#keeping warm

The wind howled like a banshee outside the flimsy cabin walls, hurling thick sheets of snow against the single grimy window. Inside, the air was bitingly cold, thick with the smell of damp wood and decay. The feeble glow of two candles flickered erratically on the rickety crate acting as a table, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock their predicament.

You stamped your feet, trying futilely to generate warmth. "This is insane, Sam! Storm came out of nowhere!" Your teeth chattered uncontrollably, the sound loud in the oppressive silence. You hugged yourself tightly, breath puffing out in visible clouds.

Sam Winchester, tall frame hunched near the useless stone fireplace, jammed his phone against his ear again. His brow furrowed deep with frustration. "Dean, come on, pick up... pick up, you idiot!" Silence answered him. He slammed the phone shut, the sound startlingly loud. "Nothing. Straight to voicemail. He's probably still interviewing that family down in Miller's Creek." He ran a hand through his messy hair, dislodging snowflakes that hadn't melted. "Impala's useless in this. Even if he got the call, he couldn't get back up here."

He turned, his hazel eyes scanning the desolate space – the rusted, dead stove, the sagging couch with its dubious springs, the pile of mildewed blankets in the corner they'd already deemed unusable. His gaze landed on you, shivering violently despite your layers. "You're freezing," he stated, his voice thick with concern.

You managed a weak, humorless laugh, rubbing your arms vigorously. "Understatement of the century, Sammy. How are you not a popsicle yet? Seriously, what are you, part furnace?"

He shrugged, shifting his weight. "I'm cold too. Really cold. Just... maybe I run a little hotter?" He offered a tentative, awkward half-smile. "Sammy, it's so cold," you groaned, the nickname slipping out easily despite the tension. "What are we gonna do?" Defeated, you shuffled towards the dilapidated couch, sinking onto it with a groan of protesting springs. You folded in on yourself, rubbing your hands together desperately, blowing warm air onto them. "Hypothermia before Dean even realizes we're missing... wouldn't that be ironic?"

Sam hesitated, then moved slowly, deliberately, to sit beside you. He perched carefully, leaving a respectable gap before cautiously draping his arm around your shoulders. His touch was hesitant, mindful. You both knew this proximity wasn't entirely new territory. There'd been shared motel beds during exhausting hunts, him holding you steady after a nasty ghoul scratch, moments of quiet closeness during late-night research sessions. But this felt different. Charged. Desperate.

As his arm settled, a wave of genuine warmth radiated from him, cutting through the icy air surrounding you. Without conscious thought, you leaned into his side, seeking that vital heat source. He stiffened for a fraction of a second, then relaxed, adjusting his arm to pull you closer against his large frame. "Dean'll call soon," he murmured, his voice low and reassuring near your ear. "He will. We just gotta hang tight. Not much longer."

You didn't believe it. The wind battered the cabin like it wanted in. The snow piled higher. Dean was miles away. But Sam was warm. Deliciously, life-savingly warm. You melted into his solid chest, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His flannel shirt smelled faintly of pine needles and gunpowder. He pulled you tighter, wrapping both arms around you now, trying to maximize the shared body heat. His big hand rubbed your upper arm gently.

For a few precious minutes, the shivering lessened. But gradually, insidiously, the deep cold seeped back into your bones. A violent tremor racked your body, making your teeth clatter again. You could see your own breath, thick and white, hanging in the frigid air. The warmth from Sam was a shield, but the cold was an invading army.

"Sam?" Your voice was a soft rasp against his neck.

He hummed low in response, his chin brushing against your hair. "Hmm?"

You swallowed, gathering every ounce of courage you could muster. You tilted your head slightly back to look up at him. The candlelight caught the warm flecks in his hazel eyes, making them seem almost golden. You held his gaze, hoping he'd see the meaning behind yours. "We... we gotta do something else to stay warm." Your voice was barely a whisper.

He just raised an eyebrow, confusion etching lines on his forehead. "What do you mean? We're huddled...?"

The blush ignited instantly, creeping hotly up your neck and cheeks despite the cold. You couldn't hold his gaze anymore, looking down at where your hands were pressed flat against his chest. "Body heat, Sam," you breathed, the words feeling thick and clumsy. "Real... skin-to-skin body heat."

