Work Text:
Last time he called ahead but today he just shows up.
It’s just after the evening rush and you’re behind the counter feeling a little catatonic, refilling the filters with coffee grounds and letting your eyes drift across the coffee shop when you see him, just coming in the front entrance, in the khaki jacket this time with a zip-up underneath that makes him look like a college kid. You’ve forgotten again just how long his legs are and the way his clothes hang off his shoulders and the cowlicks curling around his ears.
‘Sam!’ you mouth, quietly because your boss is an asshole, but your face lights up and you drop a coffee pot right in the sink. He comes over and stands across the counter from you, grinning, hands thrust deep in his pockets.
‘Hey,’ he says, and you say ‘hey, I’m off in fifteen’ and you beam at him like he’s the fucking sunlight, because, of course, he is. He goes and sits to wait for you and you’re all jumpy and trembling but also lighthearted and warmed because Sam does all those things to you. For you.
This is the third time you’ve seen him, three times in eleven months. The first time he came in while you were working a closing shift, ten minutes left till you could lock the doors and go home. You’d already started wiping things down and then the door had jangled open and you’d started to curse till you saw the guy walking in – in a suit, that first time, worn and exhausted but still with a smile to kill the world. He’d stayed while you brewed a fresh pot for him and then longer while you sat and had a cup too and when you’d finally let yourself out and locked the doors, two hours later, he had your phone number and you had a new set of memories associated with the little three-stall restroom: how he’d knelt you up on the sinks facing the wall and eaten you out from behind and how you could see in the mirror his shoulders behind your thighs, wide and muscled, and how he’d braced a foot back against a toilet and fucked you against the wall while you held on to the top of the stall divider.
When you’d parted that night all you’d known was his first name, that he was from out of town and that you liked him more than you’d really liked anyone ever. He’d said he’d call when he was back in town, and he had. That time, the second time, you’d driven out of town to an old abandoned homestead and climbed up to the loft of the old barn, sat in the open door and talked about local history and the habits of barn owls and which season of Dr Sexy was the least ridiculous but nothing about yourselves, not really. The loft was full of pigeon droppings and bats but you’d put a blanket down in the long overgrown grass outside and made out for awhile with your clothes on and then undressed each other, like it was the first time over again, and he’d taken you with your hands in his hair and the wind swishing like strange creatures rustling in the grass.
This time, when the clock hits 9, you punch out and come round the counter and he waits till you’re outside but then he picks you up and kisses you, not deep, not yet, but long and hard and happy, and you get in the car and you’re already pink-cheeked and giddy.
‘Whaddaya think?’ you ask, and Sam says ‘Dean’s out of town tonight so we can go to the motel?’, kind of a question, but the look on your face answers it and he’s already backing out of the lot.
You know that Dean’s his brother and that they travel together but that’s about it. What you notice of the room in a quick glance round while Sam runs to the front desk to give the license plate doesn’t offer much more. A couple of dufflebags, a laptop on the desk, change and gum and a couple of maps by the phone. Not that it bothered you much. From the start this had been an unspoken part of the deal, what you had between you: anonymity and rigid compartmentalisation, freeing in its own way. In the brief moments you were together, all that existed was each other.
When Sam gets back you’re trying to peel off your leggings and sneakers at the same time and he laughs at you and grabs your shins, tips you up on the end of the closer bed. His hair’s a little longer than last time you saw him and when he unbuckles his jeans and steps out of them you see that he’s got a little bulkier too: his shoulders are bigger and he’s got more muscle around his core. For a minute he just stands there looking at you, head tilted a little to the side, bare legs set apart and a set to his mouth that flips your stomach over. Then he sits on the edge of the far bed and pats his thighs, grinning, and you go over and straddle his lap. He smells like coffee and sweat and cheap laundry soap and his thighs are thick and muscle-hard, covered with dark hair. He’s still got his tshirt and boxers on and in a weird way that feels almost more intimate, like you’ve fallen through some crack to a moment of his actual life, the one that involves early mornings and bad breath and running out of hot water in cheap motel bathrooms. His hands slip down your sides and rest just over your hips, so big that his fingers span right across your back.
