˚₊‧꒰ა @h0useslut ☆ sam winchester ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
⋆˙⟡ where cancer, virgo, taurus meets taurus, virgo*, capricorn. ⟡˙⋆
ꔛ. the beginning,
✧ who you are in the supernatural world .ᐟ
babe with your cancer sun/mercury/venus emotional radar, taurus moon steady comfort energy, and virgo ascendant "i'll fix it" instinct, you're the gentle, fiercely protective hunter who somehow ended up in this life even though your heart breaks every time someone gets hurt. you're 100% human, but your cancer placements make you feel things so deeply it's almost supernatural—you sense spirits before they appear, feel people's pain like it's your own, and always know when sam's about to spiral before he does.
you're the bunker mom who cooks massive comfort meals after hunts, patches everyone up with perfect stitches, and whispers spanish lullabies to scared victims when no one's looking. sam calls you "the only good thing left in this world" when he thinks you're out of earshot.
✧ first meeting + first impression
you meet in the bunker kitchen at like 3 a.m. after a really bad hunt—sam's sitting alone staring at nothing, bruised and quiet. you walk in (because your cancer heart felt him hurting from three rooms away), set a mug of tea in front of him without a word, and just sit across from him. he looks up, sees your soft virgo ascendant eyes and that gentle "i'm here" energy, and thinks "she's… safe. she doesn't ask questions. she just stays." instant quiet "i think i need her around" feeling from his capricorn moon—he’s used to people leaving or pushing, not just sitting with him in silence like it's the most natural thing.
✧ the friendship dynamic
you two become the softest, most healing best-friend duo ever. your cancer placements understand his capricorn moon need to carry everything alone—you never push, you just show up with tea or a blanket or a quiet "you don't have to talk if you don't want to." your taurus moon matches his taurus sun for that unspoken "we both need stability" vibe. you're the friends who read in the same room for hours without speaking, share playlists (you sneak in soft spanish ballads, he pretends not to notice but adds them to his rotation), and hug after every rough hunt like it's oxygen.
✧ quirks + fun things
you both instinctively start making tea at the same time when the other looks tired and end up handing mugs to each other without a word
he learns a few spanish phrases just so he can surprise you with "gracias" when you patch him up—you blush so hard you have to hide your face
quiet bunker nights where you fall asleep on his shoulder while he's reading and he just carefully adjusts so you stay comfortable (he won't admit it but he loves when you use him as a pillow)
ꔛ. something more,
✧ are you compatible .ᐣ first steps .ᐣ
yes babe — deeply, quietly, profoundly compatible. your cancer sun/mercury/venus flows with his taurus sun earth energy for sensual comfort, your taurus moon conjunct his taurus sun is literal soul-level stability, your virgo ascendant/mercury matches his virgo ascendant for that "we speak the same practical love language" vibe. friendship turns romantic so gently it feels like breathing. sam would take the first step—he's slow to trust but once he decides, he's all in. one quiet night he'd just look at you across the library table and say "i don't want to keep pretending this is only friendship" in that soft, steady voice that makes your heart stop.
✧ the relationship dynamic
it's steady, nurturing, sensual, and deeply committed. you build this quiet sanctuary inside the bunker chaos—shared blankets, forehead kisses, him reading to you when you can't sleep. arguments are rare and soft—your leo mars might flare up when you feel ignored, his capricorn moon gets rigid when stressed. it's more "i need a moment" than yelling. making up is always tender: he brings you tea and sits close until you lean into him, you curl up and whisper "i'm sorry i got sharp." grand gestures? him planning a whole night off just to cook your favorite meal (he burns it a little but you eat it anyway), or you surprising him with a weekend away where he can finally breathe without the weight of the world.
✧ their favorite n worst version of you
his favorite is when your cancer + taurus softness comes out full force—you're holding him after a nightmare, stroking his hair, letting him be small and safe. it makes his capricorn moon feel like he doesn't have to be strong alone for once.
his least favorite is when your leo mars gets fiery and dramatic—you start questioning everything and he feels like he's not enough to keep you grounded.
✧ fighting, hurting, making up
fights are quiet and internal—your leo mars flares quick but burns out fast, his capricorn reserve makes him withdraw. minimal damage because neither wants to hurt the other. you're both the bigger person almost at the same time—you reach out with a soft "can we talk?" he shows up with open arms and no ego.
ꔛ. scenario ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ general
as friends you're already the safest place either of you has ever had — late night talks in the library, you leaning against his shoulder while he pretends he's not crying, him throwing his jacket over you when you're cold without saying a word.
as romantic partners it's protective, passionate, quietly devoted love. he becomes stupidly soft with you — always touching you (hand on your lower back, fingers tangled in yours, forehead kisses when he thinks you're asleep), always checking if you're okay, always making sure you know you're his safe place too.
you become his home — the person he comes back to, the person he lets see him break, the person he'd burn the world down to protect.
ꔛ. overall ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆ 9 / 10
your cancer + taurus water-earth warmth pours right into sam's deepest cracks and makes him feel human again. your leo placements match his need to be loved steadily and proudly. your sagittarius placements give him the hope and lightness his sagittarius influences have been craving.
the cancer–capricorn opposition can create moments where you feel like he's too reserved when you need closeness most, and he feels overwhelmed when you're in full cancer "hold me" mode. those moments will sting. but nothing fatal. you both feel too much and care too much to ever really let go.
this is quiet, healing, sensual, forever love. the kind sam winchester never thought he'd get, and the kind you deserve right back.
ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ
* since the birth time of sam hasn't ever been mentioned, I've placed him as a virgo rising, since it's the sign that makes more sense to me.
Summary Sam Winchester might just be the finest man you’ve ever met. Tall, handsome, with a heart of gold and a boyish smile that makes your heart melt, right along with other parts of you. After a long hunt, you decide to take him with you to your motel room. It’s supposed to be just a hook up, a night of fun.
It turns into so much more.
CWs Sam gets cuffed and edged and turned into a stuttering mess, the way God intended. Hook up turned sexual revelation? Plus a touch of fluff at the end.
18+. 10.9k words.
My Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ My SPN masterlist
Sam and you more stumble and fall than walk into your motel room, your jacket already hanging off one of your shoulders, his hair ruffled by your hands going through it. His lips are pecking at you, kissing you in a way you had not expected Sam Winchester to kiss you - hungry, searching. He was all coy softness and sweetness at first, but something inside him has popped and it’s like he’s been let off the leash.
“Did I already say that I don’t usually do stuff like this?” he says against your lips just as you throw the door shut behind him, and you laugh, which only makes him drag you closer.
You stop kissing him for a moment, press your chin against his as you look up into his eyes, his breath fanning over you and yours over him, as you run your hands along his sides, excited to get to what’s underneath.
“And what’s this, Sam?” you ask, mesmerized by his dark eyes that seem to be a different color depending on how the light hits them. That’s one of the first things you noticed about him, days ago, when this whole prolonged salt-and-burn, hunters-united thing started. They just look dark at the beginning, then green, then brown, sometimes even blue. Now that you finally - finally - have the chance to see them up close, you’re still not sure.
Sam’s hands wander down your body as he keeps eye contact, squeezes your ass.
“Hook up with strange women I’ve only known for a few days,” he says, some of that slight cockiness coming out of him making you bite your lips.
“We can wait if you want to,” you say, tone teasing. “I don’t want you to abandon your–”
Sam shuts you up with a rough kiss, one you moan at. You drag at him, to get him further into the room. His hands go to your shoulders and you briefly let go of him so your jacket can drop off you, then bring your hands back to his neck, his nice, slender, strong neck before pulling back again.
“So,” you say, surveying his face, “what do you like?”
Sam studies you as well, seems to think, which is nice to see. Lots of guys you’ve been with have been mortified at talking about the deed before doing it, which is a good litmus test to weed out anyone you probably won’t have a great time with. But then Sam leans forward, kisses your cheek, then your jaw.
“I’m good with anything,” he mumbles against you, and while you don’t doubt your own skills, you know that’s not true. It might give you reason to pause, but Sam is just too delicious of a catch to give up on him.
“Do you like it sweet?” you say, moving and kissing his cheek in turn. “Or rough?” You move to his other cheek, nipping at it which makes Sam flinch, then grin. You take his big hands where they’re roaming your body, interlace your fingers with his.
“Do you like to be the boss?” you say, then move his hands away from you and behind his body, hugging him, which isn’t that easy with his absolute tree trunk of a torso, and makes you both giggle. “Or do you want me to take the lead?”
It’s minor, but you see the slight twitch in Sam’s gorgeous face and you squeeze his hands behind his back.
“Do we have a winner?” you ask, voice curious and low. Could you be so lucky and have run into this absolute specimen of a man, and then on top of that he likes for you to be in charge? Sam swallows.
“Is that…” he starts, “would that be something you’re into?” Instead of answering, you move your lips back to his mouth, kiss him deeply, arousal pounding away between your legs at the softness of his voice and eyes. Sam’s breathing becomes heavier at the kiss as he searches your lips out, chases them when you pull back.
“I’ve got those silver cuffs I usually use on werewolves,” you whisper against him and a stuttering breath leaves him, before the corners of his mouth twitch. He moves your hands back to your front, laying there for a second before he pushes them up with his, up to your breasts, covering them with his humongous paws and squeezing, dragging another moan from you.
“I can easily get out of those, you know,” he says and you giggle, making Sam grin before you shake your head.
“I don’t think you’re gonna want to, baby,” you answer and something in Sam’s face changes, something you’re not sure is good or bad at first, but then he dives in, kisses you hard, almost desperately. Your hands go back into that delicious mop of hair, pulling a little at the roots, which elicits something like a mixture of a groan and growl in Sam that goes straight to your pussy. He’s pawing at you, squeezing your skin and flesh all over before finally pulling back again.
“But,” he says, voice a little shaky, “but can I, can I eat you out first?” You huff, which comes out as one long, drawn out exhale, because, yeah, the boyishly handsome, tall, bulky man who has made you drip from wetness since the first moment your eyes met over an upturned grave four days ago can eat you out if he wants to, sure.
“Get your clothes off,” you pant at him, and like a good boy Sam listens, his hands shooting to his own jacket, tearing it off his shoulders as he begins undressing himself.
Meanwhile, you step back, walk over to the round table in the room where your bag is sitting after you tossed it there when the hunt was done, and all you wanted was to grab a shower before meeting up with the other hunters in a nearby bar to cheers to a job well done. You thought about Sam, there, under the hot spray of water, your hands running along your slippery skin. Hoping that exactly what is happening now would happen later.
You rummage through the bag as you hear Sam continue his undressing behind you, fabric ruffling and as much as you would prefer to watch, you really wanna find those cuffs. You do, along with the key and then you turn around, your breath catching in your throat for a moment.
Sam is just pulling off the white v-neck he’s been wearing under his shirt - a striped number that would look butt ugly on anyone else, but on Sam somehow highlights his strong, gorgeous features even more. The pulling off of the t-shirt reveals his torso, which is, to be totally honest, ridiculous. You could kind of guess at his build (and have been for the past few days), but you didn’t know it would be quite so delicious.
Immediately you want to dip your tongue into every single divot you can reach - especially those intense v-lines leading down to his crotch. You make a mental note to spend some time on them once you have him trussed up.
“Take off the rest,” you say, making sure he knows it’s an order and not a suggestion, and the corners of his mouth twitch at it. You walk over to the bed, put the cuffs and key on the side table, briefly raising the key so Sam can see where it is. He nods. Then you begin undressing yourself.
Sam’s just unbuckling his belt but slows considerably in the process as you begin pulling up your shirt. It’s the black one that has a little row of buttons at the top, the one that makes your tits look absolutely phenomenal, and the effect hasn’t been lost on Sam as you noticed at the bar. He’s been subtle in his staring, but you caught him, once or twice. He always looked away. Maybe he really doesn’t do this a lot.
You drop the shirt on the ground, then go for your own pants, but not before raising one eyebrow and nodding at where Sam’s hands are resting on his belt.
“I didn’t tell you to stop,” you say. There’s no point in raising your voice - it’s low and clear. You’ve known for a long time that being in charge doesn’t lie in being aggressive, at least not the way you like it. You want the other person to be willing to submit. Oh, and Sam is willing.
He starts undoing his belt, which just on its own is gonna be an image you’ll keep in your backpocket for a rainy day. You pull down your own jeans, wiggle your ass to get out of them and it makes Sam grin. Goddamn it, he’s cute. How does he oscillate between that and scorching hot so seamlessly?
You kick your shoes off at the same time as Sam does, and by the time you reach him again, you’re both only in your underwear. You sling your arms around his neck, kiss him again while his hands land on your side and squeeze your flesh there. You feel the tension of it but no pain - he must be holding back.
You separate your lips from him, look into his eyes and Sam looks back. Without looking away, you bring your hands up to his chest, lay them flat on the warm and soft skin there, then slowly begin running them down, making sure to touch as much of him as possible on the way. Sam keeps watching you, only briefly blinking, twitching, when you reach the waistline of his briefs.
You halt, watch him, his lips slightly moving, the anticipation making it feel like there’s electricity in the air between you two. When you push your hands in his lips part slightly, and then you find him, needing to close your eyes.
“I’m gonna be honest with you,” you say when you open them again, gently running your fingers along soft skin, hardness budding underneath, “I’ve been thinking about this since I first saw you shoulder that shovel.” Sam gives a broken grin, his Adam’s apple bobbing and just because it’s right there, you move forward, press your mouth against his neck. Sam’s hands wander to the back of your head in response, holding you close.
Eventually, Sam’s hands got your shoulders, tugging at the straps of your bra. You let go of him, drag your hands out of his underwear to bring them to your back, undo the clasp and Sam drags it off you, drops it immediately to bring his hands to your breasts. He cups them, gently, runs the pads of his thumbs over your nipples. You sigh.
He leans his head down, kisses the top of your shoulder and you begin gently pushing him backwards, towards the bed. Sam hums against your skin and it makes you smile.
The backs of his legs meet the bed and his hands leave you, disappointingly, but it’s so he can drag your panties down. He needs to lean way, way down so you push down on his shoulders, getting him to sit at the edge of the bed.
Your panties fall to the ground and Sam's eyes wander down your body. It could be your imagination, and you're not sure how much you can trust your senses anymore, but you're pretty sure his breathing picks up when they land on your pussy. He licks his lips, like a man dying from thirst seeing a glass of cool water. This boy is a miracle, you think.
You step close to him, your nakedness feeling so right, as he looks up at you from where he’s been looking. His hands go to your waist, pulling you in and then you’re standing over him, very aware of his hardening cock somewhere below your pussy, still hidden in his underwear. But Sam doesn’t even pay attention to that, instead stroking and exploring you with his calloused but gentle hands.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says and you can’t help the smile that breaks out over your face. Goddamn this man. He is hitting all the right buttons. You’ve never hooked up with anyone as earnest and sweet. He just seems to be so completely free of pretense. It could be scary. But it’s not.
You bring your hands to his face, cup it, take a second to just look at him, then nod slowly.
“Show me what you got, Sam,” you say and you just have time to see the glimmer in his eyes before Sam grabs you, presses you against him and then flips both of you around. You’re too aroused for your hunter instincts to kick in, so your back is meeting the bed with Sam over you before you know what is happening. Instead, you moan, grab his face, kiss him hard. His hands are running along your sides, almost frantic, before focusing on a single spot, like he’s trying to control himself.
His lips go to your neck, his broad chest and back heaving with his heavy breathing, and then he continues moving down, and you remember his previous request. Can I eat you out first? It nearly makes you gush, especially when Sam’s lips land on your collarbone, tongue running over the rise of it before he moves further down. Look at that, you think. A man of his word.
He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the pressure intense, then lets go and licks over it, making you press your chest up against him. He moves to the other one, mouths at it, and you press your thighs together, roll your hips, not wanting him to stop but looking for some kind of release.
Sam must notice, lets your nipple drop out of his mouth, then looks down your body. He turns, looks back up at your face. You must look like you’re about ready to blow, even though he’s barely done anything. He grins, the goddamn cockiest grin you’ve ever seen and one of his hands goes to your knee, travels down to the inside of your thigh and then, meanly, horribly, stops there.
“Keep your legs open,” he says, and you chuckle, both at him and how hard it is to open them up, escape the little bit of friction you were getting.
“Fucking tease,” you mutter and Sam’s grin widens. “I’m gonna get you back for that.” Sam presses his lips against the spot between your breasts, then looks up at you again.
“I’m coutin’ on it,” he says and you need to bite your lip while you file that to-do away for later. Tease him. Yeah, you can do that. You’ll do more than that. He doesn’t know what you have in store for him.
With a self-satisfied smile, you push yourself deeper into the mattress, and Sam begins kissing you again, a sensual, slow trail down your front. One kiss he lands next to your belly button and it makes you giggle. You feel his lips smile against you. Goddamn.
He shuffles around, gets into position before moving lower. You have no idea how he can be comfortably arranging his long body on the bed in this way, and then he lowers his head, his breath fanning over your pussy and you don't care anymore.
He kisses you high on your thigh, slow, lingering, where he presses his entire face against you, like he can't bear not to be as close as possible. Another one, closer to the inside, and then another one, closer yet.
You would love for him to just dive right in, but the way his slow approach makes you feel like you'll drown the poor guy down there isn't bad either. You're panting and almost shaky when his lips finally graze your own lower ones.
A small gasp leaves you as Sam explores you, kissing you there, then the tip of his tongue presses against you, softly first, then harder. Your legs are as wide open as they can be and when Sam gently sucks that little bud of nerves into his mouth, it's a good thing he slung his arms around your thighs when he made himself comfortable, because you might break his nose otherwise with how hard you press yourself up against him.
“Oh, fuck,” you groan, hands shooting to his hair. It's pure instinct, to press him closer against you, look for any part of him - the strong chin, the broad nose, anything - to find more stimulation. You stop a second later. Or you would, if Sam didn't give the most exquisite low moan when you press him down.
You let up, just barely giving Sam room to talk. He uses the chance to say only one thing.
“Do it again,” he gasps, breathless. Good Lord up in heaven. Of course you'll do it again.
You press him down again, and while he presses his tongue flat against your clit, a deep, lustful groan travels up his throat, making you feel like you're vibrating right along with him. He moves his face, creating stimulation, and you can't - or almost can't - help the ways your lower body moves along to find more - more friction, more tongue, more lips, more Sam.
So you keep going. With Amazonian strength you push your head up, look down your body and curse yourself for not doing so earlier. His eyes are closed, eyelids fluttering like he's in fucking heaven. The image spurns you on so much that you begin rolling your hips more, now essentially face fucking Sam. He doesn't seem to mind.
“Oh God, so fucking good, Sam,” you pant, carding your fingers into his hair, pulling near the roots. “You're gonna make me come so fucking hard.”
Sam can't answer, for obvious reasons, but he groans again, long and loud and deep. It's all building inside of you, all coming to its inevitable conclusion, and when you see Sam's strong back heaving in lust and exhalation, reacting like this to making you come on his face, it's the last straw.
A crescendo of yes yes yes fuck yes Sam leaves you as you come, riding his face from below, hands gripping his hair so tightly you'd be surprised if they didn't come away with tufts of it. You throw your head back, moaning so loudly it almost counts as a scream, all reason and self control lost as waves and waves of delicious pleasure carrying Sam's signature wash over you.
You drop down, both from your high as well as your body against the mattress below you. You’re breathing hard, shaky and shuddery. Distantly you feel Sam has returned to kissing your thighs, but blindly you reach for his arms, try to pull him up towards you.
He understands, pushes himself up and crawls over you. He lands a few fleeting kisses on his way up, and then he’s over you, and you chuckle at seeing him. His hair is messy, which is mostly your fault, your wetness making his chin and mouth glisten. You bring a hand up, wipe it over his face and then pull him in, kiss him deeply.
Sam lays himself over you, held up by his elbows, and his weight on you is perfect. You wrap your legs around him on instinct, bring him close to you and grind yourself up against him. You’re still sensitive, but it’s worth it for the feeling of his bulge pressing against you.
In response, Sam stops kissing, pressing his forehead against your temple while he presses himself against you, moans.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he pants and you could return the compliment, but instead you bring your hand up, grabbing his jaw and making him look at you.
“Lie down on your back, right now,” you say and something comes over Sam’s face, something so vulnerable and excited and intense. You haven’t seen this expression on him yet.
He kisses you again, then pushes himself up as you unsling your legs from around him, rolls off you and lands on his back. You push yourself up and when he’s positioned himself and is looking at you, you crawl over to him, crossing the distance. It’s not a long way but you see the way it makes Sam’s breath catch in his throat.
You kneel, take a second to look at him. He’s long, you think, just everything about him, his legs, his torso and the bulge in his briefs isn’t promising anything different either. You stay like that, let your eyes roam over him until you see him shift. Then you look for another moment. Make sure he knows who’s calling the shots here.
When you see him starting to squirm you move, your own self control starting to wear thin. Without ceremony or giving Sam time to prepare, you raise your leg and swing it over him, straddling him around the waist. You’re very aware of your pussy pressing against the soft skin wrapped over the hard muscle of his abdomen. You lean forward, reach for the cuffs then settle back down.
Sam looks up at you as if you’re some kind of deity. His lips are slightly parted, beautiful, pinkish lips, roughened from kissing and licking at you. He’s breathing hard, his body raising and falling, changing the intensity of contact between your most intimate parts and his stomach. You wonder if some of your wetness has transferred to his skin. It must have.
You’re just about to ask him whether he wants his hands only tied together or cuffed to the bed, when Sam raises his arms, muscles there rippling, brings his hands up to the headboard. The thing’s perfect for tying a big, strong man to it and you lean forward. One of his wrists goes into one cuff, and you’re about to wrap the other one around the metal bar of the headboard when Sam speaks up.
“Both,” he says and you look down at him. His eyes are large and pleading and for a second, it almost throws you off. It’s not sexual, the need in his face, not exactly. It’s different. It’s all encompassing.
“Are you sure?” you ask. You’re all about exploring, but you don’t want Sam to put himself into a position where he might freak himself out. But he nods, slowly, looking into your eyes. He swallows.
“I trust you,” he says, voice calm.
It shoots straight to your heart. He trusts you. He just had his face buried in your pussy and you’re about to ride him, but somehow that is the most intimate thing he could have said.
“Okay, Sam,” you say, no flirtiness in your tone, just clearness. You want him to understand that you get it. That you grasp the kind of vulnerability he is allowing himself.
The click of the second cuff sounds incredibly loud in the room. Sam pulls against them, just a little, just to test. Then he sighs. He sound fucking relieved.
You look down at him as you settle again and when he looks away from the cuffs and at you, you lean in to kiss him. It’s a gentle kiss, soft and caring, nothing like the frenzy energy you both had earlier. You’ll return to that and you plan to bring Sam even further, a plan now clearly forming in your head. But for now, this kiss is a pact. I’ll take care of you, it says.
While you’re still interlocked, you move a little. Just a tad, just a slight back and forth motion. It makes you press your still sensitive pussy against Sam and you make an involuntary sound in the back of your throat. Without another word, you sit up, hands resting on Sam’s sculpted chest as you begin rubbing yourself against him with purpose.
