pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
summary: It's been a long time for both of you and after offering a solution to the problem, you're surprised when he actually takes you up on it ...
warnings: smut, shower sex, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, forced proximity, shy sam winchester, no use of y/n for reader insert, motel era
word count: 4,337k
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“Oh my god, how does he find the time?”
The sound of a headboard knocking from the other side of the motel wall takes you out of the book you’re reading and causes you to express the intrusive complaint out loud.
“Or the energy,” Sam mumbles from across the room, sitting at the table with his face hiding behind a laptop screen.
“Seriously,” you respond with an eye roll. It’s not the first time you’ve accompanied the Winchester brothers on a hunt but having to share a motel room with them like this is. Experiencing them in their relaxed states is as interesting as it is distracting, mostly due to Dean’s extracurricular activities. When he mentioned going to a bar, you figured it was his way of cooling down from the hunt, celebrating the win. Now, you’re lucky to have passed up on tagging along considering his ulterior motives.
“There’s no way he does this all the time.”
Sam shrugs his shoulders without looking up, hyper focused on the research in front of him.
“He claims it’s essential for maintaining his sanity.”
A grimace conjures across your face and he peaks out from behind his laptop screen just in time to witness it and lets out a soft laugh.
“I’ve gotten used to it,” he sighs, returning his attention back to the research before following it up with — “plus … it’s usually over pretty quickly.”
His underhanded statement causes you to scoff then laugh with a shake of your head, bewildered.
“I’m slightly concerned that you are not only familiar but comfortable with hearing your brother have sex,” you say warily, making a mental note to never accept another hunting invitation from the brothers again if this is their family dynamics.
“N-no, it’s not like —,” Sam stutters, folding the laptop halfway to look at you, his cheeks starting to flush. “Look, normally, I use these.” He holds up the noise canceling headphones on the table for you to see, insinuating their intended usage.
“Okay,” you speak slowly, narrowing your eyes. “Then why aren’t you using them right now?”
He stares back as his mouth opens and closes, trying to find an explanation. Without him needing to say it, you have an inkling that the reason is that he didn’t want you to have to endure the experience all on your own. Before he has a chance to conjure up an excuse, you cut him off with another question.
“And why aren’t you prowling the streets for a good time,” you press, smirking as the question comes out. “Don’t tell me your brother is the only one getting lucky between the two of you.”
His mouth shuts with a frown and he tilts his head in annoyance, not impressed by the tail end of your statement.
“Random hookups aren’t really my thing,” he says with a tight lipped smile and returning the laptop to its full height. “And it’s not like Dean is going to do the research, so…”
“Oh come on,” you neg, closing the book in your hands and throwing it on the bed's comforter. “You guys road trip across back woods encountering people you’ll most likely never see again and you expect me to believe you’re not taking advantage of that every now and then?”
“Sorry to disappoint,” he responds, the sound of his fingers running across the keyboard filling the space, insinuating that he has nothing more to say on the matter.
“Fine,” you sigh, “Whatever you say, Jonas Brother.”
You try to hold back a laugh as his eyes peer out from over the laptop, narrowed with annoyance.
“Just because I don’t hook up with the first girl who’ll look my way doesn’t mean —,” he cuts himself off with a shake of his head, looking back at the computer screen. “Nevermind.”
“If that’s the case, then when was the last time you got laid?”
The blunt question takes him by surprise and it’s unlike you to be so forward, but his shy disposition makes it easy to mess with him. When he looks at you with wide eyes, all you do is shrug your shoulders with inquisition, giving him space to answer freely.
“I-I, why would I, I’m not telling you, that’s —,” he stutters, running his hands through his hair then moving them in front of him in shock.
“We’re both adults, Sammy,” you tease, smirking at him. “Unless you’ve never …”
“I have,” he blurts out, humorously too fast. He takes a beat, noticing the knee jerk reaction and closes his eyes, taking in a relaxed breath. “I just don’t think it’s any of your business.”
Rolling your eyes, you figure giving him an ultimatum might incite his answer.
“Okay what if,” you start, causing his eyes to glance over at you quickly. “I’ll tell you, if you tell me. That way we’re even.”
“I doubt we’ll be even,” he mumbles, averting his eyes back to the screen. “It’s been … a very long time for me.”
The tone of his voice is so low, you can barely hear him, embarrassed by the possibility of exposing himself. In an attempt to ease his nerves, you make a confession of your own.
“I probably have you beat,” you respond, sitting up with a straight spine and folding your hands in your lap. “I’m going through an, err … dry spell, at the moment.”
“Yeah, right,” he gruffs, causing your cheeks to warm, surprised and a little flattered by his throw away comment.
“I’m being serious,” you affirm. “Just tell me yours, I can promise you it’s not as bad as mine.”
He sighs with his eyes closed, contemplating if he should share. “Just don’t laugh, okay.”
You hold up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”
With a nervous exhale, he fully closes the laptop and takes a deep breath before confessing.
“Six months.”
Silence fills the air as he avoids eye contact with you. Taking in his answer, it’s hard to not let out a light chuckle that turns into a full blown laugh.
“You swore you wouldn’t laugh,” he sheepishly responds, looking up with frustrated eyes.
“No, no,” you retort quickly, waving your hands in front of you in denial. “I’m not laughing at you.”
“You quite literally are.”
“No, I’m laughing because that’s nothing,” you say, catching your breath. “I so have you beat.”
“Okay, what’s yours? Six months and two days.”
“Actually,” you start, chewing the inside of your cheek nervously. “It’s been almost a year.”
You watch his expression fall from frustration to surprise, eyebrows raising at the number and dropping his head in disbelief.
“A year?”
“Well, 335 days if you want to be specific.”
And that was the simple truth. It had been a stretch since your last time and if you were being honest with yourself, it wasn’t even that good anyway. How you knew the exact amount of days is a by-product of how powerful the current drought you’re enduring has over your state of mind. But if there’s one thing you’ve learned from giving in to your natural desires on a whim is that the aftermath is never fulfilling. Quite the opposite.
Luckily, it hasn’t really had a strong pull, the overwhelming sensation of scratching that particular itch, but for some reason, after sharing the revelation with Sam, the thought can’t escape your mind.
As if he’s trying to solve an equation, brows furrowed and eyes scanning across the room, you await for him to respond. When his hazel eyes find yours, shrouded in confusion, the stirring in your lower belly grows stronger but you do your best to ignore it.
“Wow,” he huffs out, the corner of his mouth upturning in a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, you definitely have me beat. I don’t know if I could go that long.”
“Biologically or by sheer force of will,” you ask with a laugh, letting your shoulders relax from the tension that kept them tight. You also can’t stop your eyes from wandering, taking in features you hadn’t noticed before and even if you had, it’s as if you’re seeing them through brand new eyes — his broad shoulders, his sharp jawline, his toned arms that could easily lift you up and his strong hands that probably feel so good when they’re …
The conjurings of your active imagination are interrupted by Sam’s response to the question you forgot you’d even asked. “I mean, probably both but hopefully I don’t have to find out.”
“I can confirm, it’s not very fun,” you say, sucking your teeth and looking away from him.
There’s no way you’re gonna survive the night with the newly planted image of him all over you engraved in the back of your head. It’s a crazy thought and you’ll probably regret mentioning it but with the reality of how little the two of you cross paths, there’s no harm in seeing what he’ll say.
“Maybe” you say, scooting towards the edge of the bed, getting as close yet far away from him as the bed allows. “We should …y’know …”
You let the main point of your suggestion hang in the air, seeing if he’ll pick up on what you’re alluding to and when his eyebrows raise, it’s clear he does. He lets out a breathy laugh as his mouth tries to catch up with his brain, taken aback once again by your forwardness.
“W-what — y-you want to — w-with me,” he stammers, afraid he might have the wrong idea but when you nod your head, affirming the sentiment, a red flush spreads across his cheeks. “That’s — c’mon, we barely know each other.”
Tilting your head down, you look at him with astonishment.
“We’ve saved each other's lives,” you counter, keeping your eyes on him. “I think we know each other well enough.”
“Yeah but that’s — how’re we supposed to hunt together afterwards? Wouldn’t that just make things .. weird.”
“You overhear your brother having sex on a regular basis, is it weird hunting with him?”
The red in his cheeks gets deeper and as he stutters through an attempt at explaining himself, you throw your legs over the edge of the bed with your hands on either side.
“Look, it was just an idea,” you say with a soft smile, not wanting to press the issue, accepting defeat. “Forget I even asked.”
Standing up from your seated position and walking towards the bathroom, you announce your intentions to him before leaving the shared space.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” you say, then turn back to look at him before crossing the threshold into the bathroom. “So if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”
As you shut the door behind you, the sound of him calling after you quiets but the butterflies in your stomach continue to flutter, an aftershock of your bold proposal. You press your eyes shut in an attempt to calm your nervous system, internally telling yourself that there’s no reason to be embarrassed. It never hurts to try. You’ll never know if you don’t ask. At the end of the day, you’ve experienced worse and being turned down by Sam Winchester is at the bottom of that list. Disappointing, yes, but livable.
Taking a deep breath, you turn the shower on and let it run, removing your clothes as you wait for the water to heat up. Once warm, you step inside and feel the warmth trickle down your skin, soothing the pulsating nerves. When it all goes wrong, there’s nothing like a shower to make it a little better. With eyes closed, your fingers rake through your hair as water falls onto your face and let it wash away the grime from the hunt along with any shame harbored from the previous conversation.
Minutes pass by and the slight hope you had that Sam would join you fades away, forcing you to accept reality, strongly enough that when you hear the sound of the bathroom door opening, you just chalk it up to your imagination. It isn’t until he says your name that the realization hits and you’re grateful that by the grace of whatever powers that may be, you don’t slip out of shock.
Trying to push down the anxiety creeping in, you silently take a deep breath in and lightly exhale before responding.
“Hopefully this means you’re taking me up on my offer.”
“If it still stands,” you hear him say, a slight hitch in his words, causing your smile to stretch even wider.
When you hear the metal of his belt buckle clanking from the other side of the shower curtain, you’re gleefully awestruck by the simple fact that sweet and shy Sam Winchester, endearing as ever with his nerves and all, chose to walk through the bathroom door.
Although you can’t witness the act of him undressing, the thought alone is enough to cause a vibration to rush between your bare thighs.
With only a thin barrier separating the two of you, the anticipation thrums in the air. You could’ve sworn you remembered what sexual tension felt like but this was much stronger than memory recalls. The way you can’t even see him and still want him bad as ever overpowers any remaining self restraint.
Impulsively, you pull the curtain back enough so that just your face is exposed to finally have him in your sights, catching him right as he’s pulling down his plaid boxer briefs. His puppy dog eyes lock onto yours with surprise and are noticeably darker than usual while still exhibiting their natural softness.
