There's nothing like a little brotherly love in the form of playful ribbing. When Dean challenges him to get lucky, will Sam kiss and tell? Sam/OC One-Shot
Sam watches with a frown as his brother drains his beer bottle, signals the waitress with a brief smile and points asking for another. His eyes narrow in concern, but he says nothing. It's been this way the closer he gets to Hell - less conversation and more booze.
"What?" Dean barks.
"Dude, don't you think you've had enough?" he asks, keeping his voice level. His puppyish expression is one of concern. One that normally makes Dean melt.
But not tonight.
"Son of a bitch," Dean groans. "Jesus, Sam. This again? You know what's wrong with you?" He leans back, his hands resting on the table as his mouth draws into a tight line.
Sam shakes his head sadly and exhales loudly. Not plastered, but definitely drunk. "No. But I suppose you're gonna tell me."
"You're too tense," he answers, his eyes dropping to the curve of the waitress's ass before popping back up. "You need to get laid."
"You're such a jerk," Sam answers, rolling his eyes.
"I'm serious," Dean replies. He takes a swallow of beer, a smirk tilting the corner of his mouth up. "Bitch."
They grow silent, Sam's own drink abandoned and soaking the cocktail napkin beneath it. He looks at his hands. Feels his knees bounce beneath the table. He only stills when Dean catches him fidgeting.
"What about that one?" Dean asks, gesturing to a blonde on the dance floor. She's grooving all by herself, her limbs betraying the amount she's had to drink.
"What about her?" Sam asks.
Dean's eyebrows lift and he leans on the table. "Do I need to draw you a picture?" he ribs. "I promise, it's just like riding a bike, Sammy. You go over there. Dance with her. Offer to take her home and..."
"She's totally wasted!"
"Which makes her an easy mark," Dean nods.
"We're not hustling her, Dean," he answers. "I'm not taking a drunk girl to bed just because you think I'm uptight."
Frowning, Dean takes another look around. Blondes, brunettes, redheads. Short ones, tall ones. Girls of all sizes and shapes. Must be ladies night. "There's plenty of options, Sam. All you gotta do is pick one and work the eyes. I'm tired of lookin' at you." The cocky grin and swagger come back. "Besides. I'll feel better if I know you aren't sleeping in the car when I get lucky with Chrissy."
"The waitress's name is Missy," Sam corrects.
"Dude, whatever," he answers with a wave of his hand. "She's totally into me."
Sam's eyes are wide and he sighs. "Sure she is, Dean."
"Come on, Sam," he prods. "Live a little. Do it for me, huh? Don't let me die thinkin' you're some born again virgin."
Sam looks around half-heartedly. "If I do this, will you promise to shut the hell up?"
Dean's eyes dance and he takes another pull from the neck of his bottle. "Absolutely," he answers with a shrug. "As soon as you spill your guts."
Sam's eyes light on a woman sitting alone at the bar. She looks a little sad. Like she feels as lonely immersed in a sea of people as he does. "What about her?" he says, making sure Dean's eyes follow his own. "Good enough for you?"
The older brother snorts. "You don't stand a chance with that one."
"What makes you say that?" he asks, his eyes trailing up her legs to the hem of her dress.
"Are you kidding?" Dean answers. "Look at her. She's every bit as uptight as you are!"
The comment makes up his mind for him. Clamping his brother on the shoulder, he offers a smile. "Don't wait up."
It only takes a few strides of his long legs to get to her. But he's too late. Another man has approached her. He flinches, cursing under his breath and rolling up his shirt sleeves. He almost walks away until he catches a pleading look in her eyes.
Walking around the back of her stool, Sam rests his hand on her shoulder and leans down to brush his lips against her cheek. "Hey, sweetheart," he says softly. "Sorry I'm late."
The silken curls of her hair flirt with his wrist as she turns to look up at him. Offering a gentle smile of thanks, she leans against his chest. As though it's the most natural thing in the world, she threads her fingers with his.
"Is this the guy from your office?" he asks. Putting his free arm around her and outstretching his hand, he adds, "Hi, I'm Sam."
Sketchy guy is uncomfortable now. He shifts from one foot to the other, his face falling as he awkwardly shakes Sam's hand. "I swear, man, I thought she was alone. Just offering to keep her company."