His eyes widened dramatically, pupils dilating in the dim light. He stared at you, his expression shifting rapidly from confusion to shock to something far more intense – a dawning realization mixed with a naked vulnerability. He searched your face, his gaze flickering over your lips, then back to your eyes, silently asking for confirmation, for permission.

You held his gaze steadily this time and gave a small, decisive nod.

Sam let out a shaky breath, a puff of vapor swirling between you. He didn't speak. Instead, his large hands slid down your sides, settling firmly on your waist. With surprising strength and gentleness, he lifted and pulled you sideways, turning you until you were straddling his lap, facing him fully. Your knees pressed into the worn fabric of the couch on either side of his hips. Your chests were suddenly inches apart.

Your breath hitched audibly. The shift was monumental. Intimate. His hands remained on your waist, warm and solid even through your layers. His eyes, wide and intense, locked onto yours.

"Is... is that better?" he asked, his voice rough and quiet, barely audible over the howling wind.

You swallowed hard, feeling the sudden, potent warmth pooling low in your belly – a heat born of pure want, not just survival. "Y-yeah," you managed, your voice trembling. You leaned forward slowly, resting your head against his shoulder again, burying your face in the crook of his neck. His skin was warm against your cold forehead. You inhaled his scent – snow, flannel, Sam. A little sigh escaped you, partly relief, partly something else entirely. "Much better."

His arms came around your back again, pulling you flush against his broad chest. One big hand splayed possessively between your shoulder blades, the other rested low on the small of your back. You could feel the strong, steady thud of his heart against your sternum, but it wasn't steady anymore. It was racing, pounding almost as hard as your own.

You tried to focus on the warmth, on survival, but the feel of him beneath you – solid, strong, Sam – was overwhelming. The years of unspoken attraction, the shared glances, the protective touches, the quiet longing… it all surged to the surface, heated by the desperate intimacy of the moment.

Then, you felt it. A subtle shift beneath you as Sam subtly adjusted his position. He tensed, a muscle jumping in his jaw, and let out a deep, controlled breath that sounded more like a suppressed groan. And then you felt the unmistakable, firm pressure against the apex of your thighs – the rigid ridge of his erection pressing insistently through the layers of denim separating you.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach, chased by a sharp spike of heat. A revelation clicked into place with startling clarity. He felt it too. All this time. The shared tension wasn't just in your head.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him properly. His face was flushed crimson, stark against the pallor brought on by the cold. The rush of blood was visible, betraying his arousal as much as the hardness against you. Your eyes met his stormy hazel gaze, seeing the conflict, the heat, the raw need reflecting your own. Your gaze flickered down, just for a split second, to his lips – full, slightly parted.

His eyes did the same, dropping to your mouth almost immediately. The air between you crackled, thick and electric, charged with years of pent-up desire ignited by cold and proximity.

“y/n…” he breathed softly, your name a plea and a question on his lips. His voice was thick with an emotion you’d never heard directed at you before.

You summoned every ounce of bravery. "Body heat... right, Sam?" you murmured, the words a flimsy pretense, a permission slip wrapped in a lie. Slowly, deliberately, you began to lean in towards him, your eyes locked on his.

He didn't hesitate. His gaze burning into yours, he echoed the lie, the excuse, his voice a low rumble. "Yeah... just... body heat..." The distance closed as he leaned in to meet you.

Your lips touched. Softly. Tentatively. A cautious exploration, a question pressed skin-to-skin. His lips were warmer than you expected, softer. You felt the slight tremble in them, mirroring your own. For a heartbeat, it was just that gentle pressure, a shared breath, the world narrowing to the point of contact.

Then, Sam groaned, a low, hungry sound resonating deep in his chest. His hand flew to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, angling your head exactly where he wanted it. His other arm tightened around your waist, crushing you against him. The tentative kiss vanished, replaced by something deep, demanding, and utterly consuming. His tongue swept against the seam of your lips, seeking entrance, and you parted them willingly with a soft gasp that he swallowed.

The kiss was fire and desperation. It tasted faintly of snow and coffee and pure Sam. His hand at your neck held you firmly, possessively. The hand on your back slid lower, pressing you even tighter against the hard ridge straining against his jeans. Lost in the heat, the taste, the overwhelming rightness of it, you instinctively rolled your hips against him, seeking friction, seeking relief.