“It does,” you hum, trailing your eyes from his face down across his chest then lower towards his semi-hard length, evoking a wave of desire to wash over you. The water from the shower all of a sudden loses its soothing properties, another new kind of remedy making itself apparent.
Bringing your eyes back to his face, you watch the corner of his mouth turn into a soft side smile before pulling back the shower curtain. His eyes drift down your body, mirroring the analysis you had just relayed onto him.
“O-oh… woah,” he breathes out, elongating the vowels and keeping his mouth slightly agape, making your cheeks burn as he ogles at your body with admiration.
“Sam,” you desperately whisper, forcing his attention back to your eyes and reaching out for his hand. “Get in.”
He’s quick to obey, stepping into the shower and pulling the curtain behind him, filling the small space with his body heat. Now that he’s centimeters from being pressed against you and his eyes are looking down into yours, waiting for a que, the only thing you’re able to muster is a soft greeting.
“Hi,” you say, low and soft, biting your lip, lust overtaking the senses. His eyes dart back and forth between yours, taking in the blueprint of your features one by one and raising his hand up to your cheek.
“Hey,” he mutters, swiping his thumb across the surface before breaking the invisible barrier between the two of you and pressing his lips to yours.
Despite its vigor, the kiss is tender and dripping with sensuality while still relaying a distinct hunger. His fingers entangle themselves into your hair with a gentle grip, drawing you in as close as possible while the hand he has firmly planted onto your waist acts as the only thing anchoring you to the ground.
Your nails drag down his lower back, the static current running between the two of you palpable and ablaze. He retreats from your lips to place kisses and praise along your neck.
“Fuck, you’re so … s’fuckin’ sexy,” he pants, sliding his hand up from your waist to palm one of your breasts and use his fingertips to nimbly play with the nipple. You crane your neck back with a tight moan, high on the way his hands move with a perfect rhythm along your body, insanely better than you could’ve ever imagined. And to think just only fifteen minutes ago, that’s exactly what you were doing, imagining him all over you and now …
He lifts his head up and reattaches to your lips with a sloppy, open mouth kiss, slipping in his tongue to trace the interior. The arm he has around you tightens for security as he switches places with you, angling his back to the showerhead and shielding you from the downpour.
With your mouth still moving in tandem with his, you can feel him harden against your thigh and smile into the kiss, eager to aid him in relieving the evergrowing tension. Lowering your hand down from his abdomen, your fingertips lightly trail the length of his cock and make gentle rubs before wrapping fully around it. His lips part from yours, emitting a low moan as the movement of your hand glides up and down with slow motions, rolling your thumb over his swollen tip.
“Oh, my —,” he groans, trailing his lips along your cheek and dropping his forehead against your shoulder.
“Seeing you like this …,” you drawl, invigorating him by increasing the speed of your movements and pressing your lips to his chest. “Y’have no idea what it does to me.”
A blissed out, guttural moan rises from the back of his throat and he places a hand on the green shower tile to ground himself while sliding the other from your waist in between your thighs, evoking a jolt to run down your spine. When his fingers start to circle around the small bundle of nerves atop your clit, it’s feral the way your body reacts to the ear-splitting sensation, making you wonder how it was possible to survive as long as you did without it.
Being skin to skin with him puts you into a frenzied state of mind and makes you start to regret conspiring for this to happen in the shower. The concern of there being too many limitations of how close you can actually get to him dissipates once he slips a finger inside of your aching walls, curling upwards with laser-like precision.
“F-fuck, Sam,” you exclaim, slowing the circular motions around his length and gripping onto the bicep of the arm anchoring him to the wall.
“S’that feel okay?”
His voice is hot and low next to your ear, amplifying the way he’s stretching you out, pumping his fingers slowly while using his thumb to stimulate your clit and all you can do is nod in response, your brain not capable of letting anything other than moans and squeals come out of your mouth.
After all the time you had gone without this feeling of clenching from the pure ecstasy of being lit up from the inside out, getting to experience it with Sam was well worth the wait. It was clear how much both of you needed this and neither of you were going to take it for granted.
“God, I can’t wait to be inside you,” he confesses into your skin and forces a loud gasp out of you when he adds another finger into your drenched opening. “Already so wet … wet for me, huh?” His speed increases, a squelching sound filling the tiny bathroom accompanied by your strangled moans.
“S-sam, oh my, — fuck, I can’t…,” you manage to get out between breaths, feeling yourself starting to come apart at the seams.
“Just let go f’me,” he whispers, maintaining the meticulous and unforgiving rhythm of his fingers, not wanting to do anything more than make you come undone. “I know you can … know you want to.”
Within seconds, you’re unraveling around him, the orgasm splintering through you from the bottom of your heels all the way up to your ears with such intensity it’s almost impossible to hear the string of expletives that spill from your mouth. While still gripping tightly onto him for balance, your shoulder blades fall against the shower’s tile, eyes closed and legs shaking.
“Holy shit,” you say breathlessly with a smile, feeling his fingers come to halt and slide out of you with ease.
It’s not a surprise how fast it took for you to get over the edge, fully aware that the release was long overdue. If anything, you’re more surprised by the fact that you’re more than ready to keep going, needing little to no time to reset for him. Even as you come down, chest heaving and legs barely able to support your weight, it’s pure carnal impulses in control now and they won’t wait any longer.
“You okay,” he asks, sweet and earnest, cupping the side of your face and when you open your eyes, his hazel ones are the first thing you see. As if acting on instinct, you're quick to stand on your tiptoes and pull him into a deep kiss, answering him through action.
Your hand finds its way back to his hard cock and starts making gentle strokes up and down the shaft but he pulls apart from the kiss, a concerned look written on his face.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna take a second,” he inquires, referring to the little to almost non-existent refractory period you just had and not wanting to push you past your limits.
“I don’t wanna wait any longer,” you affirm, continuing circular motions around him and staring into his eyes, the stirring in your core returning with an intensity you didn’t know was possible. “Need you … now.”
He moans, surrendering to your tenacity and replaces your hand with his own, pumping himself in preparation. You adorn a quick kiss onto his chest before spinning around and securing your hands to the shower’s tile, arching your back and awaiting to feel him at your entrance.
“It’s been …,” he sighs, gripping onto your waist, tight enough that his fingers indent the surface and lines himself up with your wet opening, teasing the folds with his tip. “Fuck … so long.”
But now, he doesn’t have to wait any longer and takes his time as he slowly pushes each inch into you, stretching out your walls and awakening the delicious sting that had been absent from your life for —
“Too f-fucking long,” you moan, taking him to the hilt and settling around his generous length, it’s throb sending jolts of electricity up your spine, immediately igniting the sensitivity from your previous orgasm. He remains still, soaking in your warmth for a couple of seconds and groaning every time your cunt squeezes around him. His free hand snaps onto the other side of your waist, now holding both sides in each hand and using them as a conduit for the movement of his hips, pulling back then promptly thrusting back into you.
The sound of water releasing from the shower, down your bodies and onto the floor of the tub, coalesces with skin slapping together and moans spilling out from both of you. He drags one of his hands from your waist to the lower fleshy part of your stomach and applies breadth pressure, causing you to feel his cock with even more depth and precision.
“Ah, Sam! F-fuck, right there, just like that,” you cry out, validating his movements and encouraging them to continue. He holds you tight, keeping his hand splayed across your lower belly and hooks his other hand underneath your thigh, hiking it up and opening you further to allow him deeper access as he rams upward, repeatedly hitting that sweet spongy spot.
When you clench your eyes shut from the unrelenting shockwaves, it causes you to clench everywhere and he lets out a disgruntled moan, a response to the pressure.
“This is — you’re exactly what I needed … fuck,” he rasps, bucking his hips with passionate intention, blissed out on the way you squeeze around him with each thrust. “How do you … unghh .. feel s’good?”
Despite being under the veil of cascading moisture, sweat beads down the side of your temple, a result of symbiosis accruing from the rising steam of hot water and the shuddered rolls of his hips. It’s only intensified when he softly releases his grip from your thigh and starts making dextrous circles over your swollen clit, reaffirming your appreciation and admiration for his hands.
“Don’t stop… please,” you exclaim while trying your best to keep a firm grasp on the shower wall, palms flattened against the tile and fingernails digging into the chalky grout, the shaking in your legs building gradually from the overstimulation. In that moment, you can’t help but be all too grateful for Sam’s stronghold keeping you sturdy in the slippery terrain, especially once ripples tear through your core once again, signaling the inevitable.
It’s clear he’s close, the rhythm of his hips becoming more frantic and disjointed giving him away. He reinforces the arm around your waist, pulling you close as he leans forward and drags his lips across the surface of your damp shoulder. You try to hold out, savoring the buzz as long as your body allows, drunk on his lustrous moans and the way your name slips out of his mouth with starved urgency, but it only unleashes the splintering white heat.
“Ahhh — m’god,” you moan into the wet flesh of your arm, biting down as the orgasm overtakes your senses, enshrouding the back of your eyelids with stars and flashes of light. And it just feels so fucking divine, like discovering an oasis after spending an eternity waiting for relief.
“Fuck .. f-fuck, I’m — oh,” he grunts, succumbing to his own burst of release but keeps thrusting into you, a commitment to riding the wave until it breaks. For both of you.
His movements start to falter, slowly than all at once yet maintains his hold on you from behind, the erratic pulse of his heartbeat ruminating through your back. As the two of you come down, the shower running and breathless pants are the only sounds filling the tiny space, until he lets out a satisfied laugh.
“So much for a dry spell.”
You smile at his comment, the realization hitting of just how symbolic the shower truly is now.
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AN: got a spark of inspiration while listening to the new kacey musgraves album ... ;) the entire album is worth a listen but dry spell and mexico honey are the catalysts for this one right hereeeee teehee
summary: You're Sam's study partner, and you just broke up with your boyfriend
request: stanford sammy smut
warnings: smut, cursing, oral female receiving, kinda sub!sam, cum eating, one mention of drug use, premature ejaculation
wc: 4.5k
a/n: requests open!!! and happy birthday sammyyy// pt2?
Sam stands on the steps of the sorority house and waits for someone to open the door. A wave of disbelief hits him, and he gets that same weird sensation that he’s been having on and off for the last three years, like he’s living someone else’s life. He wants it to be his life, so much so that he made it so, but even now, there’s lingering dread that somehow, a life like this, a normal life, isn’t his and never could be. That it's some kind of illusion dangling in front of him on a string, only to inevitably be ripped away when he’s not expecting it.
The front door whips open, and Sam’s confronted with the overwhelming smell of floral perfume covering up the smell of pot. He really should be used to it by now with how long he’s been coming here recently, but he still has to put effort into controlling his expression.
