#aboutsammeta

For Sam Winchester, every new year of his life had brought nothing but loss, horror, and pain. He wasn’t keen on celebrating the potential for more of that, but with Ryu Nightrider had come a whole new dimension of life. It was as if he had been living in a half-dream state—or a half-nightmare state—for the entirety of his existence before Ryu came and woke him up. He felt a little like Sleeping Beauty, awoken with true love’s kiss.

scale: not today satan | fuck no | no thanks | eeeh | not sure | I’d give it a shot | sure why not | omfg yes | there go my pants | holy fuck take me now

Sam knew nightmares. He had grown up tossing and turning, fearing the things his father—and Dean, eventually—hunted. Now, his nightmares were different. He didn’t know when they had changed, not precisely, but he could think of a million reasons why. Sam Winchester, was, therefore, in a unique position.

“Hey,” he whispered, “it’s fine. No apologies, ‘kay?”

"M-married?” Sam stammers the word as if it has never occurred to him, or it hasand he’s trying not to focus on it because he knows that’s not his future… That he might not havea future.

"How good are you at minding your own business?" It isn't a great comeback, at all, but Sam has no intention of answering that. He's not even blushing. The question is so silly, it's not even worth the distress. His capillaries have evidently decided the same. He continues field dressing the firearm on the table before him, a book laid aside for this daily drill, taught and demanded by John Winchester most of his life.

11. [consent is sexy] - Your muse asks permission to touch mine below the waist, above or beneath clothing.

They’ve become heated, grasping and groping, lips pressed hard together, needy and wanting more. Layers have been shed, but as is the Winchester way, Sam still has a few to go. Ryu presses close and their bodies are flush, hot and stiff and pushing against each other. Sam doesn’t know where Dean is and doesn’t frankly care. He cannot focus on anything other than Ryu Nightrider and his taste, his weight and presence, the fact that Sam, in a rare moment, is not alone and not regretting it.

“Can I…” Ryu whispers against Sam’s lips, hands slipping downward toward the hunter’s belt and the button of his jeans. Without thought, Sam nods, gasping his response.

“Yeah—y-yeah, please.”

Ryu’s fingers are nimble and work quickly.

"I'm glad I found you, I didn't get a chance to tell you over the phone, I got us reservations at that place you wanted to try! We'd better head out." Mostly, Ryu wanted to leave so he could ask whether or not any minor hexes were appropriate. He couldn't tell from the distance if he'd interrupted awkward flirting, or someone being an asshat.

Sam Winchester was, as always, pleasantly surprised at the amount of energy in Ryu Nightrider’s tiny body. His… actually normal-sized body; Sam’s perspective on proportions was WAY off. Always had been. He appreciated the quick save, however. Here, in this bar, would not have been a good place to show what he had learned from years of hunting monsters. That crap had a tendency to KILL.

“Ah—er… yeah, oh, yeah, right,” Sam felt himself stammering, eyes on Ryu and then the stranger with the wandering hands. He had already moved on to another target and Sam’s broad shoulders sagged a little. He really DID want to leave, but he felt so bad for the woman upon whom the fellow was now turning his attention and the philosophy of “at least it’s not me” didn’t fit in his paradigm.

“Buddy, she’s not interested,” Sam said, grabbing the man’s shoulder and imitating his brother’s cadence—it was more threatening than his own—as he turned the guy around and, for just one moment, displayed the strength of a man who’d been fighting his whole life. He put the guy on the ground and then turned to Ryu. His eyes said “we’ve gotta run” but his mouth was smiling.