#pre-smut

You emerge from your shared bedroom in your shared apartment to see Conrad tidying the kitchen, straightening up a few things. He stops in his tracks when he sees you. The breath leaves his lungs for just a moment. He steps towards you.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" He asked. You yawned and wiped the sleep from your eyes, stretching a bit. A t-shirt of his is draped over your body, which just so happened to be your favorite sleep shirt.

"This?" you ask him seemingly clueless.

"Yes," he said. "That's my favorite shirt," he scoffs in a flirtatious manner. "Well, I like to sleep in it," you said, stepping forward yourself. "It smells like you, and it's comforting." You admitted.

"That is so sweet." He said softly, his eyes trailed down to your lips. The sight of you in his clothes turned him on. He reached towards your face, caressing your soft cheek before kissing you, softly. slowly.

You pull away after a moment, fighting back a smile. "It's also really comfortable," you said softly. "Oh yeah?" he cooed. "Yes," you replied tenderly. "Well, I think it looks amazing on you," he said, kissing you again. "But," He continued, his soft hands finding their way underneath his t-shirt and slowly up your lower back. With your lips embraced, he continued raising his hands until they reached your chest.

You smiled into the kiss, raising your arms. He pulled back ever so slightly. He slid his shirt up and off your body, leaving it on the floor.

"I think it looks better there than on you or me." He said, looking down at his shirt, his eyes quickly trailing back to your body illuminated in the soft morning glow of the sun reaching through the curtains. You looked gorgeous to him. he stared at you.

"What?" you asked innocently. he was less than a few inches from your face, his eyes scanning every detail of your features slowly, admiring each one. "You are so beautiful," he said in an exhale. you melted at his compliment, flushed.

You stepped onto the bed with deliberate grace, arching your back just enough to draw his gaze fully. Both arms rose: your left hand gathered your hair, pulling it away from your neck, while your right bent behind your head, fingers tracing invisible patterns. Your sheer nightgown clung and fluttered softly, revealing curves and skin that invited and teased.

Your head tilted slightly back and to the left, eyes closed, lips parted in a slow, sultry breath that seemed to hum through the quiet room.

Aventurine’s lips curved into that familiar enigmatic smile, but there was something softer beneath it—a flicker of something almost vulnerable. His lean form shifted slightly, leaning back on one arm while his gaze drank you in, completely entranced.

Without hesitation, his hand reached out, fingertips brushing lightly at your waist before trailing lower, warm and feather-light. Then, like a secret gamble, he pressed his lips against your exposed stomach, soft and lingering.

You felt the faint tremor beneath his touch—his left hand, hidden behind his back, clenched ever so slightly, a silent confession of the risk he took in letting himself be this close.

“Luck… or strategy?” His voice was low, teasing, yet threaded with something deeper, almost a question he didn’t want answered.

You smiled, still eyes closed, savoring the quiet tension that pulled tight between you.

The night stretched on—full of silent promises and dangerous games.

And just as his lips began their slow journey upward.

This immediately catches the attention of everyone.

“What?” LaPointe immediately blushes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Holmberg turns his phone around with a smirk. “It’s on reddit.”

“Give me that-” LaPointe lunges for Holmberg’s phone; Ilya quickly pulls the laptop out of the way with a warning “Hey!”

LaPointe tries to catch him, but Holmberg leaps from his chair, holding his phone high and reading the post out loud so everyone can hear. “-following her from his main professional account. The transgender creator specializes in-”

All heads whip around. Shane quickly grabs the laptop because Ilya is already on his feet, reaching for LaPointe who, Shane thinks, is seconds away from punching Holmberg to stop him from reading more.

“-fetish content-”

Coach blows his whistle so loudly that everybody freezes. “Enough!” Kind as he is, he has the strict voice down to a tee.

Ilya has LaPointe by the scruff of his neck, pushing him back down into a chair, and then holds his hand out for Holmberg’s phone. Holmberg stares at his hand, the grin dropping from his face. “What?!”

“Phone, right now.”

“What, why-”

Ilya clicks his tongue sharply, and Holmberg immediately folds, handing it to him. “C’mon, it was a joke. He can like whatever he likes.”