“Hey, Molly.” He says with a polite smile.
“Oh, hi, Sam.” Molly says, stepping aside to let him in. “Wasn’t sure if we’d be seeing you this weekend after…y’know.”
Sam follows her further into the house, one hand on the strap of his backpack as he gives a courteous nod and smile to the few sorority sisters on the couch, who are watching some reality show while painting their nails. He’s only following Molly to be polite. By this point, he could find his way to your room with his eyes closed. And today, like most days, he has no idea what Molly is talking about.
“Did something happen?” He asks.
“You didn’t hear? Kyle broke up with her, like, on Monday.” Molly whispers the last part, as if gossip didn’t move through this house like wildfire. “She’s trying to act like she’s okay. Won’t even, like, really tell any of us what happened. She’s been in her room since, like, Tuesday. That’s why I’m so surprised she didn’t cancel on you.”
“Maybe she wanted a distraction.” Sam suggests.
“Maybe.” Molly agrees. “Just don’t take it personally if she isn’t really interested in studying.”
Sam uses his ascent of the stairs to process what Molly’d said about you. For as long as Sam had known you, you’d been dating this football player Kyle. Sam had met you his sophomore year during a night out with mutual friends. He was immediately attracted to you, and then the more he spoke to you, he realized you were down to earth, funny in a harmlessly sarcastic way, and probably one of the smartest people he’d ever met. Very quickly, his attraction snowballed into a full fledged crush. Until he’d been informed you had a boyfriend on the football team, and that no, you hadn’t been flirting with him or returning his interest, you were genuinely like that with everyone, magnetic and engaged.
So Sam backed off. His day to day felt precarious as is, there was no point in pining after someone that was already spoken for. That would just be asking for trouble. He’d only see you on outings with other friends, and then he would maintain a casual distance. If you saw him around campus, you were always friendly, giving him that dazzling smile and a wave, asking about his classes and anything else. If he was looking for a seat to knock out a few hours studying in the crowded library, you’d wave him over to your table. He’d have to work twice as hard to concentrate, with you sitting across from him, but he never said no.
He’d wondered at one point if you were being so nice to him because you sensed something was off about him. Maybe you felt bad for the kid that had no one show up on family day. Or maybe you’d heard he’d moved into his freshman dorm with two bags, nothing more, and now you felt sorry for him.
The more Sam knew you, the more it became clear to him that you weren’t treating him any differently because he was different. That was just you. You actually cared what he had to say about his Law in the Age of Media and Technology course, and when you smiled at him from across a room, it was because you were actually happy to see him.
He began running into you more at the beginning of junior year, now that you both were taking a majority of pre-law courses that overlapped. He did his best to keep space between you without ever being rude, would selectively tune out of any conversation that even approached you and your boyfriend, and fully dedicated himself to his studies.
A few months ago, when LSAT prep started, a big group of pre-law students organized study sessions. Sam didn’t have a lawyer in the family to coach him, so he figured studying with the others would be a good way to gain more insight into the test and the application processes as a whole. They started off in the library, with about twenty kids showing up. You were there, too. It only took a few sessions for it to become clear that whatever the intention of these sessions had originally been, there was no actual studying being accomplished.
You’d approached Sam and suggested you both ditch the group and start studying on your own. Together. Powerless to say no to you, he agreed.
Which is why he’s knocking on your bedroom door again, just like he had the week before. Only this time, his mind is slowly mauling over the fact that you now don’t have a boyfriend, which has his gut swooping. Immediately, he feels like an asshole for being pleased by the news, especially when you could be so upset. He wonders if he’ll be able to tell you’ve been crying, then wonders if he tried to touch you to comfort you, if you would let him.
“Hey, Sam,” You open the door with a smile. “Right on time.”
“Hey, how’re you?” He asks casually, setting his stuff down at your desk, where he studies while you usually spread your stuff out on the bed. You close the door behind him.
“If I have to read one more logical reasoning question about a politician lying, I might drop out.”
Sam chuckles. “But then you wouldn’t have the crippling debt of law school to look forward to,”
You give him a wry smile. “How kind of you to remind me.”
You don’t seem upset, or like you’ve been crying. Your room is neat the way it usually is, and it looks entirely the same to Sam, as he conducts a quick sweep of the area, with the exception of the pictures of your now ex-boyfriend missing from around the edges of your vanity mirror.
You’re wearing a tight fitting, white Stanford shirt, that exposes a lot of the even tighter body underneath. You throw yourself back onto your bed, laying on your stomach, distracted by the open LSAT study guide and a bunch of scattered flashcards, and Sam has to clear his throat and force himself to look away.
Your phone starts ringing. “Sorry about that,” You apologize before silencing it.
You both start by taking a series of practice questions. Even though he’s sitting at the desk with his back to you, you’re still distracting him. He can’t stop thinking about what would be the most appropriate way to ask you about your breakup, then decides he shouldn’t ask at all. There’s no point, anyway. He already knows and it doesn’t change anything. You’re just…too good for him. A beautiful girl, a sorority sister, kind, charismatic, and intelligent. Sam doesn’t deserve you. He doesn’t even come close. Just being at Stanford makes him feel like he’s already pushing his luck. Being with someone like you would be like asking for punishment.
But he can’t help but wonder what would make someone dump you. Either you did something uncharacteristically despicable, and Sam’s brain struggles to even villanize you to think through the possibilities, or Kyle is a fucking moron, which he thinks is entirely more likely.
“I’m done,” You startle him by saying after a half hour. You jump up onto the desk, so that your bare thighs are only inches away from his book, your feet swinging off the edge
He’d been thinking too hard about you. Half of his questions remain unanswered.
“You usually finish before me,” You frown as you notice.
“Yeah, um, I just-” His cheeks feel hot as he returns your gaze.
You’re looking down at him, and the breeze from the open window across the room rustles your hair gently. The soft gust momentarily smothers him in the smell of you- something warm and sweet, like vanilla. Evidently, the breeze chills you to the point that Sam could see the sharp peaks of your nipples through your T-shirt, if he wasn’t so deadset on keeping his eyes on your face.
“So either I became a faster test taker than the unbeatable Sam Winchester in less than a week, or something’s distracting you.” You muse, still observing him carefully. It’s a little unnerving, how easy you can read him.
“Well, miracles do happen.”
You purse your lips, amusement glittering in your eyes. “Fine. You don’t have to tell me what’s on your mind.” Your gaze lingers on him, making his skin prickle, as you chew on the corner of your lip.
“It’s just..been hard to, uh, focus. Lately.” He admits.
“Yeah. I know what you mean.” You agree in a quiet voice.
Sam’s mouth feels suddenly dry, his tongue too big and clumsy to form any intelligent response. You’re so close, the entire room feels charged. You’re still swinging your feet, legs hanging off the desk, and one of your socked feet barely brushes his leg, and he nearly fucking jumps at the contact. His heartbeat becomes heavier in his chest as he wills his body to ignore the infinitesimal touch, but he can feel his blood rushing south.
Your phone starts going off again, and Sam expects you to hop down from the desk, to give him space to regain function in his brain, but you just ignore it.
“You, uh, gonna get that?” He asks.
“No. It’s just Kyle again.” You finally look away.
Sam tries to fight the way his body tenses at that. “Oh. Alright…if you want to talk about it…”
Your gaze snaps back to him. “Talk about what?”
Sometimes you really make him feel small, like he’s not over six feet tall. You’re just that pretty, just that alluring that you intimidate him all the way down to the marrow inside his bones.
“Molly told me…that you guys aren’t-” He clears his throat awkwardly. “Aren’t together anymore.”
You smile kindly. “Relax, Sam. You’re not in trouble for knowing.” To add insult to injury, you touch his arm lightly with a manicured hand. “I know everyone’s talking about it.”
“It’s none of their business.” He says quickly, some of the certainty returning to his voice at the need to defend you.
“But it's yours?” You raise your eyebrows expectantly.
“Well-of course not- I just meant it’s not right for anyone to discuss it behind your back for entertainment.”
“Thanks for saying that, Sam.”
“Yeah. No problem.” His voice is quieter now, too. Like you’re both afraid to speak any louder, as if it could disrupt the tense energy that’s materialized between you.
“Sam,” You say softly, even though he’s already looking at you and you’ve had the entirety of his attention since he stepped foot in the room. “I broke up with him.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Molly said-”
“He’s telling everyone it was his decision. I don’t care if everyone else thinks that. But I wanted you to know.”
“Me.” Sam repeats numbly. “Why?”
You grin. “You’re supposed to be a genius or something, right? You can figure that out.”
Sam knows what he wants that to mean. But this has to be either a cosmic joke or a fucking dream.
“Why’d you break up with him?” He asks in a measured voice.
You pretend to think. “Hm, well besides all the times he’d flirt with my friends right in front of my face or refuse to go down on me because he thought it was gross…I realized I was into someone else.”
It takes a minute. Even with cognitive abilities severely diminished by your proximity, he can understand what you’re saying. Jesus, his pulse is racing.
“Me.” He blurts unceremoniously. “You’re messing with me, right?”
“No, Sam.” Your eyes skate over him. “I’ve always thought you were cute. But since we started studying together…I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
“I…I had no idea.”
“You really didn’t know?” You ask with a soft giggle. “Sam, I invited you to study in my bedroom.”
“You also had a boyfriend!”
“And now he’s an ex-boyfriend.” You say firmly, looking away to close his prep book. You retire his study materials to the corner of the desk, in a neat little pile that he can’t stop staring at until you speak again. “Your turn.”
“My turn?”
“Tell me why you can’t focus.”
It’s been a while since Sam’d slept with anyone, and now his body apparently feels like jumping to conclusions. Really, he’s helpless to the heat that spreads through his limbs and mostly to his groin. So much of your skin is bare and right there and he can easily see the shape of your body despite your clothes. And the most gratifying thing of it all is that you want him. Enough to get rid of your shitbag boyfriend. Enough to come on to him.
“I think you know why.” He huffs out and even that is a challenge. Anything that isn’t reaching out to finally touch you is a challenge for him at this point.
You smile. “I think so, too. But I want to hear it.”
He hesitates to speak but his body is screaming. His ability to think is definitely compromised now by the chemistry of his desire.
You mistake his hesitation for unwillingness, so you gently brush the hair away from his eyes, giving him the most imploring, gentle eyes you can, and say, “Please, Sammy.”
He has to suppress the shudder that racks his spine and the emerging tightness in the crotch of his jeans. His breathing is already ragged from how turned on you’ve got him by doing nothing, and he’s pretty sure he’s already leaking at the tip.
“Alright.” He says after swallowing. “T-This girl I study with…she’s way outta my league. She’s beautiful…and I tried to avoid the way I felt about her..because she was with someone else.”
