sageྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

Dean who was on the other bed, of course never needed an invitation to sleep.

You yawn, your body slides deeper into the uncomfortable wooden chair. Out of habit your eyes trail over to Sam, checking for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

You smile adoringly at him, it felt good to see him finally catching up on his sleep, he didn't know that you knew, but he had been avoiding sleep because of his reoccurring nightmares.

You sigh, standing up from the chair, ready to catch some z's yourself, pausing when your gaze lands on Sam again, only this time his eyebrows were knitted, and his breathing elevated.

As you begin to move towards him he jerks up out of his sleep, with a loud gasp. You rushed over to his side, your palms cradling his face "hey, hey Sammy I'm here." You turn his head so his eyes could land on you. His gaze was wild with fear, and his breathing hadn't slowed.

"Baby I'm here, your okay. Your safe." You remind him gently. Sam lets out a harsh breath as his eyes squeeze shut, his hand moves to grab your wrist, turning his head so he could press a kiss to it.

"I got you honey." You pull his body into yours. You could feel his slowing heart beat against your chest. Sam's arms wrap around your waist, pulling you completely flush with him.

"Thank you" he whispers, his head in the nape of your neck. Your hand runs though his soft hair soothingly "don't have to thank me baby"

His head lifts, and your eyes catch his, he's assessing you. "Did I wake you?" He asked, a frown playing on his lips. You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his nose. "No, i was just wrapping up some research" you replied.

He nodded, falling back into you. You knew by now not to ask about his dreams anymore, he'd tell you when he was ready.

"Are you okay" you asked. Sam sighed "I don't know… I just- need you right now"

You have him a quick peck on his lips "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere" you promised. Sam kissed your neck, pulling you overtop of him, using you as his own weighted blanket.

"Can you talk to me?" He asked. So you did, you talked about everything and nothing, not forgetting to fill him in on the stupid little argument you and Dean had when he was out on a run that made him chuckle.

Eventually his eyes closed, breathing evened out and his arms loosened around you. He was out cold, no nightmare in sight.

As you slipped into a slumber of your own, you failed to notice Dean wide awake. He watched it all go down, how you took care of his brother like it was the only thing that mattered.

It filled deans heart to know that his baby brother is in good hands, that even if he were to go, you would be there to pick up the pieces, and make him whole again.

Dean smiled to himself as he turned back over in his bed, letting sleep overtake him once again.

You subtly turn in his arms, and he smiles down at you. He takes the hint when you purse your lips, giving you a quick peck before letting his attention wander back to the screen. Inevitably, you want more. 

Innocently, your hands start roaming. He sighs as you caress his chest over his shirt and leans his head into your hands as you gently scratch your nails against the back of his neck. You press a feather light kiss to his skin, just above his collar, and his breath catches, but he keeps watching the screen. You keep kissing random spots on his neck and jaw while one hand grips the firm bulge of his bicep. 

Sam shifts underneath you, easily distracted by the press of your soft lips. With one giant hand, he brushes your hair away from your face before meeting you in a slow, deep kiss that has your heart beat resonating between your legs. He pulls you closer, handling you as if you weigh no more than a ragdoll, his tongue taking immediate ownership of your mouth. The audio from the television fades into the background, lost behind the sound of your joined ragged breaths and the shameless smacking of your lips. 

“Missin’ the movie, baby,” You murmur, pulling away from his now glossy, saliva coated lips. His gaze is locked on you, your lips, then your eyes, pupils blown wide. 

“S’fine,” He mumbles dismissively, leaning in to kiss you again, but you stop him with a soft hand to his lightly stubbled jaw. You turn his face towards the screen. 

“C’mon, you’ve been talking about watching this all week,” You purr. “Don’t let me distract you.” 

But the second you start kissing and gently sucking just below the ramus of his jaw, he wiggles underneath you, breathing shakily. 

“But you are,” He asserts, hand sliding down your back. “Not that I mind-“ 

“I think you should be capable of multi-tasking,” You murmur with a teasing grin, again turning his face away from you and towards the screen. “Keep watching.” 

He rolls his eyes but it’s softened by the covert lift of the corners of his lips. After relaxing against the arm of the couch, hands flexing against where they now loosely hold your hips, he obediently watches the television. Suspenseful music fills the room, but you really couldn’t care less about the plot or the characters, not when it’s much more fun to play with Sam. 

Feeling particularly devious, you move from laying between his legs to fully straddling his lap, putting your body flush against his as you once again enjoy running your lips over the territory of his neck. You feel the stiff outline of his swelling cock through his sweatpants, only your little, soft cotton shorts separating you from it. As you start to create friction on his lap, his fingers dig into your hips. You’re partially lost in the feeling of his hardness pressing so snugly against your beating clit that you don’t immediately notice that once again, he’s abandoned the movie. With an unhinged jaw, he’s watching your hips move between his hands. A moment later, he’s guiding your movements. 

You let your teeth scrape against his pulse point, your palms on his chest catching the way he shudders at the sensation. “Pay attention or I'll stop.” 

“You won’t stop.” He challenges. 

You smile. “Try me.” 

He holds eye contact with you for a few seconds as if debating arguing further. Before his eyes slide beyond you, back to whatever is happening on screen, he calls you a brat under his breath. You reward him by continuing to rub yourself up and down the obvious shape of his erection, feeling your wetness dampen the thin material between your legs. Besides the occasional twitch and lift of his hips to meet your movements, he watches the movie with a tight jaw and an almost blank stare. But you can tell by the color rising on his cheeks and his breathing that you’re getting to him. 

You give up grinding your pussy along his length to grip him through his sweatpants with one hand. His head rolls to the side in response, attention unwillingly pulled away from whatever cinematic action is unfolding in front of him in favor of the feeling of you rubbing him. 

“You really love making this hard for me,” He mumbles through shallow breaths. 

“No,” You muse. “I love making you hard for me.”

“You sure you don’t want me to pause it?” He asks, eyes darting toward your mouth quickly as you sloppily lick the palm of your hand. 

“Just keep watching.” You say plainly, as if you aren’t sliding your hands into his sweats to hold his hardness. He huffs the instant your hand wraps around him, hips driving forward slightly to thrust into your waiting fist. “We’re almost to the end, right?”

“Not even halfway,” He says around a gasp, as your thumb dips into the generous amount of precum oozing from his tip, spreading it around his throbbing cockhead. 

“Then this is gonna be a long movie for you, baby.” 