A sharp, muffled groan tore from Sam’s throat, swallowed instantly by your deepening kiss. His hips jerked upwards involuntarily, grinding against your core in a rhythm as old as time. The thin barrier of your clothing suddenly felt like an unbearable hindrance. His kiss grew wilder, deeper, his tongue exploring your mouth with a frantic hunger that matched the fire blazing low in your belly. His hand slid from your neck down your arm, fingers tracing a burning path along your chilled skin before gripping your hip, pulling you impossibly closer, urging your rocking motion against him. The frigid cabin air was forgotten, replaced by the scorching heat radiating between your bodies, the only sounds the frantic mingling of your breaths, the creak of the couch springs, and the relentless, isolating roar of the blizzard outside, trapping you together in this cocoon of desperate, undeniable passion. The line you’d never crossed vanished like smoke in the storm. All that remained was heat, want, and Sam.

The kiss didn’t just deepen; it became a consuming fire. Sam’s hands, large and impossibly warm, slid from your waist, tracing paths of heat up your spine, tangling in your hair, then sweeping down your sides with a possessiveness that stole your breath. Your own hands were equally restless, mapping the hard planes of his chest beneath his flannel and t-shirt, feeling the powerful muscles of his shoulders bunch and flex as he held you, kissed you, devoured you.

The need for air became a desperate, secondary concern. You finally tore your mouth from his, gasping, your forehead resting against his, breaths mingling in ragged puffs. His eyes, dark pools of hazel fire, locked onto yours, inches away. His name escaped your lips in a low, ragged whisper, thick with pure, unadulterated want. "Sam..."

He inhaled sharply, a deep, shuddering breath that lifted your body slightly against his. The look on his face was devastating – raw, vulnerable, utterly ruined. Like the dam holding back years of longing had finally burst, leaving him exposed and trembling. "Y/N..." he breathed your name back, his voice rough gravel. His gaze searched yours, intense and pleading. "This... is this okay? Are you...?" He couldn't finish, the fear of crossing an irrevocable line warring with the overwhelming need radiating from him.

"More than okay," you gasped, your hands framing his face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. "Sam, please... don't stop." You leaned in, capturing his lips again, pouring every ounce of your own pent-up desire into the kiss.

He responded with a groan that vibrated through your chest. His touch shifted from desperate to reverent. Every brush of his fingers, every press of his lips, felt like worship. He kissed you slowly, deeply, savoring the taste of you, his hands roaming your back, tracing the curve of your spine, dipping lower to cup your ass, pulling you impossibly closer against the hard ridge straining against his jeans.

You felt cherished, desired, seen in a way you’d only ever dreamed of. The shared awe was palpable; you were both lost in the wonder of finally touching, finally tasting what had simmered between you for so long.

Clumsy fingers, chilled but fueled by urgency, found buttons and zippers. Flannel shirts were pushed off broad shoulders. T-shirts followed, discarded onto the cold floor. The flickering candlelight danced over newly exposed skin – the defined muscles of Sam’s chest and abdomen, the soft curves of your own. He paused, his gaze sweeping over you in your bra and underwear, his expression one of pure, stunned adoration. "God, Y/N..." he murmured, his voice thick. "You're..."

You silenced him with another kiss, your hands sliding down his chest, tracing the trail of hair leading beneath the waistband of his jeans. He shuddered violently. His own hands were busy, large palms sliding up your ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra. A low moan escaped you, and he echoed it, his lips leaving yours to blaze a trail down your jaw, along the column of your neck. His teeth grazed your collarbone, sending sparks down your spine.

Then he found it – that sensitive spot just below your ear. His lips closed over it, sucking gently, his tongue flicking against the pulse point. A ragged gasp tore from your throat, your head falling back instinctively, offering him more. You felt his smirk against your skin, a low rumble of satisfaction in his chest before he did it again, harder this time. Pleasure, sharp and electric, arced through you, making your hips buck against his lap.

His hands slid lower, over your hips, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He paused, his heated gaze meeting yours again, seeking silent permission. You nodded frantically, biting your lip. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, sliding through the slick heat waiting for him. A choked sound escaped him. "Jesus, Y/N... you're so wet..." His voice was pure awe.

And God, did Sam Winchester know what he was doing. His touch was confident, purposeful. One long finger circled your clit, applying just the right pressure, then dipped lower, sliding easily inside you. Your back arched off the couch, a sharp cry escaping you. He added a second finger, curling them expertly, finding that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind your eyelids.

