Hey its me, The Swayze Dean request anon. In the wise words of SpongeBob..."Mr.Kraaaabssss, I have an ideeaaaa"
Sam who's with someone who doesn't moan/make noise easily. Like he'd get desperate and wear himself out just to hear a whine- ya dig?
Helloooo again Swayze Anon (can I call you Swayze Anon?), thank you for coming back with another delicious ask after your lovely request that turned into The Swayze Method ! ❤️ I appreciate you thinking of both brothers, though. Bless. 🙏
Little spontaneous Sam fic below the cut!
The Highest Note - a mini Sam Winchester fic
CWs: 986 words. Sam's bruised ego. Just a touch of smut. Communication.
Sam Winchester likes to think he doesn't have much of an ego.
He's wrong, of course, but that's beside the point. He keeps it in check, somewhat. Doesn't flinch at low-brow insults. He's long gotten past wanting to be liked and is fine with being tolerated. He's not afraid to ask for help, at least not with some things, such as: "sorry, where do you keep the frozen burritos?" or, "you're right, officer, we were speeding, yes, he'll be careful from now on, have a great day."
But getting you to make certain noises when it's just the two of you? Well, it seems he met his match.
It gnaws at him, and that's what surprises him most. He knows sex is a duet, it's about forging a connection. And if you just happen to be quiet, that should be totally fine. But he's... well, Sam has a few tricks. Probably not the amount his brother has, but stuff that's tried and true. And he knows everyone's different, he knows that, he really does. But what does he have to do to get you to make that sound?
That high, voice-cracking moan. An involuntary whimper. Sam loves these noises in his partners. The knowledge that he's made them check out of their body, has given someone that floating feeling, that factory reset. It's sometimes better than the actual coming, though he's not about to verbalize that to anyone.
And he loves sex with you. The chemistry between you two is unreal. Your kisses are the sweetest he's ever felt. Your touches, God, they undo him. There's just something between you that's right. It's only this thing. He wishes he could just not care. But he does. He just does.
Like now. He's been between your legs for a good long while. He loves it there. The softness of your thighs, the way your adorable toes rub along his side, because you're eager to stay in touch. Your smell, your taste. And he knows what he's doing is working, because the way you twitch and tense he's pretty sure is real.
He looks up at you, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip pressed between teeth. Chest rising and falling as you suck in breath. But not a sound to be heard.
"Just let it out, baby," he says, softly stroking you through the aftershocks. But then your body goes slack, your lip released from its toothy prison, your head rolling to the side. You look beautiful like this, exhausted, elated, and Sam did that. Still, he finds himself suppressing a sigh. Then he crawls up your body, plops down next to you.
You roll towards him, arm going around him as you press your cheek against his chest, hum a little. Sam swallows, then wraps his arm around you too. Gently strokes your hair with his fingers.
"Did you," he asks, feeling insanely self-conscious immediately, embarrassed that he'd ask like this. "Did you like that?"
You turn your head a little, kiss his skin where you can reach it.
"I loved it," you say, voice low. "That was amazing, Sam." Sam chews on the corner of his lip. He shouldn't bring it up, right? The last thing in the world he wants is that you think you're doing something wrong. Just cause he needs his damn ego stroked.
"It's just," he says, taking a strand of your hair, running it between his fingers. "You don't really make, you know, a lot of, I mean, noises, I guess, so I'm just wondering."
Oh, that sounds so much worse than it did in his head. Why couldn't he just say it outright, simply ask, instead has to make it this little game where he pretends he's just casually inquiring.
He's sure he's fucked up, but then you raise your head, look at him and Sam needs to swallow, forces a smile on his face, which probably makes it all worse. You study him, in that unreadable way you have.
"Do you think," you say, voice neutral, but your hand is slowly running along his back, so maybe you're not mad? "Do you think that I don't like what you're doing because I don't scream and moan and, I don't know, holler?"
Sam can't help but huff at that last word.
"No, not at all, just..." he says, then stops. "It, it might have crossed my mind."
You blink up at him, then untangle your arm from him, making Sam's heart drop for a second, but it's only to bring up your hand and brush some of his hair away from his face.
"Sam," you say in that super reasonable tone Sam has come to love so much. "Have you ever considered that you make me feel so good that I just completely lose the function to make any noise?"
Sam opens his mouth, then closes it. Looks at you, trying to read your expression.
"Is that," he says, feeling a tickle of pride inside himself, "is that what it is?" You shrug.
"That," you reply, "and also I just don't make a lot of noises. Always been that way. It has nothing to do with you."
You don't say it unkindly, but Sam still feels dumb. He made this entirely about himself. But of course it's not. He clears his throat.
"I'm sorry," he says, feeling awkward. "I didn't want to make it a thing." To his surprise, you smile softly.
"You didn't," you say. "I mean, I can try being louder. I just can't guarantee, you know." Sam nods quickly.
"Of course," he says. He looks down at you. "Thank you."
You chuckle, and then you're pressing closer to him, your hand wandering from his face down his chest and lower.
"Now," you say as your fingers find him, begin drawing soft circles on him and Sam needs to close his eyes. "Let's see what noises you can make."
Thank you again for the lovely ask, this was so fun! ❤️