GORGEOUS MORNING
“Don’t rush me. I’m waking up.”
sam winchester x fem!reader (established, very casual relationship)
summary : Sam drops by for a wake up call.
CW : pwp. piv. fingering. consensual somnophilia. filmed sexual encounter. dirty talk. bit'o'yearning.
Word Count : 3.45k
a/n : This being a departure from my usual "missing scene" oeuvre, I had trouble placing when exactly this takes place. Consider this Sammy unstuck in time. He contains multitudes. If you have a feeling of when he is, I'd love to know!
Title is taken from the song "Gorgeous Morning" by Tanya Davis
It’s early, not quite daylight yet. The blue-grey tones of dawn filtering through your windows. Warm, cozy, sprawled out in bed, your face nuzzles into your pillows. The softness surrounding you invites you to burrow deeper, slip back into sleep.
There’s an aching want between your legs, dire, almost painful. It can’t be from your dreams alone, you’re not that creative. You float into consciousness, lazy, languid. Gorgeous mornings like this aren’t something to rush.
As you stir, you realize thick fingers are teasing this gnawing desire out of you. Teasing his name out of you. A soft sigh, a secret, kept by your pillow alone. Gorgeous moments like this aren’t something to rush, either.
“Sam.”
A satisfied huff comes from behind, no, above you and you hide the smile brightening your face in the crook of your elbow. You haven’t even opened your eyes and he’s putting your fantasies to shame.
What’s between you is easy. Casual. Predictable. Always has been. His messages are near identical, though they’re separated by months, sometimes even years.
In town. Can I see you? SW
You always give him your address, assume that he’s forgotten. He never needs it. He lets himself in with your spare key, remembers where you keep it without being told. He gets there whenever he gets there, stays as long as he stays. It never feels long enough, but you take what you can get.
You’ll come home to him reading, maybe dozing, on your couch or he’ll find you in your kitchen eating dry cereal from the box, and the domesticity of those moments borders on dangerous. When he comes in late, after you’re asleep, he’ll wait, not touching you until after he's watched you touch yourself for him, all drowsy and dreamy and not sure yet if he’s real. Your favourite, though, is when he’s already touching you, sleep giving way to a waking world where he has you wet and ready.
You’re wet and ready for him now. Face down, one knee splayed out to the side, tucked up high beside your waist. Your other leg spreads wide, stretching out long, to offer him better access. The sheets rustle and slip over your body, leave you bare. Shivering, but not from cold. The mattress shifts and dips between your legs. A wide, warm palm slides up your spine, fingers splaying wide across your shoulder.
“I know you’re awake.” The sound of his voice washes over you, deep and soft, warmed with the hint of a midwest accent.
“Nuh uh.” You barely mumble it, keep your eyes closed, pretending to be asleep. Your legs widen and your lower back arches, lifting your hips off the bed.
“Uh huh.” The hand on your shoulder squeezes and kneads the muscle beneath it while the two digits gliding in and out of you pull away, leaving you empty, wanton. Whatever sound of protest tries to escape you catches in your throat, something hot and firm and velvety soft presses against you in their place. “If you’re still sleeping, should I be giving you this?”
“Mhm.” You bite your lip, give him the tiniest nod. He knows he can, you give him permission to wake you like this every time, but it’s very hot, the way he’s asking again.
“Tell me if it’s too much.” You kiss the tip of his cock with your cunt in response, your lips trembling slightly against his tip. He groans, gripping your shoulder, taking hold of your opposite hip, dragging you backwards so your lower belly is resting on his knees.
He enters you so slowly. You can’t hide the flutter of your eyelids, can’t stop the parting of your lips. You hear him chuckle, self-satisfied but not smug. You imagine a playful curl at the corner of his mouth, dimpling his cheek just below the mark by his nose, his tongue flashes out to lick his lips and he watches, ever fascinated, as the thickness of his cock disappears inside you.
“Fuck.” You open one eye to a slit, catch your first glimpse of him. His face is tipped up to the ceiling, mouth open, eyes closed. He looks enraptured, the lightening dawn casts shadows across him like some baroque masterpiece. Breathtaking.