Sam looks down, watches, then looks up at your face again, his breath coming faster. He likes this, you realize, and you could scream from joy. That you are so on the same wavelength. You’re almost not touching him, not getting him off in any way, but with how his breath stutters you’d think he’s tickling the back of your throat. Later, maybe. If he’s good.
“Maybe I won’t fuck you after all,” you say, and there’s just a second of panic in Sam’s eyes, before your gazes meat again and he understands. Understands that you’re doing this for his benefit. He presses his lips together, exhaling through his nose.
“Maybe I’ll just do this,” you say, completing another delicious drag along him that does absolutely nothing for him but still makes his eyelids flutter. “Maybe I’ll just use your body and keep making myself come over and over.”
“Yes,” Sam breathes, closing his eyes. He’s squirming, just a little, shifting, but you’re not allowing him any satisfaction.
“Would you like that, Sam?” you ask, and you’re not sure he can hear you from how absolutely blissed out he looks. “Me riding you but you never getting off. Your big cock just hard and painful and so full, but never feeling me?”
Sam’s throat contracts, that damn Adam’s apple bobbing like crazy. He’s so beautiful. You move your hands a little, skin rubbing on skin, then gently run your fingernails over his shapely pecs. Sam groans again. Officially your new favorite sound.
“Would be a shame,” you say and Sam blinks his eyes open, watches you with rapt attention for whatever decadent punishment you have next for him. “Shame to not feel you that way.”
Without another word, you lean forward again, but this time you don’t kiss Sam, despite the way he tilts up his face towards you being immensely tempting. Instead you press your lips against his collarbone, sucking against the skin there, hard, until you know it must hurt a little and then stop. The next one goes high on his chest, with the same pressure.
To go further, you must climb lower on him, but you sure don’t mind when you move, ass bumping into the hardness in his briefs. You smile to yourself, but don’t let that steer you from your path.
You go lower, lips grazing one of his nipple before you gently nip at it, making Sam’s breathing stutter. You chuckle to yourself, then move your face to look up at him. He’s raised his head to watch you and you make eye contact with him before pushing out your tongue and running it over it once, making Sam’s mouth drop open. Then you keep going lower.
You reach his stomach, his abs, kiss them all over, run your fingertips over them gently. He really is quite the catch. You didn’t know men like this existed outside of the covers of glossy magazines.
Just above his naval, you get a sudden urge, open your mouth and graze your teeth against him. The skin is too taut to manage to actually bite him, but it makes Sam’s cock, still in its fabric prison just underneath your chest, twitch so hard you feel it. It makes you nearly dizzy.
Then those damn v-lines. Just as you promised yourself, you run your tongue through that valley, the taste of salty skin and Sam-ness unmistakeable. God, you would just love to eat him up, you think, as the tip of your tongue tickles along the intense outline.
Sam is nearly vibrating at this point. He’s doing a good job at staying in place, but the way he’s sucking in breath, the way his muscles all over tense and then relax. It’s like watching dark clouds move quickly along the sky. He’s a natural spectacle, this guy.
You look up at him, stop touching him, when your face is above his crotch. Wait for him to catch himself enough so that he looks at you. You make sure you make eye contact before you continue.
“You’re being really good, Sam,” you say, “so let me reward you.”
With that, you press your mouth against his clothed cock. The reaction is instantaneous, Sam pressing his head back into the pillow under him, moaning so loudly and deeply the neighboring rooms can probably hear you. Yeah, you did that. That’s your work.
You do it again and the reaction is just as intense. With deep satisfaction you see Sam wrap his hands around the metal bars of the headboard, squeezing them so hard his knuckles go white. With those damn arm muscles bulking under his skin, he could probably make true on his earlier words and break himself out of the cuffs. You’re not sure that he actually could, but you’re very satisfied that he doesn’t even try.
You bring your hand up, tired of waiting, and pull the waistband of his briefs down. His cock springs free, comes to rest against his stomach. Velvety and meaty, just like the rest of him. Like you thought earlier: specimen.
You pull the waistline a little further, let it slip under his balls, which look soft and pillowy, leave it there. You look up again, open your mouth, push out your tongue and run it once along the length of him.
A long sound leaves Sam, something like an aaah fuuu but he seems incapable of finishing the thought. You sure don’t mind. Not with how perfect he feels under your tongue. There’s one vein that you’re especially infatuated with, and you flick your tongue over it, gaining more incoherent rambling from Sam.
Next, you push your opened mouth against his balls, suckle gently. When you look back up at Sam’s face, you see a slight sheen of sweat collecting on his deeply rippled forehead. Oh, he hasn’t seen anything yet.
“Please–” Sam stutters and you keep watching him, try to see if he’s gonna be able to vocalize what he wants. He swallows, then simply repeats himself: “P-please.”
“What, Sam?” you ask, ceasing your touching on him. “What do you want?” Sam opens his eyes, swallows again, looks at you, trying to gather himself.
“Can you…” he stutters, “with-with your mouth?” You smile a small, devilish smile.
“Inside, you mean?” you ask and Sam quickly nods. You could make him say it, not do it until he gets all the words out, but the truth is, you’re basically salivating. So this is as much for his benefit as for yours.
With gentle fingers, you take his cock in your hand, bringing it up. Lick your lips, for show as much as for smoothness. You lick a stripe along the underside and when you reach his head, wrap your lips around him.
The sound Sam makes this time is different. It sounds like he’s getting into a hot bath. It’s relief. Satisfaction.
You’d never admit to it in court, but your eyes fall shut on their own accord at the taste of him, the heft, and you moan around him. Slowly you begin bobbing your head up and down as Sam perfectly fills your mouth, like he was made for exactly this.
If Sam was responsive before, he now becomes unfettered. He keeps moaning, deep, rich sounds, voice cracking while he mutters confused words and half-phrases. Yes and fuck fuck and oh G-god and more please more. He’s a full on mess at this point, pulsing and twitching between your lips.
You pop off him, continue stroking him while you catch your breath, using the chance to look at him. He looks beautiful, undone. You feel a not insignificant rush of pride at how quickly you unraveled him.
Just then, Sam’s eyebrows go up, his hips slightly bucking as his gaze falls on you. You slowly shake your head.
“Don’t come,” you say, voice low. Sam’s breath hiccups and then he nods.
“I won’t,” he says, seemingly getting himself under control, at least somewhat. “I promise I won’t.”
“Tell me when you get too close so I can stop,” you say and Sam nods again.
“Yes,” is all he manages because the next second you are taking him into your mouth again. Sam grunts, back to that deep, full bodied moaning while you begin taking him deeper. It’s only a minute before he speaks up again.
“O-okay, okay,” he says and you raise your head, let him drop out of your mouth. “I-I think I need a break.”
Part of you is disappointed. You were really enjoying what you were doing. But another part of you lights up with the idea that hits you.
So you make your way back up his body, stopping at some of the previous sights, nuzzling them again. When you come up to Sam’s face, he has a soft, dreamy smile on his lips. You kiss him, deeply, then catch his lower lip between your teeth, pull a little. It makes his grin break through everything else that’s going on.
“Ready for me to keep going?” you ask, voice low. “Or are we gonna have a problem?” The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch. He seems to be a little bit back to himself and you can’t deny that the slight cockiness in his expression makes you all the more excited to drive it out of him again.
He raises his head, tries to reach your lips with his but you pull your head back, gaining a frustrated grunt from him before you finally give in, let him kiss you. You pull back just a little, stay close to him.
“You wanna fuck me, Sam?” you ask, even though it’s very clear that if anyone will be doing any fucking, it’ll be you. Details, details.
“Yes,” Sam replies, voice low, his lips ghosting over yours in an attempt to kiss you again. “Wanna feel you.”
You push yourself up again, to a sitting position, pressing your pussy against Sam’s cock in the process. You run it along him, slowly. Sam closes his eyes again, rolling his neck, before he looks up at you again.
“Feel how wet you make me?” you ask and Sam nods.
“That feels so good,” he answers, “but I want to be inside you.” You raise your eyebrows.
“Making demands, are we?” you ask and Sam grins, boyish, wide, unguarded. He gives you what in his current state passes for a challenging look.
“Like you haven’t been imagining what my cock would feel like deep inside you?” he asks and your mouth drops open, but it turns into an excited grin, only mirrored on Sam’s face. You shake your head, press yourself against him, which makes Sam go back to groaning.
“Cheeky boy,” you say, pressing your face against the side of his, making sure he hears you. “Sounds like I’m gonna need to teach you a lesson.” You pull back again.
“Please,” Sam says, turning serious. “Please, I… I need to learn.”
It nearly knocks the air from you. His words, the way he looks at you. Maybe it’s just your horniness making you nearly obtuse, but is there something more here? This doesn’t feel like any hook-up you’ve ever had. This feels different. More concrete. More fulfilling than… well, pretty much everything else ever.
All you know is that you need Sam inside of you. That you need to know what his face looks like when he is, what he feels like. Because if your bodies fit together half as well as your brains seem to, this might be the night of your life.
“Okay, Sam,” you say. “Let me take care of you.”
His expression goes soft then, something deep and vulnerable in his eyes. He gives a final, slow nod.
You press yourself up on your knees, reach between your legs, finding Sam’s warm thickness. You lead his head to your pussy, all while he keeps looking into your eyes, barely blinking, and you can see moisture collecting over the intense palette of colors in his irises, but still he doesn’t look away. Then you lower yourself, letting him slowly slide into you.
There’s the stretch, your mouth dropping open at it, but you are wide open and ready for him. The thick head slips into you and you rock your hips gently to keep working yourself down on him. Sam takes a stuttering breath at the sensation as he stares down at where the two of you are meeting.
“Fuck,” he grunts, “fuck, your pussy feels perfect, that’s so–” He stops there, drops his head back again and you couldn’t agree more. But now that you don’t need to hold his cock anymore since he’s far enough inside of you, you use your hand to reach up, grab Sam’s jaw, turn it to you.
“Look at me,” you gasp, and you feel him nod in your hold when he does. You have a hard time keeping your own eyes open, but then you’re not the one who’s being taught a lesson.
With a deep sigh, you sink all the way down, taking all of him into you. You are so filled, like you’ve been closed off to the outside world. Just filled with Sam Sam Sam.
He is, just as you’re thinking that, tugging at the cuffs again. You focus on him, watch him panting there below you.
“Fuck, I wanna touch you so bad,” he groans. It’s tempting, to have those big, strong hands exploring you, squeezing your flesh the way you could squeeze him inside you. Have his fingers find your clit. But that’s not what the two of you are doing.
You roll your hips, making Sam moan and you suck your lip between your teeth as you feel him move inside you, kissing your walls like you kissed his mouth.
“But you are touching me,” you say as you keep moving. “Can’t you feel it, Sam? Right there, do you feel that?”
Sam’s gaze drops back to your pussy, watching as you let part of him slip out of you only to gather him up again immediately.
“I feel it,” he says, voice cracked. “Feel… feel how warm you are. Fuck, you’re so soft.” You nod along to his words.
“And you’re–” you start, then interrupt yourself when Sam bumps into a special part of you. “Oh, right there, Sam, fuck, that’s so good.”
It’s not like Sam has any control over how he’s fucking you, but you don’t care. Especially not when he groans at your words.
“Keep going,” he begs. “Please, please, say it again.” You roll your hips harder.
“You’re going so deep, Sam,” you moan and he shudders at that. “So nice and deep and good, you know exactly what my pussy needs, don’t you?”
You keep going and a moment later, Sam presses his head back, eyes squeezing shut, lip pulling up.
“Fuck, I’m gonna–” he says, and you can feel it, the pulsing, his orgasm announcing itself. So you stop riding him.
For a moment you think you waited too long. Sam sort of trembles and for a moment you wonder if he did come, but it’s brief, and then he’s blinking his eyes open. You shake your head slowly.
“Did I say you were allowed to come?” you ask.
It takes a second for anything to register on Sam’s face. His lips move, like he’s trying to say something. His chest is still rising and falling and you just watch him, this beautiful, perfect man you’ve bagged. You’d think his brains were leaking out his ears with how dumbfounded he seems. Then he understands.
“I-” he says, then clears his throat. “No, you didn’t.”
“Exactly,” you say. You let your hands slip off Sam’s chest, bring them to your breasts, gently massaging, keep watching him, the hungry, no, starving look in his eyes, before you let one hand slowly wander down your front.
“So you better don’t,” you say and then your fingertips are grazing your clit.
You see Sam swallow, as if he’s steeling himself, and then he nods, almost imperceptible.
Gently, you begin petting yourself. Sam’s making you so nice and full, the pressure within you making even the soft touch feel like a hundred volt snapping though you. You keep going, a little harder, a little faster, the feeling of it so good, running from the roots of your hair to your toes.
“Yes, Sam,” you sigh. “Just like that. Just like– oh yes, oh God, fuck, baby. That’s it.” Your eyes have fallen shut but you open them again, look down at Sam. He looks concentrated, focused. You might have stopped moving, but you’re sure he can feel what your own touching is doing to you.
You continue, your other hand twisting your nipple while slowly the pleasure in you builds and builds, becoming thicker, more graspable. Your hand leaves your breast, goes behind you, resting on Sam’s leg as you lean back.
With the change in angle, Sam presses against you so perfectly that an involuntary whimper leaves you. Without meaning to, you roll your hips, Sam groaning loudly again. But you’re close. So close, it’s almost within your reach.
So you keep going, fingers quickly rubbing you as you grind down against Sam. You moan loudly, then again, as your orgasm comes barreling towards you, hits you like a brick to the head. Sam’s thickness intensifies the feeling and you can feel yourself twitching and shaking while soft, warm pleasure envelops your body.
You moan as the long release washes over you, still grinding to prolong it, so it’s lucky you hear Sam at all when he speaks.
“Shit, I’m gonna, wait, wait, wait–” he pants and you barely register it. You lean forward, plant your hands on his chest and press yourself up, letting him slip all the way out of you. That’s how you remain, pleasure still coursing through you, slight shivers making you smile softly.
At last, you blink your eyes open, look down at Sam. His face is pressed against the side of his arm, eyes screwed shut while he’s inhaling and exhaling through his nose. You look down, quickly, at his cock lying there below you. There’s your own wetness but it doesn’t look like he came.
Still panting, you lower yourself, lay your chest on his.
“Good boy,” you press out between heavy breaths. Sam makes a sound in his throat before he turns his face, eyes slowly opening. He looks completely destroyed. He’s trembling like a leaf in the wind, you notice next.
You lean forward, kiss him, but he’s barely able to return it. The intense climb without reaching the peak must be taking it out of him. For just a moment, so close post-orgasm, you want to relieve him from the tension, let him come. But something about his face gives you pause. Something in his kiss.
“Do you want to keep going?” you ask and he nods, immediately, clear on what he wants. Well, you’re not gonna talk him out of it. You push yourself up a little, both your upper and lower body, reach between you again, press Sam back into you.
He slips in so easily this time and the stimulation is just on the other side of uncomfortable. But then you move and it’s perfect, immediately intense and deep.
“Oh yes,” you sigh while Sam goddamn whimpers. The sounds coming from him are so perfect that you keep going, almost uncaring if you’re gonna carry him too far. You just need to keep hearing those noises.
You run your hands over Sam’s chest as you keep riding him and when you see his eyebrows drawing together, you slow again, nearly come to a full stop. The breath Sam takes is so deep and desperate that it shakes your body along with his. You wait for a few seconds, allow his stimulation to die down, then begin again. Sam actually grits his teeth, broad chest rising and falling so hard you’d think he just ran a marathon.
“Fuck, I can’t– I don’t– oh, please,” he starts moaning, but then you stop again, having learned what the tell tale signs of Sam about to come are: brows pulled together, upper lip pulled up, shoulders tensing.
“Fuck!” he curses, and it comes from deep inside him. You clench down, squeeze him inside you, this delicious man-giant you’ve brought to his knees.
“You’re all mine,” you whisper, squeeze him again, making him groan. “That nice big cock inside me belongs to me now. Isn’t that right, Sam? You’re all mine?” He looks so torn up so you begin rolling your hips again, slowly, slowly.
That's when Sam’s self control snaps. If he had his hands to himself, he’d probably spin you around, pound you into the mattress until you forget your own name, until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. But he doesn’t, so he does the only thing he can.
He widens his legs, angles them up far enough to push you forward. You catch yourself with your hands on the mattress below, a surprised yelp leaving you. Sam plants his legs wide and starts thrusting up, hard and fast, fucking into you, shaking your entire body.
The stimulation is sudden and intense, and makes you moan loudly immediately. His thrusts are uncontrolled and you are caught by the way his legs are spread, keeping yours wide apart and you in place. Your eyes nearly roll up as you steady your body to meet his thrusts, and when you finally focus on him again, you look down.
Sam is still gritting his teeth, the look on his face desperate. He’s looking at you, maybe to see if you are alright with what he is doing, and your expression must give him a clear indicator.
“F-fuck, Sam,” you moan between thrusts, the loud slapping noise of skin on skin filling the room as Sam fucks you good and deep, and then you close your eyes, another orgasm crashing into you. You whine loudly and Sam braces his legs, keeps himself pressed deep into you, and apart from the occasional muscle twitch, contains his movement as you come around his dick, moaning loudly and wantonly.
You slump forward, cheek landing on his shoulder as you keep grinding yourself against him, making Sam hiss. You press yourself against him, looking for closeness and since he can’t hold you, hug you, he presses his chin down against the top of your head. You stay like that while you try to catch your breath.
“What the fuck was that?” you ask and a broken chuckle leaves Sam.
“Just wanted you to come again,” he answers. You scoff, bring your hand up and stroke his chest.
“I could have done that,” you say, making your voice slightly petulant and you hear the smile in his voice when he speaks.
“Yeah, but I…” he starts, stops briefly. “I wanted it to be me doing it, you know?”
With all the strength you have, you push yourself up, look at Sam’s face. He looks so serious. You bring your hand to his face, pet his cheek and he briefly closes his eyes at that, making your heart flutter.
“Sam,” you say and he opens his eyes again, blinks at you. You look deep into his eyes, the rings of blue and spatters of what almost looks like gold. “Are you gonna let me take care of you now? Really this time?”
Sam presses his lips together, then nods. With that, you are moving again, rocking back and forth slowly.
You run your fingers across Sam’s skin again, look over his face, trying to take in every detail. The light stubble. He must have shaved this morning, not before going to the bar. Three moles - one next to his nose, and you can’t help but lean forward and press a gentle kiss against it.
When you pull back, Sam’s eyebrows are pulled together, his eyes glistening, so you push yourself harder down against him, then stop. In response, he lets out a long breath.
You wait a few seconds, then begin moving again. Sam’s eyes fall shut again and you kiss his jaw, then his neck. He is moving in and out of you now as if you were made for each other, so you pick up your speed.
When you look at Sam’s face again, there’s a tear at the corner of his eye. When he opens it, it dislodges, rolls down first his cheek and then off the side of his face from the angle he’s holding himself.
You see the small panic in his face immediately at you having seen. The worry that you’re somehow gonna be put off. You’re not entirely sure what brought it on, whether it’s the orgasm you keep just out of his reach or something else.
You lean forward. The tear is gone from your reach, has landed somewhere in the pillow below him, but you press your lips against the wet trail of it, pick the wetness up with your tongue. Sam’s breathing stutters, so much so that you almost get worried, but instead of looking at him, you kiss his cheek again. Only then you pull back.
The way he looks at you is difficult to interpret. A mix of unsure and something else, something like deep, helpless lust. You push yourself up higher and begin riding Sam again.
You go faster this time, rolling your hips, letting him slip out of you then pushing him back in, your movement smooth and quick, filled to the brim over and over. Sam keeps watching you while you do, picking up your speed even further.
“You feel so amazing, Sam,” you breathe, and it’s the truth, but you’re not just talking about what’s happening between your legs, but in your chest as well. “You feel so beautiful.”
Sam whimpers, his lips trembling, but you don’t let up. He feels as comfortable and right inside of you as anyone ever has. You go faster yet again.
“I want you to come inside me,” you moan. “God, I want you, Sam.”
Sam makes a noise you can’t quite read, then his nostrils flare.
“Please,” he says again, his voice thick. “Please, just please.”
You don’t know what he’s begging for exactly, but there’s only one thing you can still give him. You ride him harder, faster, Sam clenching his jaw at what at this point must be overstimulation. You can see he’s approaching that edge again and then it’s like something inside him breaks, a sob leaves him, and another one, another tear dislodges.
He probably expects you to stop again, but you don’t. Instead you whine through your own intense feelings as you keep riding him.
His own orgasm surprises him, because Sam widens his eyes and then presses them shut, sounds unlike anything you’ve ever heard leaving him, his noises traveling through you. He’s gasping for air, muscles twitching and he presses his hips up, searching more of you out just as you feel him spill inside of you.
Sam’s chest is heaving and you watch him, run your hands over him to try and help him find his way back to himself. But it doesn’t stop, it’s not dying down and just as you begin wondering if something is seriously wrong, his eyes fly open, focusing on you.
“Get me out of this,” he says, wrists rattling in the cuffs.
You do it immediately, hand going to the table, grabbing the small key. You open the first one and Sam slips his hand out, the skin red where he pulled against it, and you just have time to curse at yourself for not putting in any padding as you unlock the second one, and then Sam suddenly has his arms around you and is moving you.
You think for a second he’s trying to get you off of him, but instead he turns the both of you, your back landing on the mattress, Sam still over you, never having slipped out of you.
In the next second, he's kissing you. Harder and needier and lovelier than you’ve ever been kissed before. His palms are fluttering all over you, like butterflies unsure where to land, he can’t pick a part of you to hold first. You taste the salt of his tears on his lips and bring your legs up, wrap them around him.
Sam pulls his face back, looks into your eyes and then, to your utter shock, begins fucking you again. He just came, but you can still feel him hard inside you, and on top of that, his hand shoots into the small space between your bodies and he finds your clit, begins rubbing it quickly.
Your head drops back at the sudden and exquisite pleasure, and Sam presses his face against your neck. His kisses against your skin aren’t gentle, he’s sucking the skin so hard it’s painful, but it’s perfect. You manage to moan his name and feel his lips move when he speaks against you.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he pants. “What the fuck did you just do?” You card your hands into his hair again, drag his face away from your neck so you can bring your head back up again. You want to look into his face when you come.
It doesn’t take long. In what feels like seconds, hot pleasure is building inside you again and you just have time to say his name again before Sam fucks you into a deep and violent orgasm.
He’s not far behind you. You don’t know how he’s able to do it again, but you know that he presses his mouth against yours while you both moan for and because of each other, as you explode as two but become one.
When you come back from the bathroom, wearing your sleep shirt, Sam’s head shoots up. To your disappointment, you see that he has put on his briefs and t-shirt. You stop a few feet from him, hands going behind your back.
“Are you leaving?” you ask. Sam shifts where he’s sitting at the end of the bed, elbows on knees, arms crossed in front of his body like he’s trying to protect himself.
“I didn’t know if maybe you wanted to be alone,” he says, avoiding your gaze again. He’s been doing that since he pushed himself out of you. You have no idea what happened, but if you had to guess, you probably saw something he didn’t want you to see. Maybe the tears, maybe the desperation with which he fucked you. You’re not sure. Whatever it is, you didn’t mind it.