LaPointe rolls his eyes at him, clearly embarrassed and upset. Shane knows this would just be a joke for the more mature players here, the ones who are confident enough. But Théo only just turned twenty-one, and Shane thinks he’s heard the boys talking about the fact that he’s never had a real girlfriend before. And Shane doesn’t know a lot about trans people, other than the experiences he’s heard about from Max, but what he does know is that people hate on them even more than they usually do on gay people. And that a player having a trans girlfriend would probably be equally as looked down upon in hockey circles as if he was dating another man.

“Like you don’t follow OnlyFans girls,” LaPointe spits.

“Not on main!” Holmberg argues.

“How else-”

“You make a secret account!” Troy, Shane and Ilya all say at the same time.

“Are we done? Because I am.” Coach stands with his hands on his hips, shaking his head.

Later, right before they leave, Holmberg runs after Shane and Ilya as they’re on the way to their car.

“Cap,” he calls, and comes to a halt behind them. “Can I have my phone back?”

Shane suppresses a laugh as Ilya levels his eyes on him.

“Please,” Holmberg adds sheepishly.

Ilya fishes for it in his pocket and holds it out to him. Holmberg grabs it, but Ilya doesn’t let go for a second. “Don’t do that again.”

“What?” Holmberg blushes, eyes going wide.

“Was shitty thing to do. I get it, chirping is fun. But some things, you don’t announce to the whole team.” Shane feels his heart soar, overcome with love for Ilya. LaPointe was visibly upset for the rest of the day, and it’s good to see Ilya call this out.

“I was just joking,” Holmberg defends himself, but he sounds guilty nevertheless.

“A joke is funny for everybody involved,” Shane says, repeating something his mother used to tell him when he was little himself.

“Embarrass other players from other teams,” Ilya adds, “Not your own. You are usually friends, yes?”

Holmberg nods, then ducks his head, looking truly miserable now. “I didn’t read the full post before I read it out loud.”

Both Shane and Ilya just stare disapprovingly at him for a moment, and he shrinks further into himself, which is impressive for a big guy like him.

“Remember, you always risk outing people with shit like that,” Shane says, actually realizing that he’s growing a bit angry about this whole ordeal himself.

“Sorry.” Holmberg has his eyes on the ground now.

“Apologize to him,” Ilya tells him. “Nobody will make fun of him, he doesn’t need to be embarrassed.” He said it with finality. “But you should apologize for doing shitty thing to your friend.”

“I will,” Holmberg mumbles, “Sorry, Cap.”

-

Later, Shane and Ilya are on opposite ends of the couch, decompressing on their phones in silence.

Shane is watching cooking reels on instagram, while Ilya is tapping away on his phone screen. Eventually, he snorts, tapping his foot against Shane’s. “I found LaPointe’s girl.”

Shane narrows his eyes at him, but can’t help but feel curious. “Really?”

“Yeah, wasn’t hard to find.” Ilya grins at Shane over the edge of his phone. Neither of them say anything for a second before Shane caves.

“Do I even want to see?”

Ilya shrugs. “Eh. Is not so bad.”

Shane narrows his eyes further, making Ilya laugh. “Really, I promise. Is like, latex and stuff.”

He half-turns his phone, and Shane is too nosy to decline. He sits up, and Ilya does the same, holding out his phone. He’s found a subreddit dedicated to the creator; as he scrolls, Shane gets an eyeful of body parts that do nothing for him clad in extremely tight and revealing clothing, some more body parts with toys inside them, and a few photos which are very clearly focused on highheel-clad feet.

“Wow,” he says flatly.

“Is not even that exciting,” Ilya says, sounding almost disappointed, “And she’s had all the,” he gestures to his own chest and lap, “operations and such. So he’s not jerking off to cock, either.”

Shane snorts. “Enough of us on the team who do that, already.”

“Did you have secret instagram?” Ilya asks curiously, and Shane is momentarily reminded of ‘What color? Is big?’, which makes him blush.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

Shane blushes harder, pulling back. “Did you?”

“Pshah,” Ilya pulls up his shoulders, “What do you mean had. I still have.”

