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hold-him-down · 2 months

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Belleview Chapter Two (Part D): Day One

Notes: This is the final part of chapter 2. Now, pretend all 4 of those parts were posted in one thing because that is really how it was meant to be but things got away from me :)

Belleview: Chapter 1, Chapter 2 (Part A), Chapter 2 (Part B), Chapter 2 (Part C)

TW: Institutionalized slavery, Med Whump, Dubcon Medical Care, References to Human Experimentation

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Day one, Lincoln thinks, goes by in a sort of semi-organized frenzy that makes up for a lack of rhythm with the undiluted tenacity of every person who has been assigned to this site. It is a flurry of organizing volunteers, scheduling with local hospitals, reviewing the notes of the medical team and pausing, occasionally, to ask how his two patients are faring. River remains isolated, but no one pushes him, and Felix remains alive and that, for what it’s worth, counts as a win.

Beds are built inside of the tiny rooms with impressive efficiency, while volunteers sort through the floods of donations, things from clothing to food to entertainment. At some point, an entire truck full of televisions, courtesy of the mayor, pulls up, and at another, a florist brings a van-full of indoor plants to help make the place feel more ‘homey.’ Three restaurants deliver catered lunch, and seven bring dinner. The residents, by and large, refuse the food, and it is not until the prepackaged meaty substance that has been their daily meal for their entire time at the site is found, heated, and delivered, that most of them eat anything at all.

The phone rings non-stop with offers for food or ‘any other support needed’ over the next week. News vans come and go, with volunteers offering cursory updates on where things stand at Belleview, but never on the residents themselves. Their identities are protected, and no one seems to mind regardless.

The community, much to Lincoln’s surprise, rallies behind the residents, and he is left to admit, reluctantly, that even here, in this somewhat small community in southern Florida, where so many vocal supporters of the system fought tooth and nail to keep contracted labor intact, there are countless pockets of good. He doesn’t have the time to rearrange his opinion on the town, but he recognizes the necessity to reassess where he stands.

For now, he throws all of his energy toward the task at hand.

Three of the residents, Felix, Gabriel, and Ari, require hospital visits for diagnostics. Lincoln makes a note to check on them before leaving for the night. Seven more have been hooked up to IV fluids and are being monitored while they sleep, but will be treated at the site once the med rooms are set up. Three (River, chiefly among them) refused any care, and seven allowed themselves to be examined without fighting. Notably, the team suspects that many did not understand, or believe, that things have changed, and so the pretenses under which they cooperated were dubious at best.

It’s eight o’clock, and with one full twelve-hour shift under his belt, Lincoln accepts that it’s nearly time to call it a day. The first group of volunteers has begun packing up and leaving for the evening, with the new group filing in and orienting themselves to their tasks. Lincoln sits in the empty office, twenty-one folders strewn haphazardly across the large metal desk.

He reaches for the newest folder, marked ‘Felix,’ and opens it. He reads through the notes– his notes– and stands, placing the lone file into his bag. He picks up his keys, and he turns off the light to the office, and he starts making his way through the bowels of the building that, just yesterday, housed horrors that he has not yet begun to wrap his head around.

Lincoln passes several volunteers setting up a common area out of what was once a waiting room, which includes putting together sofas, hooking up the donated TVs, stocking shelves full of books, and hanging art. There are half-broken down boxes strewn everywhere. He greets the volunteers with an exhausted smile and half-wave as he passes. Once he reaches the tip of the main corridor, he pauses. It’s quiet now, with an almost eerie quality to it. A couple of the fluorescents are dull, with one outright flickering. It gives the wing a sort of post-apocalyptic ambiance befitting its history. If not for the doors, each cracked open in a bid to encourage the residents to explore their temporary home, it would look exactly the same as it had this morning, save for one of the plants that made its way to a corner.

“How did it go today?” Dr. Anthony Schiller, the assistant director of the site, who will oversee it during the overnight shifts, asks as he pulls up beside him.

“It could have gone worse,” Lincoln responds. They are silent for seconds, maybe minutes, staring down the long hallway. And then, “I’m worried about them,” Lincoln says softly. At the doctor’s expectant look, he continues, “About where things go from here.”

Schiller nods in agreement, and Lincoln hands him the key to the office with a half-hearted smile that is meant to be encouraging, but might read closer to reluctant.

“Files are on the desk, notes are in the files,” Lincoln says. He gives a rundown of where they’re at, what they’ve done, who to keep an eye on overnight.

Once Anthony has retreated, Lincoln makes his way through the corridor toward the exit. He listens for any signs of distress as he does. In one room, the light from the TV flashes through the crack in the door. From another, he can hear crying. He pauses, knocking on the door. “Do you need anything?” he asks, and the boy’s– Ethan’s– eyes snap up to meet his.

