Archive of Our Own

He leaned back in for another deep, sweet, languorous kiss, fingers cupping my jaw ever so gently. 

Maybe the waiting had been part of the problem. I wanted him, holy fucking shit did I want him, but that week of waiting had built the anticipation until I wasn’t sure how the reality of it could possibly measure up. Now that we were face-to-face on Sam’s bed, nowhere to be, nothing to do, I was so nervous I was shaking. 

This whole thing started on Donna’s squeaky-ass pullout couch, with Dean sleeping on the floor about three feet away. The case had lasted for a week. It had been an entire fucking week of breathless kisses in stolen moments, poorly-timed interruptions, and the sort of frustration that led to me blushing scarlet and Sam adjusting himself discreetly before we dealt with whatever had interrupted us. It had been an entire week before we could get to a real bed, behind a locked door. 

I’d been head over heels for Sam for about three fucking years before that, too, but he didn’t exactly know that. 

Sam rolled onto his back, strong arms wrapped around me so that I went with him, and I braced myself clumsily, trying not to put all of my weight on him. My head was spinning as I kissed him again, sucking gently on his lower lip. Part of me wanted to kiss him for hours. I was still so fascinated by the simple slide of his tongue against mine, the way it felt when he smiled against my mouth… it was all new, still, and I wanted to kiss him in every possible way. 

There was heat all down my front where we were pressed together, almost too hot, especially where my hips slotted neatly against his. I rocked against him slightly and I felt the low sound he made more than I heard it. A little lightning bolt of want zinged down my belly. When I did it again, twisting and rolling against him, I could feel the hard line of his cock through his jeans, and his breath hitched audibly. 

I sat back on my heels, pulling my shirt over my head and tossing it to the side. I could feel the weight of Sam’s stare, but I couldn’t quite meet his eyes. We’d parted ways long enough to shower, when we got home, before I knocked on Sam’s door; I’d changed into my one and only “fancy” bra, knowing that this would happen, and my nipples were tingling, pressing hard and obvious against the thin black lace. 

“Gorgeous,” he said softly. I smiled in spite of my self-consciousness. 

I tugged at the hem of his shirt, rucking it up, and said, “Your turn.” 

He sat up slightly to pull his shirt off and then settled back down against the pillows, his hands on my hips, thumbs stroking back and forth gently as I stared down at him: chiseled abs, sculpted chest, muscles rippling everywhere. My stomach flipped and squirmed, and I ducked down to kiss him again before I could think too hard about the contrast between our bodies. 

His hands. Jesus, I’d imagined those hands on me so many times. He was touching me like he couldn’t get enough, hands roaming my body, warm and strong and so incredibly gentle. I’d seen what those hands were capable of. I knew how much damage he could do. Still, I’d never felt so safe as I did with his fingers sliding down the side of my neck, thumb caressing my pulse. His other hand rubbed circles at the small of my back, grazed up and down the slope of my spine, splayed out between my shoulder blades, and the warm wide span of it left fizzy heat everywhere he touched. 

He dragged his palm down the curve of my shoulder, taking my bra strap with it, and his mouth traveled the same path his hand had followed: hinge of my jaw, down the side of my neck, tongue flickering over my pulse point, lush soft open-mouthed kisses to the curve between my neck and my shoulder, and then back up until his lips met mine again. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked softly, between quick pecks to one corner of my mouth and then the other, and he tucked his fingers under the clasp of my bra. 

“Yeah.” 

He unhooked it deftly and then rolled us over without warning, so that I was on my back, to slide the straps down my arms and toss it to the side. 

“Smooth,” I said, and he let out a self-deprecating sort of chuckle. 

Sam pulled away and sat back, hands on my ribs as he looked me over. I felt myself flush under the heat of his gaze. It was intense, being pinned down like that, like hazel high-beams; I stared back, a deer in the headlights, wondering what he was seeing. There was dark, smoldering need thrumming under the familiar sweet affection in his smile. It was fucking intoxicating. 