You step closer to him, careful not to breach his personal space but wanting to make it clear that you want to be close to him. You press one sock-clad foot forwards, into Sam’s periphery.
“What do you want, Sam?” you ask, voice gentle. He continues staring down at the floor, where your foot is.
“It’s just that one person typically leaves,” he mumbles. You can’t help the smile that comes into your voice.
“I thought you didn’t do this kind of thing a lot,” you reply. This time, Sam looks up. His face looks open, like he’s just torn his heart out of his chest and asked you what you think of it.
“I don’t,” he says, voice cracking a little.
“Well, this is just what I personally think,” you say, slowly kneeling. Sam blinks in surprise but then you are there before him. This way you can fully see him and he you. “But this wasn’t exactly my usual kind of hook-up.”
Sam swallows, maybe unsure what you mean.
“It was,” you continue, deciding to simply take the plunge, “much, much more than that.” Sam’s features soften.
“For me too,” he says, voice low. You nod.
“Good that we’re on the same page,” you continue and you think you see the slightest twitch of a smile on his lips. You move your hand up, cup his face. He doesn’t flinch away, instead presses his face against your palm, closes his eyes, as if the touch is both pain and balm at the same time.
“Come to bed with me, Sam;” you whisper. “Stay.” Sam nods against your hand.
You stand, your hand going away from Sam’s face and instead going to his hand, holding it. When you tug on it, he follows you, stands as well. You walk him to the side of the bed, let him climb in first. He elects to lie on his back, one hand resting on his chest as he looks up at the ceiling. You lie on your side, watch him. It seems like he’s waiting for something but doesn’t have it in him to ask.
“I always sleep much better,” you say and Sam turns his head to you, listening intently, “when I get some cuddles after I’ve been fucked stupid.” Sam blinks again in that absolutely adorable way he does, then a wide smile breaks out over his face. You tilt down your face, look up at him playfully. “Think you could stand to have me stick to you like a barnacle sticks to a rock for a little bit?”
Wild joy and warmth spreads through your chest when Sam actually chuckles. He rolls on his side too and you scoot closer to him. His arm goes around you, pulling you in and against his chest, so all you have to worry about is getting your arms around him too. You don’t manage to wrap him all the way up, but you’re nicely intertwined by the time both of you are done shuffling around.
You can hear Sam’s heartbeat where you are pressed against his chest. Good, strong. You close your eyes, sure you’ll drift off any second.
“I feel like I should explain what happened back there,” Sam says and you open your eyes, look up, seeing mostly heroic chin and jaw before he looks down at you, dark eyes worried.
“There’s nothing to explain,” you reply. “Just looks like maybe we tapped into something intense?” Sam nods slowly, sniffs.
“Yeah,” he says, looking into the room again.
“Is there something you want to explain to me?” you ask and Sam looks at you again. He opens his mouth, then closes it. He seems to be thinking for a moment.
“I felt really safe with you,” he answers finally, voice low like he’s afraid someone will hear him. “I don’t… that’s not always the case.”
Your heart breaks for him, but you try not to let it show. Instead you bring your hand up, brush a strand of hair out of his face.
“I’m glad you felt safe,” you say. “I did too. And I also felt really, really good.” Sam gives you a soft, lopsided smile.
“Good,” he says. He looks at you for a moment, then his arms tighten around you again and you press your face against his chest.
Sleep comes quickly.
You’re woken by the horrible sound of a phone ringing. You sigh, wonder for exactly a second at the mop of soft hair pressed against you before you realize it’s Sam. He moves, disentangles himself from you which you only comment on with a complaining groan, sits up.
The good news is that the ringing stops. It must be Sam answering because he grunts something into the phone, and then says: “Yeah, I’m up, I’m up.”
You turn, look at him. He’s sitting at the side of the bed, one hand laid over his eyes, rubbing, in what you can only guess is an attempt to get the sleep out of them.
“Yeah,” he says again, “yeah, no, I got it. Yeah, I’m… I’m in her room.” With that, he turns around, looks at you. He smiles when he sees you’re awake and you smile back at him, trying not to worry what your hair looks like. Sam turns back around and then, and your heart drops a little at that, stands up, begins rushing through the room, collecting his clothes.
“No, I–” he says, then presses his lips together. “Shut up, Dean.” Despite the disappointment that Sam is clearly getting ready to leave, you can’t help but giggle a little at what you guess is Sam’s brother teasing him.
Sam closes the phone with a snap, turns to you, his jeans in one hand.
“Hey,” he says as you sit up, arms going around your knees.
“Hey yourself,” you reply. Sam grins, then looks apologetic.
“That was my brother, he… we got a case, he’s outside, apparently,” he explains and you nod.
“No rest for the wicked,” you say and Sam nods, chuckles a little. He steps into his jeans, pulls them up. Shoving his phone into one of the pockets before going for his socks and shoes, needing to hop a little to get into them. You watch him with a smile on your face.
Sam is pulling his shirt over his shoulders, shrugging it on and then buttoning it, almost seeming shy, when he speaks again.
“I had a great time,” he says, looking up at you through his bangs, like he doesn’t absolutely deserve to be locked up for looking at you that way when he’s about to head out the door. “A really great time.” You purse your lips.
“So did I,” you say and then Sam reaches for his jacket, shrugs that on as well, before his hands awkwardly go to his side.
“I guess I’ll see you around,” he says and you nod, let your eyes graze over him again. He turns, walks towards the door and opens it just a bit before he stops, turns around again.
“Hey,” he says, and you think he’s trying to act casual, “do you think I could, you know, get your number? Just in case…” He shrugs and your heart beats a little faster at his awkwardness.
Without answering, you get up, still only wearing your sleep shirt that barely goes over your ass, as well as your socks. You look at Sam’s face as you walk towards him, keep your gaze there and his smile slowly disappears as you come closer, his expression becoming more intense. You reach one hand into your bag on the table, then drag out the sharpie you keep stored next to your notebook.
With that, you cross the rest of the distance to Sam, stand close to him. You can just see past Sam out the door, his brother’s car idling right outside, but you don’t really care if Dean sees you.
You take Sam’s hand, uncap the sharpie with your teeth and quickly write your number on the back of his hand. He watches you and then you close the pen, look up at him, into those gorgeous eyes.
“Don’t lose it,” you say. “I’m expecting you to call.” Sam’s eyes go over your face and then without saying another word he wraps his arms around you, pulls you in and kisses you deeply. You return the kiss, one arm going up to get a final feel of Sam’s thick hair between your fingers.
At last, he lets go of you, his face staying close while he looks deep into your eyes, then grins awkwardly.
“I gotta go,” he says and you nod. He tears himself away, just so, his hands seeming almost reluctant to leave you and it makes you smile. He clears his throat, hands running over his sides, before he nods, then chuckles. You can’t help but grin along.
“Alright,” he says, throwing one more look at your face, then turns, moves out of the door. You take a step forward, lean against the doorframe, look after him.
You watch as Sam walks over to the car, gets in, needing to almost fold himself in half to fit, big boy that he is. He shifts in place for a second after closing the door. Dean is looking past him right at you, so you raise one hand in greeting. Dean raises his eyebrows, then turns to Sam, says something. Sam just rolls his eyes, but then, just as Dean starts the engine, Sam turns back to you. Watches you, your eyes meeting over the distance, and then, way too soon, the car is moving away.
You keep standing there until it’s off the parking lot, waiting for a moment for a break in the cars passing and when it does, you finally turn and walk back inside, let the door shut behind you. You grab your phone off the ground where it fell out of your jeans when you discarded them last night, let yourself drop down on the bed.
There’s a message from an old lead, telling you about a potential case two states from here. A friend checking in. Then the phone buzzes and you open the new message from an unknown number.
Took me everything not to walk back in with you standing there like that. Let me know when you’re available. I don’t mind the ride :) S.
You actually laugh before rolling on your side, getting comfortable. You read the message a few more times, eyes going over every single letter, especially the S. at the end. You notice you’re grinning like a fool.
With a sweet giddiness in your chest, you hit Reply and start typing.
Summary When you go on a date with another guy, Sam finally gets up the courage to admit his feelings to you. Too bad the motel is too far away for the sudden heat rising between you two. Luckily, Sam borrowed his brother's car.
CWs Shy idiot Sam turns into confident & cocky Sam. Light sub/dom tones with a sprinkle of brattiness. Sex in the Impala. Big feelings and big orgasms.
18+. 10.1k kwords
AN This fic was in part inspired by this lovely ask!
Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist
Sam runs the pad of his middle finger over the “J” key on his laptop while he peers over the screen, watches as you’re going through your bag while chatting away to Dean, and his thoughts are wandering.
You’re laughing at something his brother just said, but Sam didn’t hear it. In fact, he hasn’t been following the conversation at all. There’s other things he’s paying attention to, though.
Like the curve of your breasts under your shirt. The way he would like to latch his lips onto the skin there, the one that’s probably soft as silk. How he would love to press his nose against it, how much you probably smell like you there.
Like the perk of your lips. How much he wants to run his thumb over your cupid’s bow, then down a little, maybe press the tip of it between your lips. Look into your eyes as you press your tongue against the digit.
Like your laugh, the one you’re laughing right now, how he would love to know if you would laugh like that after he made you come, hair tussled, chest still heaving. If you would roll over, sling your arms around him the moment he pulled out of you, search him out, keep him close, kiss him.
Sam clears his throat, looks down at the laptop screen, one hand going over the lower part of his face. All the things he wishes he could do, and has been wanting to do for ages. And now he’s never gonna get to do any of them.
Because you’re going on a goddamn date.
Sam finds comfort in reason, in logic. But they both seem to have fled the country since you announced your plans for the evening earlier - going out with the young deputy who helped the three of you on this case. He’s good looking and charming and waited until the case was over to ask you out, and he seems to be a good guy. So Sam can’t even object to this date as your friend, share his worries about the man with you. He has no one to blame but himself. Because Sam never made a move.
Dean’s been bugging him to for ages. Told him that exactly this would happen. But Sam insisted that you’re his best friend, not some conquest, that these two things are totally different, and Dean should mind his own business. Not everyone’s constantly out to get laid. Sam isn’t. He isn’t with you. What he wants isn’t about sex. Well, it is, but it’s not all about sex. What he wants to do with you is way more than that.
But even Dean’s given up, which is probably a bad sign. So Sam has no one to convince that this is all just a matter of friendship other than himself.
You don’t make it easy, either. You stay close to him, you’re affectionate and touchy. Normal friend things, Sam assumes, but he’s not sure, because he never had many friends growing up, and certainly none that deal out love and affection as easily as you do.
Just then, you suddenly move, walk around the table and up behind him. Lean down and sling your arms around his shoulders.
“Sammy,” you say, voice serious, “the case is done. Can you take a break for like, two minutes?” You’re referring to the fact Sam’s already scrolling through newspaper articles, despite the fact that you burned some bones just last night. He huffs, shifts, inadvertently pressing closer to you.
“No rest for the wicked, right?” he tries to joke, but it falls pretty flat. You lean to the side, look at him with raised eyebrows.
“Can the wicked take a lunch break?” you ask and it makes Sam chuckle, despite the way the closeness to you is making him feel like he should be watching the way he sits.
“Alright,” he says, closing the laptop. You squeeze him a little, parts of you bumping into parts of him and Sam presses his lips together.
This happens all the time. Sam sighs under his breath, dipping another fry into ketchup, then dropping it on the plate. Dean’s chatting up the waitress over at the counter, and you’ve gone to the restroom, leaving Sam to sink into his thoughts.
He should just get up. He can almost see himself do it. Walk over to where the restrooms are. Push open the door. There’s a magical Do not enter, cleaning, wet floor or whatever sign that he could put in front of the door.
You’re just coming out of the stall, looking up with a surprised expression and the next second, Sam’s crowding you, making you back up again. He grabs your face, holds it on both sides and then finally kisses you.
You immediately moan into his mouth, of course, because you’ve been wanting this just as badly as he has. You wrap your arms around him, pull him close and when his hands find your breasts, no, your ass, you gasp his name.
He’d pick you up, hands under your suddenly naked thighs, both of you, just naked, with no explanation, and you’d have your arms around his shoulders. You’d kiss him again before he lowers your body. Right onto his cock, waiting there for you.
He can only imagine how soft you’d be, and open and warm. He’d move you up and down, and you’d use your leverage from having your legs wrapped around him, the soles of your feet boring into the meat of his ass, and you’d moan, say his name, and oh my God oh my God, yes, fuck, Sam, yes, and–
You drop into the bench opposite him and Sam flinches, straightens, then leans forward quickly. You’re still looking around, but then your eyes land on him, and he knows he must go beet-red from the tip of his nose to his ears. You raise your eyebrows.
“Everything okay?” you ask and Sam quickly nods.
“All good,” he replies, way too quickly, praying to anyone who will listen that his semi will go down before the three of you leave.
When you’re back, you excuse yourself to your room, while Dean sits in front of the TV, shoes on the small table. Sam looks around awkwardly, thinks about what he should say, but then he doesn’t say anything. Just walks into the bathroom. Let Dean think he’s taking a dump.
He undoes his belt. The erection is mostly gone but whatever he feels for you is still burning hot inside his stomach. You’re going on a date. Goddamn it. He hates everything about this.
It’s not right, he thinks, as he spits into his hand, begins stroking himself, the frown on his face deepening. He’s just some random– actually, none of you know anything about him. He could be dangerous, a monster trying to lure you away. Except of course you tested him with holy water and silver. Except of course the truth is that Sam’s just jealous.
He closes his eyes, tries to think of you. Imagines you sitting on the counter next to the sink, one leg raised, one index finger beckoning him closer, all exposed to him. His cock gives a violent twitch, but nothing more. He imagines stepping closer to you, kissing you first. How your lips would feel smiling against him, your hands running up his arms slowly.
But then he looks up, in his imagination that is, and it’s not him kissing you, it’s that asshole deputy, and you’re moaning into his mouth, grabbing his hand to press into the waistband of your underwear, and fuck–
“Fuck!” Sam presses out, drops his hand. Being able to rub one out to the thought of you used to at least help him focus his mind, get back to reality when you’ve touched him a little too much, or that one time you sat on his lap at the bar, joking that he was the only clean surface in the whole place. Now he can’t even do that?
He tugs himself away, thoroughly unsatisfied in every way. Turns to wash his hands in the sink, giving himself a mean frown in the mirror.
“Get your shit together,” he mumbles, his reflection refusing to clarify exactly what he means by that.
Evening approaches, and Dean is still in front of the TV, now with a beer in his hand, occasionally letting out an impressive burp, while Sam’s back at the table, scrolling through news, although he can’t find a case to save his life. He’s down to disappearances of pets. Not very promising.
There’s a knock at the door, and then your voice calling out. You twist the doorknob and step inside.
If Sam had any issue getting it up to the thought of you earlier, he sure doesn’t to the sight of you now. He feels his stomach drop and his balls pull in at the same time as his eyes roam, no, stutter over you.
There’s your legs, and he’s seen your legs before, or parts of them, but he never realized there was so much… leg. All the way up to just under your ass, and the reason he can see all of that, all that skin, is because you are wearing a ridiculously short skirt. His eyes travel up, and he swallows. The top accompanying the skirt is showing less skin, but it’s tight in all the right places. Your hair is off your neck and there’s some glitter on your eyelids and color to your lips, and that has to be the goddamn icing on the cake, because Sam doesn’t know you to dress up. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you do it.
It makes him wild and sad in equal measure. That it’s for someone else, not for him, that you’re doing it at all, and what the hell is this guy making you think, that you need to change or do something differently? Is he blind? Dumb? Evil?
You bring your hands in front of your body just as Dean gives a low whistle, stands from the couch.
“You clean up nice,” he says and you give him a friendly smile.
“Turns out there’s a girl under all the blood and guts,” you joke and Sam wants nothing more than to tell you that he knows, that he’s seen, because you’re his girl, his, and he’s always seen you.
“I’ll say,” Dean says, then takes a sip of his beer, pushes his free hand into his jeans pocket. “Deputy picking you up?” You nod.
“Yeah, he just texted, he’ll be here in a minute,” you say and Dean nods, and then, maybe cause there’s nothing more to say, or maybe cause you and his brother have secretly agreed to make Sam’s life hell, both of you turn to him, looking at him expectantly.
Sam needs to clear his throat before he talks.
“You look really nice,” he says, his voice still sounding scratchy despite his efforts. You nod slowly.
“Thanks,” you say, your face unreadable, your tone neutral. There’s silence, perfect silence for a moment, so much silence that Sam can hear the water rushing through the pipes in the next room.
“Well,” you finally say, “I should get going. Unless there’s some reason I shouldn’t?”
And is Sam going crazy or are you looking at him expectantly, like you’re waiting for him to say something? He throws a panicked look at Dean who’s still watching him, but that’s not helpful so he turns back to you.
“Have fun?” he says, half suggestion, half question, all internal screaming. You press your lips together.
“Thanks,” you reply, your voice flat, and then, after thinking for a second, you add: “Don’t wait up.”
With that final blow delivered, you turn on the spot and leave the room. The door falls shut behind you. Sam can feel his brother’s eyes on him, but he just slowly lets his gaze wander lower until it’s on his laptop screen again.
After a minute, he hears Dean move, plop onto the sofa again. Sam just keeps staring at the missing poster of a Russian Blue named Fidor, whose owners miss him dearly.
It’s about an hour until Dean has had enough. Sam’s puppy dog face and dropped shoulders are bad enough, but he also keeps sighing theatrically every couple of minutes, and the whole thing is just too damn depressing.
Sam keeps stealing glances at his watch, both the one on his wrist and the one on the wall, like he’s somehow hoping to catch one of them misbehaving. Then back to his laptop, jaw clenched.
Dean gets up, walks over to the mini fridge, grabs two new beers. Walks over to Sam and watches his little brother study the screen with a deep frown.
“You want a beer?” Dean asks and Sam just makes an unintelligible grunting noise. Dean narrows his eyes, keeps approaching, then sets the beers down on the table before he grabs his brother’s laptop, turns it around.
“Dean!” Sam protests loudly, hands going out to grab for his possession, and Dean’s expecting something depraved, but then he looks. He raises his eyebrows at Sam.
“The deputy’s Facebook profile?” he says, shaking his head. “Really, Sammy? Can’t you just be normal and look at porn?”
Sam’s all pout and shifty eyes.
“I was just making sure he’s not some monster or something,” he mumbles and Dean clicks his tongue, shakes his head again and puts the laptop down.
“He’s clean,” he says, reaching for one of the beers. “We checked him in, like, every possible way.” Sam doesn’t move for a moment, then his hand goes out, closes the laptop.
“Yeah,” he mumbles. Dean watches his brother for another second, then sighs, sits down opposite him.
“Look,” he says, voice less combative as he leans forward. “She’s probably having a really good time right now. So either go out, do some of that yourself, or finally have the balls to ask her out.” Sam’s head shoots up.
“What?” he says, a completely unconvincing mask of confusion coming onto his face. “That’s not– We’re just friends.” Dean groans.
“You have been into that girl from the moment you met her,” Dean says and Sam scoffs.
“No, I–” he says, but Dean won’t let him talk.
“And she has been flirting with you for almost as long,” he continues, “and you somehow still managed to think she’s just being friendly.” Sam opens and shuts his mouth, no sound coming out.
“That’s not–” he finally says, but Dean is goddamn sick of it.
“Do whatever you want, Sam,” he says, then stands. “But you’re being a fucking idiot. She’s just going for the next best thing cause you can’t be bothered to show her you care.”
With that, Dean turns, walks back to the couch, and plops back down on it. Feet go back on the small table and his eyes turn back to the TV.
Which is why he doesn’t see the expression on Sam’s face change. It goes from panicked to something else, something determined. Something brave. If this was a movie, there would be some heroic music, but there’s not. Instead, Sam stands, quickly, self-assured. Dean looks his way, immediately noticing the change in his brother’s demeanor.
“Can I borrow the car?” Sam says, voice tensed and a slow, proud grin spreads on Dean’s face. He reaches into his pocket, drags out the key, and throws it towards Sam in a high arch. Sam looks down at it when he catches it, then back up at his brother.
“Go get her, tiger,” Dean says, and it’s the final push Sam needs.
He moves towards the door, quick and determined, drags it open and stalks outside, settled with a goal now.
It’s only a second later that the smile vanishes somewhat off Dean’s face. The door is already falling shut behind Sam, but still Dean raises his chin.
“Hey, don’t do anything in the car, you hear?” he calls out, but there’s no one left to listen to him.
Sam’s intent on not breaking any speed limits, seeing as this is a small town, seeing as it’s not like he’s overreacting or anything. But then he wonders if he’s already too late, if he waited too long. It’s only been an hour, but who knows? Maybe you’re already paying, maybe you’re already driving over to his place, maybe you’re already in his bed, any thought you could have had about Sam in the process of being fucked out of you.
His foot turns into lead at the thought.
You told the brothers the name of the bar you were going to, but as Sam pulls up, he realizes it’s more of a restaurant. A fancy restaurant. He distinctly remembers you saying that any place that charged more than ten dollars for a burger and fries deserves to be burned to the ground. You must hate this place.
There's valet service by the entrance, so Sam parks all the way at the back of the lot. He sticks out like a sore thumb when he walks inside, all flannel and jeans. Jesus, maybe you do like this? Did he get this completely wrong?
There’s soft piano music inside, and Sam looks around, just as a man in a dark red vest approaches him with the kind of smile reserved for cockroaches and gum stuck to shoes.
“Good evening, sir,” he says, and he couldn’t sound more disdainful if he tried, “may I help you?” Sam keeps looking around, over the guy’s head. You’re not there. He can’t see you and you’re not there, and that means you already left, left with the deputy before the main course was served because that’s how eager you were to get him alone. Sam feels panic thrumming away at his heart like a small, angry bird.
“Sir?” the guy says again and Sam finally looks at him.
“‘M looking for someone,” he says, useless information, but he hopes it buys him another couple seconds, so he looks up again and then he sees you.
It’s like time standing still. You’re sitting, turned in his direction. He can see the back of the deputy’s clean haircut, the one that he probably got at the local barber shop. That guy’s never had the pleasure of having you cut his hair, towel over his shoulders, the calming sound of scissors cutting away. Sam doesn’t let anyone touch his hair, only you. You cut it the way he likes. Don’t make fun of it for being longer. You do this thing at the end where you run your fingers through it once, nails scratching against his scalp and he looks up at you and he thinks he would like this to be the only thing he does for the rest of his life.
You’re so beautiful then. Just as beautiful as you are now. Sitting there, head slightly tilted. Or as beautiful as you are in the morning, pillow crease on your cheek still when the three of you get an early start or don’t have money for two rooms. Eyes still half shut and a little disoriented. Or when you and Sam sit outside under the stars, share a beer, talk for hours about everything you want from life and then go quiet for just as long, still communicating, just differently.
It’s like something warm and solid spreading in his chest. He’s in love with you. How could he ever try to deny it? It’s the most simple thing in the world.
“Excuse me,” he says, not taking his eyes off you, and then he walks past the guy in the vest. He says something, but Sam’s not hearing him.
