Chapter Text
I also have this posted on LiveJournal if you prefer that format.
BLUE BLISS
I have no beta so all errors are my own.
PART ONE OF THE SEQUEL
TWISTED PATHS: IT'S GOOD TO BE THE KING
IS OFFICIALLY POSTED!
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
This story is about YOU, written under the assumption that you have female anatomy. If you do not identify with female anatomy then I'm sure you can find a way to adjust your mind to imagine I'm talking about someone else.
Trust me, it's fun either way.
SO IT BEGINS
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You’re in a hurry. It’s long past sunset and the street lamps and security lighting from nearby parking lots are the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. Your pace is brisk, bordering on a trot as you round the corner of a familiar building where you run smack into an unfamiliar situation. Distracted by your cell phone, you aren’t paying attention, so you unexpectedly hit the shadowy figure in your path full force. Your peripheral vision only catches a glimpse of a second person leaning against the wall as you push forward into the stranger, your brain registers him as a naked man with fountains of blood pouring from his gaping neck. You barely notice because you and the shadowy figure are headed straight for the ground, limbs tangled and your hand clutching their jacket with a death grip. Time is relative and like a movie, the clock seems to slow to a crawl, seconds turning into minutes. Details burn forever into memory: the naked body sliding down the wall next to you, blood gargling through his last breath; the stranger you are entwined with growling out an expletive; a smoky red glimmer flashing where his eyes should be; a strange sense of dread coating your very soul and the crippling fear that follows. You watch as he (at least you think it’s a man) reacts to the fall by shoving his hand into your body instead of instinctively trying to twist to avoid harm. It appears his goal is to keep you from falling on top of him. Unfortunately the person seems to forget that he is holding something, a little vial with a glowing blue substance inside. As his hand shoves upward, countering your inertia, the breath is knocked from your body. The bottle shatters against you and the hand grinds it in with brutal force. Your eyes widen in pain and then your expression turns to terrified surprise as you suddenly see his other hand wielding a long strangely shaped silver knife. You know without having to witness that it’s the instrument he used to slice a bloody smile across the naked mans neck and you know with certainty that you’re next. Realization hits home that he wasn't pushing you away; he was lining you up for the kill. You tense, anticipating the unknown pain of a stab wound that will precede the pain of hitting the ground, but a burst of searing blue light explodes outward, your chest the epicenter of the event. Time freezes. The man in front of you lights up for an instant, his features sharp and distinct, and then he disintegrates with a wail of pain. His eerie red eyes the last thing to disappear into ash. Time restarts. The pavement rushes to meet your body and you slam down heavily, scattering the ashy remains as the knife clinks down harmlessly nearby. You struggle to refill your lungs, your body burning from the impact, eyes watering from the pain. Just before you lose consciousness you see two figures running towards you and your very last thought before everything goes black is “I don’t understand.”
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You wake up in what can only be described as a prison cell that’s trying to look cozy. Dim light illuminates the room and the first thing you see is the door; closed, thick, and intimidating. The walls are concrete, cold and unfriendly despite the cheery antique pictures hanging on them. You know that you are underground; there is a stifling, oppressive feeling of weight above your head, causing a vague sense of claustrophobia as you stare at the rough ceiling. The bed is firm, almost to firm. It’s neatly made with a plain gray bedspread and you were apparently left here atop the covers in hopes that you would eventually regain consciousness. You moan in pain while moving to a sitting position, every joint and muscle aching. Your head swims for a moment, adjusting to its new upright state. Once things come back into focus you take in the remainder of the surroundings. Next to the bed is a small wooden table with a retro style lamp. There is a chair in one corner that looks like it should be in your grandmother’s house, high-backed with bold upholstery. A stack of what looks like clean clothes occupies the grandma chair. That’s when you realize you are filthy, and your belongings are nowhere in sight. Your fingers brush against the light crust of ash caked on your face and you survey your wrecked clothes. Your eyes scan the room again and you notice there is a little door to your left, but you can tell immediately that it is little more than a closet with a toilet, sink, and mirror nestled inside. Your hopes for a shower dwindle. You begin to wonder how you got here when there is a loud clank as the door is unlatched.
Having no idea where you are and who is going to walk through that door you panic and flop yourself back down on the bed and play dead, well, you play unconscious at least. The anticipation is murder. You think the door will creak ominous and frightening; something straight out of a horror movie, but it glides open on silent hinges. The only reason you know it opened is due to the shift of the air and rustle of movement at the doorway. You try to remain calm. Try to keep the facade of peaceful unconsciousness. It's a lot harder than you thought it would be. You hear a murmur of voices. Male voices. Two to be precise. Both deep and smooth. "See. She's still out cold... or dead. Sigh. I hope she isn't dead. It’ll be a lot harder to figure out what happened if she went and kicked the bucket Sammy."
