Vivian has just been on a hunt with Sam, Dean and Claire. Now they’re back at Jody’s house having dinner. Sam & Vivian have never met before tonight, but their chemistry is undeniable, & lord knows what’s going to happen when those two are left alone in Jody’s kitchen…
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Vivian plastered on a half-smile as she walked into the room, but her eyes were still stormy. She slid onto an empty stool like she hadn’t just stormed off a porch seconds ago, like her pulse wasn’t still pounding in her throat.
“Sorry,” she said, reaching for the nearest bottle of whiskey on the counter. “Had to have a little heart-to-heart with your brother.” Her voice was casual, almost too casual.
Claire looked between her and Sam, raising an eyebrow like she knew. Jody, of course, said nothing—but her mom-senses were probably tingling so hard they could set off a salt-and-burn.
Dean, as expected, didn’t miss a beat. “Oh yeah?” He smirked, mouth half-full. “Anything we should know, or is this one of those ‘none of your damn business’ kinds of situations?”
Sam stayed back, leaning against the doorway like a shadow—watching her, but not owning the room. His silence was louder than any word he could’ve said.
Vivian poured herself a generous glass of whiskey, took a long drink, and said flatly: “Depends. You want the censored version, or the part where I start throwing punches?”
That made Claire snort mid-bite, Jody raise her eyebrows, and Dean clap a hand to his chest like she just became his favorite person.
Sam just gave the faintest, tired smile behind her. Yeah. She was fire. And he was already burning.
Vivian’s mouth & throat were sizzling from the liquid fire.
“Your brother couldn’t handle me anyways.” She peeked back at Sam over her shoulder, smiling, an ornery grin on her face. “He’s a little too soft for me.”
Sam let out a sharp breath of a laugh through his nose, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned one shoulder against the doorframe. His eyes locked on hers, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Oh, is that right?” he said, voice low, dangerous in that quiet storm kind of way. “That why you nearly climbed me like a tree fifteen minutes ago?”
Dean nearly choked on his burger. “Whoa!” he coughed, pointing between them like he’d just been handed front-row seats to his favorite drama. “Okay, alright—this just got interesting.”
Claire groaned loudly. “Please. Not at dinner.”
Jody just sipped her water with the expression of a woman who had absolutely seen it all and was choosing inner peace over involvement.
Vivian felt her cheeks heat up, but her grin didn’t fade. If anything, it widened.
She turned slowly on the stool, facing Sam fully now, her whiskey glass balanced between her fingers. “You don’t know a thing about how I climb, Winchester.”
Sam’s eyes darkened just a bit, the heat in them unmistakable. “Then maybe you should show me.”
Dean stood up abruptly. “NOPE. Nope. I’m going outside. I can’t eat with this happening.” He grabbed his plate and stalked off, muttering, “Every damn time someone flirts in this house…”
Claire followed after him with her drink. “You two need a room or an exorcism, I’m not sure which.”
That left just Sam and Vivian in the kitchen—again.
Sam stepped forward slowly, closing the distance but not quite touching her.
“Still think I’m too soft?” he murmured, eyes locked on hers, daring her to lie.
Vivian couldn't lie. Sam did seem a bit more intimidating than he did 15 minutes ago.
Vivian sat on the stool, practically having to lean backwards to look up at Sam towering over her.
“ I still don't think you could handle me.” She smirked, half daring him to try.
Sam’s jaw flexed, just slightly, as he looked down at her—close now, his broad frame casting a shadow over the counter, over her.
He didn’t smile this time. Didn’t smirk. He just leaned in, slow and steady, until his face was inches from hers, his voice nothing but a low, heated whisper.
“Vivian,” he said, her name like gravel and silk in his mouth, “I’ve been through Hell—literally. I’ve fought demons, angels, monsters, and my own damn fate.”
His eyes never left hers—dark and intense, like they were burning straight through her bravado.
“You really think I’m scared of a girl who drinks whiskey like it’s water and flirts like she wants to bite?”
A beat passed. The space between them charged like lightning in a bottle.
Then he leaned just the slightest bit closer, his breath brushing her lips—but he didn’t touch her. Not yet.
“Only question is…” he murmured, voice low and dangerous, “…are you sure you can handle me?”
And then he pulled back—slow, deliberate. Leaving her in the heat of it.
Not backing down. Just waiting.
Sam’s scent was absolutely intoxicating, so close to Vivian she couldn’t escape it. The smell of earth and warmth and a touch of pine encapsulated her as Sam’s lips brushed across hers. She sucked in a big breath, her walls completely crumbling down without any warning, half expecting Sam to just kiss her right there.
When Sam stepped back, Vivian wasn’t ready to be alone in her own space quite yet, so she intertwined her fingers in the buttons of his flannel and practically pulled him down on top of her.
“Why don’t you fill me full of whiskey and see how brave I get, hmm?”