You smile softly at that.
Sam feels compelled to keep going. “But I want her. I want her so bad I can’t think straight when I’m around her. And when we study, it’s in her bedroom. And all I can think about is-”
His words have you leaning closer to him, your own eyes subtly darkening. “Think about what?” You urge him breathlessly.
“Putting my hands on her. All over her.” He admits in a low voice and then waits. You’re the one leading while he struggles to keep up.
“Like this?” You ask in a sultry whisper while taking his hand and putting it on your thigh. His palm nearly covers the entire width of your leg, and you both stare at it there. At the basic skin to skin contact, Sam’s humiliated to feel his cock jump in his pants.
“Yeah. Like that.” He watches his fingers dig into the plush flesh of your thigh as he grips you tighter, as if testing if you’re real. “And more.”
“More?” You repeat with a devious smirk, shifting subtly so now you’re seated on the desk directly in front of him. You spread your legs a bit and beckon him closer. He swallows an embarrassing noise in his throat the instant you reach a hand out to run your fingers through the shag of his hair. “What else, Sammy?”
“Anything.” He says, entirely hypnotized by the mild authority in your soft voice. “Anything you’ll let me do.” He doesn’t even feel ashamed of how desperate that sounds because it’s the fucking truth. He’s pretty sure you could ask him to lick the bottom of your shoe and he would do it.
That answer seems to please you, and you reward him by sliding off the desk and onto his lap. You sit sideways across his thighs, careful to avoid the bulge at his crotch, biting your lip thoughtfully as you touch his chest before wrapping an arm around the back of his neck. He doesn’t even realize he’s shaking with anticipation until you say, “It’s okay, Sam,” and caress the side of his face with a tender look.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, eyes glued to your glossy lips and the way your cute, pink little tongue keeps making an appearance to wet them. Feeling the weight and warmth of you, seated on his lap, his arms find their way around your waist, your skin burning hot.
“Please.”
Sam closes the distance between you. The second he touches your cheek, he’s astounded by how fucking soft your skin is, and then his lips touch yours, and he just stops thinking. There’s nothing besides the faint taste of bubblegum, the hot press of your tongue against his, his hands forgetting to be polite and gentle as he grips you hard.
You tug at his hair while you make out with him, eventually moving to straddle him instead. He grunts into your mouth as your weight shifts across where he’s aching in his jeans, and you giggle in response. He silences your laugh by biting your bottom lip and then kissing you deeper. As you kiss him back, your hands wander all over his back, chest, and stomach.
“Holy shit, Sam,” You pull away. “You’re like ninety nine percent muscle.”
He laughs softly, smiling broadly with his shoulders back. “You’re exaggerating.”
“No, I’m not. You’re so hot.”
Coming from you, the compliments go straight to his dick. He kisses you again, and you’re really not even moving your hips, but the minimal friction against where he’s throbbing has him clutching at your hips.
“You’re so sexy and you don’t even try to be.” You murmur against his lips, letting your nails scratch against his scalp and neck.
He finds that statement a little ridiculous, given that you look the way you do. As if you haven’t been giving him blue balls for a year and a half. He doesn’t know how long you’ve been into him, but the fact that there was any overlap at all infuriates him, knowing you two could have been getting around to doing this sooner, rather than reviewing each other’s practice essays.
Your phone starts ringing again and Sam hesitates.
“Please, ignore it.” You say, lips swollen from kissing him.
But the call from your loser ex gives him an idea. “Can I- Would you let me…” You’re gazing at him with level patience, and so he forces himself to say it. “Can I eat you out?”
You smile and bite your lip. “You don’t have to-”
“I want to.” He interrupts. “Really badly, actually.”
Now that the idea’s popped into his head, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep his sanity without doing it. And it’s perfect, because if you stay on his lap like this much longer, he’s probably going to blow his load into his jeans.
“You’re not just saying that?”
“Let me put my mouth on you, and then ask me that again.” He says.
Still holding you around the waist, he stands with minimal effort and sets you back on your desk. Yeah, he’s only doing this to impress you with his strength, but judging by the way you giggle, it works.
Sam lets you keep your tight fitting shirt on but lays you back and pulls your shorts down your legs. He adjusts you, so that your tailbone is at the edge of the desk, the fucking erotic sight of your cunt concealed by pink cotton panties with a little bow in the middle on full display for his greedy eyes. He takes a mental picture, wants to take a real fucking picture, but he settles for running his mouth all over the expanse of your soft thighs.
You sigh and moan in response, as he kisses around your hipbone. You hiss and pull his hair a little bit when he bites at your inner thigh, but the action has your legs spreading for him. There’s a little damp spot in the middle of your panties, and he can’t stop himself from drawing closer and swallowing the mouthful of saliva that the sight brought.
“Sam-are you sure?” You stop him, sitting up with a hand on his shoulder.
“Lay down, baby.” He says softly. He can tell you’re a little nervous and suddenly wants to punch your douche bag ex-boyfriend for ever making you think this could be gross. “You okay if I keep going?”
“Yeah,” You whisper, obeying.
“Trust me, baby.” He murmurs, his lips at your hip. “I’m probably going to like it more than you are.”
He closes his eyes and puts his face between your legs. You’re spreading them pretty wide, and he runs a hand up and down the expanse of your thigh to soothe you for the first drag of his tongue against the underside of your panties. A wet, shocked noise comes out of you that has him groaning in response. The sweet yet musky taste of you explodes on his tongue, and in the next instant, he’s wrestling your panties down your thighs, off from around your delicate ankles, before throwing them across the room. He uses one hand to part your thighs again, pushing them down until they almost meet the desk, and he’s not even really surprised that you’re this flexible.
Your pussy is glistening for him, practically screaming his name with the way it pulses gently, demanding his attention. You cry out earnestly when he latches his mouth onto your cunt, first swiping his tongue along your soaked folds, then torturing your clit with the point of his tongue until your back is arching.
It’s been a while since he’s done this, but he feels like he’s doing okay, given how responsive you are. His cock fucking hurts. Having your arousal in his mouth and smeared across his face, the smell of you wrapping around his head, he’s so hard it's almost unbearable. The pressure in his groin is building rapidly the more he eats at you. He’s thinking keep it together, Sam, keep it fucking together- until his train of thought is cut off cold when you start praising him.
“Oh, Sam-” You moan as he assaults your clit and your thighs start to shake. “So good, you’re so fucking good.”
You're raking your hands through his hair and he glances up briefly to catch your nearly forlorn expression. Maintaining eye contact, he keeps licking at you, making sure to moan in appreciation so you can understand that he’s enjoying himself, buried in your pussy, more than he can say.
“Mm, Sammy-” You gasp as he slides a thick finger inside your pulsing hole. You’re so wet, both from your own sticky arousal and his saliva, that another digit slides in without much resistance, but you whimper just the same. “Oh fuckkk-”
“Y’taste really good, baby.” He rasps. His lips part from your pussy just long enough for him to climb up over you, to press his lips into yours. You clutch at his shirt at the tangy taste he shares with you, letting him plunge his tongue into your mouth.
Sam settles back between your legs, marveling at how puffy your cunt looks now. He teases you with light kisses on the inside of your thighs, until you’re lifting your hips up for him, desperate for his mouth to slide back over you. And when it does, you’re so much more sensitive. He draws circles over your clit, then sucks it until your ass is lifting off the desk, chasing the friction.
“M’gonna come, Sam, ohmygod-” You whine while biting your hand.
He’s swallowing your flavor, ignoring the burning in his jaw as he eats at you the best he can, his mind shutting off as you start to come. He can feel your pussy fluttering, feel your body get tense as the waves of your orgasm spring tears to your eyes. And he feels it, too. Fucking relief, as he starts spasming in his jeans, untouched, shooting rope after rope of cum right into the denim covering him.
He pulls his lips away from between your legs, panting, feeling the wet spot in front of his pants spread.
“Oh my god, Sam.” You sit up, face flushed. “That was…”
He feels accomplished, leaving a smart girl like you without any words.
“I wanna return the favor.” You say with a little smile. Naked from the waist down, you push yourself off the desk and him back into the desk chair. You let your knees hit the floor as you settle between his legs, stopping when you see the area of dampness on his jeans.
He flushes, still catching his breath. “I, uh, I-”
“I guess you did enjoy yourself.” You smirk.
He watches you bonelessly as you unzip his jeans, tugging them away just enough to reveal his soiled underwear. With bright mischievous eyes holding his gaze, you hold your tongue out before licking at the cooling streaks of his come. His jaw goes slack as he watches, and you make sure to put on a show. Letting your eyelashes flutter each time your tongue dips into a milky pool of his spend, moaning hoarsely as you swallow. The act is slowly reviving his dick and by the time you’ve licked the last of his release from the corner of your mouth, he’s nearly hard again.
After a moment, he says, “I don’t think we should study together anymore.”
“Why not?” You ask, sitting yourself back in his lap.
“I’ll fail the LSAT. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be in a room with you again without…picturing that.”
“You couldn’t fail if you tried.” You argue.
“I think you’re overestimating my ability to concentrate when I’m around you.” He laughs. “Too many thoughts…gonna be way worse now.”
“Hm.” You smile. “We better start getting it out of your system, then.”
You suggest a shower to start, and Sam doesn’t contemplate the fact that this all feels too good to be true for him. He doesn’t let himself feel guilty for being here, experiencing this, meeting you, any of it. He just accepts it for what it is and follows you into the shower.
hii i just wanna say, your recent sam fic is so amazing! the pace, the time you spent for each scene, the language and the dirty talk was chefs kiss!! i really hope you write for sam more, it was really refreshing to see!
thank you!! :') that means so so much, i really appreciate the feedback + compliments <3 as for writing more sam ... i plan to!! #winchesterswitch (always open to requests too)
pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
summary: After getting into a fight with Sam, you guys find the perfect way to make up ...
warnings: smut, vaginal sex, oral sex, body worship, angst and romance, fluff, love confessions, praise, minor blood and injury, argumentative sam winchester (ooc), religious imagery and symbolism (a little bit)
word count: 9,356k
It comes out of your mouth as a statement because there is no denying that’s exactly what it was. As you sit perched up on the table, leaning over the arm he has balanced between your knees, delicately suturing the grisly flesh wound that runs from his lower bicep up towards the shoulder blade, you can’t help but internally fume.
Although him coming back, just barely, in one piece is of most importance, it doesn’t make it any less upsetting when he comes back tattered and torn.
“What, you want me to apologize for almost getting killed,” he gruffs, gritting his teeth from the pressure you apply to his wound in response to his curtness. His head turns to the side, avoiding your face but can still feel the way your eyes burn a hole through it when you stop threading the needle.
“Well now that you mention it,” you retort dryly, keeping pause from the task at hand, waiting for him to respond.