“I’m sorry,” Ethan whispers.

“It’s okay,” Lincoln replies. He takes a step into the room, where there is a barely-eaten dinner and an untouched pile of blankets. “I’m sure this is overwhelming,” he says. He picks up the top blanket and unfolds it, then sets it on the untouched bed. “Have you had a chance to eat?” he asks.

Ethan nods, visibly holding back as much emotion as he can.

“Okay,” Lincoln replies. He sits at the edge of the bed, and pats the space next to him. “Will you come sit with me for a minute?” he asks then. Ethan, predictably, does as he is asked, and Lincoln hands him the blanket. “I’m going to head out for the night,” Lincoln explains. “Is there anything you want me to grab you for tomorrow?”

Ethan shakes his head quickly. “Okay,” Lincoln replies. “Try to get some sleep. If you’d like to turn on the TV, you can. Anything you need, please let the volunteers know, okay? I know this is confusing,” he continues, “but things will get easier.”

Ethan smiles, his eyes downcast, and Lincoln squeezes his hand. “I’ll see you in the morning?”

As he continues down the hall, he wonders, idly, how many of these beds will be untouched tonight. How many of these men will go hungry tonight. How many will sleep at all. River's room is quiet and dark, and Lincoln resists the urge to check in on him. He is okay. He refused lunch and dinner, but has a bed, has clothes, and has access to food and water. No progress has been made throughout the day, but, Lincoln hopes, they will try again tomorrow.

He reluctantly continues walking.

He pauses, finally, at Felix’s door. As one of the three critical patients, the volunteers have been on top of him all day, reporting back at least hourly on his status. With the medicine and with the fluids and with the constant care, he’s been stable, which is something.

Lincoln pushes the door open as quietly as he can, and buried under a weighted blanket, curled up on his side, lies Felix. An oxygen mask covers his mouth and nose, and, under the covers, Lincoln knows a slew of monitors cover his body, feeding them data on his condition. After a thorough review of that data, Lincoln turns his attention back to Felix.

Even in the darkness, it is obvious that he has been bathed, he has been given clothes, and his wounds have been tended. He looks… peaceful, Lincoln thinks. He looks comfortable.

As he takes a step back toward the hall, Felix’s eyes crack open, instantly seeking him out. His fingers lift, just slightly, in something that vaguely resembles a wave, and Lincoln makes his way to his bedside.

He kneels next to him, squeezing his fingers gently.

“Hey,” he whispers. With his free hand, Lincoln brushes the hair off of Felix’s forehead, then runs his fingers across the bruising on his neck. “I was just on my way out,” he continues, “I wanted to check and make sure you have everything you need?”

Felix doesn’t respond, but he keeps his eyes on Lincoln. Lincoln smiles and stands, with a soft, “I’ll see you in the morning,” as he moves away from Felix’s bed.

The panicked look, the same from earlier, ghosts across Felix’s features, and he reaches for the mask. It doesn’t take more than a split second for Lincoln’s mind to be made up. At home, his boyfriend will struggle to understand what happened here today. He’ll be chastised for taking his work too seriously, for not setting boundaries, for giving too much of himself to his job.

But, he thinks, as he pulls out his phone to send the text message: I’m going to stay here for the night. I’ll check in in the morning. Will explain tomorrow, he knows it’s right. By the time he drags the small armchair over to Felix’s bed and settles into it, Felix’s body has lost the fight for consciousness. Still, when Lincoln puts his hand on top of Felix’s, and the tension in his shoulders immediately lifts, Lincoln knows that this is where he’s meant to be.

Belleview Taglist:

@pigeonwhumps @peachy-panic @whump-cravings @pirefyrelight @i-eat-worlds

@taterswhump @squishablesunbeam @inpainandsuffering @distinctlywhumpthing @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi

@handsinmotion @whumps-and-bumps @pumpkin-spice-whump @alexmundaythrufriday @itsawhumpsideblog

@hellodecisionparalysis

#institutionalized slavery #Med Whump #Dubcon Medical Care #References to Human Experimentation #ok SO #this was really all one big chapter #and we went a little up close on some things that maybe didn't need to be as up close #BUT who am if not an oversharer of every detail of every interaction #anywayyyy #im gonna take a stab at making some edits to river's chapter and i do apologize for that but i think it reads slightly adjacent to where-#-i wanted it to #then we'll get moving

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hollybell51 · 2 years

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Gentleman

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Sam Winchester x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005), s03e02 “bloodlust”

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: you and Sam don't exactly see eye to eye with Dean's new friend, so you return to the motel by yourselves. Things... escalate.