He shifted his weight forward, muscles rolling in his shoulders as he settled at my side. He propped himself up on one elbow, one leg hooked over my thigh, his free hand flat on my breastbone, holding me in place. I curled my fingers around his wrist, not grabbing, just touching, as I turned my head to look at him. He was too close, all soft-focus and golden in the dim glow of the lamp light; I gave up on looking and kissed him instead, our mouths brushing lazily. 

Sam ran his hand down the center of my chest and then back up, cupping the curve of my breast and running his thumb back and forth over my nipple until the skin started to pebble. Then he trailed his fingers down my side, so light it tickled, before tracing the soft skin just above the waistband of my jeans. He ran just one fingertip from my hip, inward to the little roll of flesh over the button of my jeans, and then back, light and hypnotic. 

“Can I take these off?” he whispered. 

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly, and Sam popped the button one-handed and drew the zipper down. He scooted back, looking down at me with this dark, intense expression as he started to tug my jeans and panties down my thighs. I lifted my hips to help. The denim got tangled around one ankle, and I kicked awkwardly until my foot almost connected with Sam’s face. I winced, but he just shot me a wry smile and got me untangled. 

I felt so fucking exposed, lying there with my legs sprawled open, completely bare, and I fought the urge to hide. Sam just looked for a moment, openly admiring me, before settling back down along my side. 

“Wanna touch you,” he murmured. I was too dazed and overwhelmed to answer in words, but I nodded shakily. 

He kissed my neck, first, slow and gentle, with one big hand wrapped around my hip. He mouthed at my pulse, pressed slow open kisses up and down my neck, taking his time until I started to relax and melt into his touch again. Then he dragged his hand down the outside of my thigh and up the inside, palming my legs open, making me shiver. 

The first touch was barely a graze, two fingers brushing up my lips and then down again, teasing gently at my entrance before sliding up my center.

“Tell me what you need?” he whispered. I was so distracted by his fingertips, stroking feather-light over my clit, that it took me a second to process the question. 

“Hmm?” 

“Tell me what you like,” Sam said, soft and low, lips brushing my ear. “What feels good. How to get you off.” I could hear the smile in his voice.  

I took a deep shaky breath. “Oh. Um. It’s not - I don’t… I don’t think anyone’s just asked me that before.” 

“You okay?” Sam asked, and his hand slipped away, resting gently on my thigh instead. He pulled back to look at me with those big puppy eyes, forehead creased with concern. 

I made a face, rolling my eyes at myself, and looked at the ceiling as I made myself spit it out: “I usually can’t, the first time with somebody? And when I say usually I mean always. Like, it’s not… I don’t mind, it still feels good, it’s just… it’s not you. It’s just. It’s a thing. I need to get comfortable, before I can - y’know. Shut me up any time, really.” 

Sam kissed me instead, soft and sweet, mouthing along my jaw and then up to my temple. “Okay.” 

“O... kay?” I stammered. It wasn’t the response I had expected. I’d expected protests, dismissals, that I know I can be the exception attitude I’d gotten on the rare occasion I’d warned previous partners. Usually it was easier just to fake it.

“Thanks for telling me. Not easy for you to talk about this stuff, huh?” 

“No, I - sorry. Too fuckin’ awkward at the communication thing.” 

“I still want to touch you, if that’s okay,” Sam said, and I could hear the smile and the heat in his voice. He nipped my earlobe and then trailed kisses down the side of my neck, nosing into the spot where he knew I was ticklish and making me giggle, before asking, “Can I?” 

“Jesus. Yeah. Please.” 

“Not like this is gonna be the only time we get to do this,” Sam whispered, and I was grinning at that when he slipped two perfect fingers into me, twisting up and making me squirm. “Better not be the only time we do this. Too many things I want to do with you.” 

“Yeah?” I asked breathlessly. His fingers felt just as good as I’d always imagined, curling gently in and then out again, circling my clit with light, teasing pressure. He kissed me, open-mouthed and filthy, tongue sliding into my mouth at the same time his fingers thrust into me again, fucking my mouth and my cunt at the same lazy, luxurious pace. 

By the time he pulled back, I’d almost forgotten about the question. He didn’t go far; I could still feel the warmth of his breath on my lips. 

“Yeah,” he said firmly. “Now I’ve got you naked I’m not letting you go. We’re not leaving this bed any time soon.” 