“Seriously?” Shane glares at him. He’s 90% sure Ilya is teasing him.

“Yeah.” Ilya wiggles his eyebrows. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I don’t even know if it’s still active!”

Ilya just keeps smirking at him until Shane squirms in his seat.

“Okay, but you go first.”

Ilya’s smirk turns into a self-satisfied grin. He swipes across his phone screen a few times, then tosses his phone to Shane, who catches it in the air. “Knock yourself out.”

Shane chews on his bottom lip. There’s something exhilaratingly hot bubbling up under his skin. He unlocks his own phone, opens Instagram, changes accounts.

Before he can change his mind, he tosses Ilya his phone.

“Yes,” Ilya says triumphantly under his breath, and it makes Shane laugh and roll his eyes.

Then, he quickly picks up Ilya’s phone, scrolling.

There’s a pretty equal mix of men and women on the timeline, and tons of very obvious thirst traps: shirtless, oiled up guys holding dogs, women in bikinis doing tiktok dances, their boobs bouncing all over.

“Wow, cute.” Ilya turns Shane’s phone around; he’s got a video of a male model Shane followed on his finsta pulled up. “He’s hot.”

“He was on a photoshoot with me ages ago,” Shane admits.

Ilya’s eyes widen. “Really? Did you fuck him?”

“Of course not.”

“Ugh, lame.”

“Fuck off,” Shane grins. Ilya blows him a kiss, and goes back to scrolling. So does Shane. A moment later, Ilya suddenly gasps.

“Scott Hunter?!”

Oh. “I forgot about that.” Shane’s ears grow hot.

“Scott Hunter?!” Ilya repeats, “You thirst-followed Scott Hunter.”

“You said it yourself, he’s hot! I followed him when I was like… twenty! And he used to post a ton of shirtless pictures!”

“Scott Hunter.” Ilya shakes his head in playful disapproval. “I cannot believe you have a thing for senior citizens.”

“He has a sixpack!” Shane is laughing now.

Ilya hums heavily. “Yes. Oldest sixpack alive. Is like a fossil.”

“Shut up.” Shane lightly kicks Ilya’s ankle, still laughing. “You only have like, porn stars on yours.”

“Yes? That’s the purpose of it.” Ilya gestures to his phone in Shane’s hands.

Shane keeps scrolling. “He looks like me.” He turns the screen around, showing Ilya the video. In it, a half-asian man with glasses and a, Shane has to admit, pretty good body is lip-synching to some song in his bed, shirtless.

“Well, yeah. I needed my fix,” Ilya admits with a sheepish little shrug. “But wasn’t the same.”

“Aww.” Shane smiles at him, feeling oddly touched.

“No cheap copies did it for me the way you do.”

Shane hoists himself up, tossing the phone aside, and plants himself on top of Ilya, kissing him. Ilya kisses him back, wrapping his arms around Shane, and Shane can feel him smile against his lips. They make out for a little bit, until Shane feels hot all over. Just when he wants to suggest they move to the bedroom, Ilya breaks their kiss, staring up at him seriously.

“Okay, I need to know, though. Did you ever jerk off to Scott Hunter?”

Shane groans, and hides his face in Ilya’s shoulder.

-

The next day at practice, Holmberg and LaPointe seem to have made up. At least they’re talking normally together on the ice.

Shane watches as Ilya skates up to them. He claps LaPointe on the shoulder briefly. “You okay?”

LaPointe nods, his cheeks pinkening. “Yeah, thanks. Had to turn off my insta comments, but otherwise it’s okay.”

“It’ll pass,” Ilya promises him.

“I asked Harris to help me set up a secret account,” LaPointe admits sheepishly. Shane snorts, ducking his head. These kids really do tell them everything.

“Yes, good,” Ilya claps his shoulder again, then lets go, slowly skating backwards. “I looked her up. She’s pretty.”

“Oh.” LaPointe’s pink cheeks turn deeply red now.

“I have a friend who can maybe introduce you to-”

“No, thank you!” LaPointe yelps, quickly turning away while Holmberg snickers behind him. “Why not, dude? You could use a girlfriend.”