Your ass is being pulled tight against his stomach, it seats him in you completely. He flexes inside you once, making you gasp, and then stops moving entirely.
“That’s all you get.” The mattress shifts again, then settles, like he’s sitting on his heels. “‘Til you wake up.”
His patience, the dedication to it, is maddening. You stay like that, split open on him, your pussy twitching, restless, for what feels like forever. He caresses you, asks again if you’re still asleep. You keep pretending you are, because the tension is delicious. He has you feeling increasingly hot and aching and full.
His remarkable lack of fucking you is driving you insane, pushes you to your limit. Your cunt clenches around him unbidden, tighter, rhythmically searching for relief. You hate being the one who caves first, but you’re not going to outlast him today.
Stretching your arms out, rocking back and forth as you arch your back, you can already feel heat building in you from the small movements. He hums, running his hand over the curve of your ass. “You awake yet?”
“No.” You shake your head, drag your cunt off him, just as slowly as he’d entered you. Finally, finally, it gets a reaction. His grip tightens and he tries to guide you back onto him, but you want to set your own pace. “Don’t rush me. I’m waking up.”
Behind you, he still looks otherworldly. The morning glow catches on the sheen of sweat clinging to his brow. His cheeks are flushed pink and his chest, with that absurd tattoo, is heaving with laboured breath. Not so unaffected, after all. He’s looking down at the place your bodies are joined, where just the tip of him remains inside of you. Double checking to make sure he’s watching, you start to fuck yourself back onto him.
His forehead creases, mouth wet, as he watches, holding himself steady to provide resistance for you to move against. He sucks his teeth, still touching you wherever he can reach. You feel an overwhelming sense of envy, watching him watching you, his mouth twitching, jaw working, every time you glide your cunt up and down his length.
“You gonna let me do anything?” His fingers dig into the softness of your body, begging to let him go to work on you. You can feel the restraint in it. “God, I want you so bad.”
“I’m getting that.” You push back onto him, hard enough for the slap of your ass against his thighs starts to fill the room as you drive him deeper. Groaning, a raw and guttural sound that makes you grip his cock like a vice, he meets your thrusts and grinds against you.
Sunlight glints off something on the bedside table, a glimmer of inspiration. You reach out, try to crawl forward toward it, but he stops you with a firm tug of your hips. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“I never get to see anything.” You wiggle and stretch against his hold, reaching to grab your phone between your outstretched fingers and pull it into your hand. You open the camera, flicking it to video and turn back to him, holding it out for him to take. “And you wanted something to do.”
He ruts into you, deep and slow, as he considers what you’re asking. He rocks your bodies together, smirks as your eyelids flutter and your elbow buckles, dropping your shoulder to the bed.
“If you’re not into it.” You let it hang there a moment, worry you’ve asked too much. For all you know of each other, there’s still so much more you don’t. “You know what, don’t worry about it.”
You move to toss it aside, but he catches your wrist before you can. “I didn’t say that.”
“You sure?” You hesitate, then let him take the phone from you, almost fumble it when he grips you with one hand and snaps his hips, as if to reassure you. It does, whether that was his intent or not, and you find yourself trying to think of ways to look more photogenic. “Make sure you get my good side.”
“Trust me.” He locks eyes with you as he holds up the camera, fussing with something on the screen. He hangs on to your hip as he rises, standing on his knees. Cunt cinched tight around him, you have no choice but to follow where his cock leads. Ass up, face down, the way he’s looking at you makes you turn your face away to hide your blush. “From where I am, everything looks good.”
You fuck him like it’s the last thing you’ll do. Savouring the pulse of him inside you, remembering how and when to tilt your hips to drag him over the sweet spot that makes you twitch and moan. Your face falls between your arms, muffling the sound in the mess of sheets around you.
“Don’t hide.” He tickles into the crease of your hip, a little come hither gesture. “The mic won’t pick up anything if you’re trying to be quiet.” That he’s thinking of that, not just what you look like together but how you sound, gets you unimaginably wet. You can tell because you start to hear the slick sounds of your cunt on his cock getting louder, wetter. You want, need, more of him but when you start to move faster he drops a steadying hand to your ass, tempering your pace. “Go slow, just a little longer. You’re so wet, you’re practically dripping off me, it’s. Fuck. You can’t miss out on this.”