You spot him when he’s about fifteen feet from you. Turn your head, still smiling, maybe just having registered that someone is approaching, but when you see it’s Sam, your expression changes. Something curious, maybe slightly amused. He sees you take a deep breath.
“Hey,” he says, his eyes unable to leave you. “Sorry to just show up like this.”
You’re still looking at him, and it feels like you’re the only two people in the room. Everything else is far away. Serenity, plain and pure.
“That’s okay,” you say, voice soft. “Something wrong?”
“Y–yes,” Sam presses out, because you’ve just given him the perfect in. “There’s an emergency and we need your help, actually.”
Sam finally manages to tear himself away from you, looks at the deputy, who is throwing confused looks between you and him.
“Sorry about that,” Sam quickly adds, then turns again when he sees you stand up out of the corner of his eyes.
“Well, if there’s an emergency,” you say, letting the sentence hang there, and Sam can’t believe you are that eager to believe him, to come with him, because usually, you like to let him know that you know when he’s fibbing. But now, you’re grabbing your light jacket and your handbag. The deputy, however, stands too.
“Can I help?” he asks, throwing you a desperate look and it makes a brief flash of guilt shoot through Sam. He swallows. “Anything I can do?”
“No,” Sam says, way too quickly, because getting you out of here only to have that guy hang around again, giving him a chance to be even more heroic and charming, isn’t part of the plan Sam has. Or doesn’t have, technically.
“I’m so sorry about this, rain check?” you’re already saying, though, and then you take a step away from the table, throwing an expectant look at Sam. “Well?”
On the way outside, the guy in the vest throws Sam another look. He’s hurrying, he realizes, then slows down when he notices you’re slower than him on your heels. Neither of you says anything while walking to the car, which Sam knows must mean you know something’s up. If you believed there was actually an emergency, you’d be pelting him with questions.
The two of you make it to the Impala, and Sam begins unlocking the door, when he realizes you’re not next to him. He pulls out the key, and turns. You’re standing just a few feet away from him, arms wrapped around yourself, looking more beautiful than a sunset. It makes Sam’s heart beat faster.
“Sam,” you say, voice serious, “what’s really going on?”
And how can Sam explain it? Explain what he just did, the most bullheaded, selfish thing in the world. He didn’t really think beyond getting you away from the date, beyond just wanting you away from Deputy Charming. It’s selfish and stupid and it makes his throat feel tight.
What words can he say to make you understand? Maybe there aren’t any.
Looking back, Sam’s not sure where he takes the courage from. Where he finds it in himself to look at you for another second, expression curious and then to cross the distance to you in two long, quick steps. What possesses him to raise his hands, take your face in them and kiss you.
He has to lean down but he’s already standing so close and doesn’t want more distance, so there’s an intense stretch in the muscles at the back of his neck, the top of his shoulders. It means he has to tilt your face up, and for a second he panics you don’t want this, won’t want this, will push him off, and he’s so much bigger than you, so naturally it’ll be a struggle. That’s what makes him pull back, in the end. The realization that he has no idea if you want what he wants.
He barely remembers the kiss, which might mean it wasn’t good. He pressed his lips against yours and that’s all he’s really aware of. He drops his hands, takes a step back, breathing hard. You’re looking up at him with an expression he can’t read. It’s not until you move that he knows your intentions.
Your front crashes against him with how quickly you move. Your hands go to the sides of his face, this time, and Sam’s not fast enough to react, too stunned, so your lips briefly graze his chin before he manages to get his mouth where he wants it. His own hands fly to your sides, holding you somewhere around your ribs but not moving, too stunned to be doing anything, too overwhelmed by the fact that you are kissing him back.
Your lips are soft and perfect, he realizes that part, and it makes it feel like someone gives him a striking punch into the stomach, not entirely unpleasant. Those are your lips. And you smell so good. He wants to concentrate on the smell but it’s hard, because he also wants to move his hands, feel more of you, as well as listen to what sounds you’re making, just a small huff, but maybe there’s more, and there’s altogether too much of everything, and his brain just keep flitting around, trying to focus on anything.
After a minute, you stop. Drop down and only then Sam realizes you were standing on the tips of your toes, heels already making you taller but not tall enough. Your hands go from his face to his shoulders and stay there as you look up at him. Sam catches his breath, looking down into your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice raspy. You shake your head a little.
“Only be sorry if you don’t finish what you just started,” you reply.
For a moment, Sam can’t believe it, is sure that this is a dream or some kind of illusion. He can’t possibly get that lucky. It can’t be. But he looks into your eyes and he sees a spark in them he’s never seen before.
His arm goes around you and then he’s turning the two of you around, without really knowing what he’s gonna do before he does it. Your back meets the side of the Impala, hard enough to make you gasp and Sam would worry about it being too hard but you’re pulling him down to kiss you again. His lips crash into yours and he’s in heaven.
It’s searing. It’s hot and it’s spine tingling and Sam gets one hand to the side of your face, thumb running hard over the skin of your jaw, fingers tangling in the hair behind your ear. You’re grabbing at his sides, pulling him against you and Sam indulges himself, presses against you, pinning you between his body and the car and then you moan into his mouth.
Sam nearly sees stars at that. He pulls his head back to look at you, but you go after him with your lips and they run over his. His eyes fall shut at that, and whatever he was going to do or say disappears into thin air as he kisses you again, hard, needy. Now that he’s had a taste he can’t get enough.
He feels his eyebrows go up when he feels something wet against his lips. He parts them and the next second your tongue is pressing against his. He pushes back, then runs his over yours and he thinks he’s about to go deaf, blind and dumb when you press yourself against him, move your leg so that one of his is between yours and then push down.
This time when Sam separates from you he has to catch his breath. He blinks his eyes open, looks down at you and when he sees you slowly open yours as well, he needs to swallow. Your pupils are blown wide and you’re breathing hard through parted lips.
“Do you–” he says, feeling his cock twitch violently at the sight of you, “do you want to go back to the motel?”
It’s daring, that’s for sure, but your response to him has been so clear that it makes Sam feel brave. You bite down on your bottom lip, which makes Sam press his leg a little higher, leading to your eyelids fluttering and a soft smile spreading on your lips.
“Too far,” you say, opening your eyes again. “I’ve been wanting this for a long time, Sam. I’m done waiting.”
Sam’s head spins. You’ve wanted this and he was just sitting by, twiddling his thumbs, and his dick, if he’s being honest. And now you’re here and you don’t even want to wait the fifteen minutes it takes to drive back to where there is a nice bed, a locked door. Or maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly the reason you don’t want to go back.
Sam looks past you, into the dark interior of the Impala. Dean has clear rules. But his brother’s not here, with the woman of his dreams is grinding against his thigh, telling him she wants him. Surely if anyone understands the significance of that, it’s Dean. So Sam reaches past you, opens the door to the backseat. You turn your head to see what he’s doing, then look back at him, grinning wide.
You push yourself up, press another kiss to his lips. Softer this time, but no less teasing.
“You should get inside,” Sam hears some cocky part of him say against your lips, “unless you want me to bend you over the hood.”
He feels shock at his own words just begin growing in the pit of his stomach, but then he sees the catch of your breath, the slight widening of your eyes. Okay. Okay.
He takes a step back, very reluctantly, to make room for you. You slip past him without dropping your gaze, but you don’t miss the opportunity to rub along him in a very suggestive manner. Sam almost pulls you back, but then doesn’t.
You scoot down the backseat, tossing your bag onto the frontbench. Sam needs to nearly fold himself in half to climb in too, and you giggle just as you wiggle out of your jacket, throw it on the frontbench too.
Sam’s spent many a night sleeping in the Impala. Curled up on the backseat as a kid and then teen, and even as an adult. But he’s never fucked in it. He’s too big for it and he knows it’s gonna be a logistical challenge, nothing like a nice, broad bed. His feet might hang off of that, but he’ll still get to spread out.
But then he looks at you, beckoning him closer with a finger, just like in his imagination, and he decides he’ll break every bone in his body if that’s what it takes. He sits, then reaches his arm out and pulls the door closed behind him, making the dome light turn off. When he turns back around to you, you’re already moving.
One of your knees is on the seat and you press yourself towards him. Sam opens his arms just in time to not have them caught between your bodies. His hand runs up your side, up your front, one finger grazing your breast and then back up to your face.
You pull back from him a little, the streetlight from outside leaving half your face in shadow. You look at him, seem to think for a second.
“If you think this is too fast–” you say and Sam quickly shakes his head. If he was still thinking with his head, he might think that. But he’s seen what happens when he decides to move slow and maybe it’s time he does it differently. After all, his body is screaming for it.
“I just,” he says, needs to swallow, shifts around a bit. “I just don’t want this to be a hook up. I mean… that’s not what this is for me.”
You look into his eyes, then nod slowly. Your hand goes to his chest, resting there.
“That’s not what it is for me either,” you say and Sam slowly inhales because he’s sure your words are gonna make him dizzy. “But I really want you, Sam.”
He kisses you again before you can say another word. Deeply, intimately. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of it. You kiss him back and then Sam doesn’t think anything anymore. Not until he hears the clink of his belt.
He looks down, his mouth dropping open and breath catching at the sight of your hands slowly undoing the buckle. He looks back at your face and you’re watching his expression, looking entranced, hungry. Sam swallows, then lays his hands over yours. You give him a questioning look.
“Wanna get you ready first,” he says, lowering his chin to hide behind his hair when he feels a blush spread over his face. You press yourself closer against him.
“Oh yeah?” you say, a sinful smile twitching on your lips. Sam nods.
“Yeah,” Sam replies, bringing his face closer to yours, your sweet breath fanning over his face.
“And how are you gonna do that?” you ask, challenge in your voice. “We’re a little short on space, in case you hasn’t noticed.” You indicate the car around you.
Sam purses his lips. Logistical challenge, just like he anticipated. If he had room, he could lay you down on your back, get between your legs. God, how he would love that. But he’s gonna make do.
“You know,” he says, shifting around a little, one of his thumb caressing the soft skin on the back of your hand where he’s still holding your hands, even though you’ve given up the battle for his belt. “You know how you sometimes sit on my lap?”
You raise your eyebrows, give a small nod, but say nothing. Let Sam continue. He licks his lips.
“I know you think that’s not a big deal, maybe, or just something friends do, but it, uh… well. It always drives me wild.” You grin.
“To be fair,” you cut in, “that’s kinda what I was hoping for.” Sam can’t help himself but grin too, moves his face closer to yours, ghosting his lips over your cheek without making contact.
“Is that right?” he says in a low voice and notices, with utmost pleasure, that you’re shifting around too. “Well, it worked. Made me damn near come in my pants a couple of times.” You moan again, and it goes to Sam’s head like a large sip of whiskey. You want him. You want him. And it turns you on to hear that he wants you too.
“And what I would imagine,” he continues, voice even lower, feeling brazen, “is that I would grab you, kiss you. Push my hand between your legs.”
“Sam,” you moan, pressing yourself closer, the swell of your tits pushing against him, making him feel high.
“And that you’d just keep wiggling like that until we both came,” he continues and then you grab his face, kiss him again, your breathing going hard and Sam knows he’s completely lost to you.
His hands blindly fumble, going to your naked thighs, but luckily you have the same idea as you press yourself higher. Sam’s sitting on the bench, facing the front but you turn yourself, lips barely detaching from him, struggling for a moment in the confines of the car, then turn so that you’re sitting on his lap, legs off to the side, on the bench, your back pressed against the glass of the window. You’ve sat there before, so Sam knows the weight of you, the shape of your ass pressing against him, but now that he can enjoy it and doesn’t have to act all cool, it feels more amazing than ever before.
You sling your arms around him, kiss him again. Press against him, your right ass cheek against his crotch and Sam thinks he could die happy like this. You press harder and a small moan escapes him, making you giggle.
“Too much to handle?” you ask and Sam wants nothing more than to fuck that sass right out of you. He will. All in good time.
Instead of answering, his fingers start dancing up the inside of your leg. He hits a spot that tickles and you giggle, press your tongue between your teeth, which Sam can only just barely see with how close you are. You press your forehead against his when he reaches the inside of your thigh, a sound he’s almost tempted to call a whimper leaving you. He stays there, drawing lazy circles on the skin until you get restless.
“This what I left drinks for?” you ask. It sets soaring heat free in Sam’s stomach. Jesus, he had no idea you’d be so cheeky, so demanding, so, so… bratty. His stomach twists at the word. It feels perfect.
“Fucking brat,” he mumbles against you, and this time he’s sure it’s a whimper that leaves you.
He pushes his fingers higher and you open your legs wider, let him in.
You’re warm, that’s the first thing Sam notices. Warm, heated. For him. For his touching, his closeness. He pushes his hand further, now hidden by the fabric of your skirt and then his fingertips connect with the fabric of your underwear.
Sam notices two things: they’re cotton, and they’re drenched. He presses his forehead harder against yours, almost bruising. His other arm tightens around you, palm going over the side of your ass to pull you closer.
“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, a fact obvious to both of you but his brain still feels the need to utter it. You nod against him.
“All for you,” you whisper to him. “All for you, Sam. Just thinking about you. Cruel to leave me waiting like this.” Sam pulls his head back a little, looks into your eyes.
“Let me make it up to you,” he says, again not sure where the cockiness is coming from, but then he pushes his hand further.
This way, he gets to watch your face when he touches your pussy for the first time. There’s still your underwear in the way, but he sees your eyebrows going up, your lips part. Hears the double sucking in of breath. He runs his fingers over the front of you and you twitch. He’s about to lose his mind and barely anything’s happened.
He continues his slow caress, continues watching you. You’re responsive, he notices that. Tensing and pushing against his hand, pushing down, anything to look for more friction, more pressure, more pleasure. It’s hypnotic. Absolutely hypnotic.
“Lift up,” he says, and you blink your eyes open, look at him. He can tell you’re out of it, lids low, expression a little clueless and his heart and cock sing at that. Could it be that you want him as bad as he wants you? Could it really be?
When his words finally register with you, you follow them, lift your ass up. Your arms are still around his neck and you need the purchase to move this way, so Sam grabs the fabric of your panties, two fingers slipping into the waistband and pulls them down your legs. You need to shuffle a little, but finally they’re somewhere below your knees.
“Open up,” he says and you look at him, eyes wide, wanting, but you do it, drop your legs open and Sam brings his hand back to where it was.
It’s skin on skin now and he groans at the feeling of your pussy against his fingers. Soft and perfect and warm, and then he feels wetness, feels it transfer to his fingers. He collects some, pulls his hand back and brings it up to his face. Your eyes widen again as you watch him smell it, then push the finger into his mouth.
“Oh God, Sam,” you say, ducking your head, and all of a sudden you’re not teasing, not giving him any lip and he has to grin at that.
“Wanted to know that for so long,” he says, tilting his chin up, almost daring you. You lean in, eyes still open, let your lips connect with his. Kiss him softly, gently, probing. Sam knows you must taste yourself on him and it drives him nearly mad.
“Delicious,” he says against you, making you squirm.
“Please,” you say, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.
His hand travels back between your legs and this time he presses harder, steadier, his shapes more determined. Your head drops back against the window with a thud, your mouth dropping open.
“That’s so good,” you moan so Sam keeps going, keeps doing what he’s doing, slow and steady, slow and steady, watching your face all the while, watching for what parts feel good, and which ones feel really good.
Your legs drop open wider, and Sam takes that as his cue. Pulls his hand back, tugs in his pinkie, ring and index finger. Brings his middle one to your entrance. When you don’t pull back, he pushes in.
He feels you clench down on him and sees your toes curling in your heels at the same time. He grins to himself, still watching you intently, the way your eyes squeeze shut like you’re concentrating.
“More, more, Sam,” you mutter and Sam needs to blink. When he doesn’t follow your request immediately, you flutter your eyelids open, look at him. A small grin spreads on your puffy, perfect lips.
“What, you think I can’t take more than one?” you say, all snark again. Sam raises his chin in challenge, pulls back. Ring finger goes out and then he pushes into you.
The sound that leaves you is something otherworldly, too perfect to be from this planet. It’s whimpering-moaning-crying out, eyebrows drawn so close together they nearly kiss. Paired with the feeling of having two fingers buried knuckle deep in your cunt and Sam needs to drop his head forward, lean it against your shoulder.
“Yes, Sam,” you moan, voice cracking, “yes, like that, filling her up so good.”
And at that, Sam’s eyes nearly roll to the back of his head. Her.
“Fuck, you’re so sexy,” he mutters, still pressed against you as he begins sawing his fingers in and out of you, making sure to drag the pads over the front of your hot, wet tightness. “So fucking perfect, I can’t believe this is finally happening.”
You wrap your arms tighter around him and it would be almost a sweet moment if it wasn’t for the rigorous finger-fucking. Maybe it’s still sweet, Sam thinks. And maybe he shouldn’t waste time on thinking right now.
He keeps the movement up, rubbing a deep part of you. You keep humming against him, gasping, whispering sweet things - how good he’s making you feel, how much you’ve wanted this, and then, suddenly, and Sam’s brain fries all over at that: “I want you inside me.”
His eyes have fallen shut at some point and he opens them, looks at you. His face feels hot and he’s been concentrating on his movement. But you’re looking at him, barely able to keep your own eyes open. You’re tight and hot around his fingers, keep clenching.
“Yeah?” Sam says, realizing how breathless he is and you nod.
“Yes,” you reply. The two of you look at each other for a moment longer, and then you both move at the same time.
You push up and awkwardly climb off him, back to kneeling on the leather next to him. Sam’s hands shoot to his belt, struggling to open it as he watches you tug up your skirt so that it’s only around your hips, then your waist. He’s felt your pussy but he hasn’t seen it, so he stares shamelessly, until he hears you giggle.
“Staring’s rude, you know,” you say, and Sam doesn’t answer, just arches his back, grabs the waistline of his now opened jeans and boxers and shoves them all down past his knees in one go, before his naked ass lands on the seat again. The leather feels funny against his skin, and he’s once again reminded of Dean’s rules. He shoves the thought away as he leans towards you, wraps one arm around your waist and pulls you towards him.
Your hands go out, one against the window, surely creating a smudge that, again, Sam can’t really care about right now, one to his shoulder as you swing one leg over him. You look down your body and only when Sam follows your gaze does he realize you’re staring at his cock.
It’s mostly hard, resting against his stomach, over the fabric of his shirt. He looks up again, sees you biting your lip. He grins.
“I thought staring’s rude,” he says, and your gaze travels to his face. But you don’t laugh at his quip, look into his eyes, all serious suddenly.
“I can’t wait to have you inside me, Sam,” you say. “To feel you. I want to feel all of you.” Sam raises his hands, lays them on your hips.
“You mean…?” he starts and you nod. He’s gonna feel all of you, no barrier between you. But–
“You don’t have to worry,” you say, as if reading his thoughts. “I got an IUD and I’m clean. I just wanna feel you.” Sam leans forward, still looking up at you, his arms wandering around you.
“Feel all of me, huh?” he asks and you nod. “Feel my cock inside you?” You nod again, your breathing picking up. You push up on your knees and Sam loses his grip. His hand goes to his cock and he begins stroking himself, not taking his eyes off you. He’s about to be inside of you. He really is. He’s still not totally convinced this isn’t a dream. If it is, he hopes he never wakes from it.
He keeps one hand on your hip, helping guide you down. He holds his dick, hard and heavy in his hand, and then he needs to look away from your face to line himself up. His head bumps into you, running against your entrance for a second, and he groans, feels himself getting covered in you. You whine over him and then Sam moves his hand a little and his head begins slipping into you.
He quickly looks up again to see how you react. Your lip is caught between your teeth so hard he can see the blood leaving the skin around it, your eyebrows low. You rock your hips just a little, making him slip deeper and deeper. His head disappears inside you, the underside rubbing against your soft heat and then Sam drops his head back on the seat behind him as the rest of him sinks into you as you lower yourself all the way.
“Fuck,” he spits out and then you’re kissing him again, slightly grinding against him, which makes his head shoot up as he moans loudly. “Oh, shit, you gotta, goddamn, you gotta give me a second.”
You still, stuttering, and Sam sees double for a second before he calms somewhat. He’s never felt anything so tight, so soft, so perfect. Like you’re made for him. You kiss his jaw, his cheek, nip at his earlobe.
“Sam,” you say, and he wishes you would say his name a million times, it’s never sounded that good. “God, I wanna fuck you so bad.” You shift again, apparently unable to restrain yourself. Unable to control the grinding, the having him move in you. It makes Sam buckwild. At a particularly hard clench, his hands shoot to your ass, fingers boring into the flesh, keeping you in place - at least your external movement.
“Stop - shit - stop moving,” he pants. “Need to… fuck, you feel so good. Gimme a sec.” He looks at your face then, and he knows he fucked up.
The grin on you is downright evil. You like to tease, obviously, and seeing him like this must be the perfect ammo. You don’t move, his grip on your ass too hard, but you toss your head to the side, getting some hair out of your face, and he knows you’re about to make him lose his shit.
“You feel so big,” you say, voice breathy. “I’m so full. So full, Sam. But if you’re not gonna use that fucking cock, at least let me–” And that’s where you stop as Sam delivers a playful but hard slap to your ass cheek. You squeal, then giggle, clenching on him once more inside yourself.
“Lean back,” he says, his own voice breathless. You raise your eyebrows, but follow his command willingly and eagerly. Your elbows go on the back of the frontbench. Sam’s legs are long, hitting the back of the bench so you can do so comfortably.
It reveals your body to him. He looks down at where he’s inside you, the best damn thing he’s ever seen, that one pronounced vein on his cock disappearing into you like it’s a lifeline . Up your body, hips and waist and tits, so perfect, so much still left to explore under those clothes. Your throat, where you’re just swallowing. Your pretty face that he would love to see in such rapture as you lose all control. His hands slowly wander up the same way his eyes just traveled, taking your shirt with you, dragging it up as you extend your arms in the small space, wrestle it off you. A black bra that makes your tits pop and Sam needs to lean in, suck his lips against the skin of the left one. You giggle and then he moves back and then he looks up at you.
“Don’t move,” he says and you suck in a sharp breath. Then Sam begins.
Your new position gives him room and he rolls up his hips, slow, high until he feels the resistance of your body when he’s all the way inside, then drops down again before he does the same thing again. He disappears into you and getting to see that, getting to see himself come away glistening from you makes him feel like he’s floating. The drag of your pussy is the best thing he’s ever felt. You’re like velvet and silk and all good things in the world combined.
Your head drops back and your chest heaves, making Sam grin. He grabs on to your thighs, but keeps the rhythm. Up into you, down out of you, the need in him so strong, the pleasure so intense and buzzing he can feel it in the back of his knees.
“You feel so good,” he grunts, his voice feeling rough in his throat. “Just like that. Make you feel every inch.” You whine, your head lolling, and it actually looks like you’re in pain.
“More,” you breathe out. “Sam, please, need you, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.” But Sam shakes his head, presses a kiss to your right breast this time before dropping back.
“No,” he says, “I wanna make love to you.” You whimper, a soft tremor going through you as you make a pained noise and Sam feels renewed wetness when he enters you next. You might be begging him to fuck you hard, but it looks like you like what he’s giving you instead. Maybe it’s the juxtaposition or the fact that he's calling the shots. It’s hard to think. Sam keeps going, keeps looking at your face, at that perfect pained look there.