Dean stared in rapture at you from across the map table with wide, dilated deep green eyes. His gaze zeroed in on your mouth, longing and lust written clearly across his features. He was leaning forward and resting on his elbows on the table, clearly not paying attention to anything else that was going on.  

You’d never seen him so entranced. Well, that was a lie; you had, but rarely ever with your clothes on. You smiled wickedly at him, knowing exactly what was on his mind. 

Pulling the lollipop sharply between your lips with a gratifyingly lewd pop, you asked, “You want one? You’re looking a little hungry.” 

“Hungry’s not quite the right word,” Sam said, a smirk in his voice. 

“Shuddup, Sammy!” Dean said, frustration and annoyance in his tone. “You,” he added, pointing directly at you, “you, come with me.” 

“But Dean,” Sam started. 

“Appocolypses can wait, Sam, I’ve got something I need to take care of first.” 

“Dude,” Sam said, disgusted. 

You shot him an apologetic shrug. Dean was already walking out of the room when you stood to follow him. When you made it to your shared room, he shut the door and ripped the candy from your mouth. 

“You’re such a tease,” he accused. 

“You’re just pent up,” you argued back, running your fingers down his toned stomach to toy with the waistband of his pants. 

With the taste of the lollipop on your tongue, you leaned up and kissed him. His free hand was instantly on the back of your head holding you to him as he licked into your mouth. 

“Oh, Y/N, your fucking mouth,” he groaned into the kiss. 

“Taste good?” 

“Feels good.” 

You gently pushed him away from you, reaching for the Tootsie Pop. He held it away from you, then turned his head and popped the candy into his mouth. He swirled it around a few times, then smiled at you. 

You watched as he played with the sucker, turning it this way and that. You could almost feel the swirl of his tongue as he did so. Then, as if he could read your mind, he pulled the stick through his perfectly O-shaped lips. The candy pulled and stretched his luscious lips and you couldn’t take your eyes away. You’d felt those lips on you, and you were suddenly ravenous to feel them again. 

“Alright, you win. Sixy-nine?” you ask, shoving him toward the bed.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Sam lifts his brows before pulling an expression of mock offence. “Well, that’s a first. But all you have to do is say the word,” he says, making an act of getting up to remove himself from your side.

Of course, you don’t let him get far, quick to push him back in place with a light laugh, “You know that’s not what I mean.” Glancing down at his body, so carefully entwined around yours, you motion to the general lack of space, “But you didn’t have to stay the night; there’s no way that’s comfortable.”

His chuckle warms your palm from where it’s resting above his heart, as his long, deft fingers come up to push a strand of unruly hair gently behind your ear. “’Course I did. You said your favorite way to wake up was next to me, and seeing as saving my brother’s life is what got you stuck here, I figured it was the least I could do.” The blissful adoration in his kaleidoscopic eyes would have been enough to knock you off your feet if you weren’t already lying down. “Besides,” Sam brings your hand up to his lips, puckering them tenderly against your palm before setting it back on his chest, “you’d be surprised by the conditions I could sleep well in with you in my arms.”

Though you can’t deny the slight pang of disappointment that had surfaced within you when Sam didn’t cite your birthday as the reason he’d stayed the night, he’s so freaking sweet, you really can’t fault him, just as private moments like this are so incredibly rare, you refuse to ruin the mood.

“You mean like that night in the Impala’s backseat?” you ask, slithering your torso above his in an attempt to somewhat replicate your positioning during that memorable autumn night.

Sam stills your squirming with big hands on either shoulder, though his eyes flicker down to your lips. “Don’t start something you can’t finish, baby girl.”

You pout up at him, “Well, if you slept with me because I saved Dean’s hide, what’s he gonna do to thank me?” The way your brow quirks suggestively makes Sam laugh.

“You’re trouble, you know that? And you’re lucky I love you.” His lips find the tip of your nose, lingering there as you watch him pick up his phone and swipe his thumb across the screen a few times out of the corner of your eye. “As for your question, you’re about to find out.”

Not five minutes later, Dean bursts through the door, a great big grin on his face. “Rise and shine, lovebirds! Breakfast is here!”