You tug at his cock slowly. Frustration is practically radiating off of him but he keeps his eyes glued to the screen, though his expression is a dead give away that he’s only thinking about the torture you’re putting him through. You smile to yourself as you have fun with him, massaging his cock too slowly to encourage his peak but enough to have his breath catching and his heart racing, his hips occasionally twitching against the urge to start fucking your hand at his own pace. 

Minutes pass and his cock continues to leak as you play with him. 

“Feel how wet you make me, baby.” You pull your damp shorts aside, then take his paw of a hand and guide it between your legs. Sam releases a shaky breath as you let his fingers brush your molten heat. You freely whine, using his hand to touch yourself while he maintains concentration on the television. 

“Holy shit,” He groans under his breath, his fingers easily finding their way to your pulsing clit. “You’re fuckin’ soaked,” He turns his head to meet your eyes. “Let me take of care you, honey.” 

You’re momentarily disoriented by the stroke of his skilled fingers, your hand pausing on his length as you let yourself get lost in the feeling. 

“Y’clearly need my attention.” He murmurs. 

“Mhm,” You lick your lips, surging forward to meet him in a sloppy kiss. He responds enthusiastically, wrapping his thick arms around your waist, practically crushing you against the solid wall of his chest. He keeps playing with your pussy, the slip of his fingers in your wetness competing with the sounds from the movie. 

He takes your hand and brings it back to his throbbing cock, and you respond by grasping him automatically. 

“Wait-“ You gasp as your thighs begin to tremble from the intensity of the pleasure sparking from your core. “You’re supposed to be watching.” 

“I’d rather do this,” He says into your neck. “Dont act like you don’t want me to make you cum.” 

You really can’t wait anymore. Fuck the stupid movie.

“Fine-“ You concede, grasping the roots of his hair in both hands as you begin to move your hips frantically against the firm press of his fingers, his stiff cock forgotten between your bodies. “Then you keep watching-“ 

It sounds like some pretty epic action is unfolding on the screen, but you’re effectively deaf from the rushing of blood in your ears as your orgasm builds and builds. Matching the motion of his hand, you grind down, chasing the friction that you so ruthlessly had been denying him. 

“That’s my pretty girl,” He praises in a low, breathless voice. “Fucking love your sloppy little pussy. Love that you’re always fuckin’ soaked for me.” 

You cry out weakly, tugging at his shaggy strands carelessly as your back arches, pushing your hardened nipples into his chest. 

“Love that you can’t even watch a movie without reaching for my cock.” He presses his forehead against your temple, panting. “And fuckin’ love when you try to boss me around.” 

“You’re always-fuck! Always such a good listener, Sammy.” You whimper, using your harsh grip on his hair to bring his mouth back to yours. 

Your orgasm explodes suddenly, your body tightening and convulsing with the overwhelming force of it. He holds you tighter as you wiggle in his arms, crying into the kiss, until the heat stoked between your legs dampens enough for you to regain control of your body. 

“You’re missing-“ 

He cuts you off with another searing kiss, grasping his cock and rubbing the dripping head up and down your throbbing seam. You forget the game you were playing and forget that he’s not watching the film anymore, completely losing your train of thought as he begins to stuff his cock inside of you. You gasp at the stretch, tightening your grip on the roots of his hair until he hisses, sharply snapping his hips upwards, fully impaling you on his full length. You swear you can feel him nestled inside you guts, unable to even take a full breath with him filling you so fully. 

“Don’t care about a fuckin’ movie,” He grunts into your ear, his darkened eyes holding your heavily lidded gaze. “How the fuck am I supposed to focus on anything when you’re actin’ like such a desperate little slut for my cock, hm, honey?” 

“Sam-“ You moan, tightening your arms around his neck as he roughly thrusts into you, using his hold on the plush globes of your ass to manipulate your body to meet his movements. 

“Always got this cock on your mind, is that it, baby?” 

He fucks you, staring deeply into your eyes. It’s the opposite of what you intended. Of course, you always wanted this to be the outcome of the night, but you hadn’t wanted him to miss out on whatever’s happening on screen, even if you personally couldn’t care less about whatever the main characters name is. 

He comes fairly quickly, with all the teasing he’d endured, spilling into your pussy as you grind down onto him. With his cock still buried deep inside of you, he circles your clit with his thumb until you’re gushing around him again, crying weakly and gasping for air as your pussy uncontrollably flutters. 

You collapse forward onto his chest, ignoring the mess of liquids spilling between where you’re still connected.  

Suddenly, the light in the room is gone and you realize the credits of the movie are playing, the screen dark. 

“Oh shit.” You blurt. “We missed it.” 

“There’s this thing called rewind.” Sam says with a smile, hand rubbing up and down your back. 

and fuck if your soft little reassurances, those shh, it’s okay, Sam, just breathe, i’m right heres don’t get him hard. they always have, even when he knew it was wrong to get boners in the middle of libraries when you’d be there, whispering so sweetly for him to relax after getting overwhelmed by the inordinate amount of research he had to sift through.

only this time he wouldn’t exactly hide his bulge in his hands or with a book. instead, Sam whined, no longer scared of his own dream, pressing his giant frame into yours, and that thing poking your hip? it wasn’t his belt buckle.

he’d sigh, so dramatic, and whine your name, which sent heat straight down low in your stomach. your breath hitching spurred him further, and his hands squeezed your waist as they explored your torso.

he never really let his hands wander too far- always too afraid of putting you off, scaring you away.

but you wanted this. connection. he could smell it on you. you let out a soft moan when he cupped your breast and squeezed it, your legs entangling with his, already equally restless and needy under the comforter.

his lips followed the path his hand carved, kissing your skin, his shuddering breath fanning across to give you goosebumps. when you whispered his name in that way.. he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Sam began tugging your shirt off with trembling hands, still sensitive to your reactions just in case. his hazel eyes looked for yours, but they didn’t meet. you were looking away. more specifically, at Dean’s sleeping form on the other bed. Sam could sense your unease and worry, so he backed off with a sad little sigh, collapsing back against you, burying his face in your neck once more. you’re right, it’s probably not a good idea to fool around with his brother right there.

but you frowned. stopping isn’t what you wanted. before he could sulk too much, you lifted Sam’s chin up before capturing his lips in a kiss.

he reciprocated, his hand finding your waist again, his lips parting against yours. you pulled back too soon, so he leaned in to chase your mouth, only to feel your hand grab his jaw.

“do you think you’re okay?” you asked. in reference to his nightmare, of course. he needed to be in the right headspace for.. this. this shouldn’t be an impulsive distraction. a second passed, just one, before he nodded.

