#awkward sam

“Quit pushing!”

“Well hurry up then… don’t want Emily gossiping if she sees you,” Sam muttered, his hands bracing your hips. He glanced to the front entrance, making sure you weren’t within the stupid doorbell camera’s line of sight. Kent took home security very seriously.

Sam’s rough hands gripped the tops of your thighs, pushing you up and over his windowsill. You could feel each of his silver ringed fingers squeezing the skin. It was on purpose of course, he’d take any opportunity to touch you. “Don’t you do any work on that farm? I thought you’d be stronger.” His voice was teasingly annoyed, prompting you to turn your head and glare. 

“Sorry, I’m not used to breaking into houses,” you snapped.

“It’s technically not breaking in, I do live here.” He threw himself in behind you, landing with a practiced ease. The lime green carpet beneath the window was noticeably dirty, sprinkled with flecks of mud he had done a half-ass job cleaning up. You knew Sam liked to go out in the rain, mostly with Seb and Abby. He had never invited you. It stung a little. 

“I wouldn’t have worn this if I knew that you were planning on taking the window in,” you huffed, gesturing to the black, flowy sundress you wore. You were glad you had gone to his concert, Sam was truly gifted at the guitar, but wow did you misread the room. Punks, goths, emos… how could anyone tell the difference? You thought the black would be enough but you were sorely mistaken. Sundresses were not within any of those subgenres. Sam’s eyes roamed greedily over your figure, but he noticed the stiffness in your shoulders that screamed insecurity. 

“C’mere princess,” he cooed, hand cupping your jaw with a gentleness he only reserved for you, “you looked beautiful- look beautiful, even now. Even with that hole.” His hand slid to your ass, rubbing at a spot on the skirt of your dress. It must have caught on a nail on the way in. His hands were warm and rough, his fingers calloused by years of skimming them across the metal strings of his guitar, and you could feel every glide. He grinned wickedly as he brushed agains the elastic of the panties you had worn, his hands climbing beneath the flowy linen of your dress to push the fabric up. 

“Sam!” you smacked his hand away. “Not yet, tell me why we’re sneaking around. Why can't I see your mom? I brought her that eggplant parm the other day and I want to know if she liked it.”

He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “Jeez, does it really matter? Just come over tomorrow and I’m sure she’ll tell you all about it.” He rolled his eyes, impatiently tugging you closer by the hips. 

He had been acting strange lately, distant in a way he wasn’t before. Just a few weeks ago he was inviting you to try playing Solarion Chronicles, to go skateboarding by the river with him. You still remembered the warmth of his hands as he held you on the board, laughing and whisking you up when you failed a simple ollie. “Yeah, it does matter,” you said. “Why have you been so… I don’t even know… so weird?”  

He tugged you closer, making a frustrated noise as your back hit the wall with a stern pressure. Even as his grip allowed you no wiggle room, his hand slid up to cup the back of your head, making sure you didn’t bump it against his window frame. “You talk too much- just kiss me already.”

His lips slanted against yours, his tongue brushing against the soft pink flesh urgently. You felt the cool metal of his lip ring against your mouth, but you didn’t give in to the urge to tug on it. Instead, you gripped his shoulders and pushed them back just a little. “Wait Sam. We need to talk about this. I don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

He didn’t say anything, his jaw tensing as he slid his face into the warm space of your neck, leaving a few soft kisses above the spaghetti strap on your shoulder. The feeling of his teeth snapping it made you shiver as he murmured, “We can talk about it another time, babe.”

He sounded dismissive, but his shoulders had slumped slightly, as if that facade of careless, eager hunger had slipped. “Sam,” you mumbled, trying to look him in the eye, but he only pushed his face further into your neck. The heat of his cheeks, growing warmer with a shameful blush, seared you as he sighed. 

He pulled back, but his eyes were trained deliberately on the ceiling. “Look I know how to fuck women and- No, shhh, wait-” He stumbled over his words as he took in the bewildered look on your face, “Just- just let me finish.”

He took another breath as you nodded, his hand fidgeting with the thin metal bar in his eyebrow. It was a nervous tick you recognized. “I meant,” he paused, “I know like- how this part goes. The sleeping around thing. And- and I know how to be friends with girls, obviously. Abby and I get along I think. I just don’t know how to do this part.” His hand gestured back and forth between you two.

“I’m not sure I understand…”

He sucked on his lip, taking another tight breath as he tried to rearticulate. “Like, you and me. I don’t want you to be like Abby and I don’t want you to be like- I don’t know. You know what I’m saying.” 