"Shhh Dean. Geez." You can almost feel the eye roll from here, the annoyance in his voice palpable. You feel someone enter the room and it takes every ounce of self-control to remain still and not tense up as someone gently sits on the edge of the bed and lays a warm hand on your shoulder. Your plan was to slowly pretend to wake up and hope that looking like a nice innocent girl would win you points in the 'please don't kill me' department, but things don't always go as planned. The proximity of this man’s body and the warmth of his hand seeping into your skin suddenly ignites your brain. Desire flares up, hot and heady and if you weren't so on edge it might have caught you off guard enough that you would have done something rash. Like sit up and kiss him! You haven't even seen his face yet! Your eyes fly open and before you can fully think through your actions you've crawled, a sputtering mess of an action, to the headboard away from him and you curl into a ball hugging your knees. Where did that thought come from? You've heard of Stockholm syndrome but you haven't even met your captors, much less had time to fall in love with them. You find yourself more terrified of yourself than the men occupying your makeshift prison.
"Hey. Hey. We won't hurt you. We are here to help. We found you in that alley and we brought you back here to keep you safe, ok?" He sounds sincere... and nice. Not at all like a kidnapper should sound. That's when you decide to look. Your head has been buried in your arms, clinging to that childish notion that if you don't see them, they can't hurt you. You lift your head and peer through the loose tangles of your wrecked hair. As you do, the man stands, arms up as a gesture of a nonthreatening and weaponless state, and he steps back to give you room. You start at his feet and slowly move your eyes up, and up, and up. He is impossibly tall, all lean muscle and long limbs. Then up to his face. Oh! That face. He is handsome with a strong chiseled jaw, long brown hair that flows down to his broad shoulders; and his features are etched with concern and caution. Then there are his eyes. Oh! Those eyes. They pin you in place. For a moment the world dissolves and there is only you and those eyes. It's happening again, that strange flare of craving out of nowhere. Desire pools deep in your belly and your heart rate picks up speed. You see it in him too, a mirror of your own reaction etched with the same hunger and confusion.
*cough*
Suddenly reality crashes back in and you both realize that you have been staring at each other for who knows how long. The other man shoots a look at the tall one and shifts his weight, body language of discomfort and impatience. Apparently that was his ‘I’m uncomfortable’ cough. The tall man you’ve been staring at runs his hand down his face and then through his long hair like he is trying to wipe away a dream and he clears his throat in embarrassment. "Uh yeah, sorry. Um, hi. I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean."
Sam. Kind of a short name for such a tall man but it suits him; and then there is Dean. You quietly return the “hi”, give your name out of lack of anything else to say and then you look at the one called Dean. Shorter than Sam but still a tall man, Dean is a wildly strange combination of rough and tumble bouncer mixed with a Calvin Kline model. His face is gorgeous despite the fact that his lips are drawn tight in what looks like either concern or annoyance; you can't quite decipher which. His short-cropped hair looks unkempt, yet perfectly styled. His clothes are disheveled; a plain t-shirt, jacket, and ripped jeans, yet they perfectly compliment his slightly bowlegged bravado stance. He is the walking incarnation of contradiction, rough and beautiful, and it makes him incredibly fascinating and hard to look away from. His gaze shifts to you and that feeling comes back full force, heady and alluring. First the man called Sam, and now this guy; what is going on? His emerald eyes mesmerize you with returned desire as his face freezes in a deer-in-the-headlights look of stupefaction. He quickly looks down at the floor, breaking eye contact (thank God), and he nervously shifts his weight again, then he speaks. "Well, hi. Nice to meet ya and I'm glad that demon didn't kill you."
"Dean." Sam's voice is flat as he shoots him a look, noting the uncomprehending surprise on your face as you repeat the word ”demon” with a definite question mark at the end. Sam breathes out a weary sigh, "Listen. It's a long story and we all have a lot of questions but I have a feeling all you really want right now is a shower. Just trust us, ok? You are safe here and nothing that you saw last night can get in this place, so let me give you the short tour and you can get cleaned up. Then we can all do twenty questions." His honest sincerity is so hard to argue against. His face is like a puppy’s, with those huge heart-melting eyes, and his voice etched with soothing concern. You can't help but trust him even if you can't seem to shake that strange undertone of infatuation that keeps pulling at you.
You agree, because you really really do want a shower, and Sam's stance shifts to one of relief. He smiles at you, warm and genuine. With an awkward hitch, he scoops up the clothes that were on the chair and gestures for you to follow him. Dean only moves out of the way just enough for you both to pass and then he follows close behind as Sam leads the way down the hall. Around a couple of corners he stops at a wide open doorframe and he introduces you to the galley. Dean slides past, his hand accidentally brushing against your fingers. Your breath catches in your throat and your heart-rate skyrockets, eyes going wide with surprise at the electric heat from that small touch. You notice a falter in his step; a subtle hesitation, but Dean keeps on moving and doesn't turn around to face either of you as he gruffly starts rummaging around the kitchen. "I'll get some grub started; you better get her to the showers. Bet she cleans up nice." Dean seems nervous; his refusal to turn around while speaking is a screaming sign.