“Almost getting killed is a part of the job, you know that.” You can’t help but scoff at the condescending tone, shaking your head in disbelief. Arguments are few and far between which makes you very much aware of where this conversation is going.
“Sam, I’m not playing this game,” you bite back, trying to keep your composure in light of being halfway done stitching him up and despite how angry you are, letting him bleed out would just be cruel. And messy.
“What game,” his voice rising with the response and lifts his uninjured arm up in defense before running his hand through his hair and placing it back on his knee, shifting in the seat.
“You know that you’ve been reckless. Way more than usual and it brings you back to me,” you gesture towards his injury, “like this. And that doesn’t even include the busted lip or bruised ribs.” Bringing your attention back to stitching the wound, after a couple of sutures in silence, you can’t help snidely muttering under your breath — “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had a concussion with the way you’re acting.”
This sets him off, resulting in him pulling away from you mid-stitch and quickly jumping to his feet. Seeing him this reactionary, this argumentative, is out of character and you acknowledge it, noting that there has to be something else causing his outburst. But it’s also infuriating having to deal with him when you feel he’s acting like a child and having what would otherwise be a productive conversation is like pulling teeth.
You watch him from the table as he paces back and forth, gearing up to turn this into a full blown argument.
“Oh come on,” you say in annoyance before softening your voice, trying to avoid escalation and calm him down. “Sam, can you just sit down so I can at least finish.”
“What’s the point if you’re just gonna nag in my ear the whole time,” he barks, turning to look at you with hardened eyes. “At this rate, it’s less painful to bleed out than listen to you berate me —”
“Berate you?!” Cutting him off with a sharpness to your voice and wide eyes, de-escalation is a thing of the past now. Fuel has been fully added to the fire and it’ll be difficult to reason with one another when you get like this.
As fate would have it, Dean is absent from the bunker following a lead on his own with reassurance from you that patching Sam up would be your responsibility. He’ll luckily avoid the sparring match but may come back to both of you in worse shape than he left you in.
“I can’t believe that you have the audacity to think that me caring about your well being is in the same category as me berating you!”
“It’s hard not to when you act like it’s my fault I almost die as if I go out on every hunt with a death wish,” he spits back, mulling in his anger.
“That’s not, ugh, Sam,” you can’t help but place your head in your hands, rubbing the temples, feeling an oncoming headache. Considering his accusation, a thought crosses your mind, a different type of worry creeping into the crevices of your anxiety. Lifting your head and looking at his brooding frame, you take a beat before asking him. “I mean, you don’t … Do you?”
He stops his pacing, unclear at the change in your tone and looks back at your worried expression, the earthy brown of his eyes overpowering any traces of green as they dart across your face.
“Do I what,” he inquires, voice still tense, drawing his eyebrows together in vexation.
“Have a death wish,” you respond in a hushed manner. “I mean, I don’t know … it would explain why you’ve been so impulsive lately.”
“Are you serious,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No, I don’t have a death wish.”
The nonchalance in his tone causes your blood to boil, unsure as to what is making him act this temperamental and unwilling to confide in you. There’s a part of you that wants to assume you know him well enough to give him the benefit of the doubt but the other part doesn’t want to waste time reading in-between his lines.
“Okay then what,” you snap, forgoing level headedness and replacing it with lividity, aware but uncaring about how it’ll just amplify the situation. “Cause there has to be a reason you’re acting like such an asshole right now.”
Even though resorting to name-calling will only infuriate him more, you can’t help it. You rarely bring these sides out of each other and normally it doesn’t last very long but this time feels different, more heightened with less direction which, up until this point, has been uncharted territory.
“I’m the asshole,” he questions, pointing to himself with raised eyebrows, hot temper written all over his face. “You get pissed at me for getting hurt — ”
“I never said that,” you intercept with a high voice, but he continues speaking over you with projection.
“Even though YOU KNOW that I’m out there risking my life to save people and then you want to accuse me of having a death wish?!”
He scoffs with a quick shake of his head before angrily staring at you, speaking his next words brazenly.
“And I’m the asshole.”
As hard as it is to talk to him, it’s even harder to look at him. It all feels like an out of body experience, having this fight, going back and forth with such fervor. But you can’t stop, as if you're reacting on autopilot.
“You’re right,” you start, taking a deep breath and looking down at your clenched hands, the sewing needle still held by your fingers. “What you’re really being,” you pause to place the needle on the table, then bring your eyes back to his. “Is an overgrown man child who is incapable of simply listening!”
Cocking his head in response, he turns away from you, running both of his hands through his hair and sliding them down the sides of his face in one irate motion.
“I never said I was mad at you for going out and doing your job, that’s never the issue but do you think I enjoy seeing you like this?! Bruised and bloody — ”
“What am I supposed to do about that?! Tell me, what exactly do you want me to do,” he asks, sharply turning himself around and walking back towards you.
“I don’t know,” you immediately shout back, throwing your hands out in protest. In that moment, it dawns upon you that you don’t know what answer you’re looking for, if there’s even one at all. These are the circumstances of being with Sam and have always been but right now, it hangs heavier than ever.
“This is what I’m talking about,” he prompts, rubbing his hands up and down his neck in exhaustion, looking up at the ceiling. “You’re mad at me for something I can’t control, do you even recognize how goddamn infuriating that is?”
“Right and you’re doing such a great job recognizing where I’m coming from,” you spit back, deflecting from the emerging wave of despondency growing in your stomach.
“Circles, that’s all this is and I’m —,” he deeply sighs, slow and controlled, giving enough of a pause for you to push him further.
“You’re what?”
“It’s not - nevermind, I don’t want to do this, just leave it.”
“No, say it, you’re what?!”
His head falls from its position staring at the ceiling and levels out, turning to face you, the muscles in his jaw tensing. He presses his eyes shut for a moment and when they open, you can’t help but feel a pang of dread.
“Maybe I’m just tired of pretending,” he says, eyes darkening as they stay locked to yours.
“Pretending?”
A dry laugh escapes from the back of your throat as you nod in response to his admission, the feeling of your raised heartbeat echoing throughout your body. Leaning your head back with a gentle exasperation of air, a voice in the back of your head pleads to stop before you go somewhere neither of you can come back from. Instead, you press harder.
“Please elaborate, my dear, enlighten me,” you pestered in a mocking tone, provoking him. He takes menacingly slow steps towards your position on the table, before stopping in front of you, hovering so you have to glare up at him.
“Maybe I’m tired of pretending that you’re not just a burden.” The words are released like venom, striking to kill or at the very least, leave you mortally wounded. Staring back into his steely eyes, the thought of him wholeheartedly meaning what he said is enough to shut you down. There’s no point in continuing any form of communication with him if it’s his truth.
“If that’s how you feel,” you calmly state before pushing yourself off the table and planting your feet firmly on the ground. Removing your eyes from his, you turn your back to him and start placing the suture kit into its box, trying to suppress any tears from coming to the surface. The heat of his body fills the air as he idles behind you, unmoving, making it hard to forget the harshness he subjected you to. Not able to keep your composure anymore, you throw whatever items you’re holding onto the table and the materials clank around as they make contact with the hard surface. You walk away from the table and do your best to ignore him as you pass the array of bunker bedrooms before stopping in front of the one allotted to him.
Once inside, you silently grab a bag from the corner and start packing essentials you’ll need for the night; extra clothes, toothbrush — it’s all mechanical and thoughtless, your hands moving without your brain having to do too much work.
“You’re leaving,” his voice comes from the door's archway, low and less abrasive than before. His comment doesn’t warrant a response so you continue moving around the room, trying to be as quick as possible in gathering your belongings, mentally noting to call his brother tomorrow to make a plan to pick up any of the larger possessions you left behind. If this is how he wants to leave things, how he wants to leave you, then fine. You’re not gonna beg him for excuses, that wouldn’t make it any less painful.
“See,” he starts, still fuming underneath his composed tone. “Now I’m the bad guy when you’re the one who kept,” he takes a beat, gritting his teeth, “pressing … but I give an answer you don’t like and —,”
Spinning with fervent tenacity to look at him, you’re truly appalled by what he’s saying, staring at him with a wide eyed expression of rage and confusion. He’s never acted like this before and seeing this side of him brings out harbored emotions that you had been trying to suppress for the sake of avoiding letting them get the best of you but it’s too late for that now.
“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t like being called a fucking BURDEN! No really, Sam, thank you! I appreciate your selfless honesty,” you argue back, gradually raising your voice as fury takes over. “Let me return the favor, here’s some honesty for you — go fuck yourself.”
Instantly after the words leave your mouth, your ears begin to ring causing a pounding sensation against your temples and a tightening feeling in your chest. A byproduct of the body going into fight or flight mode due to all the adrenaline pumping through its veins. It’s accompanied by an intense stinging around your nose, traveling across your eyes. Although you try to hold them back, a tear rolls down the side of your cheek and you're quick to wipe it away, maintaining the tense stare you have on his face. His jaw relaxes, registering the distress on your face and softens his hazel eyes, a green hue returning to the iris, causing another wave of ache to run through you.
Looking down at the floor to avoid his gaze, you step forward, inches apart from him.
“Get out of my way, Sam.” You wait for him to turn his body, allowing you a way out of the room but he stands still, blocking the only exit.
“I- I didn’t mean that, I’m sorry, okay, I —,” he stammers, cutting himself off mid sentence. “Will you just,” he lets out a hard sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers, “give me a minute to explain.”
“I already gave you a chance to explain and now I’m tired, so if you could please just move,” you reply bluntly, gripping the bag's straps so hard you can feel your nails digging into your palms while your other hand comes up to rub your temple, an attempt to soothe the growing pressure.
“No, please just wait, okay,” he pleads, taking a step forward, closing the gap between the two of your bodies before shutting the door behind him. You glare up from the floor to catch him walking past you and taking a couple of paces.
“I don’t want to wait, Sam —,” you exclaim, throwing your head back in exhaustion, contemplating if you have it in you to just walk out, away from him, away from everything.
“I’m sorry for saying that you’re a burden, that’s not true, at all,” he says, talking over you, shutting his eyes and holding his hands out in front of himself, a method of grounding. “I’m sorry for acting like an asshole, but —,”
“Usually an apology isn’t followed by a “but”,” you snarkily respond, rolling your eyes before turning your body to face him, unmoving from the spot next to the door.
“Oh my — will you please just listen?!”
Although the vapid mixture of anger and sorrow makes it hard for you to acknowledge anything else, there’s a desperation in his voice that convinces you to listen. It takes a moment and a couple of deep breaths to empathize with whatever it is he’s struggling with and realize that this hurts him just as much as it hurts you. Gradually, the vehement anger subsides but you maintain the illusion, beckoning him to continue. He takes a deep breath before starting.