“now i am. i promise. you made it better. please…” he adjusted, shifting to be halfway on top of you to kiss you again. you didn’t pull back, kissing him just as sloppy and desperate.

his breath caught when he felt your leg hike up over his hip, and he didn’t hesitate to press closer. he let out a soft groan into your mouth as he pushed himself flush against you, pressing his erection against your crotch. not yet grinding, just a small search for friction and relief. and he was already gone.

you smiled after pulling away from his lips. “so, i made it better?”

Sam just grinned against your chin, exhaling with a trace of laughter. “you always do.”

“do i?” you kissed his forehead. he couldn’t answer verbally. instead, he nodded, finding his place in your neck again. then, just barely, his shoulders and chest began to shake lightly. quick breaths against your skin. he was giggling, tucking his face against you to muffle the sound.

you stole a glance across the room again, just to check. just to be sure. nothing. only then did you allow yourself to exhale, leering alongside him. “what’s so funny?”

“i don’t know.”

it simply made you laugh harder. you smacked your hand over your mouth, encouraging the fit of giggles. you leaned into him in return, pressing your body flush against his. you felt him again. it. he did too, and his hand squeezed your waist, his amusement dying down. the hand over your mouth moved and slipped into his hair. he blinked.

“i’m sorry, i don’t mean to wake you up and rope you into my… stupid… stuff.”

“don’t. you sound silly.”

you didn’t wait for a response before leaning in again, finding home in his lips against yours. and Sam, for all that low self esteem, couldn’t deny himself this. you. you hadn’t moved from your place, your leg still secured around his hip. his tongue parted your lips and delved into your mouth to find yours. your moan vibrated against his lips and inspired him on. he smiled again, but nothing was exactly funny anymore. more curious.

he moved his hips again, grinding into you, just an inch. not a full roll of his hips. enough to make him shudder. you pulled your hand out of his hair, smoothing it down his back, over his hip, until finally you cautiously, curiously brushed your fingers over his bulge.

he broke away from your mouth with a gasp, one that should’ve been muffled. Sam immediately realized his error and turned his head to hide against your shoulder. you could see the corner of his bashful smile.

another quick glance confirmed your inconspicuousness. you rubbed his bulge, your palm flat against his cock, your smile mischievous. and Sam’s mouth opened wide as he exhaled, his breath seeping into your sleeve. he pushed his hips forward into your hand, encouraging more friction.

“that feels good,” he confessed breathily, grinning. you found a slow rhythm, rubbing his bulge as he grinded into your hand, rutting his hips and panting like a dog in heat. your leg squeezed around his hip, your cunt clenching around nothing at just hearing his little desperate breaths and mewls.

his hand found your ass to grip, as if he knew of your gripes with the absence of stimulation yourself. your breath stuttered, coming in short as he squeezed the fat of your ass with a passion you hadn’t met before.

Sam’s hand trailed lower, slipping between your legs, following the curve of your ass into the dip of your cunt. there, his fingers met two layers of fabric. your skimpy little sleep shorts, and your panties. he didn’t hesitate to slip his hand past one of the gaping leg holes of your shorts, and he dragged his fingers over the damp fabric of your underwear. it drew a whimper from you, which made his hips buck forward again into your hand.

your eyes fluttered open, searching for his when you felt his head move away from your shoulder. meeting gazes, your blush deepened, and you both stifled laughter. your eyes flicked down to his bulge, then his big hand stroking across your clothed slit with aching slowness. it made you lose your breath again.

you pulled the waistband of his flannel pajamas down over his boxers, and his hips squirmed under you. there was a small wet patch as the top of the expanse of his print, his own arousal mirroring yours. you smiled wider and peeled away his boxers, eyes widening at the slow unveiling of his cock.

Sam whimpered, his fingers pressed firmly against your clit over your panties, unmoving. right now all he could focus on is your touch. and your judgement. his chest heaved and he pulled his hand away from your cunt, moving it back to your hip to squeeze out of sheer anticipation and impatience. his other arm, around your back? it pulled you closer.

his coy smile returned and he looked down at your hand undressing him. “i’m nervous…”

your smile remained, your heart melting. “that’s okay. i am too…” you kissed his forehead again, eliciting another faint giggle from him. one you returned.

you waited a moment. a small one to regroup. you each needed it. only when he exhaled and ran his thumb across your hip did you resume. after pushing his underwear down, you smoothed your hand down his cock, your palm flat against his twitching shaft: a slow, descending motion.

Sam groaned, the precious sound feathering out into a whine. your soft skin against him, finally. it made him choke on air as you granted him this ounce of relief.

he thrusted forward into your hand, clutching your shirt with one hand and fisting the fabric of your panties with the other. you swallowed, and moved your shaky hand back up to gently wrap around him.

his cock was heavy. so big and desperate. you brushed your thumb across the slit of his tip, smearing his precum around his head, and Sam could only moan into your shoulder, giving another weak thrust forward.

your smile remained, and you pushed your fist down, giving him one unhurried stroke. then, back up to elicit another whimper from him.

it was heaven for him. Sam had to remind himself to breathe. so when you picked up the pace and began stroking him in a tantalizing, leisurely pace? Sam’s chest shook again with labored, bated breathing. he pressed closer again, nuzzling your neck as he moved his hips in sync with your hand, fucking your fist desperately, pathetically.

he moaned against your skin, his jaw tense yet slackened, his eyes squeezed shut. his palm splayed flat against your back, holding you firm against him as his other hand grasped your ass again.

he whispered your name between strokes, whining as the tip of his cock brushed between the two of you. it was all too much, so not even a minute passed before his hips began to stutter as he started to buck into your hand erratically. he knew if you kept on like this, things would end very soon. embarrassingly soon.

he reached down and wrapped his hand around yours to slow you to a stop, not without bitterness. he strained into your neck, his hips twitching on their own, and he let out a defeated sigh. he let go of your hand and took just a moment to cool off, finally reemerging from your neck. he was flushed and a thin sheen of sweat covered his forehead as he panted, looking up at you desperately.

“it feels so good…” he confessed. “too good. i can’t keep up. let me..” he moved his hand back between your thighs, his fingers finding their place on your covered slit.

you gasped softly, rocking your hips against his fingers. the relief was instant and addictive. your hand squeezed his cock, pulling another whimper from him. Sam’s brows knitted up desperately as he looked up at you, his lips parted as he breathed heavily, his chest pounding. he whined something reminiscent of your name before the sound was cut short by your kiss.

your tongue pushed into his mouth and you stroked his cock again, slowly and prudently. Sam moaned into your mouth as he fucked your hand again, needy and wanton, rubbing your clit through your panties.

and when he moved his trembling hand to shove inside your underwear, you couldn’t help the startled gasp that left you as his fingers came into full contact with your pussy. he groaned against your chin, brushing his fingers along your glistening slit, swiping roughly at your clit.