‘OK?’ he says, gentle, but there’s a dark heat in his eyes and you press in closer against him, tilt your head and kiss his lips and he opens to you, soft and deep. It’s so good and it’s been so long that you take a shuddering breath almost at once, and he laughs a little against your mouth. When you peel his tshirt off and he raises his arms the muscles of his shoulders torque and twist and he grabs you and flips you down on the bed so that he’s up on his forearms with his hips between your legs. You make out for awhile, hard and breathy, and Sam’s kissing you like it’s the end of the world and these are the last kisses he’ll ever taste.
When your hips start bucking up against his belly he pushes you up the bed a little and rolls you over, onto your front, pulls your hips up a little against him and slides a hand down between your legs. You wriggle against him, wet and swollen, and push your ass up at him but he just kisses down your back, a bit of teeth and the slick of his tongue,. Then his breath is hot and wet behind your ear and he says ‘jesus Y/N I missed you’ and when his fingers find your pussy you’re already thrumming, warm and effervescent, moaning a little and rutting into the mattress underneath you.
‘Fuck,’ you say, ‘Sam,’ but his fingers have already disappeared and you hear the condom wrapper. Then you feel the tip of him, smooth and heavy, run up between your legs and you tilt your hips the slightest bit and he slides in, smooth but so quick and full that it punches the breath out of you, leaves black spots swimming for a second in your vision. When he’s sheathed so deep you can feel the curly hair at the root of his cock against your cunt he stops, just holds there for a moment, his hand cupping the curve of your hip.
You get one of your hands up over his, half-lace it into his fingers where they press against your skin, and then he starts to move inside you, thrusting in and slow dragging out. He’s braced up on his arms and thrusting mostly from his knees, the weight of him pressed against your back, and a rough ragged shudder shakes you, a frisson of gladness in your bones and sinews just at the feel of him against and around you and claiming space for himself inside you.
You twist, suddenly, move to roll over under him, and when he draws back a little his cock slips out and lies heavy at the crease of your thigh and he’s laughing down at you, one hand up in your hair, just tousling it and drawing his long fingers through it. Your body feels above all else open, legs fallen apart soft and relaxed underneath him, mouth open and heart and hands, and your cunt aching at his absence. You bring a hand up to his face and brush your thumb across his nose, trace the curve of his eyebrow, try to remember everything better than you did last time. You say, ‘I love it when you’re here,’ and you draw him back down to your face and kiss him, open-mouthed.
And he feels the hunger in your nerves and skin and hips because he’s pushing back into you and you arch up off the polyester bedspread against him, your body a coiled spiral of tense panting need. For a little while it’s mostly silent, just your soft moans and Sam breathing hard above you, and then he grabs your ass and pulls your hips tight against him and sits up, lifts you with him so that he stays inside you as you settle down in his lap.
‘Ride me,’ he says, sweet and fierce, and when he tips his head back a little his hair just brushes against his shoulders. Both his hands are braced behind him and his chest is tilted away from you, heaving and muscle-tight and covered in a light film of sweat. Just the sight of him makes you quiver and clench around him. Then you’re stroking the gorgeous fulness of him inside you, hands against his chest, and he grabs you and pulls you hard right into him, bears up into you with his hips and says ‘jesus, jesus’ and your face is pressed against the damp curls across his chest. His arm is crushing you and you can’t really move but it doesn’t matter, you couldn’t move anyway because you’re mindless now, right on the edge. When he bends his neck and takes a nipple in his mouth you dig your nails into his shoulders and seize against his hips, cunt stuttering around him. He comes a moment later, hard and loud (’fuck fuck oh god god Y/N’) with his lower lip caught between his teeth.
You’re there all night and you don’t sleep, just take a pizza break while you sit flushed and heavy-limbed close against each other, because tomorrow is the one thing that you don’t have between you.