Sam’s nose was pressed against hers and they shared the same breath. Vivian’s core ached with desire, and the couple of shots of whiskey had loosened her up enough that she took a risk and leaned forward and softly bit Sam’s lower lip, lightly sucking on it as she pulled away.
Sam let out a sound—low, guttural, and completely involuntary. His eyes slammed shut for half a second as her teeth grazed his lip, that teasing pull of her mouth shooting straight through him like a fuse being lit.
When he opened his eyes, they were dark. Heated. Barely held together.
“You’re playing with fire,” he growled, voice strained with restraint, but rich with something far more primal. His hands had stayed at his sides, like he was trying to respect the rules she kept changing—but now, they lifted, hovering just above her thighs as he fought every instinct in him to not grab her and devour.
“You don’t need whiskey to be brave, Vivian. You already scare the hell out of me.”
And God help him, he loved it.
He leaned back in—slower this time—his forehead pressed against hers, their breaths still mingling, lips so close it was torture. His hands finally rested gently on her thighs, his thumbs grazing her jeans, grounding himself before he completely gave in.
“You sure you want this?” he asked, voice hoarse, barely more than a whisper. “Because if you tell me yes right now, Vivian… I’m not just kissing you.”
His lips ghosted over hers again—not quite a kiss. Just enough to drive her insane.
Vivian involuntarily whimpered at Sam’s words. She released her tight grip on his shirt and ran her hand down the front of him to the top of his jeans, hooking her fingers in the top of his underwear & tugging his hips closer to her. With her free hand, Vivian grabbed the whiskey glass and downed what she had left, letting out a hiss with the burn. When she drank, her head was leaned back and her throat was exposed.
The mere second Sam saw the opportunity, he lunged forward and ran his lips and tongue ever so lightly up and down her neck. He nibbled at her ear. He could hear her breathing quicken and he worked her with hid skillful mouth.
Vivian gulped & tried to find the words,”I- uhh- I- maybe I want you to claim me.”
Vivian’s breaths were coming in quick & ragged. Her core was throbbing at the thought of him. Her lips were burning like lightning, wanting to devour him . She swallowed hard & breathlessly said:
“Should we really do this here?”
Sam exhaled slowly through his nose, his forehead resting against hers. His hands squeezed lightly at her hips, not to pull her closer—just to feel her. To remind himself this wasn’t some fantasy he’d conjured up in his head.
His voice was low, thick with restraint and want, edged with a teasing grit that made her toes curl.
“If we don’t stop now…” he murmured, his nose brushing along her cheek, “I’m going to forget where we are.”
His lips ghosted over hers again—barely there—just enough to make her ache. “And as much as I want to hear you fall apart in my arms…”
He pulled back, barely, eyes hooded and burning into hers.
“You’re not just some moment I want to steal in someone else’s kitchen.”
Then his thumb gently brushed her jaw, anchoring her, soft and sure.
“So…” he said, voice dipping even lower as a corner of his mouth curved up, “you coming with me, or are we staying here while Dean loudly pretends not to eavesdrop through the walls?”
Sam’s lips left Vivian’s skin crawling with fire in their wake. Goosebumps trailed up her skin. She wanted more than anything to ravage him, lose control with him, feel every inch of him beneath her & him feel every inch of her.
But he was right. It would just be straight up disrespectful to do this right now.
“Go with you?- where are we going?”
Sam leaned in close again, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear as he murmured,
“Somewhere I can make you forget everything but my name.”
He pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes—his gaze dark and deliberate, but threaded with something much deeper than lust. Something undeniably real.
“We’ll find a room,” he said, voice smooth, but reverent now. “Door closed. No audience. Just you and me.”
His hand slid down her side, slow and intentional, stopping just above her waist. He was still holding back—barely—but everything in his stance said he wouldn’t be for long.
“I want to take my time with you, Vivian,” he breathed. “You’re not a moment. You’re a mark.”
The tension crackled between them—fire laced with need and something frighteningly close to intimacy.
Sam took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Tell me yes,” he said, “and I’ll show you what it means to be wanted right.”
Vivian wanted this moment to go on forever, to be burned in her memory for all of eternity.
But Vivian also knew how and when to control herself.
“Sam… this is Jody’s house… we can’t just be mindless fucking animals here…”
Sam’s eyes fluttered shut for a beat as he laughed quietly through his nose—not from amusement, but from the sheer effort it took to rein himself in.
He rested his forehead against hers again, the tension in his shoulders rippling like barely caged electricity.
“You’re right,” he whispered, his voice frayed at the edges. “God help me, you’re right.”
His grip on her waist tightened for a second—just a second—before he loosened it and pulled away slightly, enough for both of them to breathe again.
“But if this were anywhere else,” he added, his gaze holding hers with that same reverence and smoldering promise, “I wouldn’t have stopped.”