“does that feel good?”

you nodded immediately. “fuck. yes, Sam…”

your other hand fisted in his hair, causing his breath to hitch again, his cock leaking more precum. you lifted your leg higher against his hip, opening for him. you voice was soft, a small don’t stop Sam. he could only say yes.

he was getting close again. and fuck there was nothing more he wanted than to cum with you. he clenched his teeth and sped up his pace, his fingers relentless on your clit. you couldn’t help but moan and smush your mouth against his shoulder. your whispered words of encouragement and praise went straight to his cock. he smiled that toothy grin briefly as he nodded, his other hand on your back still caging you against him.

your little moans and whimpers were the softest things his ears heard. the precious sounds made his hips stutter, adopting an irregular pace once again. he whined, having to force himself to open his eyes as they kept falling shut.

“please…” he begged. “i want us to do it together.”

it made you shudder, your eyes squeezing shut, determined to focus on the feeling. his skillful fingers pulled more moans and whimpers from you. but the addition of his lips brushing kisses along your neck caught you off guard. you squeezed his cock again and his fingers pressed harder against you.

Sam came first, his breathy groan vibrating against your chest as he nuzzled your tits, mindful of his volume. his cock spilled heavy spurts of cum, ruining both your shirts and the bedsheets. you grinded against his hand when he faltered, and not long after, he found his pace again, panting into your skin. he bit the flesh of your breast, and you couldn’t stop yourself. didn’t want to. with a gasp, you came from just his fingers, your thighs trembling, clenching around nothing.

he didn’t stop. his fingers massaged your desperate cunt as you simmered down from the euphoria. he groaned when he dipped into your folds, smearing the wetness around, feeling how soft you are. he needed to be inside you.

Sam kisses your neck again, faint traces of his lips until he reached your chin. he nipped your bottom lip, hesitantly moving his hand up to your hip again. his breathing matched yours, each of your faces entirely flushed.

he snaked his arms around your middle, needing the closeness. he nudged his knee between your legs, burying his face in your chest once more. you felt his hips shifting against yours, and you both groaned at the sudden contact. the top of his shaft, where the big vein ran along, pressed against your slit. you exhaled sharply and shifted your own hips just to feel him against you.

he let out a soft gasp at the pressure, then smiled, giggling.

“should have spooky dreams more often.”

you rolled your eyes, taking the matter seriously. “don’t wish that, you’ll regret it.”

Sam sighed contentedly and let his eyes fall shut, his arms like steel bands around you. “you always make it better.”

you huffed out a soft laugh, your hand slipping into his hair. “night, Sammy.”

“mm. night..”

Now here you are attempting to get Sam back to the motel without him and the concrete becoming acquaintances, it sounds easier than it is, seeing as he's 6'4 and two hundred pounds of pure muscle and denim, and apparently very sappy.

“Come on Sammy, work with us here" you groaned, trying to hold him steady. "what?! M'doin my best" he argued back, though he was absolutely not doing his best.

"Dean" you groaned. Dean laughed "Alright I got him" he pulls Sam by the sleeve of his Carhartt, taking the weight off of you. "Thank you" you muttered.

You fix your crumpled shirt, and glance over at Sam, he's smiling at you. Your lips curl up in amusement at his dopey smile.

"Aw look at him" Dean teases "he's got the starry eyes" he continues his steady stride as if Sam isn't completely relying on him for stability.

Sam snorts "I'm not 'starry eyed' Dean. I just… love you guys" he says

You and Dean share shocked glances, extremely caught off guard by Sam's sudden admission. Dean pats Sam on his back "yeah he's out of it" he mutters failing to hide how good it felt to hear those words from his brother.

A familiar flutter settled deep within you, one only caused by the drunken man, you smiled up at him "we love you too Sammy" you tell him, lifting his arm to wrap around your shoulder. He absentmindedly tugs you closer.

"Y'guys are the most importantly people in m'life" Sam continues, trying to keep his legs from giving out beneath him.

It's been about six years since you joined the brothers, most of that time you spent crushing on the younger Winchester so hearing those words from him made something light stir within you.

"alright big guy, don't say anything you're gonna regret in the morning" he says as if Sam's words hadn't made his night.

You smile at the small interaction while trying to hold Sam steady, sam sighs dramatically "no you don't get it, like you guys are so-" he looks at you his face blanks as if something occurred to him. He takes a breath "gosh you're beautiful." He says.

The sudden complement takes you off gaurd "I-" you laugh "thank you, sammy. You're beautiful too."

he trips over a crack in the ground and falls, bringing you down with him, somehow still sober enough to semi break your fall before you hit the ground.

He groaned in pain, and you gasped after the short lived shock wore off, rolling him over to face towards you. You looked over him for any injuries, meanwhile Dean had broken out laughing "oh classic!” He claps “that was classic, Sammy"

You stood up, dusting off your knees. You hit Dean "stop laughing, this is your fault. Help me get him up!" You demanded.

Sam watched you, pouting at his brother’s laughter. You and Dean pulled him up off of the ground. But he moves away from Dean, and leans completely into you.

Dean gives him a betrayed kind of look and you shake your head in amusement. "And she takes care f'me."

Dean stops in front of you and Sam "so what are you saying you like her more than me?" Dean teases, but Sam in this state can't really tell.

"What?!" He says " no, I just love how nice she is, and that I can always talk to her. Oh and that she doesn't leave us." He trailed off "You won't leave right?" He suddenly asks you.

You smile "not if I can help it"

Sam nods, pleased by your answer "She keeps us together, and makes sure we're healthy. Makes us take a break when where driving ourselves crazy" he continues.

Dean raises an eyebrow "wow Sammy, tell us how you really feel"

Sam scoffs "I am Dean, are you listening? Oh! Maybe I'm too high up for him to hear, should I lean down?" Sam asks you, you laugh out loud "you should absolutely lean down"

Dean groans in irritation as the three of you approach their room. You unlocked the door, opening it wide enough to let Sam stumble in, behind him a very amused and ecstatic Dean.

Sam flops down on the bed, a complete, uncoordinated mess of a man.

You rolled your eyes lovingly, "dean watch Sam, I'm gonna get some meds from my room. Don't let him break a bone or anything" you point at the oldest Winchester warningly.