“With these last couple of cases, they feel like they’ve been getting more dangerous or like there’s higher stakes when in reality, they’re no more dangerous than what they were like before, y’know,” he pauses, looking at you to fill in the blank and even though you know what he’s alluding to, you want to hear him say it. Shrugging your shoulders in ambiguity, he fidgets before finishing his sentence. “Before we got together. And I know that’s not fair, it’s not your fault, you know what this life is like. But it makes hunting,” he crosses the floor, making his way to the bed and sitting on the edge with his head down, elbows on his knees. “Confusing. Even more so when I come home and you’re upset by the aftermath which I get, I do,” he says quickly, using his hands for emphasis. “If I had to see you the way you see me,” he shakes his head, not even making an effort to finish his sentence, running a hand through his dark brown hair, clearly distressed by the thought.
Looking at him from your standing position, the dots start to connect and a sense of comprehension washes over you, registering his behavior being a projection of his fears. The tension in your muscles ease with the appreciation of finally getting insight to what he’s been dealing with. Once pieces start falling in place, the pit in your stomach returns, the guilt originating from your initial outburst that started all this weighing on your shoulders.
“I get that,” you respond softly, affirming that you understand what he’s telling you, while still needing further clarification. “Is that why you think I’m a burden? Some kind of distraction from you being able to just, I don’t know, hunt without second guessing yourself.”
He lifts his head up quickly, his eyes softening as he looks at you standing in front of him still holding your bag, unsure of your staying or leaving.
“The only reason I said that is because,” shaking his head, he drops it again, eyes glued to the floor. “I guess I’m scared of something happening to me and you having to be the one to deal with it. With Dean it’s different, we’ve been doing this our whole lives, we know the risks and the promises we’ve made to each other but with you — I feel like I’m subjecting you to,” he gestures towards the half-stitched up wound, “this, when you could easily be with someone who isn’t constantly endangering themselves.”
Hearing him say this to you, this far into your guys’ relationship, is surprising. Both of you have spoken about this multiple times and yet it seems as if it’s a new concern of his. In an attempt to alleviate his anxieties, you start to reiterate a sentiment you’ve said before, time and time again.
“Sam, I would never ask you to stop hunting. I don’t expect you to or even considered that when we chose to be together. Because that’s what we did, we chose to be in a relationship. I chose to be with you regardless of the circumstances and I accept them.” Dropping the bag onto the floor, you walk towards his sitting position on the bed and crouch down in front of him, placing your hands on his knees.
“But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever stop worrying about you. Or praying for your safety,” you expound. “I honestly don’t even know who or what I’m praying to when I do but whatever it is, I pray that it will protect you and bring you back to me,” you cup his cheek in your palm, forcing him to look at you, all trace of wrath replaced with contrition as his puppy dog eyes focus on yours. Discerning that the cause of his fears partially stem from your reactions, you garner an unguarded apology, wanting him to know that you recognize your fault in the matter. “I’m sorry if it ever feels like I’m blaming you for almost dying.” He lets out a soft, low laugh, dropping his forehead to yours with a gentle nuzzle. “I just can’t help it. The thought of losing you, no matter how much I come to terms with that being a real possibility, can really drive me crazy. And apparently makes me a little bit of a bitch.”
“Well if it makes you feel any better,” he starts, resting his hand atop the one you have on his cheek and rubbing tiny circles over it with his thumb. “It turns me into a huge asshole.” You let out a soft laugh, relieved that the tension in the air dissolved.
“At least we can admit our flaws. That’s gotta count for something.”
“Oh yeah, especially for you,” he jokes, causing you to pull back and look at him in disbelief with a subtle smile, trying to feign discontent.
“Careful … you’re still on thin ice,” you counter, eyes darting back and forth across his. “I’m still very much upset. It was only a couple of minutes ago I was set on leaving and never coming back. Which is still an option.” The last bit was just an empty threat but you wanted to see how he’d react, intent on teasing him.
Narrowing his eyes, he leans forward to bring his mouth right next to your ear. With a soft tickle, his hair lightly brushes against your cheek with the movement, prickling the skin.
“I bet I could make a pretty convincing case to get you to stay,” he says coyly, before placing his lips to the tender spot on your neck, sending tingles down your spine. Biting your lip with a quiet moan, you hold back, not wanting to cave in too easily. You give his knees a squeeze with quick pressure and turn to face him, noses just barely touching.
“Who says I’ve fully forgiven you yet?” Pressing onto his knees to lift yourself into a standing position, you turn to step away from him but he’s quick to grab your wrist and pull you back, maneuvering you into a straddling position on his lap.
“What if I begged for forgiveness,” he murmured, gently placing his lips to your collarbone, causing you to slightly shift in his grasp. Despite the temptation, you remain inconspicuous..
“Mmm…,” you hum, pondering. “Maybe it’ll take more than begging to earn my forgiveness.”
When he anchors a hand on your side, deftly cradling the small of your back, resistance becomes obsolete. Urging for more contact, your fingertips trail along his arm, taking inventory of how it feels — the velvety softness of his skin, the raised network of veins — internally mapping the surface and thanking whatever higher power always brings him back, alive, in one piece, allowing you the ability to have him here. Like this.
As he drags his lips across the surface of your skin without haste, you grip his forearm, clinging to him as a way to ground yourself from the sensitivity. “Then I guess I’ll just have to show you how sorry I am,” he purrs, kissing you passionately before you have a chance to respond. Parting your lips with an eager moan, his tongue slips into your mouth, swift to trace the interior delicately. The faint taste of metal fuses with your tastebuds, an indicator that the cut on his lip has re-opened as a result of your teeth scraping it yet neither of you are deterred.
His hand cups the side of your face while the other keeps a firm grip on the curve of your waist to ensure you remain close against him. Warmth spreads all over your body as the two of you lock in place, buzzing with voracity. You throw your arms around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, intoxicated by his scent flooding your senses. How is it possible he’s still not close enough … you think, pressing further into him, deepening the kiss. His hand fiddles with the hem of your t-shirt, hiking it up a few inches to make contact with the surface lying underneath. Shuddering from the jolt of electricity prompted by his touch, his hands become a conduit for your movements, languidly dragging your hips. Sliding one of your hands down to his shoulder blade, your fingertips brush lightly across the half sewn up flesh wound, compelling you to pull away from his soft lips with hesitation.
“Maybe I should finish stitching this up,” you breathily propose, not wanting to put an end to having him close but can’t suppress the concern, worried that what has been sewn together might come undone. With a gentle smile, he caresses your cheek, cocking his head while gazing into your eyes.
“I think I’ll survive that,” Sam rasps lusciously, taking his time to brush your skin with the hand he has attached to your hip. “But if I let you go right now,” his voice lowers, leaning in close to your lips, trailing his hand down from your cheek to your collarbone, carefully running his fingertips over the surface. “Well that,” he murmurs, tracing his fingers upwards to your neck, goosebumps rising in tandem with his touch. “That just might kill me.”
He presses soft kisses along the contour of your jawline and you give him complete access to the area by craning your neck before vocalizing a confession of your own.
“Sam,” you moan, his teeth grazing along a vein then licking the lovebite. “Thank you for coming back home to me.”
With his mouth flush against your earlobe, he huskily whispers —
“Nothing could keep me from coming home to you … God or man.”
A small hitch forms in the back of your throat and rouses the corners of your eyes to well up with tears, blindsided by his ardour sincerity. Letting your head fall against his with a gentle nuzzle, you press tender kisses onto his temple, down his cheek and towards his lips. Hovering centimeters above them, you acknowledge the work of both of your breaths moving rhythmically together.
“I love you so much,” you mutter with a quick peck, leaning back to impart a different sentiment. “And I’m so sorry for this stupid fight.” Shaking your head, it’s hard to remember what the thesis of the argument even was. “I was wrong to react like that, to let my—,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between your lips with a gentle kiss and rests his forehead onto yours, cupping your cheek in his hand.
“There’s no need for that,” he smoothly reassures, wiping a falling tear from your cheek with his thumb. “I’m the idiot who should be apologizing. Of all things to call you,” a sharp breath releases from him, the twinge of regret creeping back into his mind. “A burden is the absolute last thing you are. You —,” he pulls back so that his hazel puppy dog eyes are locked to yours. “I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
With an adoring smile, you envelop him in an open mouth kiss. A soft hum reverbates out of you while gripping the back of his neck, neediness at the forefront of desire. Closer … close enough to … When his tongue finds its way inside your mouth, your hips reflexively grind against his lap, the inner workings of your body all too aware of how to operate in order to satiate the stirring deep in your core.
His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you straddled around him as he picks you up and softly places your back atop the mattress without breaking apart from your lips. In one seamless motion, he’s positioned between your legs, giving way to let them wrap around his waist. It’s pure instinct taking control once you’re lower back is arching off the bed, reacting to the intense hunger that’s engrained into your bones, the complete and utter need to have him .. so much closer .. Even as he kisses you deeply, taking time to dip his tongue into your mouth with each pass, savoring the pleasure of tasting you; even as your hands trail across the surface of his skin, taking inventory of the mechanisms in his body that make his muscles tense underneath your fingertips — it’s not enough …
The feeling of his lips pulling apart from yours evokes the release of a quiet whimper, displeased with the absence but within seconds, his lips are on the nape of your neck, delivering an affectionate declaration between each kiss.
“I love you—,” he presses his lips to the other side of your neck, “s’goddamn much.” Rising back up to look into your eyes with a tender glint and an upturned smirk, dimples peaking through the exterior . “How’d I get so lucky?” Heat gradually builds in your face, his compliments and innate charm winning you over, the way it always does.
Tucking a strand of dark brown hair behind his ear, your eyes scan his face, taking in each and every one of his features as if you’re seeing him for the first time.
“No,” you counter, tilting your head with a placid smile. “I’m the lucky one. The most amazing man I’ve ever known … and he’s mine.” Tracing your fingers along the ridges of his ear, you stare at him in awe and let out a soft chuckle, deep appreciation ruminating in your heart. “My Sammy.”
A light flush colors his cheeks, adoration and calm washing over him as his eyes soften, creasing around the edges. You two are each other’s safe place. In the craziness of his world, being here, like this, with you, is home.
“Y’know … I really think you were made just for me.”
Oh so lucky …
Softly kissing your lips, his hands run underneath your shirt with feather-light pressure and hikes the fabric up at a slow pace, giving you time to raise yourself and rid it from your body. The minute your shoulder blades fall back into the bed, his attention returns to worship, caressing your torso and placing kisses along the surface, steadfast in being as meticulous as possible in addressing every crevice with a peck.