He brushed his fingers over hers as he pulled back fully, grounding himself again, though every part of him screamed to stay tangled in her.
“We’ll do this the right way,” he said, softer now. “Not hidden. Not rushed. Just… real.”
Then he stepped away entirely—reluctantly—but his eyes said everything he didn’t touch.
“We’ll wait. For the right time.” He smirked faintly, voice dipping into that familiar teasing tone. “Just don’t expect me to be a gentleman forever.”
Vivian smiles softly, pink lips tingling.
“You could… just kiss me for now…”
Vivian looked up at Sam through her wispy hair, reaching out for his hand to keep him from moving too far away.
She practically begged, her voice barely audible but full of desire. That one word set Sam’s soul on fire.
Sam froze the second that word left her lips—please—and for a moment, time itself bent around it.
He looked down at her, that softness in her eyes, the vulnerability wrapped in heat, and something inside him broke. All his restraint, all his carefully drawn lines—they fell away like ash.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t smirk. Didn’t hesitate.
He cupped her face with both hands, one thumb brushing her cheek, the other tangled gently in her hair—and then he kissed her.
Slow. At first. His lips molded to hers like he was memorizing the shape, the taste, the feel of her. He kissed her like it meant something, because to him—it already did.
His body pressed into hers, his mouth growing more urgent, more desperate, but never rushed. One hand slid down to the small of her back, pulling her against him, his hardened cock pressing between her legs, while the other cradled her jaw like she was something precious. Because she was.
When he finally—finally—pulled away, he didn’t let go. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, his voice ragged against her lips.
“You’ll never have to beg for that again,” he whispered. “Not with me.”
As soon as Sam’s lips crashed into hers, a soft whimper slipped through Vivian’s lips. Sam was soft, yet hungry and passionate all at the same time. The closer he pressed himself in, the more drunk Vivian felt off of him.
When Sam’s kiss slowed and he went to pull away, Vivian lightly bit his bottom lip, letting him slip through her teeth.
Vivian stared up at him, slightly breathless, his green eyes burning into her soul.
She could feel how absolutely drenched her panties were after their evening of flirting and teasing one another. She could only imagine how Sam was feeling.
Just as Vivian was about to say something, Dean come walking back in the front door, screen shutting loudly, boots clacking on the hardwood floor.
Sam tensed at the sound of the door—his body stiffening like a switch had been flipped. His jaw tightened as he blinked, looking at Vivian for one more breathless second before straightening up.
He stepped just barely away, but his fingers lingered at her waist, slow to let go, as if the part of him that needed her didn’t get the memo.
Dean’s boots stomped into the kitchen, a cold drink in his hand and suspicion written all over his face. His eyes scanned the room, narrowed slightly, then—
Vivian still perched on the stool, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed.
Sam’s hair a mess. His flannel rumpled.
Dean pointed between them with exaggerated theatrics. “Really? I leave for five minutes and you two start a soap opera in Jody’s kitchen?”
Sam cleared his throat, ran a hand through his hair, and replied with absolutely no shame:
Dean gave him a long, flat look. “Talked, huh?”
Vivian tried—tried—to cover her laugh behind the rim of her empty whiskey glass.
Dean groaned, walking to the fridge. “I’m getting ice cream. You people are emotionally exhausting.”
Claire peeked in from the hallway. “They kissed, didn’t they?” she called.
Dean threw up his hands. “Of course they kissed. I could feel the sexual tension from the driveway.”
Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. But before he turned away completely, he looked back down at Vivian—just a glance.
Vivian quickly drank the last of her whiskey & practically slammed the glass down, a wicked smile creeping on her face, as she hopped down from the bar stool.
“Awww, C‘mon Dean, jealous?- I promise I don’t bite… At least not hard… you could always join us.”
Dean’s jaw was slack as his face filled with every emotion imaginable. Vivian looked up at Sam & then winked at Dean.
Dean froze mid-scoop of ice cream, the spoon hanging in midair like time itself had paused. His mouth opened, then closed. Then opened again. Nothing came out.
Claire, from the hallway:
Dean finally blinked, shaking his head like he’d just been smacked with holy water. “Okay—no. Nooope. That’s it. I’m officially out. Sam, your girlfriend is feral.”
Sam stood there, stunned silent for a split second… before the deepest, most satisfied smile tugged at his lips. He looked down at Vivian like she was the single most dangerous and intoxicating thing he’d ever laid eyes on—and he’d fought literal hellhounds.
“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” he murmured under his breath, voice laced with heat and admiration.
Then he leaned in close to her ear, the barest whisper against her skin.
“Say something like that again and I won’t make it to the bedroom.”
Dean groaned, dumping the scoop of ice cream back into the tub. “I hate both of you.”
Vivian just smiled wider, triumphant.
He was already gone for her.
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I really hope you enjoyed!- let me know what you think. This is my first time posting something like this and I’m really nervous.