He holds up his hands defensively "hey I am a great caretaker"

Sam lifts his head up "you're leaving?" He asks, quieter than usual. You can hear the disappointment in his voice and it almost shatters your heart "just for a moment, I need to get you meds so you don't wake up with a kick drum pounding in your head"

Sam pouts, eyebrows knitting together like it's paining him. You sigh, closing the door "okay, I'll get it later. But at least drink some water."

Sam sighs "no, I just want you two to sit here with me. We never get to do that anymore… just hang out." He turns over onto his back.

You raise your eyebrows, glancing at Dean who gave you a shrug. "Yeah. Okay we can just sit and hang out then." You move towards the bed, taking a seat beside Sam.

You gasp when he catches you by surprise, putting his head in your lap.

"Y'guys are the most importantly people in m'life" Sam repeats, his eyes staring right up at you.

You look over to Dean who has a light in his eyes that you haven't seen in a long time, he smiles, patting Sam's leg lightly "remind me to never encourage him to over drink again" he says as if Sam's words hadn't made his night.

You smile at the small interaction while trying not to look him in the eye, sam sighs dramatically "you're beautiful." He says, staring at you, from an angle you were sure wasn't as appealing as he made it seem.

Your face heats "you said that already."

Sam rolls his eyes, dismissing what you said. "and I love when you laugh, makes my whole day. Or when you finally figure out something after hours of research, y'get so excited."

His words make your brain falter, these new admissions were coming hard and hitting you like punches. The possibility of you meaning more to Sam than just a friend.

"I'm starting to feel a little left out here" Dean says from his chair, his arms folded over his chest, but you didn't miss the fond look he wore.

Sam shook his head tiredly, his eyes drooping slightly, showing clear signs of exhaustion. "You're my brother Dean, we fight, we hide stuff, but in the end it doesn't matter. It's just what we do. But I couldn't do this without you. Hunting I mean. Need you by my side, no matter what." Sam's voice trails off, as sleep envelopes him slowly.

Your heart clenched, you looked at Dean, there were tears in his eyes as he peered down at his little brother, the one he raised damn near all alone. His eyes met yours, and his body stiffened, he cleared his throat as he stood from his chair, excusing himself to the bathroom.

You smiled faintly as the bathroom door shut. Looking back down at Sam, now completely asleep, you resisted the urge to pull him tight into your arms.

Because underneath all of that hardened exterior, behind the brick walls he had built up, he was still only a man, only a human. Despite all that has happened to him, all he was destined to be, he still remained soft and allowed himself to feel. For you, for Dean, and everyone else he's lost.

You wiped away tears that traveled down the slopes of your face before they fell onto his, not wanting to interrupt his peaceful, vodka induced slumber.

You leaned down and kissed his forehead gently. "Goodnight Sammy"

Sam Winchester doesn’t do quickies.

It’s a fact that you’ve, rather unfortunately, become painfully aware of over the past year. One that can make you melt one moment, and lose your mind the next.

Because when it comes to you, Sam takes his time. 

If he had it his way, every night spent with you would stretch long past midnight, bodies tangled beneath motel sheets while the rest of the world seems to fade into nothing. He’d kiss you so slow that your lungs would run out of air, and you’d have to drag it back in between gasps as he touches every inch of your skin with careful hands. There’s nothing rushed about the way Sam loves you, and nothing careless, either. He makes damn sure that you’re nothing less than spoiled, left boneless and worshipped against his chest, drifting in the hazy bliss of exhaustion as his heart thumps beneath your cheek.

And God, you love him for it. Most of the time.

But the downside of dating Sam is that his life comes with a permanent, trauma-bonded punishment attached at the hip, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. 

You love Dean. You really, really do. He’s family, always has been, and always will be—that’s just a fact of life. But there’s moments, usually when you haven’t spent more than five uninterrupted minutes alone with your gorgeous boyfriend in over a week, that fantasizing about wringing out the older man’s neck like a dish towel becomes your go to form of stress relief. 

The two of you need to run some errands? Dean has the impalas keys in his hand before either of you can speak.

Need to interview some witnesses for a case? Well, apparently, the only thing better than two fake FBI agents is three. 

Want to stop at some cute diner you noticed for a bite to eat? Oh, you’ve just read Dean’s mind, because he’s been dreaming about pie since last week. 

It’s endless, and it’s starting to become unbearable. Especially when you’ve spent the last two weeks with nothing more than a little heavy petting, and it’s starting to feel like some forced dry spell. By day fifteen, you’re pretty sure Dean’s doing it on purpose.

Maybe not meticulously, or even consciously, but either way, you’re going a little insane. For a man so sex-oriented, you’d think he’d be less oblivious about how much of a cock block he’s become; and there’s only so many interrupted moments and unwanted third-wheeling a woman can take before she starts making up conspiracy theories. 

Like tonight, for example.

You and Sam had finally managed to peel away after dinner under the excuse of breaking into the local library past close, and digging through some lore archives for your case of the week. Your plan to jump your adorably clueless boyfriend, and climb him like a fucking tree, was in full swing.

And God, it almost worked. It should have worked. Dean had barely looked at you over his burger as he waved the two of you off, mumbling something about not wanting to join in on your little nerd club. 

But, of course, fate had other plans. Because not ten minutes later, he’d had some stupid change of heart. And coupled with Sam’s inability to say no, your sweet little library date had turned into a three-person job.

So, you sit wedged beside Sam in an old rickety chair, pressed close enough to rest your shoulder against his, as Dean slouches across from you looking bored out of his skull. Honestly, you’re just grateful he’s finally stopped bragging about his alarm disarming abilities after the three of you busted in through the back door. The silence that’s settled in in the aftermath, though, only makes you twitchy.

Sam’s warm at your side, his thigh brushing against yours every time his leg bounces against the dusty floor. To his credit, he really is researching, which doesn’t surprise you one bit. There’s that familiar, deep furrow in his brow, accompanied by a look of intense focus lighting up his hazel eyes as he scans each page. You, on the other hand, haven’t flipped a single page of your copy of ‘Daemonologie’ in over twenty minutes. 

Because Christ, it’s pretty damn hard to focus on mind numbing lore when Sam’s so close, and smells like fucking heaven. 

It’s a little stupid, really, how a few dry weeks have managed to wound you up so tight, that you’re vibrating in your seat like a bitch in heat. But that revelation sure as hell doesn’t stop your foot from tapping restlessly against the floor, or do a damn thing about the way you’re practically salivating over the scent of Sam’s shampoo. But, hey, you’d thrown away subtle nearly ten minutes ago, the moment Sam’s beautifully long fingers started tracing the faded ink of some demonic sigil, and you had to resist every primal urge to lick the veins on his hand.