“Want me to touch you?” he asks and you nod vigorously, quick, desperate. Sam raises a few of his fingers to his mouth, wets them, then brings them to your clit, so perfectly put on display in front of him. Runs his finger around the nub, draws circles. It’s taking most of his concentration, with how he’s still fucking up into you, but it’s worth it when you gasp and shudder.
“Yes, yes, yes, there,” you press out and then a quick chuckle leaves you. “You’re a fucking tease, Winchester, you’re lucky this feels so damn good.” Sam grins broadly, rubs a little faster, a little harder. It makes you stretch your body, clench your fists. “Sam–”
“Just let it happen,” he replies, looking down at where he’s touching you briefly - Jesus, you’re soaking him. Eyes back to your face. “Let me make you feel good.”
“Ssh,” Sam quiets you. “Slow. Slow and easy. Give me that.”
And it seems you finally get it under control. Seems you want him fast and hard, and you’ll get that, and the slow way he’s doing it must feel overwhelming, but Sam needs this, wants this more than anything, to watch you slowly come apart like this.
You roll your hips, just a bit, the movement stuttering, a twitch on the insides of your thighs, your knees pressing against his sides. He rubs you a little faster, still with that steady, slow drag through your pussy.
“Tell me what she feels,” he pants and he’s almost sure you can’t hear him or don’t know what he means, maybe it was just an off-hand comment for you, but then he sees you lick your lips.
“She feels–” you start, interrupt yourself with a twitch and a moan. “She feels so much. She feels the best she’s ever felt even though she wants nothing more, nothing more–”
“Than to get nice and pounded?” Sam finishes and you nod, so hard your head must nearly fall off. “Let’s see what we can do about that.”
And with that, Sam picks up the pace at which he’s fucking you. He can feel himself drag over your softest parts, faster now, his fingers still working to meet the feeling from the other side and then you gasp again, body tensing and stretching even more.
“Sam, ‘m gonna, oh fuck,” you pant and Sam keeps up the rhythm, can feel you almost squirming away as the feeling gets too intense but he wraps one arm around you, keeps you in place and you squeeze him so hard he thinks he’s about to pass out as your neck stretches, hips snapping so violently Sam can barely contain you and then he doesn’t, lets you ride him as you come hard, bucking, nearly screaming, squeezing him like crazy, and he’s about to pop like warm champage.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” you grunt in a tone Sam’s never heard from you, but is planning to make his best friend.
You flop forward, bury all of him inside of you again, your arms going around his shoulders like you’re holding on to dear life, hands balled into fists, high, high noises leaving you. You’re shaking hard so Sam wraps his arms around you again, presses his lips against some naked skin near your neck where he can reach. He runs his hands over your back as you slow down, calm.
He’s still hard inside you, pulsing, eager, full. He didn’t come, although he was damn close. But he knows to give you time to catch your breath. When you finally pull your head back, you look into his eyes.
“Sam,” you say his name again, needy and a little whiny, and then you kiss him, uncoordinated. “So good. That was so amazing. Holy shit.”
Sam kisses you back, breathing hard against you. Your hands are tussling his hair. Your entire body is hot, a slight sheen of sweat on your skin and it’s intoxicating. He licks at it, sucks at it, and a moment later he notices you start rolling your hips. He groans, the movement throwing him right back to the edge of release.
Now it’s him that drops his head back, looking up at you through half-closed lids and lashes. You keep looking into his eyes, lower your head, get his bottom lip between his teeth and then begin thrusting your hips, hard and fast. You bite down hard, your eyes rolling up as you moan into his mouth. It’s the sexiest thing Sam has ever experienced.
His hands go to just above your ass, gripping the flesh uncovered by your pushed up skirt, using the purchase to drive you down harder against him. You let go of his lip, straighten, arms going up to press against the ceiling of the car and then you’re basically bouncing on him, the stimulation so good and strong it’s like someone setting his spine on fire.
“Argh, fuck,” Sam presses out, his voice reverberating through the interior of the car, victim to the way you’re fucking him now. “I’m gonna come so hard.”
And then you do it again, eyes squeezing shut, teeth bared, and it’s all Sam needs to see, needs to know, that he’s making you come again, that plus the obscene squelch he can now hear between you every time he enters you when you press down on him again.
He's not sure if you can feel him swell inside of you, but you fuck him harder, his upward thrusts meeting your movement with a slap of skin every time, and he must be nearly bruising you with how hard you're going but still, you're pressing out yes yes yes and fuck me Sam fuck your cock is so good so big yes!
It begins and it’s so intense he thinks he goes blind for a second, and then his head hits the back of the bench, hard, painfully hard, as he thrusts up into you as much as he can, just wanting more, more, more, you. He feels his cock twitch like crazy, and then he’s emptying himself into you, spurt by spurt dragged from him by your tight embrace.
His stomach muscles cramp. A noise leaves him he’s never heard from himself before, and that makes two of you.
You slump forward and your head goes to his shoulder, while Sam’s arms go around you. Both of you lie there, breathing hard. Sam’s heartbeat is pounding in his ears, the rush of blood only slowly dying down. He feels wetness run down his cock where it’s outside of you, down his balls, probably dropping down from there. He couldn’t care less.
He stirs at some point, looks around, then down at what little he can see of your face. One hand goes up to the back of your head, gently running over it. You make a content sound and Sam nudges your forehead with his nose.
“Anyone alive in there?” he asks, his voice scratchy, and a tired chuckle reveals to him that you are. You pull up your shoulders and then finally raise your head.
He almost forgot. Almost forgot how beautiful you are. How much he’s in love with you. He looks at your face and it’s unbelievable, actually unbelievable, what just happened. He studies your features.
“What?” you say with a small chuckle. Sam gives you a lopsided grin, something warm building in his chest.
“Just gotta check you out shamelessly while I can,” he says and you purse your lips. You lean in, press a gentle kiss to his lips and when you move to pull back, his hand goes to the back of your head, pulling you back in. This second kiss is slow and unhurried. When you pull back again, you give him a serious look.
“Well, I hope you’re planning on doing lots of checking out,” you say, something light and hopeful but also worried in your voice. Sam can only grin.
“I will if you let me,” he says and you give the most adorable shrug.
“I might,” you say, “but only if we do this again.” Sam raises his chin, brings his mouth closer to you again.
“But next time I’m getting you in a bed,” he replies and you let your hands travel up his chest. “Somewhere I can really take my time with you.” You laugh.
“What, you don’t look forward to explaining to Dean why there’s come stains on his leather seats?” you ask and Sam groans, shakes his head.
“I’m still inside you,” he says, eyebrows raised. “Please don’t talk about my brother.”
“Speaking of,” you say and Sam frowns, so you quickly add: “You being inside me, not your brother. What do you say we clean up and you show me what it’s like to fall asleep next to you?”
Joy, unadulterated joy. It’s not something Sam gets a lot of, but as it turns out, there will be a lot more from now on. He raises his chin and you lean down to kiss him again. He twitches where he’s still inside of you. You raise your eyebrows at him, the corners of your mouth pulling up.
“Don’t get any ideas,” Sam says in a warning tone, but of course, he sees, as he looks at your perfect, perfect face, it’s way too late for that.
Summary You have a dirty dream about Sam while the two of you are stuck in the Impala, and Sam has a… reaction to it.
CWs Stuck in the Impala. Wet dreams. Inappropriate boners. Dirty talk. Mutual masturbation. Sammy being the sweetest dork.
18+. 4.1k words.
Sam Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist
“How does he keep doing that?” you sigh, a touch of admiration in your voice.
Sam chuckles. “I don’t think he can help it, honestly.”
You cross your arms over the back of the Impala’s front seat, put your chin on your hands. “They just keep throwing themselves at him,” you say.
Sam nods. “Yup,” he says. “Welcome to my life.”
Both of you keep watching as Dean talks to the single mom you just saved from a ghoul a few hours earlier. She's hot, there's no denying it, and Dean has been flirting shamelessly with her from second one. Now that she's out of immediate danger, she's flirting back.
Sam sits in the passenger seat of Dean’s car, the Impala, you in the back while you marvel at them, watching them like zoo animals where they are standing a few feet away from the car.
Just then, the hot mom’s hand lands on Dean’s arm in an oh-so-casual gesture.
“Look, look,” you say, slapping Sam’s shoulder to make sure he pays attention. “She’s about to do the horny giggle.”
A second later, the mom leans forward, cocking one of her hips as she laughs at something Dean said, then bites her lower lip.
“Wow,” Sam replies, “lip bite, too, huh?” You nod. “I guess we’ll be here a while.”
But a few seconds later, Dean turns away from her and walks towards the car, leaning into the window on Sam’s side. “Allison wants to show me her record collection.”
Sam scoffs, and you say: “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Dean rolls his eyes.
“Okay, virgins,” he replies. “I’ll just hop in and you guys wait here, okay? Won’t take long.” Sam makes a face.
“Dude,” he says, “that’s not something to brag about.” You lean forward to see Dean better.
“We’re not gonna sit out here while you’re in there getting laid, Dean,” you say, your tone irritated. “We can just drive back to the motel and pick you up when you’re done disappointing her.” Sam chuckles, but Dean shakes his head.
“The motel’s an hour away,” he says. “I’m not waiting an hour to have Mom and Dad pick me up. I’m not fifteen.”
You are just opening your mouth to complain, when Dean says: “My car, my rules. You’re waiting here.”
Then he walks off back to the hot mom and the two walk into her house. Sam shakes his head.
“This is…” he says, but doesn't finish saying what it is.
“I feel like a pimp,” you offer instead. You stare at the house Dean and the woman just vanished into.
“Well,” you sigh, resigned, pushing your backpack you have on the backseat with you towards the far end of the bench, moving to lay your head down on it. “Nothing to do but wait and hope Allison’s a fast one.”
Sam chuckles and turning back to you, seeing you laid out on the bench, asks: “You wanna take a nap?” You shake your head.
“Just getting comfortable,” you say. “I’m not even tired.” You're asleep five minutes later.
You're feeling warm and your body is tense and you wake with an intense shudder.
You notice your mouth is open and your fists clenched, your chest heaving, desperately trying to suck in oxygen.
Nightmare, you think immediately, but then, noticing the intense pressure in your core as your brain iss moving further towards consciousness, nope, definitely not a nightmare.
You blink your eyes open, disoriented by the darkness in front of you and a weird rushing sound. For a moment, you have no idea where you are until you angle your head up and recognize the roof of the Impala. A few seconds later, you realize that the roaring is rain coming down on the roof of the car.
You feel shaky, but also weirdly grounded. Warm and comfortable. Pushing yourself up on your elbow, you look around.
The car is still standing in front of hot mom’s house, the memory of which is slowly coming back to you. Sam is in the front seat, his back leaned into the angle of the door and the front bench. He's looking down and when you press yourself up higher, you see that he has a huge leather bound tome on his lap, one hand slightly angling it so he can read it by the soft light of his flashlight he is holding with his other hand.
The reason the flashlight is on is not just because it's raining, but because it has gone dark, the only other light a street lamp somewhere nearby.
You run your hand over your face, trying to rub some of the sleep from it.
“Dean not back yet?” you ask.
You half expect Sam to flinch, considering how deep he is usually absorbed in his reading, but he doesn't.
“Uh, nope,” he says, only throwing you a very quick look, immediately looking back at his book. Your breathing has slowed down but when you touch your face you feel that it's hot.
“Oh,” you say, then swallow, hoping you sound normal. “Good for you, Allison.”
Sam chuckles, but it's forced. Maybe you would notice earlier that he's acting weird if you didn't look at him then, at his profile, bringing the details of your dream back to you.
It's only splinters, but it's enough to make your face feel even hotter immediately.
You dreamed about Sam. His mouth, and his hands, sucking against your throat and gripping your hair. His broad back over you, and his narrow hips moving, pushing…
You have to move your legs when you realize you're pushing your thighs together, the remnants of what you're pretty sure was the orgasm you had in your sleep coming alive immediately.
You push yourself up further to a sitting position, throwing another look at Sam quickly. He isn't looking back at you, but his jaw is clenched, the hands holding the book gripping the edges hard. Oh no. Oh no no no.
Did you make noises that told him what you were dreaming about? Did you say anything that might have given away that you were dreaming about him? Does he know that you…?
“Shit,” you mutter, involuntarily.
“Hmm?” Sam says, still not looking up.
“Nothing,” you say way too quickly. You move your legs and suddenly in abject horror wonder if Sam might be able to tell that you were still aroused, smell your sweat or your wetness, so you quickly pull your legs up, tugging your arms over your knees.
Silence, then, horrible awkward silence that makes your head spin and then makes you think of your dream-Sam again, the noises he made, like the ones the real-Sam makes when he's hurt or angry, and you wonder if that was how he sounded.
You take a sharp breath to dispel the thoughts. You are making this a lot worse for yourself, you think.
The silence continues, the only sound the rain and your breathing and your heartbeat in your ears. It's deafening. Looking back at Sam, you see that his tongue is going over his lower lip, his brow knotted in concentration.
“What are you reading?” you ask finally, unable to stand it anymore. This time Sam does flinch.
“Uhm, uh,” he stutters and then he actually slightly turns over the front cover of the book because he has to look at it to see what he's reading. Weird, you think. He looked so concentrated.
“It’s, uh,” he continues, “a history of this underground society that basically, uhm,” he looks at the page again, seemingly completely forgetting what this underground society did. While he's still looking for the answer, you chuckle a little.
“Sounds like it’s real engaging,” you can't help but tease him. Sam grins.
“It is,” he says. “I mean it was.” You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.
“Let me see?” you say, holding your hand out to him. Sam usually loves it when you show interest in whatever he's obsessing over that week, but he looks up and then at you with shock on his face.
“No,” he says. You wrinkle your brow.
“What?” you ask.
“It’s just,” Sam says, “I don’t think you’d like it.”
"What are you talking about?” you ask. “I love cults, or societies or whatever, you know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” Sam says, “I just don’t think you’d like this one.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, then, forgetting your worries about your body, lean forward, over the bench and pull the book from his hands. Sam doesn't fight you, but fidgets in his seat when you sit back, leaning forward a little. You look at the book, keeping it open at the page Sam was on.
“This even has illustrations,” you say, then look up at Sam. “Sam, I’m a sucker for illustrations, what do you mean I wouldn’t like this?” Sam doesn't reply immediately, just clears his throat.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice a little more quiet. “I know.”
He isn't making any sense, so you lean forward and pass the book back to him. He's just grabbing for it when you look down.
There's a considerable bulge in Sam’s pants.
You immediately lean back, but Sam knows you’ve seen it. He lays the book back over his lap, his lips in a tight line, looking anywhere but at you.
The brothers and you live so closely together that this shouldn’t be a big deal. You’ve seen Dean in several states of undress and walked in on him and a hook-up more times than you can count.
But Sam has always been more private, more considerate, you might say. He changes his clothes where you can't see, even though, if you're being really honest, you want to see. It has gotten to the point where seeing him in a t-shirt sometimes gets you flustered, so starved are you for seeing more of him.
So this, while it shouldn’t be, feels like a big deal. A big deal. You chew the inside of your lip and that awful silence is back.
“Sam,” you say, and he immediately says: “Don’t, okay?” His tone is gentle, though. “This is really embarrassing, I feel like a damn teen.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” you reply, because it really isn't, thinking of your own little excitement mishap. To tell the truth, the thought that Sam is sitting there, hard, is not helping you calm down any.
Hoping to make things less awkward for him, you say: “I mean, illustrations get me going, too.” Sam looks up, and then understands a second later. He looks away, grimaces, and some of the discomfort seems to dissipate from him.
“Wasn’t the illustrations that did this,” he says, a small bashful smile on his lips.
“Oooh,” you say, nodding. “Hot mom Allison and her record collection?” Sam actually chuckles, and you feel proud of yourself. Crisis averted. Now you can just go back to pining for Sam without the chance that anything is ever going to come of it.
But then he shakes his head, and his expression turns serious.
“Wasn’t her either,” he replies, his voice quiet. Then he looks at you, his head slightly turned to the side. “What did you dream about?”
A wave of heat goes through you. So you did make some noises. Goddamn it. A flash of dreaming about Sam kissing you roughly goes through your head, his lips bruising yours. But maybe you just made general noises, dream noises. Maybe you can convince him it was a nightmare.
“Uh, not sure,” you say, and it's your turn to stutter now. “Why, did I, like, say anything?” Sam licks his lip, still looking at you. You se him swallow, his throat moving.
“Uhm, you were kind of sighing? And, and,” Sam clears his throat, then continues. “And your body was really tensing up, and I thought maybe it was a nightmare but then you… moaned?” Sam looks down at his lap where the book is. So much for your amazing plan.
“Oh,” you say, pretending this is surprising you. “Sounds like a fun dream.” Like you don't remember the warm waves going through you when you woke up, the lightness and then the delicious heaviness. Sam nods.
“You were also kind of, uhm,” he continues, and you're not sure why he is telling you all this, why he can't just downplay this like you did his stupid boner. “You were also kind of…writhing. And moving your hips a lot. And your face was…” Sam swallows again. “You had this expression that was really sexy.”
Your mouth drops open. Sexy?
Sam keeps going: “It looked like you were in pain for a second and then it was gone and it just looked…sexy.” He’s said it twice now and you feel heat go through you. What is he even saying?
Sam licks his lips again, the short view of the muscle making you press your lips together, and then he looks back at you. “And I guess I was maybe watching you and listening to you and that’s what lead to this whole situation.”
Your breathing is going heavy and you wondered if Sam notices. What is going on with you might generally be easier to hide than what Sam has going on, but you're pretty sure that right then it is clear as daylight. Sam is hard because he listened to you having your sexy little dream. The dream that was about him. Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick. How are you going to ever deal with that?
“I’m—I’m flattered,” you say quietly. Sam smiles a little.
“It doesn’t weird you out?” he asks carefully. You shake your head.
“No, it’s actually kind of appropriate,” you reply. Sam frowns.
“Appropriate?” he asks. You can't help but grin, suddenly feeling a little mischievous. “Yeah, cause the dream I had was about you.”
Well, it's out there now, that's for certain. You watch Sam’s reaction, wondering if he's about to be the one who's weirded out. But he isn't. He keeps looking at you and you notice that his breathing has gotten heavier too. Something twitches in his jaw and he leans one arm on the back of the front bench. Just lying there, not doing anything, but its closeness, seeing his hand splayed there causes a reaction in you that you did not anticipate.
You press your legs together where you still hold them against you, and Sam’s eyes shoot down for just a moment, tracking the movement. Then he looks up at your face again.
“What was I doing,” he asks, voice low, “in the dream?” Your teeth find your lip at his words, the need to press down on something strong in you suddenly. This is happening. This is really happening.
“You… were touching me,” you say.
“Where?” Sam asks. His voice isn't shaky at all, it's steady, confident suddenly, which is not something you would have expected from him. You try to remember the dream, thinking for a second.
“Everywhere,” you say. “But you started with my face.”
Sam’s eyes meet yours then and both of you look at each other for a moment. You feel your eyelids flutter at your renewed arousal, the heat between your legs becoming uncomfortable. Sam nods.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” he asks, voice still steady but breathing harder. You move your shoulders.
“I do,” you say, “but it’s making me, uhm, it’s making me a little…”
Sam nods again. “Me too.”
There's silence for a moment again, and then Sam and you notice at the same time that you're rocking yourself against the bench beneath you. You stop immediately, but Sam says in the same moment: “Keep going.”
Fuck. You really want to. You really want to but this is so…
Shouldn’t you kiss first? Go on a date? Hold hands? You're not sure about any of this, only that Sam is looking at you and that you want to touch yourself.
“Are you gonna...?” you ask, too nervous to say more.
Sam nods. “If that’s okay with you?” Oh wow, is it ever okay with you. You nod.
Sam’s arm over the back of the bench doesn't move, but you can see the shoulder of his other arm does. He turns the flashlight off, the light from the street light still letting you see him, then you hear the it fall to the floor, and his arm keeps moving.
So you push your ass further down on the bench, meaning your legs are angled away from you a little, then let your hand slip between them, pushed into your jeans. It's a tight fit and there's another layer of clothing in-between but when you press down your lower body twitches in response.
Sam is still watching you, not saying anything, but you see his shoulder moving.
“Tell me,” he finally says, his voice so quiet as to be difficult to hear over the rain outside.
“We were,” you start, “in bed. It was a huge bed, not some dingy motel room. Nice white linen and sheets and, and we were both naked.”
Sam breathes in through his nose, and you press down on yourself again, another shudder going through you. Jesus, you're sensitive right now.
“It was, uhm, it was like snippets, cause it was a dream,” you explain, and Sam nods, his eyes not leaving your face. “But in one of them, you were over me. And you were kissing my neck, sort of rough and gentle at the same time.”
“What were you doing?” Sam asks.
“I was… My head was leaned back and my eyes were closed and my hands were in your hair, holding on to you.”
“And?” Sam asks.
“And,” you reply, your fingers having found a rhythm while you're still rocking yourself against the seat. “And you were fucking me.”
Sam closes his eyes for a few seconds, a low moan escaping him.
“Did you like it?” he asks, his voice sounding a little cracked now. Holy shit, it's the most erotic thing you've ever heard in your life. Sam, the master of self-control and decency, losing it at the wet dream you had about him.
“I loved it,” you say, your own voice a little breathy. “You were big and solid and fucking me hard and making me come.”
Sam’s shoulder starts moving faster.
“I want to do that,” he says, almost panting. “I want to make you come.”
Your own rhythm is picking up, your fingers pressing hard against you, and you can feel an almost violent knot of pleasure building in you.
“Do it, Sam,” you say, and your other hand going to your breast, finding the nipple and pinching it through the fabric.
“I want to see that face you made,” Sam pants. “Really hear you, hear you say my name when you come.”
He looks into your eyes then and your vision almost becomes blurry. “I want to feel you come while I’m inside of you.”
Then your body is tensing, everything pulling inwards, your eyes squeezing shut and a pained sounding noise leaves you, and a second later your head falls back on the bench, a sob of "oh God" leaving you as wave after wave of intense pleasure rolls through you.
You're breathing hard, eyelids heavy but then your eyes fly open when your hear Sam curse under his breath.
“Fuck,” he says, and you look at him just in time to see him also squeeze his eyes shut, his shoulders drawing up and his face making the most beautiful expression you have ever seen. He groans once and then lays his head back, panting, features full of bliss, all tension gone from him.
You're both quiet for a while, letting your bodies calm down, your breathing adjust.
After a few minutes, you see Sam move out of your half-closed eyes, and he's looking at you again.
“Holy shit,” he says, his face unbelieving. You can't help but laugh.
“Holy shit indeed,” you respond. He grins at you, lopsided. Then his attention is drawn away, and he opens the glove box, rummaging around for a second. He pulls something from it and holds it up for a second, a shy smile on his face. It's a box of tissues.
“Gotta clean up,” he mumbles, pulling a few tissues out and then throwing the box back into the glove box. You see him move his arms, a concentrated look on his face as you study at his features, watch at him move.