They help you set up your little rolling table, encumbering it with boxes upon boxes of your favorite breakfast foods, and many of Dean’s as well.

“Dean, did you get her at least one healthy thing?” Sam complains when he opens up the fourth container to find a heavily whipped creamed slice of pie.

“’Course I did,” Dean defends around a slice of bacon, “There’s oatmeal in that one.” He points at the smallest carton in front of you.

Giggling, you shut Sam up by stuffing his mouth full of your syrupy French toast and then kissing the powdered sugar off his chin.

It’s a delightful meal, but not once do they mention the occasion you’re celebrating alone in your head. Yet you can hardly blame them for forgetting. After all, your lives are hectic, and Sam and Dean aren’t exactly in the habit of celebrating birthdays anyway. Still, it’s a fairly big one and you can’t help but let that smidge of disappointment nibble away at you through the day.

You had hoped to celebrate surviving another year beside the love of your life and several close friends in the bunker, before that damned vampire hunt landed you in this bed. When one of the fanged bastards tried to sneak up behind Dean, you’d sprinted to his rescue, making swift work with your trusty machete, but tearing your meniscus in the process. The pain hadn’t been too bad or noticeable at first, with the fresh adrenaline still coursing through you, but when it came time to walk away from the dilapidated blood bath, you found yourself on wobbly legs.

Sam, ever your knight in cozy plaid, was by your side in an instant. “Woah, baby, I got you. What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” His large, strong hands had steadied you whilst his bright, perceptive eyes swept over your figure in search of any obvious injuries.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so? Just my knee feels like- ah!“ As you took an experimental step forward, your knees had terrifyingly given way, but with his cat-like reflexes, Sam was able to swing you into his arms in one smooth motion. “Hey, hey, take it easy, alright? Let’s get you home and see what’s going on with that knee.”

Monsters didn’t frighten you but with angel mojo in short supply, a dumb injury potentially benching you for the unforeseeable future seemed rather daunting, so you’d wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck and nodded wordlessly into his neck.

“Dean! Take care of the bodies! Y/N’s hurt; I’m taking her to the car,” he’d hollered over his shoulder before turning back to you. “You’re OK, baby. It’s gonna be alright.” Although Sam whispered reassuring words across your hairline, the little whimper you let loose when he accidentally jostled your knee had sparked worry in him as well.

It turns out you were both right to be scared, because after days of dealing with the pain, icing your knee and keeping it elevated in Sam’s lap, you had no choice but to seek medical attention. And now here you were, in a hospital bed recovering from the surgery you’d undergone a day before your birthday.

Dean had been all kinds of guilty, but you’d managed to pacify him with reminders that he would’ve risked the same thing for you, and hopes that when Cas returned, you’d be able to heal faster.

Regardless, the brothers had been spoiling you to no end, waiting on you hand and foot, as if you were Winchester royalty. You really shouldn’t be upset. It’s just another day in the calendar and what matters most is that you’re surrounded by the people you love, who love you back.

“Hey, babe, you look tired,” Sam’s voice brings you back, “If you wanna take a nap, Dean and I will get outta your hair for a bit.”

“No, that’s OK, I’m fine.”

“Y/N, the doctor said you need plenty of rest. We’ll be just outside, OK?” Sam insists with a loving kiss to your forehead before shepherding his brother, who’s only slightly engrossed with a rerun of Dr. Sexy playing on the little TV screen, out of your room.

Dozing off soon after, the next thing you’re aware of is your boyfriend’s belligerent whispering.

“Dean, stop. Just use your mouth! You’re gonna wake her up!”

“Already up,” you mumble, cautiously winking open one eye after the other in fear of what you may be held witness to.

“Oh, hey, sorry…” Sam sputters lamely, lustrous hair swaying around him as he dips his head from side to side and shoots you an adorably sheepish smile, the kind that makes your heart stutter with fondness.

It takes you a minute to notice the barrage of multicolored balloons sprinkled around Dean and the mess of streamers tangled in Sam’s normally capable hands, the ends of which hang haphazardly from the ceiling at odd angles and inconsistent intervals. The couple of massive helium balloons standing in the corner of your room that spell out your new age must have been the only coherent ornaments amid the scattered chaos.