You’re about five seconds from drooling when you break the silence. 

“Alright.” You slam your hands down on the table, spooking an unsuspecting Dean, who’d just laid his head down over his forearms—Sam’s head snapping towards you. “This is getting us nowhere.”

Dean groans his agreement, shoving away the book that he hadn’t touched since he’d sat down. “…Thank God. Y’know, I saw a dive a few blocks over. We should—”

“—There’s a microfilm reader in the back,” you interrupt smoothly. “We can flip through old newspapers, look for an actual, visible pattern.”

Dean’s mouth clicks shut at your words, and you swear you’ve never seen him look quite so betrayed. He blinks at you, before throwing his head back like he’d just been sentenced to life in prison.

Sam, on the other hand, folds his book closed with silent care, tilting his head towards you in silent question.

“Microfilm?” he echos, raising a brow, before offering a shrug. “I mean. Beats sifting through physicals, but…”

You shoot him a less than friendly look, one he must some-what understand (bless his soul), because his mouth snaps closed before he can finish his sentence.

“…Right,” he amends. 

“Whatever, sweetheart,” Dean grumbles, already moving to stand. “Let’s all go stare at some ancient newspaper clippings ‘til our eyes start to bleed.”

And oh. Oh, absolutely not.

“Dean,” you say flatly, “you hate microfilm.” 

He freezes halfway to standing, argument already on the tip of his tongue, but you’re faster.

“Last time, you almost smashed the damn thing before Sam took over.”

You stand quickly, too quickly, knee thumping against the table in your haste, your hand falling to plant firmly on Sam’s shoulder.

“You stay here, Dean. Keep watch, take a nap, or whatever the hell it is you’ve been doing for the past half an hour. We won’t be long.” You give Sam a soft squeeze. “Right, Sammy?”

Sam lifts his head to meet your gaze, staring at you with those big, earnest puppy eyes, wide and slightly confused. He looks unfairly pretty in this light, all messy hair, sleepy focus, pink lips slightly parted in silent question. 

He glances at your hand on his shoulder briefly, then back to your face, like he’s trying to piece together why you’re suddenly so intent on getting him alone. Which, unfortunately, is a fair question. Not that you care.

“Uh,” he buffers quietly. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Dean plops back down in his chair with an exaggerated sigh, kicking up both his feet. He doesn’t even pretend to read this time, just watches you with narrowed eyes full of suspicion, and, well. Maybe mild annoyance.

You spare him one last mostly well natured smile as Sam stands, but you don’t let him get another word in before you’re practically herding his brother across the library with far too much enthusiasm to be casual. The back room is quiet, dimly lit, and just far enough from the main library to fall out of earshot. Perfect. The door groans in protest as you pull it shut behind you, creaking loud enough to make you wince. And then you notice it.

No lock.

The realization gives you pause for exactly half a second before it’s buried beneath need so thick you have to swallow it down to keep it momentarily contained. Because honestly, now that you finally have Sam alone… a flimsy detail like that is nothing but an afterthought.

Sam, the sweetheart, who somehow still hasn’t managed to connect the dots, moves instinctively towards one of the desks in a few short strides. He leans over the tabletop, bangs falling lazily over his forehead, his hand moving for the knob.

“What are you doing?” you ask, unable to keep amusement from creeping into your tone. His finger hovers halfway over the microfilm reader’s power switch, eyes flicking from it to you. That big, Stanford brain of his trying so hard to decipher where he’s missed a cue.

“What?” 

The question comes out a little croaked, and the puppy-eyed sincerity of it damn near brings you to your knees. 

“Sam.” You take one slow step forward, tilting your head with an almost innocent smile. “I thought my eye-fucking was getting a little obvious.”

He freezes. Not dramatically, no, more like a slow, dawning realization washing over him like a wave. That sweet, dumb face of his finally cracks into something else, something warm. Something darker. The kind of look that makes your stomach flip, and heat coil low in your core.

His hand slides away from the switch in a slow, teasing drag, as he pushes himself back up to his full height, stalking towards you in a few measured steps. Shadows fall over his features, catching on the sharp angle of his jaw, the perfect slope of his nose—and that gorgeous dimple that’s just begun to show itself with the heated smirk that spreads across his lips.

“Oh?” he breathes, voice rougher now. “Really? Here?”

“Yeah,” you purr, and there’s nothing subtle about the way your gaze drops to his lips before flicking back up. “Here.”

You don’t let him think too hard about it before your fist is curling around his collar, and his lips are crashing against yours.

It’s not slow, or testing, or soft. No, it’s immediate hunger. It’s you pouring weeks of desperation and need into a single action, mouth devouring his with every ounce of frustration you’ve bottled up tight enough to burst. He exhales into it, a warm puff against your cheek, as those big hands that have been haunting your fantasies slide up to cradle your jaw with infinite levels of care. His fingers splay over your cheeks, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes as he tilts your face closer to his like he can’t get enough.

He pulls back just long enough to drag in a breath, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue.

“We’re in a library,” he reasons, your noses brushing, breaths mingling. 

“We are.”

“Dean’s just outside.”

“He is.”

His mouth finds yours again, slower this time, and you can tell he wants to drag this out. Make it last. Take you apart so slow that you’ll be shaking in his grasp, and the only word left on your tongue is his name. 

But right now? That… that just won’t do. You part again with a slick pop.

“…And you’re sure about this?” he asks, of course he does, and your heart squeezes tight in your chest. 

You raise a brow, moving for another kiss, but he dodges you with a chuckle. You can’t help but glare. 

“That’s not an answer, baby.”

“Been soakin’ wet since you bitched out that asshole cop earlier,” you tease, raising one palm to trace down his chest. “That an answer?”

He pauses for a moment, considering, then his expression breaks out into a sweet, cocky grin, and then he’s crushing his lips back on yours. He kisses you like he’s drowning and you’re the surface. Like he wants nothing more than to drink you down and swallow you whole. One arm loops around your waist, cradling you closer, spinning you until you’re caged between him and one of the cold, veneer-lined desks. His tongue slips between parted lips, exploring your mouth with a hunger that belies the tenderness of his touch. 

“Up,” he murmurs between licks, tapping your hip with two calloused fingers, before hooking his hands under your thighs and lifting. You squeak, a sound that earns you the world’s most panty-dropping snicker, your ass hitting the desk with a thud. The heat of your core contrasted by the cool surface sends a new spark of want through your system, left sizzling beneath layers of pesky fabric.