“I think I’ll skip the cleaning process,” you say after a while, “and go straight for new underwear.” Sam grins again.
“I know I didn’t do anything,” he says and seems to be finished with what he's been doing. “But why does that feel like such a compliment?” Now it's your turn to grin.
“Believe me, Sam,” you say, “it is a compliment.”
He looks back up at you, his boyish grin slowly dropping from his face.
“Do you,” he says, suddenly seeming nervous again, “want to maybe, uhm, have dinner with me some time? I mean I know we have dinner together all the time, but I mean, like a….”
He falters for a second, so you finish his sentence. “A date?”
Sam nods. “A date.”
“I think we did this the wrong way around,” you say, instead of answering. “I think you’re supposed to have dinner first and then come at the same time.”
Sam’s laugh surprises and thrills you.
“I guess it’s a little untraditional,” he says, nodding.
“I would love to go on a date with you, Sam,” you reply, and he beams at you, making you want to kiss him. So you do. Despite what you had just done, it still makes you nervous.
You lean forward, pushing yourself up until you're up to the front bench. Sam moves forward as well when he realizes what you're doing and then your lips met.
The angle is awkward, the bench pressing against your boobs and when Sam tries to get his hand up to cup your face he has to first turn his upper body, break the kiss and then lean in again.
It's perfect. It's just awkward and uncoordinated as a first kiss should be, no matter what else you have done.
When you stop kissing, you faces still close, you grin at each other like idiots. You kiss Sam's cheek, just because you felt like it.
Suddenly the light outside changes and you both turn to look. It's hot mom’s porch light and a second later you see Dean come outside and jog down towards the car, collar up to stop the rain from getting in.
You lean back on the bench, and Sam turns again, pretending he's sitting normally in his seat.
Dean makes it to the driver’s side, quickly opens the door and sits inside, making a few drops of rain spray everywhere.
“Now,” he says, closing the door behind him. “That little bit of waiting wasn’t so bad, was it? You kids have fun?”
There's silence for a moment, then Sam picks up the book from where it has apparently fallen into the foot well on his side.
“Yeah,” he says. “We entertained ourselves.”
Dean opens his mouth, probably to make fun of his brother’s nerdiness, but then closes it again. He sniffs. Your body tenses and you see Sam’s do the same.
“Did you guys screw in here?” Dean asks, eyebrows high and eyes narrowed.
“No!” you and Sam say at the same time. It's technically true, depending on your definition of screwing. Dean looks back at you and then at Sam, suspicion on his face.
“Mmh hmm,” he says, then looks forward, starting the car. Sam throws a quick look back at you and you have to suppress your grin.
Once you've been driving down the dark roads for a few minutes, Sam puts his arm back over the back of the front bench. Instead of laying it on top, however, he lets his arm dangle over it, letting it swing until his hand finds your leg. When he does, he squeezes it.
You bring your hand forward as much as you can without moving, hoping not to draw any attention to yourself. Finding Sam's big, warm hand, you lay yours over it, gently stroking it with your thumb.
a/n - this might be the fastest i’ve ever written a fic??? it’s pure filth so that might be why but LMAO, i love love love the idea of soft dom sam sm he melts my brain, hopefully this is good!! getting back into writing after taking a break from being sick bc my brain wouldn’t work. special thanks to my friend who helped me brainstorm the delicious idea ilysm !! <3
The only thing she could hear was Sam’s soft breathing, and the soft tap tap tap of his laptop keys behind her.
If she paid close enough attention, she could hear the way his shirt rustled when he moved his arms, the soft fluttering of book pages being turned, but her focus wasn’t really attainable, it was slipping through her fingers with each excruciating moment that she was sat there.
Sam shifted in his seat out of a pure intention to get comfortable, and his cock nudged deeper inside of her wet heat, dragged a soft gasp from her lips, which just earned her a soft “shh, honey” against the shell of her ear.
It had been her fault that she was in that position in the first place. She’d been a little too needy with Sam when he was trying to research, and on her third attempt at trying to initiate a — much needed, mind you — make out, he’d grabbed her hips and tugged her into his lap facing him. His voice had been a little stern as he told her to pull his cock out, and the tone of his voice alone had her cunt clenching around nothing as she quickly did as she’d been asked. She knew that voice, she’d had it in her ear most nights, whispered against her throat, against the plush of her thighs. It meant he was in control.
Sam had sat back from the library's table for enough time for her to pull his cock out and pull aside her panties, sank down onto him with a soft moan, but before she could move he grabbed her hips tightly, kept her still.
“Don’t move,” he’d dipped his head down and kissed her throat, pulse fluttering beneath his lips. “Stay there while I finish up and I’ll take care of you after, hm?”
If she was feeling a bit more bratty she would’ve whined or complained or just moved anyways, but his voice in her ear and his hands on her hips had her head spinning, so she just nodded and tucked her head against his throat as he leaned over her to continue what he was doing, completely focused, as if he wasn’t buried deep inside her pussy at that moment.
That had been twenty minutes ago.
It was becoming torturous.
Sam was unfairly skilled at keeping composed. He was also unfairly skilled at winding her up. Those two went hand in hand, it seemed, because each second that passed just worked her up more and more. All she could focus on was the warmth of his body pressed to hers, his cock nestled deep inside of her, the lack of stimulation. When she’d came out to the library with her attempt at bothering him, she’d craved a genuine release, not this.
Her hips shifted slightly and she squeezed her eyes shut, huffed out a soft “Sammy” against his throat when that slight movement was enough for her pussy to throb around him.
“Stay still.” He murmured without as much of a look in her direction. She glanced up at him and his eyes were locked forwards, pupils shifting left to right as he read whatever was displayed on his laptop screen. Tap tap tap, more pages turned, more reading, rinse, repeat. He was killing her.
Barely a minute had passed before she made another soft sound against the warm skin of his throat, lips brushing his neck, “Baby please-”
“My hands are busy, sweetheart,” his voice was so nonchalant it drove her up the wall. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”
Her eyes squeezed shut as she huffed against his throat again. “Can you just take a break?”
“No,” he shook his head. “No, I’m almost done, you’ll just have to wait,” he tsked, a hand briefly pet her hair, the touch so light it was like he was purposely depriving her of any stimulation. “If you’re that needy, you have two hands of your own, baby. Sort yourself out until I’m finished with this.”
She released a shuddered breath against his throat, squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. It wasn’t the answer she’d wanted.
“Hey,” one of his hands came up to the side of her neck and he pressed his thumb against her jaw, tilted her head back until he could meet her eyes. “I told you I’d sort you out once I finished, didn’t I?”
She nodded, bit the inside of her cheek.
“So isn’t it nice of me that I’m letting you get yourself off in the meantime?”
Letting you. Her cunt throbbed again.
“Yeah.” She whispered.
Sam leaned down and kissed her, just a soft little peck, and somehow it just riled her up more. “I’ll be done soon. Go ahead and sort yourself out for me, sweetheart.”
He let go of her jaw and moved his arms to the table again, continued tapping at his laptop, and her eyes scrunched closed again as she tipped forward and rested her forehead against his throat. But she was so needy that she didn’t think twice about following his instructions. One hand stayed tucked at his waist, fingers curled into the soft material of his flannel, and her other reached between them and tucked under the material of her shirt, fingering at the waistband of her panties until she slipped beneath those too, and she was so fucking wet that she was undoubtedly making a mess of his jeans from just sitting there.
Her fingers dipped down, pressed against her clit, and she shuddered as the stimulation made her clench around his cock deliciously. She pressed her fingers forwards again, started to shamelessly rub herself, exhaled soft little moans and sighs against his throat.
Before she could do anything else Sam’s voice was in her ear again, “Quiet, sweetheart. You’re meant to be letting me work, don’t make me tell you to stop.”
Her jaw clenched as she exhaled shakily, eyes squeezed shut, and she huffed a breath against his throat as she took a moment to compose herself. Now that she’d started touching herself, it’d just be a torture to stop, so she just nodded against his throat with the intent to keep herself quiet.
It took a moment for her to settle on a pace. She was a bit too needy with it, her hand squished between their bodies, knuckles pressed to his hard muscles each time she shifted her hand, but eventually she settled into a pace that had her eyes rolled back and squeezed shut, the fingers of her other hand curled tightly into the material of his flannel.
She circled her clit with the pads of her fingers again and again, but it was the feeling inside of her every time her cunt clenched around his cock that made it hard for her to keep quiet. She was half tempted to bite down on his collar to shut herself up, but Sam seemed to be letting her get away with the slight gasps and whimpers that she couldn’t stop herself letting up.
It took an embarrassingly short time for her to get close — her forehead was pressed to his throat, hot breaths puffed out against his skin, trying not to shift her hips as she rubbed at her clit with a need that thrummed within her veins. Her jaw clenched and she held her breath, eyes squeezed shut tighter as she worked herself closer.
“Breathe,” Sam’s breath tickled her ear as he spoke softly. She had a tendency to hold her breath when she came sometimes if she was especially worked up — she didn’t even know Sam was paying attention. She took a shuddery breath, and he murmured a soft, “that’s it.”
It only took a few more circles on her clit before she came and she grit her teeth, huffed out a sharp breath through her nose as the feeling washed over her. Her cunt pulsed in pleasure, waves that kept her rubbing at her clit until it felt too much, and when she finally stopped she was breathing sharply against his neck. Her hand was a bit cramped, fingers wet, heartbeat drumming, but the release felt so nice after she’d been so worked up.
“Good girl,” Sam crooned, and she could’ve cum again at the tone of his voice. “Good girl. Did that help?”
She nodded against his throat, relaxed into his front.
“Yeah?” He asked. “Are you gonna keep still until I’m finished now?”
She nodded again.
“Baby,” she felt his hand smooth up her back until his fingers delicately tangled in her hair, only enough to pull her head back to look at him. “I wanna hear you say it.”
She blinked a few times up at him. He was so devastatingly handsome, it wasn’t fair. “I’ll keep still,” she mumbled, face feeling far too hot. “Promise.”
“Oh, you promise?” She didn’t miss the teasing edge to his words, the smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth.
She nodded again. “Yeah, Sammy.”
“Good girl,” he praised once more, and was nice enough to give her a proper kiss that time. It still wasn’t what she craved — she didn’t feel his tongue in her mouth, he didn’t kiss her until she went dizzy — but it was nicer and kinder than a little peck. “Ten minutes and I’m all yours.”
She settled back into his chest as he went back to work, comfy to just rest against him in her post-orgasm euphoria, happy to wait the ten minutes until he was finished. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d fucked her on the library table that week.
a/n - not for kinktober just a fic i wanted to get out!! i’m unsure whether i like the dialogue on this im sorry if it sucks i feel i can never write dirty talk right *sobs* but i really hope you enjoy!!! <3
cws - fem!reader, 2k, nsfw 18+, phone sex, mutual masturbation, kind of softdom!sam, long distance, fluff, comfort, kinda unedited
other fics can be found on my masterlist
˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗
It was later than he’d liked by the time he finally got back to the motel. With muscles that ached from the day’s strain, brain fogged from how tired he was, Sam honestly just wanted to call his girlfriend and talk to her until he fell asleep.
He’d meant to text her a couple of hours prior to let her know the hunt was dragging on longer than expected, but his phone had fucking died when he and Dean were two hours into their trek into the woods to find the pack of werewolves they were hunting, and he’d been pretty miserable ever since.
Dean had disappeared off to the nearest bar after dropping Sam off at their room so he thankfully had the place to himself to mope around as he plugged his phone into the charger and showered whilst he waited for it to get some power. The shitty water pressure and barely lukewarm water did nothing for his aching back, so he was even more agitated by the time he got himself settled onto the uncomfortable mattress twenty minutes later, hair wet and skin still damp beneath his clothes with his eagerness to call her.
As much as he hated being away from her for so long, and too often, it was the safest thing to do. Sam wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to her because she was too close to his shit. He still had dreams about Jess, about how that was all his fault. He couldn’t let it happen again.
His phone hadn’t even reached twenty percent but he was impatient and shuffled over to the edge of the bed so the phone cord would reach and held the phone to his ear as he called her, propped himself up against the headboard.
The phone didn’t even ring twice before she answered.
“Sam?”
“Hey, baby.” The words came out in an exhale, most of the tension left him just at the sound of her voice, the ache seeping out of his bones like a relief. It was what kept him sane whenever he was away. Her picture in his wallet, her hair tie on his wrist, her voice in his ear.
“Hi, Sammy. Got worried when you didn’t call on time.”
He winced at the thought. She worried for him, of course she did. Sam understood how horrible it must have felt for her, knowing what he was going off to do. He could only imagine the dread that must’ve curled inside of her whenever he was late calling. Too many things had happened in the past, too many things could still go wrong.
“Sorry, my phone died when we were still out, didn’t get back until way later than I thought,” he groaned, sank down the headboard a little to stretch out on the bed. The agitation still hadn’t quite left him, the stiffness in his muscles prominent. He wanted nothing more than to curl up with her in his arms and he couldn’t have it. “Miss you, honey.”
He could hear the smile in her voice as she responded, “Missed you more. Wish you were here, it’s cold at night without you in bed too.”
He snorted a quiet laugh. “That’s why you miss me?”
“Mhm,” she giggled, though her voice turned a little coy as she murmured, “among other reasons.”
“Yeah?” An automatic smile was curling at his mouth.
Another little giggle through the receiver. He didn’t even need to see her to know that she had that little bashful smile on her face. He also knew exactly what was on her mind, it was on his too.
It wasn’t the first time they’d have done this. He was on the road so often that their sex life wasn’t as amazing as it could have been, and it wasn’t like he didn’t pleasure himself when he was away on hunts anyways.
There had been many many evenings he’d spent in the shower, hot water rolling down his back as he had one hand pressed to the tiled wall whilst the other pumped his cock until his cum was washed down the drain along with his shampoo bubbles. It wasn’t ideal — bottom lip tucked between his teeth to stifle the heaving breaths and quiet groans, trying to get off as fast as he could before the hot water could run out or Dean could get back to the room. It was even worse when it became a result of having her on the phone. There had been many occasions where her soft voice and giggles in his ear had been enough to get him hard, on nights when he was really missing her and it had just been too long since he’d kissed her.
It turned out she did the same as him. Though when Sam pictured it, it was a lot more graceful than his time in the shower. Laid out all pretty on their bed, legs spread, fingers wet with her own arousal as her head tipped back against the pillows. Sometimes if he got a little selfish he pictured her voice all whimpery saying his name as she came, but he couldn’t get lost in that daydream often, or he’d get hard over that, too.
“Miss you,” she breathed again, and the shift in her tone was palpable. “I… I tried touching myself earlier but I couldn’t cum without you on the phone.”
The groan that left him was automatic and his cock throbbed, hardening beneath the material of his boxers. The idea that she couldn’t even get off without his voice in her ear did wonders for him, it was a wonder his ego wasn’t too big already.
“You need my help, honey?” He crooned into the phone, settled into the tone of voice he knew she liked to hear, the voice he used more often than not when he was whispering in her ear, hips slotted between her thighs, rolling in a rhythm that left her whiney and panting.
Her soft little “mhm” was enough for him to move his other hand down and palm himself, hissing in a breath through his teeth.
“Go ahead and lay down for me, pretty girl. Wanna tell me what you’re wearing?”
There was the rustling of sheets over the phone before her voice spoke up again, “Just one of your shirts.”
Another groan. “You trying to kill me, baby?”
She giggled and his cock twitched beneath his palm. Jesus Christ he needed to get back to her, he needed her in person, to sate the need that wouldn’t be doused thoroughly enough over the phone.
“Go ahead and spread your legs for me, sweetheart,” he breathed, palming his cock again as he spoke, eyes squeezing shut as his head knocked back against the headboard. “Did you get yourself all worked up earlier, hm? Are you all soaked already?”
There was another hum, though he could hear the way her breathing had deepened, deep and heavy in his ear. He could picture the tickle of her breath on his face, the shape of her lips, the taste of her mouth after she’d just brushed her teeth. He needed her.
“Why don’t you start touching yourself for me?” He murmured, voice low with his arousal. Her resounding moan was enough for his cock to throb again and his hand finally dipped beneath his waistband, freeing himself with a quiet groan.
“Are you touching yourself too?” She whimpered, and it was a miracle he didn’t just cum there and then.
“Yeah,” his hand lifted and he tipped his head down to spit into his palm, groaning softly the next time he pumped his cock. “Yeah I am, dolly. Your pretty voice got me all worked up— fuck.” He breathed out the word between his teeth. He was already leaking pre-cum, thumbing over the head of his cock in a move that made him shudder, though it felt nice when she did it. Stroked his cock with her pretty hands, her pretty lips that wrapped around his head when she was on her knees for him, licking along the length of his dick in a way that always made him weak in the knees.
She moaned again and his hips jerked, rutting into his hand with a filthy groan. “How’re you feeling, honey?”
She whimpered, and Sam felt another dribble of pre-cum slide down the length of his cock. “Good— mm, good, j’st—” she took in a shaky breath, “feels better when it’s you, baby.”
“Oh yeah?” He grunted, pumping his cock just a little faster. “Why’s that, dolly?”
“Bigger hands,” she breathed. “longer fingers.”
Sam moaned, the idea of his fingers nestled deep in her wet heat enough for his cock to throb in his hand, and he knew he wouldn’t last long. But from the sounds of her pretty little whimpers, neither would she. “Can’t fill that pretty pussy up as nice as I can, hm?” He took in a shuddering breath. “Play with your clit for me, sweetheart.”
He could hear the moment she did, the sharp inhale, the whimpery moan, the rustling of the sheets as she, undoubtedly, spread her legs wider. “Oh god, Sammy—”
“Are you close, sweetheart?”
All he got in response was a high-pitched “uh-huh.”
“That’s it— shit, that’s it, baby,” he panted, pumping his cock faster, moaning softly as his head arched back. “Go on, dolly, make some pretty sounds for me as you cum, won’t you? M’gonna cum just thinking about you making such a mess of yourself, c’mon, baby—” he was practically begging between sharp breaths.
It only took a moment before he heard her sharp inhale and the whine that followed, and all it took was a few more quick ruts into his hand and the sounds of her before he groaned her name, toes curled and eyelids scrunched as he came. He could feel the evidence of his orgasm dribbling down his cock and his fingers as he shucked a few more times, hissing through his teeth as he finally stopped.
“Oh sweetheart,” he breathed, panting, not unlike her heavy breaths into the phone. “You sounded so fucking pretty, honey. That feel good for you?”
She took a shuddery breath and hummed again. “Yeah, thanks baby.”
Sam couldn’t help the breathy chuckle. “Don’t need to thank me,” he murmured. “M’always gonna take care of my girl, even if I’m not there. You made quite a mess of me, too.”
She breathed a laugh, and a moment passed of just their shared breathing as they both calmed down. Sam’s cock had softened completely against his abdomen, and he’d have to change his clothes and have another shower, but fuck was it worth it.
“I’ll be on my way back to you tomorrow,” he promised once his breathing had mostly evened out. “Should be with you before dinner, then you get me all to yourself.”
She yawned into the phone before mumbling, “Good, want you back to me as soon as possible.”
The sound of her so sleepy just left him so soft. “I promise I will be,” he breathed. “Why don’t you get some sleep, okay honey? I’ll call you in the morning when we’re on the road.”
“Okay,” her voice had completely softened, coated in a sickly-sweet fondness that left him putty in her hands. “I love you. Get back to me safe, okay?”
“I always do,” Sam smiled. “I love you too. Night, gorgeous.”
She yawned her own goodbye before the line went dead, and he let the phone drop back down onto the mattress with a heavy breath.
Just one more day, then he could have her in person, help her in all the ways he wanted to on the phone.
He's staring up at you, blown pupils swallowing the green in his eyes. He's got a look that's just plain desperate, ready to give you anything- anything except-
He pulls back as he feels your body tensing, right on the edge of your orgasm. You moan out in protest, your body writhing under him as he grips your thighs harder, fingers curling into your soft skin.
"M'pretty baby-" he murmurs, giving your swollen clit a small kiss, "-y'pussy tastes like sugar-"
Your slick sparkles over his chin, his lips puffy with the teasing. He blinks slow, keeping himself grounded as he pulls the joint out of your hands, takes a long drag, head still between your legs. A speck of ash falls against your inner thigh, you don't notice, neither does he, both of you too wrecked to feel anything but each other.
"De- baby please-"
"God y'fuckin gorgeous when you're high-" he kisses your hip, pushing the joint back between your fingers, "-y'just gotta lie there and look pretty f'me-"
You burn your throat with another drag as he kisses back down your stomach, blown out eyes still staring up at you, wide like pray.
He loves this. Loves ending a long day buried between your thighs, thinks he could spend an eternity here, and the night's starting to feel like that- minutes blurring into hours with his tongue in your pussy.
He's back on your clit, slow lazy circles as he feels your body relax back into the mattress, just gentle as he starts to taste you again, let's his saliva drip off his tongue onto your pussy, mixing with your wetness as he drags it through your folds, achingly slow.
You soak like honey over his lips, his chin- he can feel it on his throat, coating your inner thighs, just fuckin dripping all over him. He'd do this whenever, loves this whenever, but when he's high, and the taste of you dances on his tongue like he's just dropped acid? Oh that's the best kinda night.
He groans like a beg, thick vibrations against your clit that make you choke on the smoke in your throat.
He's lazy and relentless, pushing his tongue back in, nose rubbing against you, stubble against your swollen pussy-lips. His eyes stay set on you, gorging on the sight.
"De- need t' come-"
"Y'dont need to do nothing 'sept look pretty doll-" he mumbles, high on the taste of you more than any drug, "-just look pretty, all f'me-"
summary. sam loves to fuck you when you're on your period.
wordcount. 1090
warnings. explicit sexual content, period sex, p in v, messy/bloody elements (very realistic period mess, kinda gross), fingering, dirty talk with heavy emphasis on wetness/mess, motel bed destruction, sam being feral & obsessive about the mess.
i wrote this last week when i was on my period, so you can blame the hormones. theo posting this is very reticent but also proud at the same time
you’re sprawled on your back in the middle of the sagging queen bed, legs spread, knees bent, one foot planted on the mattress while the other dangles off the edge.
the towel you shoved under your hips is already soaked through—dark red blooming in uneven patches. you’re on day two. heavy flow. the kind that makes you feel swollen, sensitive, a little feral yourself.
sam doesn’t care.
he’s kneeling between your thighs, shirt gone, jeans still on but unzipped, cock thick and flushed in his fist. his eyes are locked on the mess between your legs—your swollen folds glistening with blood and slick, clit peeking out, begging. he drags two long fingers through the wetness, coating them red with a low, obscene groan.
“fuck,” he breathes. “you’re so wet. look at this.”
his voice is wrecked—deeper than usual, gravel-rough. he spreads you open with both thumbs, exposing everything. another slow drag of his fingers, gathering more of the crimson slick, smearing it up over your clit in lazy circles. you jolt, hips twitching.
“sam—”
“shh.” he leans down, breath hot against your cunt. “let me look. been thinking about this all day. how fuckin’ slippery you get. how you drip everywhere. how you stain everything.”
he presses the pad of his thumb flat against your entrance—slow pressure, no penetration yet—just feeling the way your body yields, the way more blood-tinged slick wells up and coats his skin. he groans again, louder this time.