When his lips meet yours, his hands are leaving a trail of goosebumps on your waist as they slide up its curve and find its way around your breast, palming it lightly before pulling down the fabric of your bra. He dextrously massages the area, rolling your erect nipple between his fingertips and as you arch deeper into him with a moan, he brings his lips to your chest, switching out his fingers for his tongue.
“Mmmpfh,” you hum, running your hands through his hair as he sucks the sensitive bud and releasing it with a slick pop before pulling down the bra cup covering your other breast to repeat the action. The way he switches back and forth heightens the pressure in your core, invoking a rush of relief in your head as his body starts to move downwards. You watch as he falls, from your eyes to your waist, his lips gliding across your sternum and over your bellybutton, maintaining eye contact the whole way down and pausing at the waistband of your jeans. Once he starts the effort of prying them off, you use the interlude to speed up the unclothing process, hoisting yourself up to unclasp your bra and relinquish it onto the floor. Looking down at him bringing your zipper to its end, you raise your hips to allow him to gently tug them off with little shimmies.
Bare legs exposed, he places soft kisses atop them, starting at your ankles and works his way up, echoing the gesture on your shins and knees. With tortuous pacing, he drags his hands along your thighs before gingerly parting them. He grazes his mouth along the fabric of your underwear, watching with delight as you quiver above him, reveling in the way you respond to his touch … just like that …
“Let me take care of you,” he drawls, taking the time to inch his fingers up, brushing across your hip bones before hooking onto the side of your underwear and sliding them down the stretch of your legs.
He kisses the inside of your thigh and a silent plea manifests as you watch him enclosing the mouth of your arousal, aching for him to be … closer …
Just as you begin to think you can’t wait any longer, his tongue gently licks your clit, eliciting a strangled moan to escape from the back of your throat. In a quick motion, your hands are anchored into his hair, shockwaves pulsating along your skin. He doesn’t falter, continuing to swirl his tongue around your clit, sucking the sensitive bundle of nerves, turning himself on as he keeps his eyes on you, anticipating how you’ll arch and bend … just like that … Throwing your head back against the bed and squeezing your eyes shut, stars twinkle behind your eyelids, fading into a vision of white.
“H-holy shit,” you moan, bucking your hips against his tongue, feeling the ripples of electricity coursing through your body. “T-that — unff — f-feels so good, Sam, don’t stop.”
Increasing the pace of his tongue hungrily licking along your folds, he drinks every drop, receiving sacrament from the altar of your hips, pussy-drunk and determined to savor the sweet taste. The way his nose lightly rests and rubs against your clit drives you further into a muddled frenzy which only intensifies once he adds one of his long fingers into your opening.
“Ahh— m’god, Sam,” you exclaim, the inclusion prominent and deafening. He starts to languidly drag a finger in and out of you, removing his mouth to watch as you writhe above him. Just like that …
“Fuck, I love seeing you like this,” he breathes out and when you lift up, he’s already staring back at you, his chin covered in your slick. “So wet f’me.” With his lips parted, the corner of his mouth twitches upwards into a coy smile before pressing another finger inside of you.
“Oh god —,” you cry out, falling back onto the bed. Curling his fingers, he rhythmically pumps them, aiming for that spongy sweet spot. He returns his mouth to your clit, moaning with every pass, vigorously lapping up the wetness, emitting a subtle hum that only stokes the fire pooling in your lower belly. “Y-yes, mmpff … j-just like that!”
He increases his speed, attentive to your impending orgasm, eager to get you over the edge. With his free hand, he wraps his arm underneath your leg with a slight lift and splays his ample hand across your stomach, pressing down with light pressure. That, along with the fervent combination of his tongue flicking across your pussy and his fingers ramming inside of it, opens up the floodgates.
“Ooooh my —, fuck, I-I’m — I’m gonna,” you gasp, shaking with release as his movements persist, encouraging the full extent of your peak, riding you through it fully.
You heave on the mattress, keeping his head firm in your grasp for support as you come undone, catching your breath with closed, content eyes. He removes his mouth from in between your thighs to place gentle kisses onto them and up your stomach, whispering sweet nothings as he rises.
“My beautiful girl,” he mumbles against your skin and a smile spreads across your lips as your fingers run through his hair. “S’perfect.” He moves up your body, trailing kisses along the surface before finding your lips and gliding his tongue across in a slow, slick motion, seeking entrance. Once they’re parted, he tactfully swirls his tongue around yours in an act of transference, letting you taste yourself. The craving for him returns to your core but he pulls away with a light sigh, denying you a chance to get closer.
When the mattress shifts and lightens, your eyes open hurriedly as you prop yourself up and are delighted to see him standing at the edge of the bed, unclasping his belt. You inhale with a deep breath, eyes wandering across his toned chest, gaze thick with need and desire, still reeling from your previous orgasm. That’s until you notice the yellow and purple ripples staining his rib cage.
“Sam,” you gasp with worry, concern for his injuries taking first priority, always. “You’re ribs, the bruises .. they look like they’re getting worse.” If anything can pull you out of the cloud of desire you’re floating on, it’s the possibility of him in any kind of pain. He gives you a comforting smile as he starts to pull down his jeans and throw them onto the floor.
“I’m okay,” he affirms, trying to soothe your anxiety. “Trust me, I barely even feel it. And besides,” he coos, resting his thumbs on the top of his boxers’ waistband. “If anything’s gonna heal me … I think being inside you is damn near the best cure there is.”
And just like that, his sultry revelation rouses the pulsation between your legs, a cavernous ache for him rising to the surface. It amplifies once he lowers his boxers down and his firm cock springs out against his abdomen with a slight twitch, the pink tip already coated in a thin layer of pre-cum. Saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his erection, the desire to taste all-consuming. God, what a view — Sam holding himself heavy in his palm, gliding his thumb across the head of his glistening cock, smearing his fluids over its circumference. His lust-filled eyes dare you to act and as you stare back, biting your lip with a devious smile, you’re more than ready and willing to relieve him just the way he wants you to.
“Is that what you need, baby,” you drawl with lowered eyes, raising onto your knees and inching across to where he stands gently stroking himself. “That’ll make you feel better?”
He nods his head as you come to a halt in front of him and let your fingertips make a delicate pass, first over his tattoo then the black-and-blue mark before trailing down towards his hand, compelling him to swap it for yours. With your hand around the base of his cock, you start to drag up and down his length at a slow tempo, leaning in close to his lips and breathe in the soft exhale that escapes from him.
“Whatever you want, baby,” you whisper, brushing your lips against the side of his mouth, the sound of his low sighs hot against your skin.
The moment your hand disconnects from him, his eyes widen with anguish until he watches in awe as it slips between your thighs. With an open palm, you glide along your soaked entrance, slicking it with moisture before using it to lubricate his cock.
“Fuuu-uck,” he whines, closing his eyes with his mouth slightly agape, blissed out from the pleasure of being jerked off with your arousal. Lowering down into a sitting position on your heels, maintaining the circular motions around his length, you look up to revel in his relaxed demeanor.
Temptation bites at the sight.
To satiate the lustrous hunger, you lean forward to where your hand is wrapped around him and bring your lips to the head of his cock with a light kiss. Another shallow moan slips through his mouth the moment he registers the warm sensation of you flattening your tongue along the underside of his shaft, scattering kisses between passes.
When he opens his eyes to look down at you, he finds your eyes already locked onto his, eagerly pleasing him with devoted strokes and licks. You conjure up a froth of spit bubbles from your mouth and use your fingers to mix it with the pre-cum leaking out of the tip of his cock before fully wrapping your lips around it, suctioning and swallowing as drool accumulates down the sides of your mouth.
“Oh god — f-fuck.”
Twisting your hand while steadily dragging your tongue down the length of his shaft, his breath hitches as you bury into the hidden area of his appendage and lightly lick the the most sensitive part before pulling back.
“Mmm .. you taste s’good, baby,” you mewl with swollen, glistening lips, eyes heavy with thirst, running your free hand up the side of his thigh. His mouth twitches in a pleased smile, admiring the holylike view of you on your knees, deviously teasing him in the way only you could. Pausing to make a light pass with your tongue across his cock, you feel his thigh tense underneath your fingertips in response which encourages you to keep going, a new idea clouding your desire. Gliding them up, your nails scrape along his defined v-shape, resuming the pleas, heavy and desperate with heat. “I wanna take you … inch by inch.” Looking deep into his eyes, you indulge in the way his body responds, abs tightening and breath rigid with each exhale. “Will you help, Sammy?” His eyebrows lift in amusement as you guide his hand to the side of your face, alluding to the role you want him to play. “Please?”
He strokes your cheek lightly, accepting your request with a playful smile.
“Y’know I’d never say ‘no’ to you.”
The sides of your mouth lift into sly, pleased smirk before seductively wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock with a breadth of pressure. He lets out a shuddered groan as you settle him in your mouth, removing your hand from his shaft to secure them on his thighs for support as you slide down the inches you can fit. With a controlled inhale through your nose, you shortly pause, letting the muscles relax before pressing further and taking him deeper down the back of your throat.
“Fuck … that feels so good,” he moans as your warmth engulfs him, remaining stationary as you get used to his size and depth, allowing you complete control to set the pace. Testing the limits of your gag reflex, you fully drag your mouth back up his shaft, letting his tip rest in-between your lips and suck lightly before pushing forward in one complete motion, slightly choking due to him filling up the space. The sound that emits out of Sam is animalistic and guttural, the thrum of blood pulsating throughout his body all-too-powerful, enabled by the combination of hot and cold stimulating all the right pressure points.
Satisfied with your ability to remain somewhat composed with him taking up your mouth, you breathe through your nose and release a low moan, the hum reverberating deep in your throat so that he can feel it in his cock.
Looking above to have him in your eyeline, his head is tilted back with closed eyes, neck angled and exposed, desperately focused on restraint. But seeing him holding back only makes you more intent on seeing him let go.
You tap the side of his thigh with your finger which jolts his attention back to where you reside below him and understands the intentional raise of your eyebrows, giving him nonverbal permission to take the lead.
“I’ll go slow,” he murmurs, gently cradling your head with one hand. Keeping his eyes on yours, he gradually pulls his hips back, gliding his cock to the edge of your mouth, teasing your lips and tongue with the tip before pumping past your swollen lips with a steady rhythm. You feel the hardness glide across your tongue and savor the salty-sweet taste of him on your tastebuds, intoxicated by the distinct physiology that makes up the sum of his parts and can't help but moan around him, your fingers pressing hard into his skin.
“Uuunnf,” he groans, doing his best to keep his movements regulated but can feel himself failing as he looks down at you, taking every inch, just like you wanted. “Christ baby .. it’s like your mouth — ahh — was made just for me.”
His fingers cusp the back of your head, fingers interlacing into your hair, to keep it firmly in place as he starts to thrust in and out, carefully increasing his speed.