Hot, feverish kisses pepper your throat not a moment later, as he splays his palms over your thighs, nudging them apart until they bracket his hips. Massive hands hold you in place, heavy and warm and so damn close to where you’re aching for him. A shiver rips through you like lightning as his lips trail up your neck, soft and wet against heated skin. He finds that sensitive spot, the one just below your ear, lingering on it with slow, open-mouthed kisses, nipping gently before soothing the sting with a lap of his tongue. Sparks climb up your spine like a kindling fire, a poorly-stifled moan whirling from your lips. 

You’re already panting, heart slamming against your chest, your fingers sliding to tangle in his messy hair to keep him right where you want him. Your other hand drags swiftly down his front, pressing into the butter-soft expanse of his chest, finally palming at his belt with fingers that have already begun to tremble. 

His lips disconnect with your neck with a sharp inhale as he straightens up, meeting your darkened gaze. You almost fucking whine at the loss.

“Woah, hey.” His large hand covers your wrist, not pushing you away—thank God—but turning it over gently in his grasp, thumb sliding to rest over your racing pulse point. Even that simple touch has you squirming. “Easy, baby. ‘M gonna take real good care of you first, yeah?” 

It’s sweet. Really sweet.

In fact, it’s so sweet, that your pussy clenches around nothing, and that simply won’t cut it. The only thing it really does is make you want him even more. As in, like, as soon as fucking possible. You pinch your eyes shut, forehead thumping against his chest, before looking back up at him with the most pleading look you can muster. 

“Sam. Sweetheart. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before Dean barges in here ‘cause he’s bored,” you argue, and the tight-lipped, almost shy look he gives you almost has you melting right there. “Just need you. Right now. Please.”

Sam swallows hard, pulse thumping so hard in his throat that you can practically see it. The man is quite literally vibrating with need, a shaky breath escaping him as his eyes drop from yours, traveling back to your kiss-bitten lips. If he was attempting to be nobly subtle, he unfortunately fails. Miserably. 

“…I don’t wanna hurt you,” he lands on, and it’s so Sam that you have to fight the primal urge to shut him up with another kiss.

“You won’t.”

He opens his mouth again, probably to argue, or say something far too responsible for your liking, but instead, he loses. His mouth surges firmly back onto yours with such force that your head gets tilted back, and you let out your second embarrassing sound of the night, but he doesn’t seem to mind one bit. His tongue shoves right back through the seam of your lips, licking hot against yours with such fever that the situation in your jeans starts to become a little unbearable.

“Okay,” he concedes, mostly to himself, tugging his belt open in one sharp movement that probably shouldn’t make you nearly as stupid-horny as it does. You want to complain about not being able to do it yourself—but you forget every word of protest the second he tugs down his zipper, and your gaze lands on the throbbing bulge in his boxers. 

Yup. You’re going to be wet for fucking weeks.

“C’mere,” he purrs, his big, grabby hands scooping around your thighs, dragging you to the edge of the desk until you have to white-knuckle his shoulders to stay upright. He chuckles, the sound vibrating straight through you, his nimble fingers popping the button of your jeans, helping you to shimmy them away. You wiggle and squirm until they fall somewhere beneath Sam’s feet, and he kicks them aside, taking a greedy handful of your now bare ass. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

He latches his lips back just below the curve of your jaw, licking and suckling at your skin as his fingers squeeze hot over your thigh. Your eyes flutter closed, consumed by the arousal flooding your senses, and finally, fucking finally, you feel two thick fingers pull your ruined panties to the side. 

The fabric peels from your core, sticking to your drenched pussy as Sam’s fingers replace it swiftly, and oh, it’s electric. His breath comes faster than before, warm against your neck in punched-out puffs as your body reacts to him, arching into his touch. Two tough finger pads glide easily as he parts your folds, applying a ghost of pressure over your clit for one heavenly second before he’s circling your entrance. You’re dripping. Clenching around fucking nothing. And still—he’s teasing you slow with those unfairly hot dimples popping on his cheeks.

“Sam,” you scold, but God, it’s weak. Real fucking weak. And when one finger dips into your weeping cunt, you damn near cry. “Please, baby. C’mon...”

“Shhh…” he croons, sneaking a quick, mean kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Just makin’ sure you’re ready f’me.”

You don’t get to complain before he’s adding another digit, curling just right, dragging across that spongy, fluttery spot inside you that has your eyes rolling back, and has a broken gasp tearing from your lips. It’s like he intended to shut you up, and it absolutely worked.

“You weren’t kiddin’ about the cop thing, huh?” he teases, and you squeeze his fingers like some sort of warning. He full body shudders like you’ve just done it around his dick. “Soaking wet. Musta’ been a little uncomfortable, baby.”

“You have no idea.”

Your twitchy fingers snake right back between the two of you, this time dipping below his waistband. Your fist circles around his thick cock, and you relish in the very sexy groan he spills into your ear. He’s hard enough to hurt, leaking onto your palm, and he drags his fingers out of you just to help you free his throbbing dick in one quick movement. You can’t help but ogle as you pump him once, twice, nudging that fat cockhead between your folds, his thumb holding the soaked gusset of your panties to the side.

“Ready?” he asks, just one more time, those dark, blown pupils studying yours, glittering with arousal. 

“Shut up n’ fuck me already.”

Whatever hesitation he was holding onto snaps like a rubber band pulled too tight. He kisses you hard, a rough collision of teeth and tongue. One hand braces on the edge of the desk while the other guides his dick through your dripping pussy, collecting the slick that’s practically caked to your core. When he finally presses forward, it’s slow. So damn slow.

So slow that you feel every bit of the delicious stretch, and his pulse pounds against you in more ways than one. Your back bows into the feeling as your chest presses against his, heat exploding through every nerve ending.

You’re panting by the time you take half of him, and when he’s fully seated, you have to suck saliva back in through your teeth before you drool dumbly. Sam’s thumb slides off from your panties, opting to splay his full hand along the expanse of your inner thigh, holding you as wide as you can go. The pressure in your belly coils so hot that for a moment, you wonder how the hell you’ve survived over two weeks without this. 

A groan rips out of him, unfiltered and raw, and the second it hits your ears, it’s already vibrated through his chest and yours alike. Sam’s eyes slam shut for half a second like he’s just been electrocuted by the tight squeeze of your walls so perfectly around him. It’s beautiful, really, a sight that would have you dripping if you weren’t already. His jaw clenches hard, tendons standing out on his sweat-slick neck, fighting for control. His hips shift just slightly then, a gentle, testing rock that has fire licking up your spine.