"Oh god! Sam!" His name became a litany, a desperate plea and fervent praise rolled into one. Every gasp, every moan, every whimper you made seemed to fuel him. He watched your face intently, mesmerized by every flicker of pleasure. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck as his fingers worked magic inside you. "So beautiful... feel how perfect you are... come for me, Y/N. Let me feel it..."

His praise, low and fervent, washed over you, mingling with the overwhelming sensations. "Sam... yes... just like that... don't stop... please..." You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your hips rocking frantically against his hand. The coil inside you tightened unbearably. "Sam... I'm... oh god!"

The climax crashed over you, wave after wave of intense pleasure radiating from his fingers buried deep inside you. You cried out, shuddering violently against him, your inner muscles clenching rhythmically around him.

He held you through it, fingers still gently working you, drawing out every last tremor, whispering praise against your sweat-dampened skin. "Good girl... perfect... so damn perfect..."

As the aftershocks subsided, leaving you boneless and trembling against him, your hand drifted down between your bodies. You found the hard, thick length of him straining against the confines of his briefs. You palmed him through the cotton, feeling the heat and rigidity. Sam groaned, deep and guttural, his head falling back against the couch cushions, eyes squeezing shut. "Fuck..."

The sound spurred you on. You pushed his briefs down just enough to free him. His cock sprang free, thick and heavy, flushed and straining upwards. You wrapped your hand around him, feeling the velvety skin over the iron-hard shaft. He hissed, his hips jerking upwards into your touch. "Y/N..."

His hands were busy too, deftly unhooking your bra, letting it fall away before sliding your soaked underwear down your legs. The cold air hit your exposed skin, but it was instantly forgotten as Sam’s gaze, hot and possessive, raked over your naked body. He kicked off his own briefs, his erection standing proud and thick against his abdomen.

He pulled you back into his lap, skin to skin now. The heat was searing. You straddled him, your wetness slicking his thighs as you instinctively ground against the hard length of his cock nestled between your bodies. The sensation drew twin groans from both of you. His hands settled firmly on your hips, guiding you.

"Easy," he breathed, his voice strained with the effort of control. He positioned you over him, the broad head of his cock pressing against your slick entrance. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense. "Tell me... tell me if it's too much..."

You nodded, biting your lip, anticipation coiling tight again.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he lowered you onto him. Inch by thick inch, he filled you. You felt the incredible stretch, the delicious burn of accommodating his size. He was right – he was significantly larger than you were used to, and incredibly thick. You whimpered softly, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, about halfway down.

He froze instantly, his entire body rigid with tension. You could feel the involuntary twitch deep inside you as he fought to hold still. "Okay?" he rasped, his voice tight with concern, his knuckles white where he gripped your hips. "Y/N? Talk to me..."

You took a shaky breath, focusing on the incredible feeling of being stretched so perfectly, so fully. The initial burn was fading, replaced by a deep, aching fullness that felt shockingly right. "Okay," you breathed, meeting his worried gaze. "Just... a lot... like a lot a lot... keep going, Sam. Please..."

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and resumed lowering you with infinite care. You sank down the rest of the way until you were fully seated in his lap, his hips flush against yours. You were impossibly full, stretched to your limit, feeling him deep inside you, pressing against places that made you gasp. You could practically feel him in your stomach. For a long, suspended moment, you just sat there, joined completely, breathing each other's air, adjusting to the profound intimacy.

You leaned your forehead against his, your bodies pressed flush together. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you close, and kissed you deeply, passionately. "God... Y/N..." he murmured against your lips when the kiss broke. "You feel... amazing... so tight... so perfect..."

A breathless chuckle escaped you. "You're... definitely the biggest I've ever felt, Sam Winchester."

He huffed a soft, almost nervous chuckle in response, his cheeks flushing darker. "Sorry... or... not sorry..."

Then, experimentally, you rolled your hips against him, grinding down onto his length where he was buried deep inside you.

The groan that tore from Sam's throat was primal, raw. Your own gasp mingled with it as the movement sent sparks of pleasure radiating through your core. You nipped gently at his earlobe, kissed a hot trail down the side of his neck, your fingers threading through his soft, messy hair. You whispered against his skin, your voice thick with command and need: "Move, Sam."

