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.
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