“S’that okay,” he asks through hitched breaths, watching you with heavily lidded eyes and receiving confirmation as you let out another moan. “Fucking .. perfect,” he sighs, jutting his hips a little more, prompting the wetness in your mouth to swell and dribble out the sides. “I love the way you look righ’ now … so pretty, takin’ me like that.” His praise evokes a sense of pride, grateful to be the source of intense pleasure for him, it even advancing your own. You can feel the wetness dripping down your thighs, a byproduct of him continuing to pump in and out of your mouth combined with the sound of him raggedly breathing out your name. “You’re doin’ so good … fuck.”
With his lips parted and eyes staring into yours, he halts the movement of his hips, holding back before fulfilling the desire to feel your throat take him fully.
“Just one more f’me,” he pants in wait, then asserts dominance and thrusts deep into the back of your throat, holding your lips around the base of his cock.
“Hold it,” he demands, a feral moan escaping from him as he maintains eye contact. The force of having him flush inside your mouth evokes a gag as spit pools around his cock, tears forming in your eyes while taking controlled breaths through your nose. You can feel his cock pulsate along the relaxed muscles of your throat and watch through blurred eyes as he throws his head back. “Uuuggghh — that’s it.” He pulls back slowly then fully, a gasp rushing out of your mouth, the emptiness much too apparent. Immediately after release, he’s quick to check on you by softly caressing the side of your face and wiping away the falling tears.
“That wasn’t too rough, was it? ‘Cause that .. you were … amazing.” He babbles, eyes lighting up, contributing to his endearing, blissed out disposition.
“No,” you attest with an idle shake of your head, the corners of your mouth curving upwards into a euphoric smile. “Not at all, baby, you were perfect .. just like you always are.” You bring both hands to the one caressing your cheek and anoint a soft kiss onto his palm before giving it a light tug, beckoning him to meet you where you’re at. “But .. I’m tired of waiting,” you admit with hooded eyes as he leans down slowly, planting his free hand on the mattress. “I need you.”
The all-too-familiar craving for him to be closer returns with ferocity and when his lips sloppily find their way to yours, it confirms his mutual ache. He fumbles his way onto the bed, doing his best to maintain contact as both of you inch backwards, making space for him to situate into a sitting position. Within seconds, your legs are straddled over his lap and lurch at the feeling of his hard length bumping against your soaked opening.
“… You’re still so wet,” he hums, gripping the side of your waist with one hand and lining himself up with the other. “All for me … all mine.” His possessive words alone do it for you but when he starts to drag his puffy tip in agonizingly slow strides along your slick heat, that’s the true catalyst for a deep whimper to release from your mouth. Although it’s not his intention, you can’t help but think how downright cruel it is for him to take his time like this when he’s very much aware of the urgency of your desire.
“Sam … please,” you beg, fingers pressing deep onto the surface of his shoulders, head falling forward against his, already trembling from the anticipation.
“I’ve gotcha, baby,” he hums, delicately cradling the side of your face. “I’ll give it to you … I’ll give you anything.”
And then, in one swift motion, he buries into you, deep and perfect.
Pure heaven.
Both of you recognize just how divine it feels and the chorale of moans echoing through the room confirm this, as you sink down, taking him completely to the hilt, his thick cock stretching out your tight walls, gradually … then all at once.
“F-fuck,” his breath hitching as he holds you in place, adjusting to the way your pussy clenches around him. “‘S’best feelin’ in the world.” His fingers entangle into your hair, pulling you closer, needing you closer, so badly he presses back against your forehead hard enough to the point your skulls could basically meld together. Shallow breaths fall from your lips atop his skin as ragged breaths fall from Sam’s onto yours, creating a vacuum of heat, filling the air as the sole source of oxygen.
“Only thing … I’ll ever want,” you pant while slowly rolling your hips forward, burrowing his cock deeper inside of you. “Having you — aah — like this … god, forever … I’d stay here … forever.”
The accelerated grinding of your hips persists and his grip hardens, bruises sure to emerge from the pressure he’s relaying. Dragging your mouth down the curve of his nose, intaking the salty taste of sweat, your lips brush his cheek before leaning back just enough to see his dilated eyes staring back into yours, the forest green shade flecked with gold, overpowering the hints of brown. It reminds you of earlier when they were almost completely darkened and a smile twitches at the corners of your mouth, finding the beauty in his eyes being a true indicator of mood and right now —
Peace.
“I love you s’much,” he breathes out, caressing your temple with his thumb then kisses you, devoid of hunger and intensity but full of passion and tenderness. He gently rocks upwards, pushing into your center and hitting that sweet spongy spot, igniting a ripple of tension along your lower belly. Moaning into the kiss, your lips take pause to let out an open mouth gasp while his keep moving — across the side of your mouth, along your jawbone — fervent in remaining attached to you.
“I could worship you.”
The meaning of his revelation is affirmed when he immediately bows his head atop your shoulder and flutters kisses along your glistening flesh; proof that despite it being blasphemous — worshipping the movement of your hips … the softness of his lips — there’s never been a more religious experience than the two of you, together, like this.
But only if for the night … unraveling … right here … right now … together … you might just get away with it …
It’s a feat you don’t come undone right there, practicing sheer restraint and using your hands to anchor themselves on the back of his neck as your hips grind back and forth. As he matches the pace, creating a harmonic rhythm, there’s only one thought ringing in your head and it’s just how …
“Goddamn — aaahh — s-so lucky, Sam,” you cry out in reverence, eyes closed and mouth agape, holding onto him with no intention of ever letting him go. “I’m so .. fuckin .. lucky.. I-I love you … so much.”
His mouth falls open, leaving a slick marking atop the ridge of your shoulder and a low moan escapes out, rumbling down your core. Running his hand down to your ass and giving it a squeeze, he lifts up and imparts a deep thrust into you before settling your back onto the mattress. Instinctively, your legs wrap around him, allowing his cock to bury deeper with every thrust.
“Ah .. fuck,” he groans, sweat dripping from his nose as he increases speed, impassionately bucking his hips, devoted to being inside the clenching paradise of your walls. “Love you .. s’much.”
In your ecstasy induced haze, it’s impossible not to dig your fingers into his shoulder. Dragging your hand down to cling onto his bicep, a dark red pigment catches your attention and right away, you know what it indicates.
“Oh, my — fuck— Sam,” you breathe hastily, trying to make him aware of the crimson trail running down his arm but your train of thought falters with each thrust. “I-it .. ugh.. s’opened — fu— y-your — aggh god, your cut.”
“Doesn’ matter,” he groans, maintaining his frantic strokes, cognizant yet unconcerned with the wound’s condition . “Aggh, you feel so good .. s’perfect .. fuck, you’re perfect.”
After his outward disregard, you emulate his “out of sight, out of mind” mentality and intensify your grip, ignoring the way blood pools underneath your fingertips and fixate on him pumping in and out of you. The intensity makes you squeeze eyes shut, splotches of color clouding your vision until his lips find the underside of your chin and whispers faintly enough for you to hear.
“Look at me, baby.”
At his request, your eyes open to latch onto his glossy hazel ones, full of bliss and longing. His gaze only amplifies the shockwaves splintering in your core, the feeling almost more intimate than him being inside of you. “That’s it,” he exhales, lifting his lips in consolation. “My beautiful girl.”
“I-I’m, oh god, Sam, don’t stop, please,” you moan, keeping your eyes fixed on him as your inevitable climax ensues.
“Oh fuck, baby .. fuck,” his strokes becoming less uniform, meeting you at the peak and toppling over the edge.
“Y-yes, ahh —,” a strangled whine escaping from your lips, the orgasm rising and crashing over both of you with immeasurable force. With your legs tight and trembling, the feeling of you pulsing around him causes him to drop his head into the crook of your neck, shuddering with each pump and finally releasing into you. His muscles flex underneath your wine stained fingertips as his cock throbs, filling you up to the brim.
Once the extent of both his and your orgasm ensues, he gradually slows his hips then comes to a full stop. As you unhook your legs from around his waist, he collapses lightly on top of you, forcing an out of breath laugh to fall out of you. Lying there, satisfied and fulfilled, the heaving of both of your chests rising and falling in a steady rhythm creates one pulse flowing through your bodies.
“Holy shit,” you breathe, running your fingers through his sweat-dampened hair. “Is it always like that?”
“Y’know,” he huffs, pushing himself up to look at your flushed state with a playful smile. “Maybe we should fight more often.” You let out an amused scoff before he places a kiss on your lips and removes himself from inside of you.
“Fuck … maybe we should,” you respond, recognizing the heightened sense of intimacy this time around. As soon as he flops beside you onto his back, you curl up next to him with a hand resting atop his stomach. When he winces at the touch, you remove it immediately with worry. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” you say, propping yourself up onto your elbows with brows pulled together in concern. “Does it hurt even more now?”
“No, baby, don’t worry, it’s not —,” he starts but stops once he sees your stern face and accepts that he can’t get away with downplaying the pain anymore. “Honestly, it’s slowly fading away .. especially after that.”
Although there’s a pleased smile on his face, you can’t help but purse your lips at his excuse, not buying it all.
“Will you at least let me stitch you back up?”
“Later,” he says, pulling you down and back against him. “Can we just .. lay here for a while?” His hand starts to make little circles along your spine, rousing goosebumps where his fingertips touch. It’s all-too-easy to plaster yourself to him, transfixed in a state of rapture but it goes against your natural disposition of prioritizing his well being.
“Sam .. the longer we lie here … the worse it’ll get,” you muffle into his skin, trying to convince him to get up and let you finish stitching him up but also silently praying for the opportunity to just stay here, next to him for however long, satisfied and secure. “There might’ve been a part of me that wanted you to earlier, but now I really don’t want you to bleed out.”
He laughs, warm and low, and it spreads over you, emitting a wave of calm that could only be brought upon by him.
Maybe .. you think … we’ll be able to get away with it … for just a little bit longer …
“I wouldn’t mind … if anything, it’d be worth it,” he confesses, kissing the top of your disheveled hair and tightening his embrace. “Nothing’s m’important than this … than you.”
And despite the worry dormant in your nervous system.
And the blood seeping into the bedsheets.
And the truth enshrouding the two of you, that at every waking moment, tomorrow is never really promised.
There truly is nothing more important than getting to be here, with him, like this.
AN: this is for my Sam girls!! :P once again, it took me SO SO long to finish this and i wasn't planning on it being this long so my apologies about that but i really hope whoever reads, enjoys <3
p.s. title/story is inspired by the t-swift song (can you find all the references, direct or indirect ;) ...?)
!!BUT!! another song that really sets the mood imo is taste by rhye; "i'll lay you down ... i'll lick your wounds..."