You ponder this observation as Sam beckons you onward down a different hallway. You barely know this Dean guy, but he just seems to be the smooth type. Well... smooth when he wants to be. You can tell he is definitely rough around the edges and that he won't be shy about speaking his mind but that means he is the direct approach kind of guy when it comes to ladies, the dial up the charming smile and give the smooth "how you doin'" Joey-from-Friends kind of hello, not the type to get nervous around girls, much less a stranger like you. But you did just meet him so maybe you’re wrong.
Then there is you. What is up with you? Regardless of the way you've handled men in the past, it has never been like this. You've never wanted to jump a man’s bones just because he put his hand on you. Maybe this is some sort of PTSD side effect from last night’s trauma. Last night! Your current distractions have muted the big fucking deal that was last night. What the hell happened!? Naked men with their throats slit. Terrifying red eyed men who turn to dust. “Demon” is what Dean said. Nothing has made sense ever since you rounded that dark corner last night.
"Here we are. The showers." Your train of thought wrecks into a wall as Sam's voice pulls you into the now. You blink at him and then look around at what resembles a gym locker room. You must seem concerned because Sam gives you a reassuring look as he adds, "Don't worry. I’ll be back in about 45 minutes to get you so you won't get lost. I went and picked up some random lady stuff; deodorant, hairspray, hairbrush, a new toothbrush, stuff like that. It's all on the bench over there for you. Hopefully I didn't miss something important." He plops the pile of clothes down on that same bench and steps back. His stance is reminiscent of a high school boy wanting reassurance of a job well done; head bowed, hands stuffed nervously in his pockets. It's adorable. You tell him that it's more than you could have hoped for and after a thank you, he beams at you like he just won first prize. You smile back and feel it again, that heavy pull towards him. He must feel it too because his eyes widen and his nervous level maxes out. He breaks eye contact and starts striding down the hallway, taking full advantage of those long legs as he dismisses you with "Enjoy the endless hot water and I'll be back in a bit". Like his brother, Sam seems to be off his game as well. He doesn't seem like the lady-killer Dean is, but you can tell he has been around the block and shouldn't have any trouble talking to women. You shrug it off, chalking it up to just another layer of weird on this crazy cake.
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The bags have a bounty of products, all purchased from the Gas-n-Sip down the street from the look of the bag. You pick out what you want, strip out of your filthy clothes and head for the shower. It’s a huge open area; a large column stands in the middle with multiple showerheads sprouting out in intervals around it with corresponding hot and cold handles below each. You eenie-meenie them in order to pick one and the steam begins to fill the room immediately when the water starts flowing. You didn’t realize how dirty you felt until you step beneath the falling water. The warmth seems to wash away the world and all the crazy that you have been dealing with, cleansing you to the core. The steam blocks out your surroundings and you lose yourself. You take a lot longer than you normally would but you can’t help it, it feels so normal compared to everything else that has happened. A towel was hiding under the pile of clothes and you take your time drying off. The clothes turn out to be a pair of warn cargo pants that are a bit baggy and a t-shirt that fits ok, both obviously men’s clothing. Dean’s you assume and they are pretty comfy. You are just finishing up your hair when there is a gentle knock on the wall near the door followed by the clearing of a throat. You turn to find Sam watching you sheepishly with hands jammed in his pants pockets like before. You flash him a bright smile, feeling much more cordial after such a lovely shower. He grins back, tips his head towards the hall, and asks, “Ready for some lunch?” You nod, still smiling and you follow him down the hall, your steps lighter and with more pep than before.
When you walk into the galley Dean is humming what sounds like Enter Sandman as he unceremoniously shoves three plates full of food onto the table. “Hey?” Dean catches the room’s attention and lifts a bottle of water in one hand and a beer in the other. Sam says water and you parrot him. Dean shrugs, “Suit yourself.” He pulls another water from the fridge and sets them on the table. Sam sits and gestures for you to take a seat across from him. Dean wipes his hands on a towel and then sits down next to Sam, grabbing the beer and twisting the top off with automatic motions, done so many times it’s like breathing. “I don’t know what you like so I made what I like” Dean is gruff but not in a mean way. You smile, reassuring him that it looks great, and the food does look surprisingly tasty.
Grilled chicken breast with bacon, lettuce, tomato, and mayo between some sort of artisan bread. A pile of chips, mesquite BBQ you think, take up the rest of the plate. Dean grunts, his way of acknowledging your comment and then he takes a huge bite of sandwich. You almost giggle at the way his cheeks chipmunk from the huge bite, but you catch yourself and pop a chip in your mouth instead. Sam shifts in his chair and then follows his brother’s lead by taking a bite of his sandwich. Not wanting to be rude, coupled with the fact that you are truly hungry, you join the club and take a bite. It’s amazing. Your eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise. Sam notices and pipes up, “I know right? Shocked the hell out of me too but the boy can cook.”
“Shut up Sammy.” Dean elbows him. They are definitely brothers. “So lady, now’s a great time to spill on what happened last night.”
“Dean.” Sam flashes him a bitch face.