“goddamn. you’re making such a mess already and i haven’t even fucked you yet.”
you whimper. the combination of cramps, hormones, and his filthy mouth has you throbbing. “then do it.”
sam’s grin is feral. “oh i will. but first—”
he slides two fingers inside you—easy, deep, no resistance at all. your walls flutter around him instantly. he curls them, strokes that spot that makes your toes curl, and more wetness gushes out—red-streaked, obscene. it drips down his wrist, soaks the already-ruined towel, starts seeping into the sheets beneath.
“there it is,” he mutters. “fuckin’ soaked. dripping all over my hand. you love this, don’t you? love how nasty it gets.”
“yes—sam—please—”
he pulls his fingers out slow—strings of slick and blood connecting them to your entrance—then shoves them back in harder. once. twice. three times. the wet squelch is loud in the quiet room. your hips buck. he pins you down with his free forearm across your lower belly, keeping you still while he finger-fucks you through the mess.
“look at the bed,” he growls. “look what you’re doing to it. ruining it. red everywhere. gonna have to pay extra when we check out ‘cause my girl can’t stop leaking for me.”
you moan—high, broken. the pressure builds fast, different on your period—sharper, fuller. he adds a third finger, stretching you wide, and you cry out.
“that’s it. take it. take my fingers like you’re gonna take my cock. gonna fill you up so deep you’ll feel me for days. gonna mix everything—your blood, your come, my come. gonna make the biggest fuckin’ mess this bed’s ever seen.”
he pulls his hand free—fingers glistening dark red—and smears the mess across your inner thighs, painting stripes like war paint. then he’s shoving his jeans down, kicking them off, cock springing free—thick, veined, leaking at the tip.
he notches himself at your entrance. rubs the head through your folds—coating himself in red and slick—then pushes in slow.
the stretch is intense. fuller than usual. you gasp, back arching. sam’s eyes roll back for a second.
“fuck—fuck—tight. so tight. and so wet. jesus christ, baby. feel that? feel how easy you take me? like your pussy was made for this.”
he bottoms out—hips flush to yours—and stays there, grinding slow circles, letting you feel every inch buried deep. blood and slick smear between you, dripping down his balls, staining the sheets darker.
“look at us,” he rasps. “look how messy we are. my cock’s covered in you. your thighs are red. the bed’s fucked. and i’m not even close to done.”
he starts moving—long, deep strokes that drag against every sensitive spot. the wet sounds are filthy—sloppy, rhythmic, unmistakable. every thrust pushes more mess out around his cock, dripping onto the towel, soaking through to the mattress.
“gonna come inside you,” he pants. “gonna fill you up. gonna mix it all together. you want that? want me to come in your bloody pussy?”
“yes—god—yes—”
his pace turns brutal. hips snapping hard. one big hand wraps around your throat—not squeezing, just holding—while the other grips your hip, yanking you into every thrust. the headboard bangs the wall. the bed creaks dangerously.
“fuck—look at you. takin’ it so good. makin’ such a pretty mess. gonna come like this? gonna soak my cock while i’m buried in you?”
you’re close—dangerously close. the pressure is overwhelming—cramps and pleasure twisting together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. your nails rake down his back. he hisses, fucks you harder.
“come on,” he growls. “come for me. make it messier. wanna feel you gush around me. wanna see it drip out when i pull out.”
that does it.
you shatter—back bowing, thighs shaking, a broken cry tearing from your throat. your walls clamp down hard around him, pulsing, more slick and blood flooding out around his cock. sam swears—loud, wrecked—and slams in deep one last time.
he comes with a guttural groan—hot, thick pulses filling you. his hips jerk through it, grinding against your clit, drawing out your orgasm until you’re both trembling, oversensitive, panting.
he doesn’t pull out right away.
stays buried, softening slowly, letting everything leak out around him—red-tinged come and slick dripping down your ass, pooling on the towel, soaking the sheets beneath.
sam finally leans down, kisses you slow and filthy.
“look what we did,” he murmurs against your lips. “fucked the bed to hell. gonna have to flip the mattress before housekeeping comes.”
you laugh—breathless, shaky. “worth it.”
he grins—lazy, satisfied—then glances down at the disaster between your legs.
“yeah.” he drags two fingers through the mess again, brings them to his mouth, sucks them clean. “definitely worth it.”
he collapses beside you, pulling you against his chest. one arm wraps around your waist, the other hand resting possessively over your lower belly.
“gonna clean you up in a minute,” he mumbles into your hair. “but right now… just stay like this. let me feel how messy we are.”
tags. title from a panic! at the disco song. oral sex. explicit sexual content. female reader. fob references.
Your slick is dripping onto the precious seats of Dean's damn precious car as Sam noisily sucks on your clit, a flush of pure enjoyment on his face.
He's curled up tight since he's so tall, but he doesn't seem to mind the ache in his spine when he has something so much better in front of him. The figure of Aphrodite, right in front of him, allowing him to eat her up. Eat you up.
His tongue dips into your entrance, smearing your slit with hot spit and love. It drags a moan from you, tuned exactly to his taste. The most beautiful song he's ever heard. He lifts his head to meet your eyes, and makes damn sure you can see the seductive glint in his blown hazel eyes and the sexy blush on his cheeks before spitting straight on your slit and resting his forearm on your hips to hold you down.
"Fu—Sam!" You yelp. Waves of slippery pleasure throb in your body, melting your head by the second. Sam doesn't pause, just continues to eat you out like a man starved. Drink up your juices and spendings made for him. Him only.
"Pretty, fuckin' pretty," he groans, his voice a low rumble. You squeal as he drags his tongue up your slit, before pulling away and blowing his hot breath on your cunt.
"Sam! Please!" You moan. Your voice is high and whiny, irresistible, and he loves the way you hurt him. It's so irresistible.
And Sam loves the taste of you. And when it's all done, slick, and messy with foggy windows—he knows just what to do.
clingy!sam…. who doesn’t need to be talking to you, but he needs to know exactly where you are. If you’re in the bunker’s library, he’s at the table across from you. If you move to the kitchen, he suddenly realizes he’s "thirsty" and follows a minute later.
clingy!sam…. who when In bed with you is a literal hazard. He will sprawl out until he finds you, eventually pinning you down with an arm or a leg. He’s a "furnace" sleeper, and he uses that heat to keep you tucked close.
clingy!sam…. who has a habit of leaning his weight into you when you’re standing together. Since he’s so tall, it’s like being leaned on by a very large, warm redwood tree. It’s his way of grounding himself.
clingy!sam…. who’s the king of "five more minutes." If he senses you waking up to leave the room, his grip tightens instinctively. He’ll bury his face in the crook of your neck and mumble excuses about why it’s too cold for you to get up yet.
clingy!sam…. who If you’re out without him, your phone is going to buzz. It’s never a "where are you?" (he’s too polite for that) it’s always a "Saw this and thought of you" or a "Do you want me to start dinner?" It’s his subtle way of maintaining the connection.
clingy!sam…. who In public or at bars, he’s always behind you or has a hand on your shoulder. He uses his size to create a literal bubble around you so nobody else can get too close.
clingy!sam…. who’s clinginess usually stems from his fear of the "empty chair." He’s spent so much of his life mourning people that having you right there, breathing and tangible, is the only thing that keeps his anxiety at bay.
Summary: Dean begs Sam and her to sleep in the car so he can have his chance with a girl from the bar.
Warnings: smut! No y/n or name mention
The neon glow from the bar’s sign had long since faded behind them, leaving only the low hum of crickets and the occasional passing semi on the highway. Dean had flashed that trademark grin, keys already dangling from his fingers as he leaned against the Impala’s hood.
“C’mon, it’s one night. One. I’ll make it up to you both. Promise.”
She’d crossed her arms, eyebrows raised. “You said that last time. We ended up sleeping in a graveyard because your ‘sure thing’ turned out to be married.”
Sam had just sighed, already resigned. “Dean.”
“Dude. I’m begging. You two can handle one night in the car. You’ve done worse.”
She exchanged a look with Sam—half exasperation, half defeat. Eventually she threw her hands up. “Fine. But if I wake up with a permanent crick in my neck, I’m shaving your head while you sleep.”
Dean’s grin widened. “Deal.”
Now here they were.
She stretched out across the wide back seat, boots off, one leg bent, the other dangling toward the floor. The leather was cool against her bare calves. Sam had tried to be gallant at first—insisted he’d sleep sitting up in the passenger seat—but she’d snorted and told him not to be stupid. The ’67 bench seats were generous enough that he could lie down if he reclined the back just right. So he had. Head near the passenger door, long legs stretched toward the steering wheel, arms folded behind his head like he was trying to convince himself this was normal.
Neither of them could sleep.
The silence stretched thin, then snapped.
“You think he’s already—” she started.
“Don’t,” Sam cut in, voice rough with exhaustion and something darker. “I don’t want the visual.”
She laughed under her breath. “Fair.”
Another long pause. The windows were cracked an inch; cool night air slipped in and raised goosebumps along her arms.
“You ever wonder why we keep doing this?” she asked quietly.
Sam turned his head just enough to look at her in the rearview mirror. His eyes caught the faint glow of a streetlight. “Hunting?”
“No. Letting him ditch us so he can get laid.”
Sam huffed a small, tired laugh. “Habit. Muscle memory. Same reason we still check the salt lines even when we know the job’s done.”
She rolled onto her side, facing the front, cheek pillowed on her bent arm. “You ever get tired of being the responsible one?”
His throat worked. “Every damn day.”
Another moment of silence falls over them both, Sam manages to see her in the rearview mirror. Huddled in the back seat like a puppy. She was probably cold.
“You’re freezing,” he said quietly. Not a question.
She shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s fine. Just… taking a minute to adjust.”
He watched her another second, then exhaled through his nose. “Come here.”
She blinked. “What?”
Sam patted his chest once, almost absently—like the offer slipped out before he could second-guess it. “You’re shaking. Lie on me. Body heat’s better than nothing, and the front seat’s killing my neck anyway.”
He said it so matter-of-factly, so gently, that it didn’t feel like a line. It felt like Sam being Sam: practical, kind, a little awkward.
She hesitated, looking at him—long limbs folded uncomfortably, flannel sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair falling into his eyes. He didn’t push. Just waited, patient.
“Okay,” she murmured.
His eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise, but he recovered fast. Shifted so his back was more against the door, legs stretched along the seat, making room. She climbed over carefully, knees bracketing his hips for a second before she lowered herself down—chest to chest, face tucked against the warm hollow of his throat.
The second her weight settled, he let out a small, involuntary sound—half sigh, half something deeper. His arms came around her slowly, one hand splaying across her lower back, the other cradling the nape of her neck. No pressure. Just holding.
“Better?” he asked, voice rumbling under her ear.
She nodded against his shirt. “Much.”
They stayed like that. Minutes passed. His heartbeat was steady beneath her cheek, strong and even. Her shivering eased. The cold retreated. And then—slowly—the warmth between them changed. Not sudden. Not urgent. Just… deeper.
She shifted, just a fraction, trying to get more comfortable. Her thigh brushed the inside of his, and he tensed—barely, but she felt it. His hand flexed against her back.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“Don’t be.” His thumb moved in a slow, absent circle over her spine. “You’re… really warm now.”
She lifted her head enough to meet his eyes. They were darker than usual, pupils wide in the low light, but there was no smirk, no teasing glint. Just quiet heat. Want held carefully in check.
She swallowed. “Sam…”
He searched her face. “Tell me to stop and I will. Right now. No questions.”
She didn’t tell him to stop. Instead she leaned down—slow, giving him every chance to pull away—and kissed him.
It was soft at first. Tentative. His lips parted under hers with a quiet exhale, like relief. One big hand slid up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing her cheekbone. The kiss deepened gradually—tongues touching, breath mingling—until she was pressing closer, hips rocking once, instinctive.
He groaned into her mouth, low and broken. His hands moved to her hips, guiding without forcing, helping her find a rhythm against him. She could feel him hardening beneath her, thick and insistent through denim, and the realization made heat pool low in her belly.
“Still okay?” he murmured against her lips.
She nodded, breathless. “More than okay.”
He helped her sit up just enough to peel her tank top off, then her bra. His hands were careful—reverent—palms sliding over her ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts before cupping them fully. When he took one nipple into his mouth, it was gentle suction, tongue laving slow circles. She arched, fingers threading into his hair.
He switched sides, same careful attention, while his other hand worked the button of her jeans. She lifted her hips; he tugged the denim and panties down together, helping her kick them off. Then his own belt—clinking softly in the quiet—zipper rasping. He shoved his jeans and boxers just low enough.
She reached between them, wrapped her fingers around him. He hissed, head tipping back against the seat. Thick, hot, velvet over steel. She stroked once, slow, watching his throat work.
“Condom,” he managed, voice wrecked. “Wallet—glovebox—”
She stretched, found it, tore the packet with shaking fingers. Rolled it down him carefully. When she settled back over him, guiding him to her entrance, they both went still for a second—just feeling the blunt pressure, the slick heat.
She sank down inch by inch.
They exhaled together.
He filled her perfectly—stretching, pressing everywhere she needed. She braced her hands on his chest, nails digging lightly into flannel, and started to move. Slow rolls at first. Deep. Letting them both feel every slide.
Sam’s hands roamed—up her back, down to grip her ass, helping her ride him without rushing. His head fell forward; he kissed her collarbone, her throat, murmuring her name like a prayer between each breath.
When she started to tremble—close, so close—he slipped one hand between them, thumb finding her clit with gentle, steady circles.
“Come for me,” he whispered against her skin. “I’ve got you.”
She did—quietly, intensely—back bowing, thighs shaking, inner walls pulsing around him. He followed right after, hips jerking up once, twice, burying himself deep as he came with a low, shuddering groan.
She pressed a soft kiss to the underside of his jaw.
Eventually he pressed a soft, almost shy kiss beneath her ear.
“Still think Dean owes us?” he murmured, voice wrecked.
She laughed breathlessly, fingers carding through his damp hair.
⋆˚꩜｡Summary: After a failed hunt, Sam decides to teach his partner how to use a gun.
The rain hammered the tin roof of the abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, turning the concrete floor into a slick mirror of sodium lights leaking through broken windows. Inside, the air smelled of rust, old gun oil, and the faint copper tang of fear that still lingered from last week's disaster.
Sam stood with his arms crossed, watching her fumble with the slide of the Glock for the third time. The weapon stayed stubbornly locked, mocking them both.
"I had it," she muttered, cheeks flushed. "I swear I had it last time."
"You almost had it," he corrected gently, but there was steel under the softness. "Almost doesn't stop a wendigo when it's already on you. Or a vamp. Or anything that doesn't wait for you to figure out the safety."
She exhaled sharply through her nose, setting the gun down on the makeshift table—a door balanced between two oil drums—with more care than it probably deserved.
Sam had always drawn the line here. Research was her domain: Latin incantations, obscure bloodlines, patterns in disappearances that made monsters predictable. He and Dean handled the sharp end. It kept her safe. It kept her out of the line of fire. Until last Tuesday, when the shifter they'd tracked to an old mill had cornered them both in a dead-end corridor, and she'd stood there clutching the pistol like it was a foreign object while he bled from a gash across his ribs.
He hadn't yelled. He never yelled at her. But the silence afterward had been worse.She followed the motion, the metallic click-clack echoing in the empty space.
"Alright," he said now, stepping forward. "Pick it up again. Slow."
She did, fingers tentative.
"First—thumb here." He guided her hand, his palm warm and steady over the back of hers. "Push the slide back just enough to check the chamber. Visual and physical. Every time. Muscle memory."
She followed the motion, the metallic click-clack echoing in the empty space.
"Good. Now rack it fully. Firm. Don't baby it."
The slide snapped home. She flinched at the sound.
"That's the sound of ready," he told her. "Not danger. Ready means control."
He moved behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his chest, but not crowding. Not yet.
"Feet shoulder-width. Knees soft. Lean forward just a hair—weight on the balls of your feet." His hands settled lightly on her hips, adjusting her stance with the same careful precision he used when stitching wounds or turning ancient pages. "Now both hands. High grip. Thumbs forward along the frame. Lock your wrists."
She adjusted, breathing shallow.
"Elbows bent, not locked. The recoil wants to push you back—let your body absorb it, don't fight it." One hand slid up to her shoulders, gently pressing them down. "Breathe out halfway. Hold. Sight picture—front sight sharp, target blurry."
The warehouse wall had a crude target taped up: a printout of a generic silhouette, already pocked with earlier, wild shots.
"Trigger slow. Press, don't jerk."
The first shot cracked, louder than either of them expected in the confined space. The bullet punched high and left, concrete dust puffing out.
She jumped, but didn't drop the gun.
Sam didn't flinch. "Again. Same breath. Same grip. You're chasing the front sight, not the target. Trust the sight."
Second shot. Closer.
Third. Almost center mass.
By the eighth round, the grouping was tight enough that he let out a low, approving hum—the sound he usually saved for when she cracked a translation no one else could.
He stepped around to face her, taking the now-empty magazine from her fingers.
"You're a quick study," he said quietly. "Always have been."
She gave a small, breathless laugh. “I had a good teacher.”
He didn’t smile back—not yet. Instead he cupped her face with both hands, thumbs tracing the line of her jaw.
“I never wanted this for you,” he said quietly. “I wanted you safe. Behind books and maps and salt lines. Not here. Not holding a gun because I wasn’t fast enough to keep you out of the line of fire.”
Her hands came up to rest on his wrists, holding him there. “Sam. I’m not asking you to keep me in a cage. I’m asking you to trust me to stand beside you.”
He swallowed hard. “I do trust you. More than anyone.”
“Then stop trying to protect me from the only thing that might actually save us both.”
For a long moment they just stood there, foreheads nearly touching, rain drumming overhead like a heartbeat too large for the room.
Then he kissed her—slow, deep, the way he’d wanted to since the night she first stayed up translating dead languages while he pretended to sleep on the library table. Her fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him closer, and he let himself sink into it: the taste of coffee and gunpowder and her.
When they finally parted, breathing uneven, he rested his forehead against hers.
"Só mais uma revista”, disse ele, em voz baixa. “Aí a gente sai daqui. Café. Uma cama de verdade. E você pode me dizer — de novo — por que eu estou errado sobre a etimologia de lamia até eu implorar por misericórdia.”
She smiled against his mouth. “Deal.”
He loaded the fresh mag, pressed it into her palm, then stepped back just far enough to watch.
This time her stance was perfect. Her breathing even. The gun came up smooth.
And when she fired, each shot landing exactly where she aimed, Sam felt something loosen in his chest—fear giving way, inch by stubborn inch, to something warmer.
She was still his to protect.
But now she was also his equal.
And God help anything that tried to come between them.
the first few weeks home are a blur of no sleep and sam refusing to put the baby down for more than 10 minutes at a time, he just walks the apartment in slow circles at 3am, one big hand supporting the tiny head, the other rubbing endless soothing circles on the baby’s back while humming “hey jude” so quietly it’s almost just breath
he’s obsessed with the baby’s tiny hands. like, completely mesmerized. he’ll hold one little fist in his palm and just stare, whispering “look at these fingers… how are they so small?” until she teases him that he’s gonna wear out the phrase
bath time becomes sacred. sam kneels by the baby tub like it’s a ritual, testing the water temp on his wrist approximately 17 times even though he already knows it’s perfect. the baby coos and splashes and sam’s whole face lights up like the sun came out — he gets soaked every single time and doesn’t care
he starts a tradition of reading to the baby every night from day one. not baby books at first — he reads mythology, latin primers, even parts of his old law textbooks in that low calm voice. claims it’s “building vocabulary early” but really it’s just because the sound of his voice makes the baby stop fussing instantly
whenever the baby cries in the car, sam pulls over immediately. doesn’t matter if they’re two blocks from home. he climbs in the back seat, unbuckles the car seat, scoops the baby out and just holds them against his chest until the sobs turn to hiccups. “i’ve got you. dad’s got you. you’re safe”
dean visits and tries to burp the baby like a pro wrestler and sam hovers like a nervous hen going “support the head—gentle—dean, gentle!!” until dean smirks and hands the baby back like “relax, sammy, i’m not gonna drop my niece/nephew”
sam has zero chill about tummy time. he lies on the floor for hours, chin on his hands, cheering like it’s the Olympics every time the baby lifts their head even a centimeter. “that’s it! strong like mom, huh? look at you go”
the baby’s first smile is at sam — he’s making ridiculous faces while changing a diaper and it just… happens. tiny gummy grin. sam freezes, eyes instantly glassy, and chokes out “did you see that? she/he smiled at me” like it’s the greatest thing anyone’s ever done for him
nightmares still hit him hard some nights. he wakes up gasping, checks the crib first thing — the second he sees the baby breathing, safe and tiny, he exhales like he’s been holding it for years. sometimes he just sits in the rocking chair watching them sleep until dawn, one finger tucked in that little hand
he learns every cry. hungry is different from tired is different from “i just want to be held.” he’s up before the wail even fully starts, already murmuring “i know, i know, i’m here”
first time the baby grabs a fistful of his hair and won’t let go? sam just laughs — soft, wrecked, happy — and lets them keep it hostage for twenty minutes while he rocks them. “yeah, you got me. i’m not going anywhere”
he keeps the first onesie they ever dressed the baby in folded in his nightstand drawer next to his dad’s old army knife. two pieces of who he is, side by side
late-night feedings: bottle in one hand, baby cradled in the crook of his arm, sam’s head tipped back against the couch whispering all the promises he’s too scared to say in daylight — “you’ll have a real home. you’ll never have to run. i’ll give you normal, i swear”
the baby falls asleep on his chest so often that sam’s hoodie permanently smells like baby shampoo and milk. he pretends to complain but secretly never wants to wash it
the pregnancy test is positive at 3:17am in the tiny off-campus bathroom and she just sits on the edge of the tub staring at it while Sam waits outside the door whispering “hey… you okay in there?” like he already knows but he’s terrified to say it out loud
when she finally opens the door he’s sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, knees up, looking like he’s aged ten years in ten minutes, the second he sees her face he’s on his feet pulling her into his chest going “we’re okay. we’re gonna be okay” even though his voice cracks on the word “okay"
he tells Dean over the phone at like 4am west coast time and Dean’s first response is dead silence for a solid eight seconds followed by “……you’re shitting me” and then immediately “I’m on my way”
Sam reads approximately 47 baby books in the first month. Highlights them. Takes color-coded notes. Tries to explain the difference between swaddling techniques to her at 2am while she’s half-asleep on his lap going “sam. baby. please. just hold me”
he’s weirdly good at soothing her morning sickness?? like he just instinctively knows to keep ginger ale by the bed and cold washcloths for her forehead and he never once makes her feel gross about it
the first ultrasound. oh god. he’s sitting beside her gripping her hand so hard she has to tap his knuckles to loosen up. when the tech points out the heartbeat he just… stops breathing for a second. eyes huge. shiny. whispers “that’s—that’s ours” like he can’t believe it’s real
he starts talking to the bump when he thinks she’s asleep. low murmurs about how “your mom is the bravest person i know” and “i’m gonna make sure nothing ever hurts you” and sometimes he slips into latin protections without even realizing
nesting sam is next level. he reorganizes the entire apartment by like week 20. buys the safest crib on the market. triple-checks the smoke detectors. learns how to install a car seat with military precision (practices on a stuffed animal first)
he cries the first time the baby kicks hard enough for him to feel it. just full-on tears while his giant hand is splayed over her stomach going “hi… hi baby”
when she’s exhausted and hormonal and snaps at him, he never snaps back. just nods, kisses her temple, says “i know. i’m sorry it hurts” and goes to make her tea or run a bath
dean shows up with a tiny leather jacket “for the kid” and sam rolls his eyes but secretly keeps it folded in the top drawer like a talisman
labor hits at the worst possible time (of course). sam drives one-handed the whole way because she’s crushing his other hand into bone dust and he’s murmuring “you’re doing so good, i’m so proud of you” on repeat like a prayer
the first time he holds his kid he just… stares. doesn’t move. barely breathes. this giant man with blood and tear tracks on his face cradling this tiny squirming thing like it’s made of glass. whispers “hey little one… i’m your dad” and his voice breaks so badly he has to stop talking
he’s terrified he’ll turn out like John. spends nights researching how to break cycles while the baby sleeps on his chest. swears to himself (and to her, quietly) that this kid will never know what it’s like to feel like a burden
he still hunts occasionally but only small easy salt-and-burns. always home by morning. always kisses both of them before he leaves. always comes back
late nights when the baby won’t stop crying, sam walks endless circles around the living room singing old classic rock songs under his breath until his voice is hoarse. it’s the only thing that works sometimes
he keeps a photo of the three of them in his wallet right next to the one of him and Jess. looks at it when things get dark. reminder that he built something good. something his
there is more bc im ovulating and cant take sam out of my head so you can find pt.2 here
A/N: this is once again self indulgent smut without a plot, i hope that it’s not as cheeks as my last post bc wtf was that. anyways enjoy climbing him like a tree🩷
Warnings: Unprotected p in v, fingering, oral (f), creampie, breeding if u squint, praise, slight size kink, overstim, crying, Sam can’t stfu, pussy pronouns, pet names (angel, baby, pretty girl, sweetheart)
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The soft tapping of Sam’s fingers on the keyboard is the only sound that fills the bunker. Dean has run off to another dive bar, no doubt laying some random chick right about now. A low groan slips past my lips as I stare at the tall man staring at his laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.