An awkward laugh escaped your lips, “Not really…”

He turned even redder, trying to step back, but you grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling him close again. “Stop that, Sam. I’m not- I’m not mad at you, I just want to understand. You like me… right?”

“God yes,” he breathed, his brows shifting into a confused, desperate furrow.

“Why don’t you want to be seen with me?” A sharp pain twisted in your stomach as you asked. That was the question now, wasn’t it? That thing that had been bugging you about his behavior. He was embarrassed of you. You were a fucking farmer. His friends, they were cool. They played music and games and went drinking on weekends. You stayed in to knit and make homemade jams.

His face broke a little as you asked, pulling you close, “No no no, see? I knew I’d fuck this up-” When you didn’t answer, he started again. “I’m afraid. I want you to like my friends, I want to bring you places, I want you to be friends with my mom, heck- I want Vincent to love you, too.” He blew out a long breath, finally looking at you once again as he leaned his forehead against yours, stooping down to even out your heights. “I don’t know how to do any of that.”

You quirked a brow in confusion, but kept your tone gentle, “Well, Sam, isn’t that my responsibility? If your mom and your friends didn’t like me it wouldn’t be your fault…”

“No,” he said quickly, seeing the creeping nerves in your expression, “They do. They do like you. They- They even ask me why you don’t come around more often but I just- I’m afraid. I’ve never had a real girlfriend before. Never anything longer than a month or two. I don’t want it to be like that with you.”

You opened your mouth to reassure him but he kept going, the words pouring out now. “I really really like you. Really like you. Every time I’ve felt like things were getting serious with someone it’s all gone to shit and yeah- sometimes it was my fault.  I don’t want to think about letting you down, or- or what could happen if we’re official and everyone I love loves you and then it goes bad again. You’ll be alone. I’ll be alone.”

It was… a tough thing to think about. Something in you revolted at his words, did he really have such little faith in your relationship? But you knew that wasn’t it. You had your own baggage, this was his. It was too soon to trick yourself into thinking things would work out perfectly, sunshine and rainbows. You brushed a lock of damp, blond hair from his face. It was still warm, sweaty after their concert and the sweltering bus ride home. You brushed the patches on his jacket, smoothing the threads down. Weren’t these the things that mattered, at least right now?

“One day at a time, Sam. We’ll figure it out.”

“What do you mean?” He asked warily. There was a soft, barely there tremor. Clearly, he believed this was where it ended, where you decided he didn’t know what he wanted and still lived in his parents house and still dreamed of music like a child, and didn’t know how to cook or clean or anything useful-

“I mean… I like you. Do you like me?”

“Yes,” he answered again. There was no hesitation in his eyes, but there was confusion. “I do”

“Well if I like you and you really really like me… then it doesn’t matter what the future holds.” He didn’t look so convinced.

“We don’t need to get married tomorrow, Sam,” You gave a soft laugh, hoping to ease the tension. “I want to start slow, I want to get to know your friends and family before I start flaunting you.” 

He smiled a little at your tease. “I think I should be the one flaunting you around. You deserve so much better than me.” His lips brushed your forehead.

“There’s nothing wrong with slowing things down.” Your fingers crept into his hair, slipping through the longer bits at the back of his neck. He purred as he felt the tips of your nails scratch lightly. It was his sweet spot.

“Don’t do that to me…” He groaned softly, his eyes shutting as he tipped his head back, exposing his neck. You pressed a kiss to his adam’s apple, making him groan again as he finally looked at you. “Slowing things down… seems like your actions don’t match your words.” Though his words were chiding, he didn’t seem to be upset by your touch in the slightest. His pupils were quickly growing wide, hungry.

“Sorry… you’re right I shouldn’t have,” you went to pull back, but his hands flew to your hips, walking you back against the wall. 

He guided your hands back into your hair, whispering the word please into your ear. You bit your lip and tugged a little, earning a low moan from him. “You deserve better, better than being fucked up against a wall…” he said as his big hands slid to the back of your thighs yet again that night. He lifted you easily, slotting his hips neatly against yours. “But I’m gonna do it anyway if you don’t tell me to stop.”

His brown eyes were dark, but still held so much warmth. He would stop if you told him to, would set you down, walk you home even. But how could you ask him to stop now? 

“Don’t stop.” You tugged again on his jacket, attempting to pull it off in a way that was sexy rather than desperate, and he laughed. He slid it off and threw it to the ground, leaving himself in that ripped tank that showed off the toned muscles in his arms. 

