@devilishearts continued from here.
She wasn’t wrong.
There was always an eroticism in Ruby that Sam couldn’t ignore (or deny) – even if he desperately wanted to erase it all together. That entire year was a skeleton he wanted to bury, but it somehow kept following him around like a fucking rash; putrid and nagging in how it constantly itches. Sam knows he shouldn’t scratch, but the urge is always there – even if the relief is only for thirty seconds, he wants it. He’s wanted it for years.
Even the way she rolled her shoulders back like a cat on the prowl made heat spread up his abdomen. He defiantly turned his head away, the tendons in his neck grow taught with exertion and the will to remain stoic. (He’s failing.) His tongue skirts across his lower lip while she talks, somehow, for some reason, the lack of intimacy in her calling him Winchester and not Sam, makes him pull her closer. Ruby was always just out of reach; but that initial apathetic and controlled detachment had made him crave her.
He’s rough, far rougher than he is in his day-to-day, as the fleshy part of his palms find the upper part of her back. He turned his face back to her, “Because I know you just as well as you know me,” His voice is gravel, but he lowers it an octave. “And that scares you.”
Don’t scratch, Sammy.