And Sam Winchester, finally unleashed, obeyed. His hands tightened on your hips, lifting you slightly before pulling you back down onto him with a controlled, powerful thrust. The rhythm began – deep, deliberate strokes that filled you completely, each downward plunge drawing gasps and moans from your lips. He moved with a strength that belied his earlier gentleness, yet still tempered by a fierce protectiveness, his gaze locked on yours as he claimed you, finally, in the heart of the storm. The worn couch groaned beneath you, the candles flickered wildly, and the blizzard raged on, forgotten against the inferno you'd ignited together.

The rhythm Sam set was devastating. Each powerful thrust drove him impossibly deep, his hips snapping up to meet your downward grind, filling you completely, stretching you exquisitely. His large hands gripped your hips, guiding you, controlling the pace that had shifted from tender to demanding. Gone was the careful restraint; this was raw need, years of pent-up desire unleashed. His gaze burned into yours, dark with intensity, tracking every flicker of pleasure across your face.

"Sam..." you gasped, arching your back as he angled a thrust that brushed perfectly against that spot deep inside. "Right there... yes..."

He groaned, the sound vibrating through your joined bodies. "Feel so fucking good, Y/N," he rasped, his voice thick. "So tight... soaking wet for me..." He shifted slightly, adjusting his angle, and the new friction sent sparks skittering up your spine. One hand slid from your hip, gliding up your sweat-slicked torso to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing rough circles over your hardened nipple. The dual sensation – deep, filling pressure and the sharp spike from his touch – coiled the tension inside you tighter, hotter. You cried out, nails digging into the powerful muscles of his shoulders.

He watched you unravel, mesmerized. "That's it, sweetheart," he encouraged, his voice a low rumble against your ear before he captured your earlobe between his teeth, sucking gently. "Let me feel you come. Need to feel you squeeze me..."

You were close, so close. The peak loomed, a shimmering pressure building relentlessly. You could feel Sam trembling beneath you, hear the ragged edge of his breathing, see the desperate clench of his jaw as he fought his own release, determined to push you over first. His thrusts became shorter, harder, focused perfectly. "Sam... I'm gonna...!" you choked out.

BRRRRIIIIINNNNGGG!

The jarring, tinny ringtone of Sam’s phone shattered the heated bubble. You both froze mid-motion, locked together, Sam buried to the hilt inside you. The sudden stillness was almost painful. You felt him twitch involuntarily within your tight heat, drawing a ragged groan from him that he stifled against your neck.

His eyes flew open, wide with shock and frustration, locking onto yours. Dean’s name flashed insistently on the discarded phone screen, vibrating against the dusty floorboards.

"Fuck," Sam breathed, the word thick with agonized want. He made no move to answer.

"It's Dean," you whispered, your own body humming with unspent tension, clenched tightly around him. You could feel the hard thud of his heart against your chest. "Answer it. He needs to know we're alive."

Sam let out another shaky breath, his gaze still locked with yours, questioning, conflicted. Finally, he nodded grimly. With immense effort, he shifted one arm, reaching down to fumble for the phone without dislodging you. He brought it to his ear, his voice rough and strained as he hit answer. "Dean?"

"Sammy! Jesus H. Christ, where the hell are you guys?" Dean's voice was loud and crackly with static but laced with genuine concern. "Called you five times! Are you okay? The weather channel says that storm's a monster up there!"

Sam took another deep, unsteady breath, trying to steady his voice. You felt him pulse inside you again as he swallowed hard. "We're... we're okay enough," he managed, his voice tight. "Took shelter... old cabin... northeast of the campsite." A tiny gasp escaped you as you shifted slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position while impaled, and Sam choked back another groan. "Struggling to stay warm..." he added, the words heavy with unintended meaning.

You couldn't help a soft, breathless giggle at the massive understatement, burying your face in his shoulder.

"Struggling to... Sammy? You sound weird. You sure you're okay? Y/N alright?" Dean's tone sharpened with suspicion.

Sam rolled his eyes heavenward, a flush creeping up his neck. "We're fine, Dean," he insisted, forcing a semblance of normalcy. "Just snowed in. Cabin's drafty. Trying to... generate some body heat." He winced slightly as you deliberately rolled your hips in a slow, teasing circle. "Found an old couch... huddling." His knuckles were white where he gripped the phone.

"Okay, okay, jeez. Hang tight. Miller lent me his truck. Beast of a thing. Gonna dig my way up. Be there in... maybe half an hour? Hour tops?"

Sam let out a long exhale that was pure relief mixed with acute frustration. "Okay. Yeah. We'll be here. Waiting." He practically growled the last word. "Just... hurry."