“Sam, come on. You said you were almost done, like…” I hesitate and glance at my watch. “Ten minutes ago! We won’t have enough time to watch a movie before Dean gets back, at this rate.” I pout, pitching my voice slightly higher in hopes it will help me get his attention. It does.
“Sweetheart, please. I really am almost done,” His voice is soft, those puppy dog eyes gazing at me, imploring me to be patient. Yet I am anything but. A huff leaves me as I cross my arms over my chest. “Sammy…” I whine, further luring him into my trap of sweet deceit.
I watch him sigh, look at the laptop, then me, the laptop again, and run a hand down his face. A smile blooms across my lips. I’ve got him.
I spring to my feet as he shuts the device, standing up from his chair. He cracks his back with a groan as I crowd his personal space. “So can we watch a movie now?” I ask, batting my lashes up at him while he grins. “Yeah, baby. We can watch whatever you want.” The familiar warmth of his touch registers in my mind, his large hand resting on the curve of my waist. I can see the way his throat bobs as he swallows, gaze lingering on the point of contact between us.
“Y’know, angel… We don’t necessarily have to watch a movie to spend time together.” Sam rumbles, tugging me a little bit closer. My brows knit together as I gaze up at him. “But you’re the one who suggested we watch a movie tonight?” My hands rest on his broad chest as I read his facial expression. The teasing grin. The bright glimmer in his eyes. The way his cheeks appear to get pinker. Oh.
“I know I did, sweetheart. But we can always watch a movie another time.” His hands rub over my hips, hazel eyes flickering down to the way my shirt stretches over my chest. All the attention makes my heart beat faster and I gnaw my lip. “I guess… What did you wanna do instead?” I obviously know what he wants to do, and he obviously knows that I know, but he still entertains me. “Oh, you know. Just the usual. Show you how much I love you, how much you mean to me, how special you are…” His words trail off as he watches me with dark eyes.
My fingers press into the meat of his pecs as I smile at him brightly. “Yeah?” I squeak out. “Yeah.” He smiles back at me. A giggle escapes me as I take his hand in mine, yanking on his arm as he exclaims. I bring him to our bedroom where he kicks the door shut, crowding me up against it. My head spins with anticipation as he cups my face.
His touch is gentle, even if his hands are rough and big, and he presses his lips to mine in a fierce kiss. My arms instinctively wrap around his neck as my fingers tangle in his hair. Our lips slide against each other as the kiss becomes increasingly heated, hands wandering and tongues brushing.
He slips a hand under my shirt as I squirm, giggling sweetly. “What’s so funny?” Sam quips, kissing and nipping down my neck as I grab at his shoulders. “Nothing- You just… make me happy.” I whisper back, my eyes fluttering as he mouths the skin of my throat. “Mmh, yeah?” His voice rumbles against my skin and I giggle again. “Yeah.”
Sam pulls away from my neck, reaching down to grab at my thighs, lifting me up. I squeal and wrap my legs around him while he brings me to bed. A soft ‘oomph’ leaves me as he plops me down onto the bed, and I immediately start grabbing at him, dragging him down with me.
His whole essence lights up the room as he chuckles, crawling on top of me as my fingers grab at the fabric of his shirt. “Somebody’s excited,” He teases, and I wrinkle my nose. “What, are you not?” I draw random shapes on his shoulder blade with my finger as he wrinkles his nose back at me. “Of course I am. I’m always excited when I get you all to myself. Now come here,”
I shriek in delight as Sam wraps his arms around me, rolling onto his back as he pulls me on top of him. I straddle his hips and bend down for a kiss. His lips are soft and slick against mine, our tongues immediately seeking the other out. My hands rub over his chest as his own travel my waist. I love these moments. Where it’s just us, just Sam and I, against the world.
A soft sound is pulled from me as I feel his hips roll up into mine. My fingers tighten in his shirt as I grind back down. He lets out an equally pleased groan, our hips working together to create a rhythm. I can feel the thick ridge of his cock through his jeans rubbing against my cunt, a whine leaving me as I catch my clit on the button.
Sam takes deep breaths, groaning into my mouth as we share one another’s air. “Sam..” “Mmh?” I pull away from him just enough to look into his eyes, and I’m greeted by the beautiful sight of him gazing at me with his sweet eyes, his lips pink and kiss swollen. “I love you.” I whisper, gasping as he grips my hips harder. “Oh, sweetheart. I love you too,”
My hands reach down to tug at the hem of his shirt, and I smile as he sits up and tugs it off for me. I immediately resume rubbing my hands over his warm skin as he mouths my neck. “You’re so pretty… My pretty girl,” Sam’s voice rumbles against my skin, and I whimper quietly as my eyes flutter shut.
Sam’s warm hands press into my back, holding me flush against him as he leaves little love bites behind. My fingers press into the meat of his shoulders as I let my head fall back. “Sam…” I breathe out his name as I grind down against his cock, my brain going fuzzy. “Shh, angel.” Sam whispers as he rubs his hands down my body, grabbing at my ass as he bites my throat.
A low whine slips from my lips as I push him down onto the bed, my lashes fluttering as I tug my shirt and sports bra over my head in one fluid movement. Sam’s throat bobs as he swallows thickly, his fingers digging into my thighs as he stares at my bare torso.
I’ll never get tired of the way he looks at me.
“God, Y/n. You get prettier every time I see you.” He mumbles out, his large hands gently cupping my breasts. His touch is reverent and careful as he squeezes the skin. My eyes lock with his and I see his pupils dilate. I lean down to press a delicate kiss on his lips. “You know you don’t have to flatter me anymore… I’m not gonna go anywhere.” I mumble out. He chuckles softly and brushes my hair from my face. “I know. I just like communicating to you that you’re the most beautiful, gorgeous, sexy woman I’ve ever-“ I giggle and kiss him harder, cupping his face as he groans lowly.
His hands slide back down to my ass, groping me through my sweats. A pathetic sound leaves me as he does. He smiles against my lips and reaches for the hem of my pants. Shivers run up my spine as I feel his calloused fingertips brush my abdomen, slowly sliding down to cup me through my underwear. I involuntarily buck my hips against his hand as he rubs me through the damp cotton fabric.
I pant into his mouth, our hot breaths puffing against the other’s face. Little moans and whimpers crawl from my throat into the open air, a symphony Sam will always attend. “Oh, sweetheart… All of this for me, hm?” His tone is cocky- so sure of himself and his ability to affect me. Though he isn’t wrong at all, I still don’t want him getting a big head about it.
A particularly pathetic whine leaves me as he tugs my underwear to the side, his long index finger slipping inside of me. A deep shudder rolls through me as I moan, slumping down against him to hide my face in his neck. My parted lips press to his molten skin as he pulls more sounds of pleasure from me. “There we go… Always takes me so well, doesn’t she?” I can only whine in response.
I feel my head spinning as he pushes another finger into me, a deep groan leaving me as my hips arc against his hand. I can feel the shift in his jaw as he smiles. “Already can’t talk? Who would’ve known that you were so sensitive?” He coos, his tone slightly patronizing.
After only a few pumps he pulls away, his fingers smearing some of my arousal on my abdomen when he removes his hand. My waistband snaps back to my skin and I sit up, looking down at Sam with furrowed brows. “Hey!” He only chuckles at me before gripping my waist and rolling us over.
I squirm as he pins me under him, a giggle slipping past my lips. Sam’s warm hands travel down to grab at my sweats. I bite my lip and lift my ass as he tugs them down, smiling like an idiot with each newly bared inch of skin. He throws them over his shoulder and grabs my knees.
My heart is beating too fast in my chest as I watch him, his eyes trailing over my mostly naked form. I shift on the bed and his eyes dart to mine. “You’re the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen.” Sam mumbles out reverently, pressing a kiss to my inner knee as he hooks my legs over his shoulders. I bite my lip as I watch him lay down on his stomach. Our eye contact never wavers.
Sam presses sweet kisses to my inner thighs, his lashes fluttering as he catches a hint of my arousal in the air. It’s a heady aroma that draws him in further. I watch as his pretty mop of brown locks descends between my thighs, his nose rubbing up my cunt. He closes his eyes and enjoys the smell of me, groaning in the back of his throat. My hips instinctively cant up against his face.
Sam’s hazel-grey eyes lock back with mine as he tugs aside my panties, letting his tongue slowly slide up my cunt. I whine and let my head fall back as he slowly mouths at me. His fingers keep my underwear to the side as he loses himself between my legs.
My hands rake through his hair, the strands weaving in my trembling fingers. I stare up at the ceiling with half lidded eyes as I whimper and moan at Sam’s ministrations. He flicks his tongue sharply over my clit, a vicious attack designed to make me melt further. I tug on his hair as he kisses over me softly, whining for more.
“Sam~ Please, don’t tease me,” I call out, my voice sticky with lust and need. He chuckles against me as he lifts his head. “Only because you asked so sweetly,” He concedes, reaching out to tug my underwear down my legs. He flings it to a random spot in the room before settling back down between my thighs.
His big hands spread my legs wider, and I fist the sheets as we watch each other with heavy eyes. He kisses right above my clit before he dives back in with fervour. I tug at the sheets as a string of moans escape me, loud and needy. “Sam… Sam!” I cry out his name as I squirm helplessly under his mouth.
The final nail in my coffin is when he pushes two thick fingers inside of me– and I’m gone. I’m a mess under him, bucking my hips against his face as he pumps his fingers in and out of me. “Such a good girl f’me. Yeah? Aren’t you such a good girl?” Sam mutters against me, sucking my clit into his mouth as my hips jerk. I can only whine in response.
A familiar knot starts to emerge in my abdomen, tugging tighter and tighter as I take gasping breaths. My fingers find his hair again as I pull on it just enough to sting. A low groan reverberates through him, sending vibrations up through me. “Mmh… Fuck, you’re perfect. You’re so perfect for me, sweetheart. Letting me eat this pretty pussy and making you cum. You gonna cum?” He speaks against my lower lips, curling his fingers and lightly nipping my clit.
I look down at him, my chest heaving with anticipation as I feel myself get closer and closer. “Yes- Sammy, yes, fuck! ‘M gonna cum,” I babble out as my thighs twitch, trying to close around his head, but he wrenches me open. His free hand digs into my thigh and keeps me spread open for him. “Oh, baby… You’re just such a sweet little thing, aren’t you? So pretty with my fingers in your tight little cunt,” His voice is patronizing as he speaks to me, curling his fingers and rubbing that spongey spot inside of me.
The knot in my stomach is pulled too tight, and it snaps as Sam suckles my clit harshly. I take heaving breaths as my back arcs off the bed, my toes curling as I cry out. White hot pleasure shoots through me like an arrow as I tremble and grind against Sam’s face. I can feel his lips twist into a smile as he licks me through my orgasm, my hands tightening in his hair as I squeeze my eyes shut.
The pleasure fades into a dull tingle as Sam gently pumps his fingers in and out of me, lapping up my cum as he scissors the digits inside of me. My hips twitch up against his face as he kisses my clit, a low chuckle leaving him.
He kisses his way up my body, still slowly fingering me as I whimper. He plants his mouth on my own and I lazily kiss him back, tasting myself on his full lips. “You did so good, angel. You always do so good for me.” He coos out as he kisses my flushed cheek.
My arms lazily wrap around his shoulders as I whimper and whine, his long fingers still working inside of me. “Sammy,” I whisper out. “Sam- Stop, ‘s too much,” I complain, my sensitive cunt clenching tightly around his digits. A sadistic grin curls his lips as he pumps in and out of me faster. “What? You can’t take a little extra? Too sensitive?” He taunts, mouthing at my neck.
I moan and try to squirm away from him, but he just holds my hips down with a firm hand on my abdomen. He works my sensitive cunt overtime as I push at his arms. “Stop squirming so much,” He commands, breath hot on my sticky skin. I whine again in protest, trying to close my legs as tears prick my eyes. His thumb gently rubs at my clit and my hips jerk.
“Sam!” I claw at his biceps as he bites my shoulder, licking over my marked up flesh. “Yes?” He tries to act oblivious, but it’s completely futile on account of the purposeful motions of his hand. I take heavy breaths and squirm under his large frame. I toss my head from side to side as I whine.
“Sam- Please, I can’t, ‘s too much,” I try again, pushing on his shoulder as I feel another orgasm building up. “Shh, it’s okay, pretty girl. I’ve got you. Don’t fight it,” He whispers in my ear, his breath hot and sending shivers through me. I writhe under him as my legs tremble, my cunt fluttering around his fingers.
I dig my nails into his shoulders as I feel a tear slide down my temple, a pathetic cry escaping my lips. “Sammy- Stop, I can’t, I can’t-“ I beg, kicking my legs as he speeds up his fingers. “Yes you can. Come on, look at how she’s crying for me…” He softly replies, his thumb pressing harshly on the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs.
My whines and cries get higher in pitch, Sam’s thick fingers curling as he toys with me. Crescent shaped indents and red welts paint his skin where I’ve been grabbing at him. I can feel Sam smirking against my neck as he licks at my skin, my body instinctively squirming at the feeling.
“Sam,” I desperately call his name, pulling him close to hide away in his neck. “Shh, it’s okay. You can do it. Give me another one. C’mon, angel.” He rumbles out, focusing on the tight circles he draws with my clit.
The cord inside me breaks once again, my eyes screwing shut tightly as I tremble. Sam mouths at my neck while he fingers me through my orgasm. I squirm and whine, moaning helplessly as I succumb to the pleasures of his touch.
My hips grind against his hand as I come down from my peak, whimpering when he curls his fingers. “There we go. See? Told you that you could give me another one,” Sam groans out, slowly extracting his fingers from me. A wet squelch accompanies the motion and I cringe slightly.
The Winchester sits back on his haunches, breathing heavily with lust blown eyes. Embarrassment floods me as he gazes down at my wrecked form. “You’re so gorgeous, angel. The prettiest little thing ever,” He coos before licking his fingers clean with a moan.
Sam’s hands press into the mattress on either side of my head, his large frame blanketing mine in shadow. I gaze up at him with big doe eyes, my body still warm from my orgasm. He gently lowers himself to his elbows and kisses my sweat dampened forehead.
“Sam,” I call out his name softly, reaching down to brush my fingers over his abdomen. His breath hitches and his muscles tense. I gently drag the pads of my fingers over his v-line, teasing him and communicating what I want. “Can you… Take these off?”
The sound of metal and leather registers in my mind as Sam frantically reaches down to undo his belt. He keeps himself propped up on one arm, breathing heavy as he undoes his jeans. I aid him in tugging the denim away along with his Saxx boxers he always wears.
Once there’s no barriers between us, I look down to admire my boyfriends weeping cock resting on my abdomen. My bottom lip is held captive by my teeth as I gaze back into his eyes. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me? Take what you can, let me fill your pretty cunt with those babies you always talk about having?”
My cheeks flare at his teasing words, a whimper leaving me as I advert my eyes. He chuckles lowly and shakes his head at me. “You’re adorable.” He kisses my cheek, his nose dragging along my jawline. The tip of his cock nudges against my entrance and I gasp.
My hands fly up to grab my boyfriend’s broad shoulders, my small fingers curling into the muscle. “You didn’t answer my question, pretty girl. You gonna be good? Gonna let me put that baby in you?” A shudder dances up my spine and I involuntarily squirm under him. “Y-yes, Sam. Please.”
A wicked smile curls his soft lips as he reaches down to fist himself, guiding his cock into me. My entire body flinches at the painful stretch I’ll never quite get used to. Discomfort twists my face as I whimper and whine, Sam gently pushing into me. “Shh, sweetheart. Oh, you’re being such a good girl for me. Fuck…”
Sam pushes in until he’s fully seated inside of my warm cunt, a deep groan leaving him. He fists the pillow under my head and takes heavy breaths. “God, you’re so fucking tight- She’s gripping me so hard, doesn’t wanna let go,” He murmurs into my ear, his breath hot on my skin.
With a careful rocking motion, Sam starts to grind against me, trying to help me relax and get used to his size. His warm hands run down my body as he burrows into my neck, biting at the skin with a little growl. The rocking motions stir my insides and I wrap my legs around his waist.
Soft panting fills the space between us as Sam works me open, not wanting to accidentally cause me pain. I moan into his ear as my fingers tangle into his soft hair. “Sam- More, please. Please,” My voice breaks with need as I grind back up against him.
A pained sound rumbles from his throat, his movements stopping. “Such a sweet girl.” He wraps his arms around me and crushes me against him. My back arches up to make space for his arms, the position intimate. He pulls almost all the way out, his tip sliding out barely, before he slams back in.
I squeal in surprise, the bed rocking under us as Sam sets a punishing pace, fucking into me desperately. “Fuck… Fuck, baby. You feel so good- You’re so good,” He babbles, already completely lost in the heat and feel of my body.
Loud moans take up residence in the room with us, a lewd and debauched roommate. Sam’s hips snap against mine with single minded thought. “Sam!” I shriek his name as he bullies my cunt open, his thick shaft tearing me in two.
He unravels his hold on me, pulling back and grabbing at my hips to tug me up. His hands hook into the crook of my knees as he bends me in half. A pathetic cry leaves me as he resumes fucking me, the new position driving me up the wall.
My hands dart around for purchase, clawing at the sheets and my own skin, eyes watering as Sam’s cock kisses my cervix. His low moans and grunts completely scramble my remaining mind. He sounds so beautiful, singing my favourite song.
“Shit, angel- God damn, you’re tight. So little, can barely take my cock, huh?” His words make me clench around him, a sharp laugh escaping him. “Oh, sweet girl,” He coos, ignoring the burn in his muscles as he tears me apart thrust by thrust.
The pure ecstasy that radiates through my body is borderline excruciating, fat globby tears starting to spill down my face. The sight makes Sam groan and speed up. “Oh god, sweetheart… You’re f-fucking killing me here,” He slurs his words slightly, as consumed by the pleasure as I am.
My third orgasm of the night is encroaching on my body, the threat of complete ruin too enticing to ignore. I dig my nails into his shoulders and shiver from the pleasure. “Sam- Sammy, ‘m gonna cum!” I squeal out, gasping and moaning even as I cry.
His pretty eyes focus on mine, the intense eye contact amplifying the intimacy tenfold. “Go on, pretty girl. Cum for me, wanna- Ah, feel her squeeze the life outta my cock,” He grunts out while settling one of my legs over his shoulder.
With his newly freed hand, Sam begins to frantically rub at my clit, the sensation almost stinging from how overwhelmed my body is. He whimpers as I begin to flutter around him. “C’mon, c’mon, cum for me baby, please,” He babbles as his thrusts begin losing their rhythm.
Salty tears stream down my face as I finally find my release, incoherent ramblings falling from my lips, coupled with me sobbing his name. The sight and sound of my own orgasm is strong enough to trigger Sam’s.
His hips slap against mine a few more times before he drives it home, whining and moaning in my ear, my own little treat for doing so good. After all the sensations subside Sam slumps atop me. His hands rub at my thighs, gripping the fat of my ass as he pants like a dog.
“Fuck, angel. That was amazing. You’re so incredible,” He murmurs, peppering kisses to my wet and flushed face. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” He whispers out before giving me a quick once over. His response is just a small squeak from my exhausted form. It’s enough for him to know.
He gently pulls away from me, wiping away my last couple tears with shaky hands. “You were such a good girl for me, Y/n. So good, letting me break your tight little cunt in.” He declares before kissing my forehead, pulling out of me with a wet pop.
My back arches up and I squirm, over sensitive and exhausted from the three consecutive orgasms. “Let’s get you clean.” Sam kisses my forehead and grabs some tissues from the bedside. He carefully spreads my legs, revelling in the sight- His thick cum dripping out of me.
Sam’s fingers are gentle, going slowly and shushing me when I whimper. He tosses the used tissues into the garbage and picks up his discarded shirt. “Okay, c’mon pretty girl. Sit up,” He grabs my shoulders and brings me up, a low grumble leaving me in protest.
Sam helps me get into his shirt, my entire body aching and legs still twitching. I feel like I’m going to crash. “There we go. Good girl,” He coos, kissing my head and laying me back down. I curl up into a ball and snuggle away into my pillow.
Tugging on his boxers, Sam turns off the lights, crawling into bed with me. He curls around me and tugs me closer by my waist. His large hands squeeze me as he kisses my shoulder, nosing at my jaw. “You did so good for me, angel. Always take me like a champ, hm?”
I can barely even register his words, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. “Mmh.. Sammy,” I whine out, weakly pressing back against him. He smiles against my skin and rolls onto his back, dragging me on top of him like a rag doll. Large arms encircle my waist as he holds me on top of him.
He kisses the top of my head, rubbing his hands over me. “I love you, sweetheart. Sleep well,” I garble something back at him, but it’s complete nonsense. He just smiles and holds me tighter. I fall into a deep sleep, tangled up in my perfect boyfriends arms, dreaming of everything we’re going to do together when we get away from this life.