“I told you we shoulda just paid them to do it!” Dean hisses quietly at Sam, as if you can’t hear him.

“Yeah, but then it wouldn’t have been as meaningful!”

You clear your throat to gather their attention, waiting until they both turn to you with apologetic grins.

“Surprise?” Dean tries with a smile that’s much too toothy, and you burst into muffled giggles.

“I’m so sorry, baby. We’ve never really done this before.” Sam’s soft, puppy dog gaze is enough to erase all your woes.

“I know,” you reply, feeling strangely choked up, “And I appreciate it even more for that. I mean, it kinda looks like a unicorn exploded in here, but I love it. It’s very Winchester. Thank you, guys.”

“Well, I mean we weren’t finished yet, so… but as long as you’re happy,” Dean affirms, his smile much more natural this time.

“I am,” you ensure them, not missing the way Sam’s shoulders drop in relief at your words. “Although I have to admit I was feeling a little disappointed when I thought you’d forgotten earlier.”

And just like that, the tension visibly returns to your boyfriend’s body while his puppy dog eyes shine toward you in full effect. “You thought I forgot? Baby, I could never- I just didn’t wanna ruin the surprise. We were supposed to have it ready by morning, but I was so worried about you last night. The doctor said the first twenty-four hours are the most critical and-“

“Hey, hey, Sammy, stop. It’s OK! I’m not mad or anything; I just wanted to be honest because we promised we’d never keep anything from each other.”

“Yeah, we did,” Sam nods through a sentimental smile, “And I’m glad you told me. I just feel bad that I ruined the first part of your birthday.” Dropping the streamers, Sam pulls a chair up to sit at your bedside, and you immediately reach for his hands.

“Alright, this is getting a bit too chick-flicky for me, so Imma head out. Sam, call me when you need the next delivery,” Dean starts for the exit, but stops himself to add in a significantly more genuine tone, “Oh and uh, happy birthday, Y/N. I’m sorry I’m the reason you’re in here, but thanks for being awesome and saving my adorable ass.”

Your smile is wide as you gently chide him, “Dean, I told you, this was no one’s fault. Just an occupational hazard. And I’ll be fine. Besides, a birthday in the hospital is hardly a price to pay for that ‘adorable’ ass.”

“Sammy, don’t you ever let this one go, huh?” Dean beams back at you as he steps over to leave a warm kiss on your temple.

“Now who’s the sappy one?”

“Shut up,” the older Winchester mumbles fondly before leaving for good.

“I really am sorry, baby,” Sam begins as soon as the door closes behind his brother, his thumb running conciliatory circles over the back of your hand.

“Don’t be. Everything’s been perfect. You’re perfect.” You use your other hand to cup his scruffy cheek, a feeling of euphoria spreading through you when he leans into your touch. “But what was Dean saying about another delivery?”

Sam chuckles, drawn toward you by the light in your eyes. “Don’t get your hopes up, baby girl,” he answers with a chaste kiss, “All your presents are still back at the bunker, cause we’re still gonna throw you that little birthday party you were planning before the hunt, but I promise you’re gonna like what Dean brings.”

“Is it cake?” You sound like a little kid, but you can’t help yourself. Much like Dean, your sweet tooth can never be appeased.

“Maybe,” Sam admits as his dimples deepen, “but I’m not gonna tell you what kind. Anyway, we’ve still got some time before he gets back. What do you wanna do until then?”

“Well, since I can’t leave this bed yet, I think just wanna cuddle with you.”

And cuddle you do, whilst watching your favorite movie on Sam’s laptop. You take turns playing with each other’s hair and you’re only interrupted once for a checkup from your doctor.

Before long, you’ve completely forgotten the discomfort in your leg, too busy squealing with excitement as Dean hauls in your favorite brand of ice cream cake in a cooler. And as you dig in, moaning at your first bite and laughing at the brotherly banter that comes with the menial task of cutting a cake, a wave of gratitude swells within your chest.