You whine his name, curbing your urgency as instructed, following his soft cues. Telling you he knows, just hold on a little longer. Telling you to trust him, it’ll be worth it. Just wait until you see. It can only last so long, the deliberateness of it all, before you have to pick it up. You’re just not as patient as he is.
The sounds of you mingle: yours breathless, nasal and desperate; his measured, almost painful, forced through his teeth; the slick, skin-on-skin staccato of you fucking yourself on his cock. You wonder what it will all sound like, this harmony in the key of cunt, when you watch it later.
You think about curling up with him, close so you can both see on the phone’s small screen, or maybe hooking it up to your projector, so that your pussy, dripping and on display, and the quick glistening glimpses of his cock, appearing and disappearing inside you, can play out larger than life above you while he touches and teases and tells you which parts are his favourite. The ones he will watch back, over and over, when he isn’t here with you. It fills you with a wild heat, makes drive back against him, hard enough that he has to grab on to you to steady himself.
“Nngh. You can’t do that.” You can, you want to, and you do it again to prove it. His hips buckle again and he grunts, bringing one leg up to bracket your side, using it to snap his hips into you with equal force to your own. It punches a sharp cry out of you, drops you to your forearms, face pressing into the sheets.
He folds over you, one arm a vice around your waist, the other braced across your chest. He’s holding the phone beneath you, the camera flipped so you see yourself on the screen where he drops it on the tangle of sheets just under your face.
“You should see yourself while you’re getting fucked.” The way he’s pumping into you, relentless and needy, he all but pants the words out around each thrust. “It’s the most beautiful thing.”
He pulls you up onto your knees, you back flush with his chest, the hand on your sternum moves over, finds your nipple, twists it. You moan so loud it makes you wince.
He brings two fingers to your lips, pressing them into your mouth, has you swirl your tongue around them until they’re slick and shiny with spit. Slipping between your legs, he finds a firm, steady rhythm to strum your pleasure into a wild vibrato.
“Get the camera.” You fumble for it, can’t reach, and he releases your nipple just long enough to grab it and press it into your hand. “Look at yourself. You see how sexy you are?”
Your vision is blurred, but you can see your expression, skin dewy, pupils dilated, throat flashing with each gasping breath. Your head is pressed back against his chest and when you angle the phone’s camera up you can see his face as well. Aside from the fact that he never takes his eyes off you, you can see he’s absolutely fuckdrunk. Stupid and glassy and beginning to flood with oxytocin. Just like you.
“Sam.” His name is the only word you can remember, you have to nudge your head against his chest to get his attention. It doesn’t take long, and he looks at you looking at him in the reflection of the screen. It’s simple, nothing but your faces in frame, but it’s so intense and you’re already so gone that you don’t quite know what to do with how it makes you feel.
“Here.” The hand between your legs comes up to take over the phone again. “Show me how you make that pretty pussy twitch for me.”
Your hands drop between your legs, spreading your lips. He brings the camera down to focus on your fingers as they find that sensitive node and begin to work it, hard and fast and unrelenting. Biting your shoulder, trying to catch a look at you flicking your clit on the screen, he can see that he’s covered in your cunt juices, smeared across his skin and collected in the hair around the base of him.
“Fuck. Fuck.” His hold on you feels awkward, the way he’s trying to crane over your shoulder to keep watching the close up of your pussy lips stretching around him on the screen. “I need to taste you while you watch this.” He presses his face into your neck, too desperate to be gentle, his mouth clumsy against your ear. “I need so much more of you.” The way his need turns you inside out is profane. It’s so intimate, raw and ragged, that words escape you. “Please?” When he presses against you harder, teeth scraping against soft skin, it's nothing short begging. “Let me stay.”
“Sam.” Your voice surprises you, almost keening as you try to announce your climax. “Sam, I’m.” The light of the screen pulls you back to the image of your face, held up for you to see once more. You look delirious, mouth working to make shapes that will never become words, not even sounds, that are anything other than his name. You watch, rapt, as he presses a kiss to your temple, his eyes rolling up every time you say it. It does the trick, seeing him do that. “I’m. Sam. Ah. Sam. Sam.”