He growled playfully as he saw you looking him over, “I can’t believe I ever thought you were just a sweet little thing…” His hands slid under your dress, hiking the skirt up around your waist. “I’ve been excited for these,” he brushed his fingers against the swath of black fabric at your core. He grinned at your confusion,  “I saw them earlier when you climbed through the window.” 

“Sam! You were looking?” You huffed, but he only answered with a cocky smirk. “Ugh…I hate you.”

“Yeah, right, princess.” He brushed his nose against yours in a mocking kiss. “You already told me how much you like me.” His voice pitched up into a teasing mockery of your own as he continued, “Oh, Sam, I wanna flaunt you around and- and we can take things slowly and fall in love…”  He stretched out the word love, and you hissed indignantly. Those words had been for his benefit, not your own! “Besides,” his gaze turned feral as he thumbed the slick spot forming on your lace, “it certainly doesn’t feel like you hate me.”

The look of startled shock and the grumpy glare you gave him made him chuckle. The sound was low and sexy, but he kissed away your pouty lip with eyes full of unbearable affection. You couldn’t help yourself from kissing back. His lips grew more desperate the longer you kissed, and soon you gave in to that nagging urge. The metal of his lip ring was cool and satisfying as you tugged it between your own lips. In answer, he shoved his hips against the center of you, letting you feel the bulge growing there. His skinny jeans were too tight to hide his arousal, but he didn’t seem embarrassed in the least.

“It’s way past my bedtime,” you huffed, “I should leave you here.” He didn’t respond, only humming softly against your mouth as he began to grind into you. His clothed cock rubbed against your panties, and he grunted, bunching the skirt of your sundress higher.

“No way,” he shook his head, propping you against the wall with his knee as he fumbled with his zipper, “Not when you’ve got me all fucking hard now.” The button of his jeans popped and he slid the zipper down to free himself. Warmth leaked into your sides, your hips, everywhere as his hands returned to you. “This is your fault, telling me you wanna go slow, “he paused, grinding unashamed against your slick panties, “and then pulling my hair- looking all cute like that.”

“Fuck,” you whimpered. His hand found yours and he shoved it into his pants, making you cup the hard length of him. 

“Go on,” he encouraged, cupping your face tenderly despite the filthy words coming from his lips, “Touch it. You made me hard, now fix it.” Your hand slid into his boxers, gripping him around the base. His dick was heavy and thick, the skin velvety and warm. “Shit… you’re so gentle with me, princess. I can hardly stand it-” His voice broke on a groan when you started stroking, pulling him out of his pants.

He stuffed his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small swiss army knife. Kent was very into safety, apparently. Cool metal brushed against your pussy and you held completely still. The blade slid clean through the lace of the panties, leaving you bare as he cut it away. You whimpered softly and he grinned, “What, you like that? Maybe next time we play I’ll show you more.” He carefully put the blade away, squeezing your ass. “Keep stroking, babe.”

He chuckled at the soft moan that fell from your lips, shifting your hips so that you were comfortably lined up with his cock. “Now put it in,” he murmured in your ear, kissing and nipping at the soft skin to make you shiver. Your hand held him, carefully pressing his tip against the soft, slick folds of your pussy with a little whine. The thick head of his cock pushed forward, slipping into your untouched entrance. “Good girl, you take me so easily… I didn’t even have to lift a finger.” He held your hips in place against the wall as he leaned forward, slowly sinking into your cunt until he bottomed out. 

“Sam…” His thrusts were achingly slow, pulling out nearly to the tip before slipping back in an inch at a time. You grabbed at his strong arms, currently holding you aloft by your ass and up against the warm brick, at his thin ripped t-shirt, at the silver chains dangling from his throat. 

He rumbled a laugh as he thrusted hard, earning a squeak from your startled lips. “So needy, baby. Don’t you trust me to give you what you need?”

“No, I-” you grumbled, but he cut you off with another hard thrust. He propped up your hips, holding them in place as he picked up speed. Soon enough he was pounding you into the wall, one hand on your head, the other pinning you down tighter as he shifted his hips. His cock found its target a moment later, tapping your cervix until tears pricked your eyes. The sight had him grinning wickedly as he gently brushed the moisture away, never breaking his deep pumping motion. “Aww, don’t cry princess, I'm gonna make you cum so hard…”

He doubled down, slamming into you recklessly as he moaned and tightened his hold. His rhythm became sloppy as he panted into your neck. “Cum with me, please… I wanna feel it- I need to feel you.” A little groan loosed from his lips as he watched you reach between your bodies, rubbing your clit quickly as your head leaned back against his careful hand. He couldn’t hold back, spilling into you with ragged breaths at the sight. “Fuck, baby, m’sorry, I couldn’t…” He kept pumping, desperately wanting to feel you tighten around his cock as you climaxed.