"On my way. Don't freeze your asses off before I get there." The line went dead.

Sam tossed the phone aside like it was radioactive, his attention snapping back to you instantly. You met his gaze, a slow, wicked smirk spreading across your lips as you rolled your hips again, harder this time, squeezing him internally.

He groaned, a deep rumble in his chest, his head falling back against the couch cushion for a second before he fixed you with a look that was equal parts exasperation and burning desire. A low chuckle escaped him. "Enjoying getting me all worked up when I can't do anything about it?" he murmured.

You leaned in, nipping his lower lip. "Nah," you breathed, your voice husky. "Just keeping warm, Sammy." To emphasize the point, you rocked against him once more.

That did it. A predatory glint lit his eyes. His hands clamped back onto your hips like vices. "Oh, is that right?" he growled. In one fluid motion, he surged upwards, driving into you with a powerful thrust that stole your breath and drew a sharp cry from your lips. "Let me really warm you up then."

The careful control was gone. He set a punishing pace now, deep and hard, each stroke aimed to wring every ounce of sensation from you both. The couch creaked violently in protest. He held your gaze captive, his own eyes dark with primal need. "So damn beautiful like this," he rasped between thrusts. "Taking me so deep... fuck, Y/N..."

The interrupted climax roared back with terrifying speed. The friction, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him claiming you shattered your restraint first. Your back arched off the couch as pleasure detonated through you, white-hot and all-consuming. You cried out his name, a sound ripped from your soul as your inner walls clenched and fluttered around his length in rhythmic pulses.

Feeling you come apart around him pushed Sam over the edge instantly. With a guttural groan that echoed yours, he slammed home one last time, burying himself to the root as he emptied himself deep inside you in hot, pulsing bursts. He held you crushed against him through the shudders that wracked both your bodies, his forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling in ragged gasps.

For long moments, there was only the sound of your harsh breathing and the relentless wind outside. Gradually, the tremors subsided. Sam remained deep within you, holding you close, his large frame shuddering with aftershocks. His lips found your temple, then your cheekbone, placing soft, lingering kisses as the overwhelming tide of sensation receded.

"Sam..." you murmured, your voice thick with spent emotion.

"Yea?" His voice was rough but infinitely tender.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, those warm hazel pools now soft and open. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding against your ribs for a whole new reason.

"This... this was more than just keeping warm," you confessed softly.

A slow, breathtakingly bright smile spread across Sam's face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. His arms tightened around you possessively, pulling you impossibly closer until not even air separated you. "Thank god," he breathed before capturing your lips in a deep, slow kiss that spoke volumes – relief, joy, wonder, and a love that had finally found its voice.

When the kiss broke, it was tentative, hesitant words at first, tumbling out in whispered admissions between soft kisses and gentle touches: Years of stolen glances acknowledged.

Moments of unspoken longing confessed. The fear of ruining what you had... and the overwhelming relief that you hadn't. That this was more. That this was real.

"You have no idea," Sam murmured against your hair as you nestled against his chest, tracing idle patterns on his sweat-dampened skin, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. "How long I've wanted this... wanted you."

"Me too," you sighed contentedly. "So long."

You lay tangled together in the afterglow, warm despite the draft sneaking through the cabin walls. Your fingers played in his soft brown hair as he pressed absent-minded kisses to your forehead. It was peaceful, perfect.

Sam finally hummed, a low rumble you felt as much as heard. "Hey," he said softly. "We should probably... get dressed." He gestured vaguely towards the door with his chin. "Dean..."

You smiled mischievously and shifted your hips, grinding down onto him where he was still semi-hard inside you. He groaned softly as you felt him twitch and begin to stir again.

"Hmmm," you purred, looking up at him through your lashes. "Think we have time to warm up a little more before he gets here?"

Sam looked down at you, desire flaring hot in his eyes again despite his words. A slow smirk curved his lips. "Hmm... maybe," he conceded.

In one smooth motion, he rolled you both sideways until your back hit the worn cushions of the couch and he was hovering over you, braced on his forearms. He captured your lips in another searing kiss, his hardening length pressing insistently against your thigh. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lost once more in the taste and feel of him.

So lost, in fact, that neither of you heard the deep growl of a heavy-duty engine approaching outside. Neither of you heard the crunch of heavy boots in the deep snowdrifts piling against the cabin wall.