“What? I’ve waited about all I’m willing to wait. I’m even feeding her for crying out loud! The least she can do is tell us what we want to know.” It’s like you aren’t even in the room as Dean argues his point. Sam stares at him for a minute and then looks at you, expectant. You take it as your cue to spill the beans. You tell your story, trying not to ramble. Barely into it and Sam stops you. “Wait? Naked? And throat slit.” You nod and after no further questions or statements, you continue. Explaining the part about the blue light is the hardest. You find yourself getting personal with it and likening it to a spiritual experience because as you recount the tale, you find yourself connecting emotions to the events. Sam nods as you describe it, leaning forward, enraptured by your story. Dean continues to chew, a somewhat bored expression on his face, never really contributing. Sam is more helpful though. He lets you finish your story, ending with the man turning to ash and how you passed out right after. “I think I know why you consider it a spiritual experience.” You can see Sam’s wheels turning, thoughts clicking into place and he turns to Dean as he states, “I bet it was grace.”
Dean laughs when you ask -who is Grace? "Grace isn't a who, it's a what. You stumbled right into the middle of some heavy shit girl. The naked guy was an angel; a Cupid from the sound of it, and the guy that turned to dust was a demon. Sam thinks that demon had a bottle full of grace, angel mojo, hence your ‘spiritual moment’. And by the way; yes, those things really do exist. Angels. Demons. Monsters. You name it." You were right; Dean is very straightforward. You wonder how that translates in the bedroom, probably hot and hard and no time to breathe. Wait? What? Why are you thinking of THAT when you were just told that what you saw was a demon murdering the crap out of an angel? You try to brush those first thoughts away and focus on the important one, the murder one. So you ask another question, something along the lines of -what the fuck? That’s when you notice that Dean is staring at you, his look unreadable, but you have an idea, because you feel it too. That unsolicited magnetism. You tear your eyes away from him and take a giant bite of sandwich, trying to divert your attention from the feeling. Luckily Sam helps by trying to empathize. "It's a lot to swallow, I know."
"Heh. That's what she said." Dean cracks up at his own joke, hiding his gorgeous grin behind his sandwich as he chuckles through another bite of chicken. Sam gives him the bitch face again and sighs, resigned to having to claim Dean as a brother. You know the situation is serious but you can't help but chuckle lightly, although you try to stifle it for Sam's sake. Your eyes lock with Dean's for a moment and he gives you a wink and half a grin, his mouth still full of food. Holy shit that was hot! Suddenly you are blushing like an adolescent school girl! Your eyes dip down to the table, your body on fire with pent up desire, and then you look to Sam, hoping he will save you from this situation. He does. He clears his throat, you note he does that a lot, and continues.
"Pretty much anything you can think of that goes bump in the night is real, and Dean and I, we're... we're Hunters. We track these things down and we... um, take care of it. Witches, ghosts, demons, all of ‘em. This place,” he gestures around generally, “is kind of our base. It’s warded against most every monster we know of which is why we brought you here. We needed to keep you safe." Your eyes grow wide at that little speech. You look from one to the other and it's like you are seeing them again for the first time. These two men, these brothers, go around killing monsters and you bet dollars to donuts that they keep it pretty damn secret. This means they trust you enough to tell you, which is nice, but it also means that you did indeed stumble into some deep shit. Deep shit where monsters are real, the boogey man isn’t just a made up thing and demons and angels are legit shit. You can’t help but believe them. Sam’s sincerity and Dean’s nonchalant honesty builds a solid case that if nothing else it’s very real for them. But it’s real for you too. You did see a man turn to ashes in front of your own two eyes. You are speechless, covering for it by taking another bite of sandwich and hoping they don't notice your manic chewing.
The boys have finished their food and Sam stands, puts his hand on your shoulder, and squeezes gently. You stop chewing, your eyes growing even wider, if that’s even possible. Mixed in with all the other crap your brain is trying to process, that freaky attraction comes roaring back. It feels like your blood has ignited, spreading a warm arousing feeling through your entire body, all emanating from where his hand touches you. His voice starts out normal and reassuring "Look. We are going to leave you alone for a bit." His voice suddenly lowers and he leans in. It's unnecessary but you don't mind. It feels good as he draws closer and then Sam purrs, "Do you remember where your room is? Head out this door, turn right, left, and then right and you will find it." He pauses, his face pulled into almost a strain, like he is wrestling against a current that is pulling on him. He seems to realize what he just did and is trying to level out his voice "Get some rest and take some time to process. We can talk about this later." Then you feel him pull away. Not just his hand leaving your body, but like a fish pulling hard on a line, you feel him fight whatever it is that is drawing you together. It's etched all over his face. He feels it too; exactly what you are feeling. Before either of you do something stupid, Dean swoops in, oblivious to either of your struggles. After tossing the plates in the sink, he grabs Sam as he passes by, hauling him out the door and flashing you a quick smile before rounding the corner with his now confused brother. You are alone and you are ok with that because you have so many thoughts to think.