She sighs in relief when her undesirable suitor turns tail and scurries away. Turning and really looking fully at Sam, her breath catches audibly. "Well hello, Sam," she says, a blush staining her cheeks as she gives him a once over. After straightening the skirt of her dress nervously, she holds out her hand. "I'm Megan. Thanks for the rescue."
He smiles as he takes her hand. It's delicate and cool to the touch. "I promise I'm not a stalker," he tells her, taking the seat next to hers. "You just look the way I feel."
Laughing, her eyes crinkling at the corners, she tucks her hair behind her ear. "It shows, huh?" she asks, her eyes dropping to the counter where she picks at the edge of the napkin beneath her glass. "That this really isn't my scene?"
"Mine either," he confesses. "My brother and I are here on business. He says I don't get out enough."
Megan sips her wine. "I had a rough day at work. Thought I'd have a drink before heading home," she says, her head tilting slightly. "This just reminded me why I don't go out."
Flagging the bartender down, he orders another glass of wine for her and a beer for himself. "Maybe we can help each other," he tells her. "I'll keep the wolves at bay, you let me walk out with you when you're ready to leave. That way, you can enjoy your drink and I can get Dean out of my hair."
She shrugs, clinking her glass against his bottle. "I'm good with that."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They talk about everything and nothing, falling into an easy camaraderie. Leaning close and occasionally touching are practically second nature. It's not weird at all, a fact that surprises them both.
Sam feels Dean's eyes on him and rubs the bridge of his nose when his big brother gives him the thumbs up from the booth. A contemporary ballad seeps from the jukebox in the corner and he watches Dean's expression turn sour as he's forced to listen to something other than classic rock. The change is almost comic.
A small hand slipping into his draws him back to the pretty brunette at his side. "I love this song," she says with smile that glitters in her deep, green eyes. "Dance with me?"
He allows himself to be pulled onto the floor, his hands resting on her waist as her arms slip around his neck. She's shorter than he'd thought - probably a full foot shorter than he is even with her heels - but there's something about the way she fits snugly against his chest. The feel of having her in his arms.
His hands drift over the downy cashmere of her sweater covered back. They don't force her closer, though she presses against him as though drawn by the force of an invisible magnet. They sway, barely moving as they mostly just hold each other.
He takes a deep breath, inhaling her sweetness. She smells like honey and vanilla. It's nice. Her scent, her fingers in his hair, the weight of her head against his chest - all of it. Though slightly reluctant to dance in the first place, Sam finds himself disappointed the song is nearly over.
Megan's tongue darts out to moisten her lips and he watches the flick of the pink muscle. Tugging lightly at his neck, she pulls his mouth down to hers.
The kiss is tentative at first. Slow and innocent, their mouths fuse together. Sam's unable to resist tasting her and the plump, full petals of her lips part under the pressure of his tongue.
As the song ends, a whimper escapes Megan's throat. His fingers gliding into her hair, he doesn't let her go just yet. Instead, he anchors her and digs in. His tongue laps slowly against hers, drawing circles around the tip.
Pulling back, she stares up at him, swallowing the lump in her throat at what she's about to ask. "Walk me home?"
Sam nods. "I'd like that..."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It had been an unseasonably warm day, the first hints of spring are in the air. The temperature now dipped low and, feeling her shiver beside him, Sam slips his coat off and wraps it around Megan's shoulders on the street corner.
It's almost normal. Almost like a real date. He's so caught up in his own thoughts, he barely feels the tug on his hand signaling she's stopped. Tilting her head at the little house with the white, picket fence, she says, "This is me..."
Standing on her front porch makes him feel like a teenager. He crams his hands in his pockets. Chuckling, he says, "I guess this is good night."
Megan smiles at him, her fingers trailing down the buttons on his shirt. "Thanks for rescuing me," she tells him. Stepping into him, she presses a kiss to his cheek. "I..."
Taking a risk, Sam cups her face in his palm and dusts his lips over hers. "I'm the one who should thank you." Sighing and giving her a boyish grin, he adds, "I haven't had this much fun in a while."
Nibbling her lower lip as she puts her key in the lock, she answers, "Me neither." The question rushes past her lips before she can stop to question herself. "Does it have to be over? I mean, I wouldn't want your brother to... That is..."