The first warning was the violent rattle of the doorknob followed by the scrape of wood on wood as the snow-packed door was forced open with a grunt of effort.

Cold air and swirling snowflakes blasted into the cabin.

Sam reacted instantly. With a speed born of hunter reflexes and sheer panic, he rolled sideways, pulling you with him in a tangle of limbs, positioning his much larger body as a shield between you and the doorway. His discarded flannel shirt was snatched up and draped haphazardly over your lower half just as Dean Winchester stepped inside, brushing snow from his shoulders.

Dean took in the scene: The candles guttering wildly in the sudden draft. The discarded clothes strewn near the couch. His little brother sprawled naked on top of a clearly also naked Y/N on the dilapidated couch, looking like a deer caught in headlights trying to cover her with a flannel shirt that barely reached her thighs. A slow, knowing smirk spread across Dean's face.

"Well, well," he drawled, leaning against the doorframe with exaggerated nonchalance, his green eyes sparkling with unholy amusement. "Looks like you two found a real effective way to stave off hypothermia." He raised an eyebrow pointedly at Sam's bare back and the bare legs tangled with his behind him. "Comfy?"

"Dean!" Sam barked, his voice a mixture of outrage and embarrassment. He shifted slightly to shield you more completely. "Get out! Give us a damn minute!"

Dean chuckled, low and rich. He didn't move. Instead, he craned his neck slightly, trying to peer around Sam's shoulder. "How ya doin' back there, Y/N? Managed to stay warm enough?" His grin was pure mischief.

You groaned and buried your burning face against Sam's shoulder blade. "We're fine, Dean! Now get out!"

Dean laughed outright now but finally held up his hands in mock surrender and turned around to face the storm outside. "Alright, alright! Sheesh." He shook his head as he stepped back onto the threshold but didn't close the door completely. His parting shot drifted back over his shoulder, loud and clear above the wind: "Damn, Sammy. If I'd known all it would take for you two knuckleheads to finally figure it out was gettin' snowed in together... hell, I woulda made sure you got stranded in a meat locker months ago!"

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Sam frozen above you for a second before he collapsed onto his back on the couch with a groan that was half-exasperation, half-laughter. You peeked out from under the flannel shirt.

"Well," you said weakly after a moment of stunned silence. "That happened."

Sam turned his head to look at you, a slow smile replacing his mortified expression as he took in your flushed face and tangled hair. He reached out and gently brushed a stray strand from your cheek. "Yeah," he murmured, pulling you against his side despite your compromised state. "Worth it?"

You looked into his warm hazel eyes, still shining with affection despite the interruption and his brother's spectacularly timed entrance. A wide grin spread across your own face as you remembered the warmth – both kinds – that had filled the desolate cabin before Dean arrived.

"Hi izu." he says, walking around the couch to sit next to his alpha. Izuku smiles, his whole face turning red, putting a hand on katsukis thigh.

Izuku goes into the living room. he's been doing his very short nighttime routine, with katsuki, who was still in the bathroom. izuku turns on the fireplace under the TV.

"Jesus, it's cold." katsuki says, slipping on his shirt as he walks out of the bathroom. He walks up to the alpha and leans over the couch, giving him a kiss on the head.

"Do you wanna watch TV, kacchan !?" Izuku asks, tilting his head slightly to the right. Katsuki thinks for a bit before nodding his head and shrugging his shoulders. Izuku turns the TV on, putting on the show he and katsuki had been watching recently. Katsuki yawns, checking the time on his phone, which read 9:53.

"It's late." The omega says yawning once again and resting his head on izukus shoulder. Izuku rubs his back, pulling a blanket over the two of them.

"we can lay down !" izuku says his voice louder than katsuki prefers. Katsuki nods, allowing the alpha to pull him down onto the couch, wrapping his arms around Katsukis waist. Izuku pulls the omega close to his own body, kissing his neck and shoulder.

Katsuki yawns once more before closing his eyes. it was past his personal curfew. He rolled over and put his head into Izukus's chest, wrapping his own arms around his boyfriends torso, breathing slowly. Izuku holds onto his tightly, almost lulling him to sleep as the show gets quieter and quieter behind him.

Izukus body is heating up from the fire in front of him and the omega hanging onto him. He takes the blanket off of himself, making sure to keep it specifically only on katsuki. he kisses the blondes head, accepting the aggressive heat surrounding him.