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You finish lunch, put your plate in the sink and find your way back to your room where you ponder, a lot. You leave the door open, alleviating the cramped feeling and trying to stave off the prison vibe. You sprawl across the tidy bed and stare at the unfriendly ceiling. You hash out whether or not to believe these two men and finally conclude that yes, yes you can trust them. As batshit crazy as it all seems, they are telling the truth. Two crazy brothers who kill monsters and no one even knows about it. Then your mind starts to wander and you begin to focus on them individually. Sam. He has the quiet gentleness of a predatory cat. It’s like he walks around with his claws carefully tucked behind padded paws, but when necessary you just know he is capable of great violence. You aren’t sure how you know; perhaps it’s his eyes. They seem so much older than the rest of him, like he has lived more lives than just this one. Beneath all of that is something deeper though; he truly is a gentle giant. He doesn’t like conflict and you feel that if given a chance he would walk stoically into the sunset and disappear into a quiet slice of normal. You find yourself feeling sad for him, which also makes you curious as to how you can discern all of that from just having lunch with him. Mmm lunch. Man, it was delicious. Dean really can cook. Hmm Dean. Now there is an enigma. He should be easy to figure out. At first glance he is rough and angry, straightforward, takes what he wants when he wants it, is great with the ladies, and loves the distractions of life like alcohol and good entertainment. But there is something buried inside him. All of those things truly are his core personality but something deep within him is broken, you can feel it. Again with the eyes. His eyes are haunted. He hides it well behind anger, boredom, or that sexy smile, but it’s there. A shadow of pain, regret, and terror tucked away deep where most will never see it. Yet you saw it. Why is that? You aren’t oblivious to people but you don’t normally peg them so hard and precise after such a short time. It strikes you as very strange.
You are pulled from your thoughts by a knock on the door. Dean is leaning against the frame with a smirk on his face and a bag in his hand, your bag. You sit up as he pushes off the wall and saunters into the room. "Hope I'm not interrupting, you seem kinda unhappy." He plops the bag on the bed behind you and sits down right next to you. His proximity is electrifying and you wonder if he feels it too. Dean stares at the floor with his elbows resting on his legs, hands clasped between them as his knee resides a millimeter from yours. All he does is stare for a time, the moment heavy with silence and you have no idea why but you want to hug him; you don’t though, you wait. Then he speaks to the floor, not meeting your gaze. "We've given that speech so many times and every time I watch as eyes are opened to the horrors out there. I wish we didn't have to tell you, tell you that monsters are real, but honestly we don't know what kind of danger you are in." He pauses. "Your cell phone is in there", gesturing blindly at your bag. "I charged it for you. Make sure you call whoever and let them know, you know, that you're ok."
Holy shit! With all the crazy, you’ve completely forgotten about the outside world. Yeah, calling people is now very high on your priority list but you can’t fully panic because you are currently fighting the urge to touch Dean. The longer he sits there, the stronger the urge gets. He looks up at you and continues, locking his eyes with yours to drive home his point. "Make up whatever you need to but don't tell them where you are or what happened. Trust me when I say it's safer that way. Ignorance is bliss." He looks away, dragging his hand over his face as he sighs, concern playing across his features and then he asks, "You ok?" and your eyes meet again. God! It slams into you like a truck, that crazy attraction. You mumble a half-hearted affirmation, or you think you do. You aren't sure because reality is dissolving and you are getting lost in those emerald orbs staring back at you. Then it happens. Dean's face is up against yours before you can blink, so fast you couldn't have reacted if you wanted to. His lips press warm against yours. It feels so right, so perfect. Like two magnets snapping together, finally where they have always wanted to be. Dean's hand snakes up into your hair and pulls you in deep as he tilts his head and presses in harder. Your lips part as he persistently pries them open. You don’t even pretend to resist; it feels too glorious. His tongue slides between your lips and you melt into him, your mouth now his to explore. Your hands come to life and one runs up his leg, then they are both on his sides, then wrapped around him, pulling him into you. You quiver with the feel of his warmth against you. It's transcendent. You've never experienced a kiss like this one and your brain doesn't have the power to wonder if you ever will again. Forever you are both consumed; lost in the feel of each other, the sensuality making you feel whole, yet making you crave so much more. Then just as quickly it ends.
Dean's cell phone rings and it shatters the moment, bringing you both crashing back hard into reality. You pull away, putting your fingers to your lips, eyes wide in surprise. "Son of a bitch," Dean growls as he digs out his cell and checks the screen. He looks at you as it rings in his hand "I. Um. Sorry. I gotta take this." A string of emotions play across his face all at once as you remain there staring at him, eyes wide, motionless as a statue. He breaks eye contact and launches himself to a standing position in frustration. It continues to ring almost to the point of voice mail. "Damn it" Dean looks at you one more time and his eyes linger, a note of regret. Then he heads for the door hitting the talk button as he walks. "This better be real fucking important" his voice angry gravel into the receiver. "Yeah well, the world doesn't revolve around you, ever think of that? Yeah I'm listenin..." His voice fades out of range, as you remain frozen in place. What. The. Hell. Was that!? You flop back on the bed, aware enough not to land on your bag, and you close your eyes. You can still taste him. Hell, you can still smell him on your skin. Forest? Wood? Nature? You can't place it but it is wild and heady mixed with beer and a hint of bacon still lingering from cooking lunch. Your brain is whirring, your body still buzzing. That was the best fucking kiss of your life! You lay there for a very long time thinking, reveling, lost, and eventually you drift off, exhausted after the adrenaline has drained away, your brain needing a break from complete sensory overload.