With a few more well aimed thrusts and sweet kisses to your neck, you were melting in his arms, finally feeling that sweet release as he cradled you close. He went to fix your dress and set you down, but you shook your head softly, still in the blissful daze. You didn’t want to be put down, and you doubted your own ability to stand right now, anyways. 

A tender smile crossed his features, and he walked you to his bed, sliding in and making sure you were wrapped up securely in the covers. He kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and then just all over until you giggled. 

“Sleep, cutie, we’ll tell my mom about us in the morning.”

You took a drink of tea during an instrumental and he laughed at the mug you were drinking out of, obviously your own, that said, “Adulting is hard.”

You looked up at the sound and your posture stiffened at the way that he was looking at you, misinterpreting his amusement for something more malicious. You turned back to your computer and started writing again, but this time without the dancing and the freedom of movement you’d allowed yourself before. You still had another thirty minutes of writing time to get through, so you couldn’t exactly leave. You weren’t going to break your routine for some asshole who was just rolling through town. The locals that frequented this coffee shop had all been pretty good about ignoring your strange way of writing, and while you were sure some of them looked at your funny behind your back you never stopped, because it was a part of your process.

“Yeah, you’re smooth,” Dean shook his head and took a deep drink from his coffee. Sam glared at Dean and then looked back at you where you were pointedly not looking his direction, your natural movements from before looking almost stilted. He felt really bad for making you uncomfortable, and Dean wasn’t making it any better, so he decided to kill two birds with one stone and go apologize to you.

Meanwhile, you took another sip of your tea and let yourself settle back into the music, forcing yourself to lean back against the chair of your favorite table in the corner, facing the room where the people watching was the best. You forced out a couple hundred words before someone’s shadow loomed over you. You looked up at the same guy who had been laughing at you and you finished writing your sentence before taking your headphones off and raising an eyebrow at the frankly unfairly attractive man in front of you.

“Can I help you?” You felt distinctly like a cornered animal with him blocking your exit, easily able to stop you before you got all the way around the table. 

“Um, yeah, I mean, I- Is this seat taken?” He asked. You looked at the seat that he was pointing at, directly in front of you where all your books and research were spread out. You couldn’t say yes, because you were a terrible liar, but saying no would be an open invitation, and you really didn’t want him to sit with you.

“There’s not that much space,” You said, instead of directly saying no, and he must have taken it as a yes, because he sat down in front of you.

“I don’t need much space. I just, I wanted to apologize, and I didn’t think talking down at you was the best way to do it.”

You leaned away from him unconsciously as he leaned forward. “Apology accepted.” You kind of just wanted him to go away.

“I didn’t apologize yet.” He said, and now he was kind of smiling, which put you on edge again, making you put your arms out on either side of your computer, gripping it like you could pick it up and run at a moment’s notice.

“You expressed intent, that’s good enough.” You kept glancing between him and the door, mentally trying to calculate the best way to get out.

“I just- I wasn’t laughing at you, earlier. I was laughing at your mug.” He pointed to the white porcelein in question and you looked down at it, not understanding what he meant for a second until you remembered you hadn’t grabbed your plain white mug on the way out this morning, because you still hadn’t washed out the coffee stains of your last all nighter. “I agree,” he said, offering an apologetic smile, and you untensed yourself slightly at that.

“Yeah,” you laughed, a little less uncomfortable, but still wary. “I left me usual one at home,” you said, like you owed him some sort of explanation. “Usually I don’t bring mugs that invite discourse when I’m trying to write my thesis paper.”

“Oh,” he said, obviously not knowing what to say to that. “Well, I guess I’ll let you get back to that.” He said, and you nodded, glancing back at your screen. You bit your lip as you watched him starting to get up, looking back at the timer in the corner of your screen. You decided to shoot and hope you didn’t hit yourself.

“I’ll be done in about twenty minutes, if you’d like to discourse.” You twiddled the fingers on your left hand and looked away when he looked back at you. “It doesn’t have to be about the mug.” You looked back up at him through your eyelashes, head still turned away but eyes unwilling to miss his reaction. He smiled and you couldn’t tell quite what color his eyes were, but they were really nice.