He smiles at her. Grins at the way she rambles on. "Are you inviting me in?"
"Well, not for..." she scratches her forehead, wishing she was better at this. Better at talking to men. "Not that you aren't..." Her eyes slam shut and she blushes furiously. Trying again, she offers a smile. "Coffee?"
"Coffee would be great," he replies, dimples scoring his cheeks deeply.
He follows her inside the small home and she leads him into the kitchen. Leaving her purse on the table, she slips out of her heels and drapes her sweater over the back of a chair.
Sam watches as she shuffles to the coffee pot. His gaze sweeps over the faux wrap style of her dress, flowing upward to the oval pendant resting just above her cleavage. Toned arms peek from beneath cap sleeves and the overhead lights bring out golden and ginger highlights in her dark locks.
"I don't really do this," she says with a flourish. "Bring strange men home and..."
"I don't either," he comforts. It's a half truth. He has been the strange man invited into a woman's home before, though not with the same frequency as Dean. He slips his hands into his pockets, his shoulders sliding up non-threateningly. "I could go if you'd be more comfortable."
Megan takes a step closer, a hand trailing down the buttons on Sam's shirt. Swallowing, she looks up at him with confusion etched into her features. "That's just it. I'm not uncomfortable."
Sam's hands rub lightly over her upper arms as he draws her close. Their lips meet again. It starts as a languid tangle of lips and tongues. Slow, sensual even. Then she launches herself up on her toes and his hands move to her hips to support her.
He groans when she wiggles closer, her hands playing with the top few buttons on his shirt. Palms clamping in the stretchy, silk fabric of her dress, he inches it upward. Devouring the moan that escapes her mouth as the material whispers over her skin, he shifts her leg around his waist to lift her onto the counter.
Megan's hands thread into Sam's hair, her breath catching at the sensation of denim rasping against the bare, sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. Doing this with the lights on - in her kitchen no less - is sinful and naughty. Before it's always been in the bedroom with little more than candlelight if not complete darkness. His mouth moving over her throat, she whimpers, "Sam..."
The tonality of the way she says his name threatens to snap his control. Gently tugging her hair and forcing her gaze to meet his, he's startled by the lust blazing in her eyes. Maybe Dean's right, he thinks to himself. Maybe I am too tense.
"Megan," he chokes out, his hand clutching her thigh roughly. "Baby, you need to tell me to stop..."
He watches the wheels in her head turn, feels her eyes on his mouth before her thumb trails innocently over his lower lip. "What if I don't want you to?"
Oh, God. This is actually happening. His body pleads for the green light even as he forces himself to go slow. Maybe he is tense. Maybe he does need the kind of release a man can only find in the comfort of a woman's body...but he sure as hell isn't going to take advantage.
The callouses on his hands aren't from working on cars or manual labor. They're from handling weapons and hours spent typing or writing notes longhand. They make even the most tender touch heady and demanding, scraping against her smooth skin.
His thumbs force her creamy thighs further apart as they skim toward her center. He pulls her to the edge of the counter, their bodies rubbing together as his hips surge toward her of their own accord. It's his turn to gasp when Megan's hands find his belt buckle and the fastenings of his jeans and he responds the move, curling his fingers into the satin of her panties.
A battle for control rages between them. Megan, eager to free Sam from the confines of his jeans and briefs, pushes the fabric off his hips with her toes. Sam, desperate for the haven Megan offers, yanking her underwear down the moment she pushes up, allowing him to do so.
Lips crash together in a frenzied kiss. Hands greedily touch exposed skin and seek to uncover more. It's hot, wet. Gone is the slow burn of their first kiss, replaced by a desperately roaring bonfire.
Sam's fingers sink into her soaked heat and he moans into her mouth as his arousal twitches. His teeth pull at her lip as his thumb flicks over the hard button of her clit. He's drowning in her, unable to think or breathe anything but the woman in front of him.
Throbbing with need, he growls, "Condom?"
Gasping, she leans back, her sweaty palms slipping over the stone surface beneath her. "Pill..."
It shouldn't be enough but, in the heat of the moment, it is. The keening cry she makes as he enters her is lyrical. It urges him forward, making him join in her song as his knees wobble. She pulses around him and he doesn't hold back the bold motion of his hips.