<<< >>>
You have no idea how long you nap and it doesn’t really matter. You roll out of bed and walk around for a minute to stir your blood and shake off the cobwebs of sleep. After peeking into the hallway for no reason in particular you head back to the bed, grab your bag, and start rifling through your stuff. Everything is there but you somehow knew they wouldn’t have taken anything anyways; they just aren’t like that. After inventory is complete you snatch your cell phone from the bed and start the arduous process of checking messages and notifications. You are smart enough to sit and think up a plausible story before making the calls and texts that need to be made but it still takes a while before you finally unceremoniously drop your cell on the bed and heave a huge sigh. Well that’s done. Now what? You decide to play a game or two on your phone for a bit, hoping that Dean will come back to finish what he started or that Sam will come keep you company. Neither shows and you get bored after a while so you decide to take matters into your own hands and explore. You want to find the shower room by yourself. You mostly remember how to get there and even though it’s a bit of a maze you find it without too much trouble. The place is empty and all of the stuff is still strewn across the bench where you left it; everything except your dirty clothes. Your brain goes pervy for a minute, wondering which brother took them and why, but then you shrug it off and you convince yourself that it’s no big deal that your clothes are missing. You scoop up all the stuff you want to take back to the little hole in the wall bathroom inside your room and you wander back the way you came, this time finding your way easily. You take your time arranging all the stuff you brought back, not because you are meticulous, only because you aren’t sure what to do otherwise. You put your cell phone on the table by the bed, your bag on the chair nearby, and set your new toothbrush in the new little plastic cup on the sink next to the new tube of toothpaste. Well that was boring, so you decide to explore again. They didn’t say you couldn’t and you aren’t a prisoner, or at least not in the normal sense. You are pretty sure they don’t want you to leave until they give you the ok but that doesn’t mean you have to be stuck in this room the whole time.
Finding the galley sounds like a good idea so you head that direction, remembering easily, mainly because Sam’s sultry voice gave you directions and you can’t help but replay them in your mind. It’s kinda weird and wrong that both of these guys are so hot for you. That thought isn’t a self-esteem thing; it’s just because of how hard all three of you seem to want it. You remember Dean’s kiss and blush at the thought. That memory will eventually fade to a nice sepia colored snippet over time but you will never forget how right and how powerful it was. You revel in that for a moment, closing your eyes as you walk down the long straight hallway. It should have been a safe thing to do since it was a straight line but you weren’t expecting Sam to come rolling out of the galley. Your bodies collide, a mash of face to chest, limbs flailing awkwardly to catch yourself and each other.
“Woah. Woah. Sorry. Aw man, I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” Both of Sam’s hands are on your shoulders as he looks down at you with concern. All thoughts of Dean scatter with the collision and are now replaced with Sam touching you. Your brain is struggling to catch up so all you can do is just shake your head no, too stunned to wonder what kind of stupid look is on your face. Sam sighs in relief but you watch him tense as he pulls his hands away and steps back. He is such a gentleman, is the only coherent thought at the moment. He runs his hand through his hair, nervously you think, “I. Uh. I was just coming to get you. I’ve started working on dinner and I thought maybe you could use some company. I sure could. I was going to see if you wanted to hang out in here with me.” He thumbs in the direction of the galley doorway. With a broad smile you tell him that sounds good to you. “Great. Uh. Then… after you.” He does this cute spastic hint of a bow. You swear that he’s all nerves around you, and somehow you know that it’s not exactly normal for him. You smile to yourself, reveling in that thought as you move into the room and occupy the exact spot you did at lunch. It faces the prep area and stove.
Sam strolls past you and heads for the fridge. “Water?” When you agree he tosses it to you and cracks one open for himself. The room smells like rice and fresh cut vegetables. Turns out he is fixing a Chinese style steak stir-fry with rice on the side. You offer to help but he insists that your company is all he requires. You take no offense, men get a little controlling over certain things sometimes, and you don’t mind at all because it’s nice to watch him work. He is oddly domestic as he putters around. You ask where Dean is. “Oh. He had to go out and take care of something. I would love to say he is working on a lead with your case but something else came up. He should be back tomorrow sometime.” For a moment you are disappointed that Dean is gone but it’s quickly washed away when you go back to watching Sam. You assume the “something else” involves some other kind of monster so you strike up a conversation by asking about the elephant in the room. You ask about monsters. You aren’t sure if he will talk about it, but he just looks at you and says, “Whattya want to know?” Which one to ask first, you have a thousand questions, but you pick one at random and ask. He answers it with no hesitation and without reservation. It’s fascinating to hear him talk. You ask question after question. He tells you story after story; so many monsters, so much that you never thought possible is being revealed to you by this tall beautiful creature sharing the same room. The conversation lasts long after dinner is complete. Dean isn’t the only one who can cook. Sam has equal skill because dinner was delicious. You help him wash the dishes and put things away, at least he allowed you to help with that so you didn’t feel useless, and he gives you the slightly longer tour of the place.