When your stomach is sated and Dean’s gone home for the night, however, an altogether different appetite blazes to life. Having your body pressed against that of a Greek god’s all day really does things to a girl.

“So, what did you think of the ca-” Sam doesn’t get to complete his question or wipe his mouth, because your lips are attacking his before he can accomplish either task.

“Delicious,” you purr into the kiss.

Sam’s enormous hands seize your head, gently pulling it away just enough so that his darkened eyes can meet your own and your mouths can carry out a conversation, “Mmf, what did I say about starting things you can’t finish?”

“Who says I can’t? I didn’t hear the doctor say anything about it.”

Your come-hither tone and kiss-swollen lips force him to take a deep breath and close his eyes as his hands run down to your shoulders. “Baby, I don’t wanna hurt you,” Sam pleads.

“You won’t. I don’t even feel any pain right now. Please, baby. I need you.”

With his eyes still shut, Sam exhales some of his inner strife, but that caring restraint, tight jaw, and rolling chest only dampen your panties more.

Tugging at the hem of his shirt, your fingers reach under, waltzing their way up the tight skin above his defined abdominal muscles. “You know, it’s my birthday?”

“Oh yeah?” Sam is already breathless, feeling his stomach clench and heartbeat hasten at your teasing touch. “Is that your birthday wish?”

“It’s more like my everyday wish, but if I say ‘yes’, will you comply?” You lay your palm flat against his bare chest – savoring the accelerated thumping beneath it even more than you had the ice cream cake – before trailing it down his scarred yet flawless torso until it covers his generous manhood through the straining denim, all whilst kissing and licking at the side of his delectable throat.

A little squeeze from your hand elicits a strangled groan from Sam, “Fuck, baby girl, I swear you’ll be the death of me.” It’s ironic because you swear that the sounds he makes and his voice like this, all husky and wrecked and even lower than usual, will surely be the death of you.

Fortunately, Sam finally relents and carefully situates himself into a more comfortable position across your bed, ever vigilant of your injured leg. You’re not quite as meticulous, yanking the buttons of his flannel open to drool over endless miles of golden skin beneath a gorgeous dusting of dark chest hair, then working impatiently at his belt.

When he’s down to his striped SAXX underwear, Sam helps rid you of your top. His appreciative gaze always does wonders for your self esteem, and you preen a little when he says, “God, how did I get so lucky?”

It’s then that you inevitably pounce on him. Sam of course catches you perfectly, but the frenzied movement must’ve twisted your bad knee for it sends a bolt of excruciating pain there. “Ow! Wait, ow ow!”

“What, what? Are you OK? Was it me?!” His hands fly off you instantly, then return to hover around your afflicted form in case you somehow need him. In fact, you can practically feel the concern radiating from his body.

“No, it wasn’t you. I think I just twisted it a bit too far. Shit, that really hurts,” you whine, unable to fight the tears that spring to your eyes.

“Fuck, I knew we shouldn’t have tried that.” Sam’s voice is full of remorse as he drags his fingers through his hair.

“It’s not your fault, baby,” you hurry to console him with a hand along his jaw, “I’m OK now. I guess I just got a bit too zealous… although it kinda is your fault for being too damn sexy.”

Sam laughs, glancing down as he bites his lip in that ridiculously cute way that’s illogically yet charmingly shy, particularly for a man of his size. “I’m sorry. I guess it’s only fair because you drive me crazy yourself.”

You lean forward, slowly this time, to take his lower lip between both of yours, “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm, how ‘bout a make out session instead, birthday girl?” The lust rebounds in his eyes and you feel the thrill building inside you once more.

Kissing Sam Winchester will always be one of your favorite things to do in this world, second only to a more full-bodied experience with the same man. “Mmm, can I still get a rain check on the birthday sex?” you request, fanning your fingers into his satiny locks.

His beautiful hands feel much more at home on your body than they do with a roll of decorative streamers. They relish every curve they can reach, leaving goosebumps in their wake, while his mouth glides over yours. Sam keeps his movements slow and incredibly tender, and his tongue lavishes yours before he responds, “I thought it was everyday sex? But yeah, you have unlimited rain checks to do whatever you please with me. How’s that for a birthday gift?”

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