. That was Yale. *facepalm*

[lastnightblues.livejournal.com]

Still, that's some helpful info about Yale (or would be for any of them, because no one from my school knows much of anything about any of these schools, so any feedback is greatly appreciated). I want a worthwhile experience experience all-around, not just a name brand, you know? And busy work is what I've spent most of high school doing, so I could skip that (I have some Bio busy work I should probably be starting right now, but that's neither here nor there). So yeah, anything you know, I'm totally grateful to hear!

[gracecourage.livejournal.com]

I did have a friend who's daughter went to Harvard (and this time I know I've got the right school) and pretty much hated it for all four years. She's from a liberal, West Coast hippie intellectual family with Stanford/UC Berkeley roots going back generations, and I think massive culture shock was the problem for her rather than the education she was receiving. ("Reserved," "stiff," "self-important" were the sorts of adjectives in play, but much of the Northeast seems that way when you've grown up here where "warm & fuzzy" and "casual" are the operative concepts.)

Regional trivia: Stanford & Cal (and for reasons unknown to me, even though there are a multitude of University of Californias, "Cal" always means Berkeley) have a historical and ongoing rivalry. On either campus, if you reference "the Game," ("When's the Game this year?" "Are you going to the Game?") you're talking about the annual Stanford/Cal Football Game. And in the weeks leading up to the Game, the schools prank each other horribly. The rivalry is so bad that my daughter got scolded at her orientation for wearing a maroon sweater on campus, because maroon is too close to Stanford's colors. (My friend's family is a riot at Game time. Auntie -- 60+ years out of Stanford -- still puts on Cardinal red and goes to the Game every year. My friend is Cal through and through.)

So, hey! If you wind up choosing Stanford, you and Jess might be yelling at each other from opposite ends of a stadium.

Go Bears! *g*

[lastnightblues.livejournal.com]

I think what originally attracted me to the East Coast schools was an intellectual intensity that really does not exist around here (scattered rural, Midwestern conservative, agrarian communities) but I do seem to keep encountering a chorus of "self-important" whereas the West Coast seems more laidback and interesting. And I'm a first generation college kid, so I'd like to skip the whole legacies business as much as possible; I can count on one hand the non-German/Anglo-Saxon kids at my school, so some multiculturalism would be cool, you know?

I've heard of this rivalry! I was so close to applying to Berkeley but didn't for whatever reason (size, probably). Does it exist just for football, or does it extend to all areas? Still, I can handle some friendly rivalry--our two rival high schools here in town are less than a mile apart, which has to be some practical joke the city planner is laughing his ass off about right now. It does make pranking more economical, though.

Wee, a headstart! *shakes it out* Go Cardinal!

[gracecourage.livejournal.com]

The institutional rivalry is constant -- in spite of the fact that they're both top-tier schools academically, they've got that public school v. private school thing going on. But even though the schools are close (and close out here is relative; it's about an hour's drive from one to the other), most of the time I think the students are far too busy with course work to worry about keeping the rivalry up. So sports meets of all varieties tend to have a little more import than with other schools, but the Game is the unofficial official venue for expressing it all.

[palkwai.livejournal.com]

Loved your fic!

You captured the characters' voiced to a tee. Do you permit other ppl to archive and/or link to your work? I'd love to add this to my site, a multifandom, slash site, keonkwa.com. P'al Kwai

[lastnightblues.livejournal.com]

Thanks! And hmm, I don't really know--no one's asked before! Linking or archiving with a link sounds like it'd be fine. Thanks for including me--I'm glad you enjoyed the fic!