The tour ends abruptly when he shows you a posh little study stuffed with books and cozy furniture. You stretch out on the settee and he folds himself into a cushioned high-back chair. It’s so comfortable in here and you settle in and continue chatting. The subject matter eventually moves away from the dark and scary and into a bit more normal things. You find it very easy to talk to each other and before you know it it’s late into the night. Not that you can tell because there are no windows in this whole damn place, but the grandfather clock in the room has been maintained and the hands say almost midnight. You both kind of lose the ability to keep up conversation until it’s eventually just comfortable silence. That’s when you declare that you’ve had one hell of a day and should get some sleep. “Yeah, I think that’s putting it mildly.” He smiles at you as he stands and stretches, his long arms tightening up over his head. His shirt goes up with his arms and you catch a glimpse of well-toned abs. That pull never has gone away, the entire evening it has been an undertone. Like a low hum in the background, tormenting you. Watching his body tense and stretch cranks the low hum up to a dull roar. He is so fucking beautiful. He even stretches like a cat. You wonder what it would feel like for him to purr in your ear while he explored you with those padded paws of his. He breaks his stretch with a gentle grunt and you break your stare at the same time wondering if he caught you admiring him. Sam strides over and offers you a hand. You don’t need it and he knows it, he is just being a gentleman, again. You like that about him. You take his hand and stand up. The proximity and his touch are severe; your body hums and the pull towards him becomes stronger. It’s like he is the center of the earth, a gravity well, pulling you in and it’s so hard to fight against. He smiles and looks at you; there is a glint of… something in his eyes. Desire? “I’ll walk you to your room. Wouldn’t want you to wander around lost all night long.” You don’t argue and you follow him out the door. It’s a silent trip, not uncomfortable, just quiet. You are grateful because all of your concentration is going into controlling yourself and you wonder if he is doing the same thing.
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There you are, finally at the door to your little room and you don’t want him to leave. You just stand there in the doorway facing him, staring at his feet. You suddenly realize he is barefoot. Why didn’t you notice that before and why is it so incredibly hot to think that he has been padding around comfortably barefoot in this archaic place. Your body is vibrating as you try and control your emotions but that one little distraction left you vulnerable. You find yourself saying something about enjoying the ‘kinda’ date and that it was nice. The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them and you blush and stare harder at his feet. You notice his body tense at the sound of your voice and you can feel his eyes boring into the top of your head. When he speaks it starts out strained “Ha. If you want to call hanging out here hiding from monsters a date…” his voice changes at the word date, it softens, “then you’re welcome.” There is a pause and then he purrs, right in your ear. “You have definitely made this evening a pleasure.” That last word brushes air against your cheek and you realize that he has stepped closer and his face is right next to yours. When did that happen? Sam’s hand comes up and he cups your chin with his fingers, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Holy shit, you are on fire! You can barely focus on his eyes, he is so close, and it doesn’t matter because you snap. You can’t take it anymore and you know the only reason he hasn’t done anything is because he is trying so hard to be a gentleman. You lean forward and press your lips against his, your eyes close, and a moan sounds softly in your throat. It’s just like with Dean, yet so very different. There is that same feeling of a connection complete, like two magnets finally snapping together just like with Dean but Sam has a different tone. Dean dove in with both feet, but Sam, Sam seems shy. So you take a page from the Dean playbook and you slide your hand up Sam’s neck and thread your fingers into his hair. You pull him into you as you gently pry his mouth open. Your tongue slides between his lips you feel him melt, just like you did with Dean. Then you stop thinking of Dean because Sam comes alive.
His apprehension melts away and he curls around you, wrapping you up in his arms and kissing you back, deep and passionate. He steps you into the room, his mouth never leaving yours as he turns and sits on the bed, pulling you in tight between his legs. How considerate of him to try and correct the height difference, always the gentleman, you note to yourself. You like this new position, it gives you more control and you press in hard and wanting, your tongue continually tangling with his. His hands slide up your back where they curl around your shoulders and then they slide down till they firmly grip your ass. Your own hands aren’t roaming; they are too busy digging into his scalp, pulling him into your mouth with unmatched fervor. Sam’s hands slide from your ass, up your sides, and then he has one breast in each hand, gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing. You tip your head back and moan at the pleasure his hands are causing. He takes the opening to slide your shirt up and you feel like you are losing control of your body, like it has a mind of its own and you are just sitting back and enjoying the ride. Your arms go over your head, shirt following right after and then he is kissing the valley between your breasts as your fingers work to unfasten the bra that is in his way. Sam leans back and strips his own shirt up and off as you rid yourself of the bra. It feels so empty without him touching you. With matching passion you press together again, his tongue claiming your mouth as bare skin presses, breasts to chest. In a fluid motion Sam comes off the bed, twists you both, and sets you down in his place. His mouth slides to your cheek and then down to your neck as he slowly lays you back on the bed. His lips are like feathers across your skin and you feel his hands working on the button to your cargo pants. Somewhere a little piece of you is going ‘woah girl, slow the roll’ but it’s so weak and remote that it’s barely noticeable. The rest of you is screaming ‘YES’ on the inside. Everything about this feels so right, so necessary. You don’t have an ounce of shame in you right now. You don’t even feel self conscious as his kisses move down with the pull of your cargo pants. As he pulls down, you move up so that all of you is now resting on the bed. His lips leave your body long enough to rid you of all remaining clothing and he works with swift precision, maximizing every movement so that he is back on you in no time. He still has his jeans on but you are sure he feels the same emptiness when you are apart and that he needed to be back on you NOW.