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp, fingers curling around his strong forearm. And oh, that’s all he needed.

He pulls back gently, before snapping forward in a deep, enthusiastic roll. The desk creaks beneath you like it’s threatening to break, and suddenly, he’s not being so careful anymore. 

You wiggle in his grasp, a plea for more, and he doesn’t spare a single moment. He scoops one leg up high over his waist, hips canting into you with a new kind of fever. The pace he sets is dizzying, desperate, damn-near sob worthy, his thick cock splitting you in half so fucking perfectly that stars explode behind your eyelids. Each thrust presses you harder into the desk, his breath huffing ragged against your neck. You reach for him instinctively, fingers splaying everywhere you can reach, taking greedy fistfuls of Sam. 

“Y’take me so well,” he chokes, as he leans back to fuck you in powerful, measured strokes, driving you higher and higher with every slap of skin. His muscled abdomen clenches taut as arousal pulls at his belly, and you can feel the tension beneath your palm. “So—so fuckin’ good, just for me.”

White-hot pleasure crashes through you in waves with every ruthless pound. You barely have it in you to hold yourself upright, raising your hands so your fingers can dimple hard into the meat of Sam’s shoulder for even the slightest lick of leverage. Your cunt sucks him in like it was made to, the heavy upward curve of his cock brushing right fucking there, over and over and oh fuck, you can only hope the room is soundproof. 

“S-Sam, don’ stop, p-please—”

Gasps and moans and pleas tear from deep in your chest, ecstasy bubbling through you so hot, that you have to bury your face in the crook of Sam’s neck before you wake up the entire city. 

He hums into your hair, a smooth, comforting rumble, such a contrast to the way his cock bullies your sweet spot with every brutal thrust. Your lips find his throat, sucking sloppy kisses to his heated skin, but busying your mouth sure as hell doesn’t stop the string of cries from spilling into his ear.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, one arm slipping around your back to tangle in your hair, holding you tight to his chest. It leaves little space between you, if any at all—his hips snapping in quick, short thrusts that hit so deep that you swear you can taste it. “Feels so good, doesn’ it? So full? Tha’s what you needed, huh?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you manage, but it’s broken. So broken. It’s hard to remain coherent when you’re being fucked dumb, and Sam isn’t exactly leaving room for mercy. He squeezes his hand between you, thumb finding your clit with expert-level accuracy, and suddenly, you’re done.

You’re right there. Right fucking there. You tumble closer, closer, closer, until you’re teetering on the edge, dangling off, Sam’s perfect fingers and his perfect cock about to push you over, and—

“What the hell?!”

The sharp, deep voice of Dean-fucking-Winchester stops your orgasm cold like a silver blade slicing through flesh. Shock tears through you as you squeeze Sam tighter than a vice. His hips snap forward hard, way too fucking hard, his body enveloping yours as his palm slaps over your mouth to muffle your forced-out cry.

Sam’s torso practically crushes yours, sparing most of your dignity (thank God for those damn shoulders), your forehead thumping against his chest as his hand slips from your face. Your heart pounds like a snare drum against your ribcage, the strangest combination of sexual frustration and utter mortification washing through your veins.

“Get. Out,” Sam barks, quick, his strained voice sharp as he turns his head towards his brother. You’re suddenly incredibly thankful for your haste—because, hey, at least Sam’s jeans never made it below his waist—but yours sure as hell did, and your only cover is Sam’s body. You tilt your head just enough to peek through the sliver between Sam’s arm and his side, and oh. Oh God.

You’ve never seen Dean look like that before.

He’s white as a fucking sheet, and if you weren’t completely horrified, it would probably be hilarious. Standing in the doorway, he looks entirely scandalized, jaw hanging wide open, eyes threatening to pop right out of his skull, before he snaps out of it long enough to throw a hand over his eyes, turning his head away. 

“Yeah, I—don’t you think I’d freakin’ love to?” he spits, shaking his head like he’s seconds away from losing his mind completely. “I mean, Jesus, what are you two, high schoolers? You’d think—”

“Dean,” you choke, and Sam flinches like he’d forgotten you were there entirely. Which, well, is unlikely, considering the fact that he’s still buried to the hilt inside of you.

“We’ve gotta go. Now. Apparently my, uh, alarm disarming skills are pretty rusty,” he stammers, the hand that isn’t covering his eyes reaching for the door. “Put your freakin’ pants on, and go. There’s goddamn cops outside.”

Well, shit.

If that isn’t just worst case scenario, you’re not entirely sure what is. 

He finally stomps out of the room, muttering an irritated “seriously!” as he goes, and the second he does, a long puff of air floods from your lungs in a ragged sweep. Every cell in your body is practically vibrating for you just crawl in a hole, and never return—but there’s another part of you that’s just pissed. Because Christ, after waiting so fucking long, is a little bit of relief really that much to ask for?

You’re busy wallowing in your newfound despair, attempting to shuffle your ass backwards to get up, when two warm palms plant firmly on your cheeks, tilting your face up to look at his. Sam’s eyes are wide, undoubtedly panicked, brows pinched so hard that a sharp crease has formed between them. 

“Fuck—‘m so sorry. Are you—you okay?” His thumbs swipe at the sweat beading at your temples, touch gentle now, fingers shaking where they cradle your face. “Did I hurt you?”

“What? I’m fine, Sam,” you grumble, but that sure as hell doesn’t ease the look of pure concern on his sweet face. Still, you push yourself back just a little more, and he takes the hint, pulling out so tenderly that you barely even hiss at the feeling. “…Physically, anyway.”

“You’re sure? I just, Jesus, just fuckin’ manhandled you, baby.”

Somehow, that makes you laugh despite everything. “Pass me my jeans,” you snicker, and he moves quickly, following your command without another word. His free hand fumbles with the zipper of his pants, and you hop off the table on wobbly legs. 

But that fire in your core?

Apparently, a two-week dry spell turns you completely insatiable.

Sam stands again, passing you your now wrinkled jeans. But instead of taking them back right away, your hand lifts, curling around his collar again, pulling him close until only a lick of distance remains between your lips.

“We’re not done,” you whisper, and God, you watch his pupils swallow all colour in his eyes in real time.

“…Later?” he purrs.

“Later.”

AN: So, I’d actually planned to post something else, and then got distracted and wrote this in a couple of hours. My bad. Needed something fun 🤣

I’m going to take this opportunity to apologize for my very, very slow writing skills… there is so much going on in my life right now, it’s driving me crazy, and I can’t focus on my word porn as much as I’d love to. But hey, gimme a couple weeks, trust the process!