It’s a good thing he’s holding you, that his chest is strong and solid against your back. You arch into him, hyperventilating through your nose while biting your lip hard enough to draw blood. You feel dizzy, lightheaded, feel your spine go slack in his embrace as it tightens around you. Everything goes cold, tingly, for a moment before giving way to the electric, convulsant, all over sensation of pleasure ripping through you. Your fingers are still working furiously between your legs, prolonging this feeling whatever way you can.
Sam curses, one long low sound, gravelly and heated. He’s barely coherent, entirely devotional. Slurring as he tells you how good you feel, how hard you make him, how beautiful you are. Just look at you. Open your eyes. Look. Look at yourself.
It overwhelms you. A few stray tears escape the corners of your eyes, you feel them on your cheeks and can see them in the image looking back at you. You can see his face, too, his lip twisting into a grimace, trying so hard to hold on, teetering on the edge of his own release.
You take the phone from him and toss it aside, still recording wherever it lands near the head of the bed, and wrap both his arms around you tight. You reach back to grab a handful of his ass, shifting so he can drive deeper into you. You curl your other arm behind his neck, pulling him close, threading your fingers through his hair.
“Come for me, Sam.” All you can reach is his temple, so you brush your lips against him there. “I miss you. Let me feel you fill me up again.” You can feel the tension building in him all around you, and when he finally lets go you feel it almost as intensely as when you came yourself.
You brush your lips over his hairline, rake your fingers across his scalp lightly, feel him pressing soft kisses along the top of your shoulder and up your neck. He buries his nose behind your ear, his embrace softening as he hugs you to him in the tender way he always does after he finishes fucking you. It feels wonderful, warm and weightless and wanted, whatever that means.
It takes a minute to untangle yourselves, sighing and groaning as you do, only to flop down onto the mattress and have him snuggle up close, your chest pressing against his. He slides a knee between your legs so he can feel the sticky warmth of his spend leaking out of you. It’s always a little messy, with him. You’ll clean up together later, that’s part of the fun.
“Hi.” His breath is hot against your cheek, tickles you, makes you shudder.
“Hi.” You steal a kiss, grin as he steals one back. “It’s good to see you.”
“Mhm. Yeah, you too.” He brushes his nose against yours, looks at you like he never wants to leave.
“So, uh. You asked.” Your lower lip disappears behind your teeth for a moment, shy because he doesn't ask and neither do you. You’re supposed to take what you can get. “You, um, wanted to stay?”
“Oh. That was just.” You cringe, turn your face away from him, should have known it was just some heat of the moment thing. “You don’t have to.” It makes you pause, try to listen to what he really means, instead of what you’re afraid he does. “I can go whenever you want.”
“I don’t want you to go at all, Sam. I wasn’t telling you to leave.” You brush your fingers across his collarbone, watch the way the hollow of his throat moves, the flash of it when his breath catches there. It feels hopeful. “I was asking if you’d stay.”
“Oh.” You hold your breath, waiting. He takes your hand, brushes a kiss to your knuckles, laces his fingers with yours. “I didn’t think you’d want me to.”
“I do.” You laugh, shaking your head, brave another look at his face. “I always do.”
Blood rushes to your cheeks when you catch the way he’s staring at your lips. He kisses you. Softly. Deeply. His tongue sweeps across yours as he licks into your mouth. It feels like he’s trying to tell you something more than what his words will let him say.
He pulls you under him, it makes you giggle, wrap your arms around him. You’re both still tacky with sweat and drying cum and you gasp, sensitive, when he presses against your slit so soon after being fucked. He’s half-hard again already, your cunt starts to spread fresh slick over him as you move against each other again. Somewhere, tangled in the sheets, your phone is still recording. When you watch it back later, you do it with him nestled between your thighs, giving him what he begged for.
You let him taste you, over and over. Let him have more of you. As much as he needs, and then some. You don’t rush, there’s no need to, even if you’re making up for lost time. Sam stays as long as you'll let him.
You let him stay as long as he wants.
Thank you so much for reading! Gratitude for likes, comments, reblogs and vibes.
I appreciate you!