The planes of Sam’s chest slide up your body as he kisses his way back up to where you are moaning softly. Hovering over you, his hair falling in curtains around his chiseled features, he looks into your eyes as he brushes his fingers along your hairline. “You are so beautiful” His words set every nerve alight as he leans down, pressing his lips against yours again and curling his fingers up into your hair. He licks his way into your mouth and claims a deep moan from you as he presses his crotch against yours. It’s such a tease because his jeans are coarse and unfriendly, but you can feel the firm bulge being constrained beneath the fabric. You slide your hands down and he lifts so that you can unfasten the fly. You hook your thumbs at his hips and pull them down, boxers and all. With just a little awkward wiggling he gets his jeans off and kicks them onto the floor. He presses his entire naked body down on you and it’s a whole other feeling. It’s exquisite and his flesh feels like warm silk against yours. Sam releases your lips so he can slide down and mouth at your breasts. His breath is hot against your skin and he moans as he plays, licks, and nibbles. You moan too, your fingers tucked in his hair, your head tipped back. Then he is back inside your mouth, fervent as one hand slides down your side, hip, leg, and then up again until his fingers brush against your sex.
Your breath catches and your eyes fly open. You see him watching you, eyes lidded, as he slowly slides a finger up inside. You quiver and your hands grip his back, nails pressing lightly into his skin. Sam gives you a wickedly crooked smile as he pulls out and then slides two fingers deep inside of you. He watches as you react to the stimulus. Watching this man watching you is so surreal and delicious and it is all bringing you close to a climax. He continues to slide two fingers into your slick hole as he pulls another long kiss from you. You are gasping when Sam pulls his lips away, your body shuddering with pleasure as you tumble over the edge, your orgasm overwhelming you. You ride his fingers as his powerful hand slides them in and out in a hard rhythm and you see him smiling and biting his lip when your eyes aren’t rolled back in reverie. For a long moment you are suspended in a cloud of pure bliss and then you start to come back down from the high, but your body is still buzzing, craving more and that is what you tell him; you tell him you want more. You want all of him.
Your words have a definite effect on Sam because he thrusts his tongue between your lips and slides his fingers out so he can press all of his weight down on you. His body envelops yours and his cock grinds against your clit as he ravages your mouth. Its like Sam can’t get close enough to you and you can’t get enough of him. His breath ghosts against your skin as he rests his head on the bed, his lips brushing your ear as he concentrates on lining up. You feel the tip of Sam’s cock, and then you feel all of it, every hot inch as it glides inside. Your back arches up into him and your nails big into his well-toned back. “Oh fuck” Sam whispers into your neck as his body goes rigid. The connection is monumental and you both lay still, gripping each other tight, unmoving for a time. Then he starts to move, slowly. Out and then in, out and in, out, in, out, in. Every inward slide is resplendent. With each muted grunt from Sam, every fiber of your being erupts with bliss. His body coils and then straightens with each drive and you lose yourself in the sensations of him inside and against you. Sam begins to pick up speed and your fingers glide along the muscles in his arms and down his back, reveling in the firm lines of his form as the pleasure increases. He moans your name into your neck and then dips his tongue between your lips once again while continuing his unrelenting pace. Heat is pooling deep within you, you feel it intensifying with each thrust of his hips. Sam feels so pure and perfect inside you, unequaled. You feel his desire building as his body contracts into straining muscles and he moans between your lips.
In a burst of intensity Sam propels himself into a frenzy of hard, deep thrusts. Your climax hits with blinding ferocity as he is slamming into you, uncontrolled lust taking over as he reaches the pinnacle. You ride it with cries of extreme pleasure as Sam growls out hot breathy pants; then he shoves in one last time and stays there, gripping the bed where he is holding himself up and he moans your name, long and strained. Then he gently collapses down on top of you and kisses you deeply, your breath coming in shallow gasps between each kiss. Finally the kisses fade and Sam slides off, lies on his back and sucks in a deep breath, still working on steadying his own breathing. You curl up beside him, content and completely spent. Sam wraps an arm around you, kisses the top of your head and then settles in. That’s how you both fall asleep.