Thinking about edging Sam after a bad hunt as your way to punish him for a stupid call he made ( 18+ )
The motel room door clicked shut behind them—her hand steady on the lock, her breath even. Sam dropped the knife into the sink with a clatter and braced his palms against the counter, head hanging between his shoulders. Every muscle burned. Every nerve was frayed raw.
The hunt hadn’t turned out like it should have. He tried so hard, and still failed.
She didn’t say a word. Just stepped close behind him, pressing a soft kiss between his shoulder blades before stripping his blood-stained flannel away from his body, followed by his dark undershirt. But she didn’t stop there.
Her fingers hooking into the waistband of Sam’s jeans, tugging until the button popped free. The zipper hissed down, slow and deliberate. His breath hitched, but he didn’t move, didn’t protest. Her hands were warm against his hips, pushing denim and cotton down his thighs until they pooled at his ankles. He hadn’t realised he’d moved to help her slide the fabric off of his feet until they were gone.
Leaving him naked as she turned him around to face her.
Then her palms flattened against his chest, guiding him backwards until his knees hit the mattress.
He sank onto the bed, legs spread, heart hammering. She climbed onto the bed and manoeuvred behind him. Her denim-clad legs spread, allowing ample room for his body to settle between them, as she guided Sam back so that his back was pressed against her chest.
Her careful fingers traced the line of his cock, already half-hard from adrenaline and exhaustion, and the sheer relief of her touch.
Sam exhaled sharply through his nose as her fingers curled around him, her grip firm but unhurried. The first stroke dragged a groan from his throat, his hips twitching forward instinctively—only for her free hand to clamp down on his thigh. "No," she murmured, lips brushing the shell of his ear, placing a kiss there. "You don’t get to move." Her thumb swiped over the head of his cock, smearing precum in slow, deliberate circles, and Sam shuddered, his fingers digging into the mattress.
She worked him with a rhythm that was maddeningly inconsistent—long, languid pulls followed by abrupt pauses where her hand went still, her breath warm against his shoulder. Every time his breathing hitched, every time his muscles tensed in anticipation, she’d ease off, leaving him gasping. "Baby, please," he managed, the word cracking halfway through. She hummed, amused, and tightened her grip just enough to make him suck in a breath. "Please, what?" Her voice was honey-sweet, taunting, quiet.
Sam’s head dropped back against her shoulder, his pulse rabbiting under his skin. "Fuck—just let me—"
"Let you what?" she interrupted, her fingers slowing to a torturous crawl. "Come? You think you’ve earned that?" Her other hand reached around his body, sliding up his chest, fingertips brushing the hollow of his throat. "After the shit you pulled tonight? Charging in like some fucking martyr? When I told you we’d find a better way?" Sam swallowed hard, his cock throbbing in her grasp. "I had to," he gritted out. She laughed, low and dark, and twisted her wrist on the next stroke, her nails grazing the sensitive underside. "I don’t want to hear that bullshit."
The denial was methodical. Every time he edged too close, her grip vanished entirely, leaving him bucking into empty air, his body coiled tight as a spring. Sweat beaded along his spine, his thighs trembling.
By the fifth time he’d been refused the ability to spill over the edge, his voice had dissolved into ragged, broken sounds he wasn’t aware he was capable of making—whimpers, half-formed pleas, his head lolling from side to side. "God, please—" His hips jerked, desperate, but she cracked her open palm against his thigh so sharp the noise of it echoed throughout the entire room.
"Look at you," she mused, mouth pressed to his ear. "Big, bad Sam Winchester. Reduced to a pathetic mess."
Just the way the words left her mouth told Sam that five denied orgasms was nothing. She showed no sign of letting up anytime soon, unfortunate for him.
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a/n: i have no idea what this is. the idea came into my head and i wrote it in about ten minutes. i could develop it into a full fic but i don't have the effort to bother, so enjoy whatever this is. Debating starting a taglist but alas i don't think i write enough to justify one.