Sam shifted, ducking his head to swirl his tongue over one of my nipples. I hummed happily, arching up into his mouth as he rubbed my clit, playing with me, rubbing up and down, then circling, experimenting. 

He kept talking as he kissed his way down my body, and his voice was a low rumbling buzz that sank into my skin: “So beautiful. Wanna take my time and -” He mouthed at the join of my ribs. “- learn every inch of you. Kiss every inch of you, just -” He nibbled the soft skin just under my belly button. “- spend hours touching you, watching the faces you make -” He nipped the spot just above my hipbone, working the skin between his teeth until I hissed at the pleasure-pain. “- teasing. Playing with you. Seeing what it takes to make you beg.” 

The filthy words pressed to my skin were already making me dizzy when he licked a stripe up my center, warm slick tongue parting my lips, before he slid his fingers into me again and licked between them. 

“‘S this okay?” he whispered, and his tone was completely different now, soft, like he worried he was crossing a line. 

I let out a strangled laugh. “Yeah. Don’t - don’t stop - yeah. The talking is okay, too. Just for the record.” 

I tilted my head to look down at him, trying to do it in a way that didn’t immediately give me ten chins, and found him staring right back at me: eyes dark, mouth half an inch from my cunt, fingers scissoring me open, so gorgeous it hurt to look at him for too long. 

“Tell me what feels good,” he said. His voice was steely; it was an order, this time. I shivered. 

He started slow, tongue fluttering and flicking over my clit, tasting and teasing. For a moment I was stuck on the usual whispers of self-consciousness, awkwardness, what do I do with my hands, what if - 

“Hey,” Sam said, kissing my inner thigh, looking up at me with a smile again. “You’re thinking instead of talking to me.” 

I laughed, hiding my face with my hands, and Sam took the opportunity to drag a sucking, slurping, open-mouthed kiss up and over my clit. My laugh broke off on a sharp inhale, and I tilted my hips up, silently asking for more. 

“Yeah?” he asked, and did it again. 

I ran one hand through his hair, petting idly at the silky strands, until Sam hummed approvingly and grabbed my other hand as well, putting it firmly on the back of his head before ducking down for another of those filthy swirling kisses. 

“That - that feels… yeah,” I managed, heat curling up through my belly. I almost managed to stop thinking, melting back and rocking up against the slick pressure of Sam’s tongue. 

His fingers were still working me open, slow and easy, friction going wet and slippery as I started to relax. He curled and crooked them, pressing them up against some sensitive spot inside me that I’d never been able to reach with my own fingers, and I let out a shaky breath, squirming slightly at the touch. He did it again, rubbing back and forth, and I could feel the little circles of his fingertips sparking pleasure that rolled out from my core, spreading like ripples from that achingly good spot somewhere deep inside. I clenched down around his fingers, whimpering, suddenly wanting more. 

“Sam,” I said softly, fingers tangling in his hair, and he looked up at me with so much raw lust in his eyes that I forgot what I was going to say. 

“What do you want?” he asked. 

I swallowed, inhaled deep, exhaled shaky, and whispered, “You.” 

“You’ve got me,” Sam said, with a little dimpled quirk of a smile, but he crawled up my body, kissing up my breastbone before letting me taste myself on his lips. I tugged on his belt clumsily. 

“Can you… off?” I stammered. My tongue felt thick and awkward, words catching and sticking in my throat before they could make it out of my mouth, and I tried to swallow around the choking anxiety. Sam got his jeans off (gracefully, without coming anywhere close to kicking me in the face, of course) and fumbled in the drawer of the nightstand for a moment. I snuck a glance at his body, muscles and scars and blood-flushed cock bobbing up against his stomach. 

I had another instant of blinding, paralyzing panic. 

“Come here?” Sam asked, quiet and hesitant. 

His tongue flicked out over his lower lip as he settled back against the headboard, sitting up, and I crawled into his lap, straddling him, hoping he couldn’t see the way I was trembling. It helped, somehow, that he looked nervous too. 