They don't pretend he'll be there tomorrow or that they have a future. Words of love aren't necessary. He may not love her traditionally, but he will love and worship her body tonight.
Grabbing his shirt, Megan pulls Sam in for another kiss. It's hard and bruising. Wild and untamed. Not at all what he expected of the sweet legal secretary from the first meeting.
And like pouring kerosene on open flame. What little he's been holding back is now hers. He gives it freely. Willingly. Wantonly. He's hungry for all the noises she's making. Frantic to break her and feel her shatter in his arms. Needy for her pleasure and the delightful way he's sure her orgasm will wash over her face.
Megan's mouth forms a little "O" of surprise when his fingers curl around her hip, his thumb stretching between them to stroke over the sensitive bundle of nerves where they're joined. Sam feels her spasm around him as he touches her, kissing her neck as he makes his way up to her ear. She's close, so close he can feel it.
She shudders. Her head falls back and a wave of pure bliss takes hold of her features. "Yes... Oh, God, yes..."
Sam folds like a house of cards, her body milking his orgasm from him. His jaw clenches and he grips her hips, stilling them both. Breathing erratically, he nips at her shoulder before pushing a stray curl behind her ear. His lips twitch.
Megan smiles, a blush coloring her cheeks as her hand brushes her temple. "That was..."
He toys with the hem of her dress, shifting it to give her some shred of modesty as they come apart. Redressing himself, his eyes stay fixed on hers. He's not ashamed of what happened. Isn't running away from her. Covering them up just seems...right.
"Wow," he murmurs, massaging her thighs and leaning in to kiss her softly. He frames her face with his hands, thumbs tracing her jawline. It's reverent and lazy. Slow and soft, drugging. "You're amazing."
"Mmm," she hums, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "Takes two to tango, Sam." Unable to get enough of his mouth, wanting to memorize its texture and flavor, she kisses him again. "I think you're an amazing partner."
Lifting her down from the counter, he wraps his arms around her when her knees go weak. They laugh. "See?" she asks him. "Proof that you're a talented lover."
His dimples dig into his cheeks, punctuating the shy smile he offers as he brushes a shaggy lock of hair from his forehead. "Does that mean I'm still invited for coffee?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Supernatural ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It's a quarter to three when Sam leaves Megan's bed. He dresses quickly in the darkness, tucking the sheet around her naked body. A grin tugs at his mouth when he sees how peaceful she looks laying in the glow of the streetlamp outside her window and he leans close to brush his lips tenderly over her forehead.
Yeah. This was what I needed. She was what I needed.
The walk back to the motel is brisk. It makes him feel alive and, at least for a few more moments, it makes him forget all the ugly shit he has to deal with. He opens the door carefully, unsure of whether Dean is there and asleep.
The bedside lamp flicks on and his brother gives him a cheesy grin. "Hello, Sasquatch."
Sam rolls his eyes as he sheds his coat and heads toward his duffle to grab his toothbrush. Stripping off his shirt and snatching up clean clothes, he gestures to Dean's face. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Apparently Missy had a boyfriend and..."
Sam chuckles, his dimples digging canyons into his cheeks as he shakes his head. "You're unbelievable..."
"What about you?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Was she good? You get her to cut loose?"
The younger man just smirks and shrugs his shoulders as he flips on the bathroom light. "She was nice," he answers. "We had coffee."
"That's it?" Dean whines. "Come on! Gimme the details. After the night I had, I deserve to live vicariously..."
"Hey, Dean?" he says playfully, his eyes twinkling and his smile unfading.
Dean leans forward from his position against the headboard. His eyes are wild and childlike as he prepares to listen to the tale of his baby brother's conquest. "Yeah, Sammy?"
Pulling the toothbrush out of his mouth for a moment, he says, "Shut up."
Dean scowls and reaches over the side of his mattress for a discarded boot. Chucking it toward the open door, he yells, "Bitch!"
Sam only laughs, his reflexes much quicker than Deans, he kicks the door closed just as the shoe hits with a resounding thud on the other side. Peeking out for a moment he grins boyishly, giving Dean a look the older man will cherish. One he hadn't seen for quite some time. One that, truthfully, gives Dean all the answer he really needs. An answer that's followed by a favored retort.