#lap cuddles

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Late Night Lore

The motel room is quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioner and Sam’s voice.

You haven’t actually been listening for the last ten minutes.

Not because what he’s saying isn’t interesting. It probably is. Something about a nineteenth-century hunting family, a cursed object, and a particularly unpleasant ghost that apparently has a very fascinating history.

But Sam is sitting on the edge of the bed, and you’re sitting sideways across his lap, and there’s something almost hypnotic about the way he talks when he gets going.

His hands move when he explains things. His eyebrows pull together when he gets particularly invested. Every so often, he pauses to make sure you’re still following.

You’re not.

Not really.

Your fingers are tangled lazily in the ends of his hair.

Sam doesn’t seem to mind.

Actually, judging by the way his eyes keep drifting toward you, he might be enjoying it.

“—which is why the symbol we found at the crime scene doesn’t necessarily mean the spirit is responsible.”

You gently tug one of his locks.

Sam pauses.

His eyes flick toward you.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

You twirl another strand around your finger.

Sam gives you a suspicious look.

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?”

“I’ve heard some of it.”

“Some?”

“Important parts.”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you keep talking.”

“Because you keep pretending to listen.”

“I am listening.”

Sam raises an eyebrow.

“Okay.” He settles back against the headboard. “What did I just say?”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

A grin slowly spreads across his face.

“That’s what I thought.”

You lightly smack his shoulder.

“Shut up.”

Sam laughs, catching your wrist before you can do it again. His fingers close gently around it, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then he smiles.

“You really want me to keep going?”

You nod.

“Yeah.”

“Even though you’re not listening?”

“I like hearing you talk.”

That catches him off guard.

His expression softens.

“Oh.”

You play with his hair again, smoothing it away from his forehead.

“You get this look when you start talking about stuff you love.”

“What look?”

“Like you’re somewhere else.”

Sam considers that.

“Somewhere else?”

“Yeah.”

He looks down for a moment, thoughtful.

Then his hand settles comfortably against your back.

“Maybe I just like having someone who doesn’t mind listening.”

Your fingers pause in his hair.

“I don’t mind.”

His gaze meets yours.

For once, Sam doesn’t have some piece of obscure lore ready to fill the silence.

He just smiles.

And after a moment, he quietly continues.

“So, get this…”

You settle more comfortably against him.

His voice starts again.

Something about a cursed family heirloom.

You don’t know what it is.

You don’t particularly care.

Because Sam’s voice is warm, his heartbeat is steady beneath you, and his fingers occasionally brush absentmindedly over your back.

So you keep playing with his hair.

And Sam keeps telling you stories.

Neither of you really needs to be anywhere else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I haven’t written anything in a LONG time and honestly I’ve never really posted them either. 😭 I don’t know gang should I do more?

I feel very inclined! Thank you for the prompt. It was just soft enough to help my brain do its thing.

Dean was gonna be asleep but when I was looking at references Jensen/Dean's heart eyes appear so. damn. often. I just couldn't resist.