“No rush,” Sam said again. “If you wanna just stop here, I -” 

“Fuck that,” I huffed, and kissed him again, feeling him smile against my mouth. I heard the little snick of a bottle of lube opening and felt his knuckles brush my stomach as he stroked himself, slicking himself up, and then we were tangling together, closer, his hands on my waist, my breasts pressing against his chest, his lips parted and then going slack as I started to sink down, opening up around him with a long, rough groan.  

And yeah, okay, it had been a while since I’d gotten laid, but… I didn’t remember it being like that. I wasn’t sure I’d ever felt anything like this: full and sizzling and scared and safe, all at once. 

“Hey, breathe for me,” Sam said, and I took a shuddery gulp of air. “You good?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, Sam. M’good,” I slurred, dropping my forehead down to his shoulder, shifting my weight and feeling the drag and stretch of him inside me. “So good.” 

“Good,” he repeated firmly. He cupped the back of my head with one hand, fingers sliding through my hair, and tugged slightly, tilting my head back so that he could kiss me. I felt his groan as a vibration against my lips when I rocked against him experimentally. I lifted up slightly, tilted my hips forward as I slid back down, and my breath hitched in my throat at the frisson of sensation. 

“Can’t believe - you… this. I thought about this,” I confessed shyly, stumbling over the words, settling into a slow, easy pace. I rested my forehead against his, our noses brushing, and I felt the tickle of displaced air as he sighed. 

“Thought about you so much,” he growled. “This whole week was just… fucking torture, having you that close. Sleeping next to you every night. Hearing the little noises you made, wondering what you were dreaming about. Got me so hard I couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t sleep, just wanted to pin you to the bed and fuck you awake. Had to sneak out so I could jerk off in the bathroom, imagined bending you over the sink...” 

The sound I made was high and thin, ah - ah - ah, in time with the shallow thrusts of my hips, before I could find my voice again: “Should’ve. Fucking… should’ve woken me up, Sam. Almost came in while you were showering one morning, wanted - just wanted to touch you.” 

He groaned, one arm wrapping around my shoulders and pulling me down against him harder, grinding up at the same time, and I whimpered, sparks sizzling at the edges of my vision. We were close enough that we weren’t making eye contact, exactly, but I caught flashes of his expression, pupils blown, mouth swollen red. 

“Tell me,” he whispered fiercely. “God. Tell me what you want. What you imagine. Just want… want to know everything. Every dirty thought you’ve ever had, every fantasy, every filthy thing you think about when you touch yourself.” 

I trembled, cheeks burning, closing my eyes with embarrassment even as I clenched down around him helplessly. I was so turned on I could barely breathe, and I wasn’t sure if it was his voice, the low silky promise in it, or the hot, thick length of him splitting me open. 

“Can’t - I don’t - fuck, Sam, I can’t, I just -” 

“You want me to guess, then? Or do you want to know what I think about?” he asked, and I shuddered again, rhythm faltering. Sam grabbed my ass with both hands and helped me move, lifting me a few inches off his cock and then impaling me again, using his grip to forcefully swivel my hips back and forth, and I let out a ragged, desperate moan. 

“Anything, nnnh, fuck. Fuck.” 

“Want to learn your body, learn what you like, learn exactly how to touch you,” he said hoarsely. “Want to tie you down and get you close, right up to the edge, and then... stop. Want to keep doing that, get you close, not let you come, over and over again.” 

“Oh my god, Sam,” I panted, half-laughing, feeling crazed with what his voice was doing to my insides. My skin felt too tight. 

“‘M not fucking kidding,” he said, and there was a hint of a snarl in the words. “I could tease you for hours. Want to see what it takes to make you scream. Want you to hear you beg, hear you so desperate that you can’t be shy any more, want you to tell me exactly how you want my cock.” 

All I could do was whimper, working myself down on him harder, faster, frenzied, already feeling sore in the best way. I could tell I’d be feeling him for days, and my stomach twisted at the idea. 

“Want to hold you down, mark you up, mark you as mine,” Sam said breathlessly, and he kissed me, clumsy and rough as we moved, teeth catching a little too sharp on my lower lip. I moaned.

I leaned forward, pressing my mouth to the sweat-slick curve of his neck, making sure he couldn’t see my face as I confessed, “I’ve thought about that. You holding me down. You - your hands.” 

I could feel the way the words affected him: like I’d punched him in the gut, a shock and then a shiver, fingers digging into my skin with a compulsive grip, hips twitching up. 

“Yeah?” he gasped. He sounded wrecked, and the idea that I’d done that, made Sam Winchester feel even the slightest bit out of control, was this heady molten rush in my core. It made me brave. 

“Thought about you pinning me,” I admitted. “Your - your hands on my wrists. Pinning me against the wall, holding my hands over my head.” 

Sam gave another of those full-body shudder-spasms, the muscles of his shoulders rolling and bunching under my hands, before he froze completely, hands on my waist holding me tight so that I had to freeze too. 

“Wait,” he hissed. “You’re gonna… can’t take it, c’mere.” 

He lifted me off his lap, and my head was spinning too hard to make sense of any of it; I just stayed there, waiting, as he slid around behind me, chest to my back, so that we were both up on our knees facing the headboard. 

“Scoot forward?” he asked softly, and I willed my shaky limbs to cooperate. “There.” 

He grabbed my wrists, one in each hand, and pinned my arms over my head, my palms flat on the wall. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to collect myself, taking a deep breath, but I was so giddy and amazed that I giggled. It was too much, the idea that all those late-night fantasies were suddenly possible… that I’d said it out loud and Sam had just done it. 

“Okay?” he asked, lips brushing the shell of my ear. 

“So much better than okay,” I said, and at that, Sam crossed my wrists, pinning them both over my head against the wall with one hand. I whined, too stuck on the iron-shackles feeling of his fingers to focus on the way he was positioning me, bracing himself with one hand against the wall and the other flattened over my lower belly. 

“Want to hear you,” he whispered. “Tell me what you want.” 

“Need you inside me,” I said. My voice cracked. “Please, Sam? Please fuck me.” 

He sank his teeth into the curve of my shoulder as he lined up, biting down hard enough that I knew it’d leave a mark. The blunt pressure against my entrance felt like too much, too thick, but I arched my back and he pushed in, hot and hard and perfect. 

The angle and the position made it impossible for him to get as deep as he had been, and it wasn’t the same almost-painful fullness as before, but it pressed the head of his cock right up against the same spot his fingers had found earlier, even more sensitive now. Sam rolled his hips, grinding so perfectly against that spot that I shouted. He wasn’t thrusting in and out, wasn’t letting up, was just twisting and undulating, deep and deeper. The pressure felt like an ache, somewhere inside, a pulsing gut-wrenching ache that was almost too intense. 

“Sam,” I bit out. “Sam. Can you - I need -” 

My head fell back, tilting against the solid support of his shoulder, but he seemed to understand my incoherent stuttering. The hand that had been on my hip dipped down, fingers circling my clit, and I tried pointlessly to rock back, shove myself against him, needing more. 

“Use your words,” he said, low and teasing, and I let out a strangled, frustrated cry, because he fucking knew what I needed. 

I was too far gone to care. I hissed, “Touch me. More. Harder, don’t stop, please.” 

And there it was, exactly what I needed, fingers circling steadily on my clit in time with every swiveling roll of his hips, and thank fuck he was holding me up, still bracing me between his body and the wall, because I would’ve flopped over like a rag doll; I could barely breathe, let alone keep myself upright. I was too lost to care about the broken, needy noises that were shredding my throat, and I was too lost to care about the stupid faces I must be making, and I was too lost to care about anything that wasn’t the perfect pulses quaking through me, filling me up, rolling out to my toes and my fingertips and the crown of my head. 

“Gorgeous,” Sam breathed, rough and reverent, and then “Mine, fuck, finally, I -” 

His hips snapped forward, sharp enough to set off fireworks behind my eyelids, and I shook and strained in his arms as my vision flashed white and then dissolved in sparkling black. I was dimly aware of Sam saying my name, chanting it again and again like a prayer. He was holding me, crushing me to his chest, impossibly close, closer than I thought another person could be. 

I heard it echoing in my ears like a second heartbeat: finally, finally, finally.