Content: smutty smut smut! Shameless, loving, gentle porn with a bit of a plot. Tooth rotting sappiness and fluff. Bit of hurt/comfort, bit of angst. Reader is just so in love with Sam (I am too dw). Sam is down horrendously bad for the reader (I'm horrendously down bad for him. I cannot emphasise this enough). Use of (Y/N), but not too much. Hickeys, making out, extremely light switchiness (barely noticeable, just healthily flexible dynamics), blowjobs, handjobs, fingering, safe sex, vaginal sex. Hugs all round (someone needed to give these boys one), Dean and the reader get along, Dean has like one soft moment, there's quite a bit of reminiscing and stuff. Gordon's vibes are Off. As above, set during season 2 episode 3.

Notes: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES! I'm (kinda) back, and my summaries have not gotten any better! Started watching Supernatural and got brainrot. Got lots of stuff planned but probably won't actually write it (sorry). The things I would let these two men do to me is insane like actually insane besties I am not ok. Anyways enjoy the by-product of my suffering, consider this a peace offering as I worm my way into the Supernatural fandom.

Also I have been working sporadically on some requests so if you made one chances are I've seen it and I have started it, but also I have Things in my Life right now that are very Stressful so yeah that's fun but yknow it is what it is, thanks everyone for being so supportive and patient with me xx

To say you were uncomfortable would have been an understatement. It wasn’t just how easily Gordon was talking about what had happened, or the too-bright light in his eyes as he recounted it, or Dean’s ease with the whole thing. It had been a freaking execution! And sure, the guy was a vampire, but the way the saw had just chewed right through his neck, the kicking of his legs as he’d died, the blood spraying over Dean’s face… yeah. As Sam had put it, decapitations weren’t really your idea of a good time. And it certainly wasn’t something you felt like laughing about over drinks.

You could see Sam’s leg bouncing slightly, his face blank as he stared at the beer he was nursing. Your own stomach twisted with unease. Chances were, if he was on edge, so were you. The emotional interplay wasn’t new, and in fact, Dean gave you endless shit about it. “I don’t know what’s up with you,” he’d say. “I just gotta thank God I don’t develop some freaky emotional feedback loop with every girl I bang.”

Now, Sam glanced at you, raising an eyebrow. You screwed up your nose. Not enough to be too noticeable, but enough to let him know you thought something was a bit off too. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

“What’s up with you two?” Dean asked, frowning at your practically untouched beer.

You shrugged. Sam shrugged.

Dean rolled his eyes, taking a mouthful of his drink before turning to his new friend. “I swear,” he said, “they read each others' minds. He’s grumpy, she’s grumpy. She’s happy, he’s happy. I reckon if she stubbed her toe, he’d be limping.”

Gordon barked a laugh, raising his eyebrows. “That so?”

“Dean, come off it,” you sighed.

He shook his head, smiling. “Lighten up, both of you.”

You opened your mouth to say something about how you didn’t think lightening up was really appropriate given the circumstances, but the scraping of Sam’s chair cut you off.

“I’m not gonna bring you guys down,” he said. “I’m just gonna go back to the motel.”

“Yeah,” you agreed as he glanced at you, “I’m a bit tired.”

Dean frowned. “You sure?”

You nodded, standing.

“Ok,” he shrugged. “Seeya.”

“Seeya,” you smiled tightly, then passed him your unfinished beer. “You want this?”

“You’re not taking it?”

You shook your head. “Not in a beer sort of mood.”

He gave you a searching look, then shrugged again and took the drink. “Sure.”

“Thanks, Gordon.” You nodded to the other hunter. As much as you felt off about him, you didn’t need to be rude.

He inclined his head back to you. “My pleasure.”

Sam’s hand settled on your back as you joined him by the door, and you cast a final glance back at the two men remaining at the table.

“Sammy!” Dean called, the car keys jingling in his hand as he tossed them to his brother. “Remind me to beat that buzzkill outta you later, alright?”

Sam caught them with ease, Gordon’s enquiry of “something I said?” chasing you out the door. Hell yeah, it was something he said. It was everything he said.

“Jesus,” you grumbled, shivering in the cold air.

Sam snorted, absently shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. Equally thoughtlessly, you put it on. It had become something of a routine. Sam didn’t exactly get too cold very often, but you did. He was many things, and “gentleman” was pretty high on the list by you reckoning.

“I don’t know about all of this,” he said, feet crunching on the gravel as he headed towards the car. “Something’s…”

“Off, yeah.” You swung into the passenger seat, arms crossed firmly over your chest.

“I can’t quite–” The engine cut him off for a moment, but he didn’t finish the sentence anyway. It didn’t matter.

“I know, it’s a brain itch.”

Sam sighed, shaking his head. “Tell me about it. Seatbelt,” he added as the car rolled out of the parking lot, another habit between the two of you. You could have sworn you’d have been dead years ago if you hadn’t had someone reminding you to use the damn things, a fact that both Winchester brothers were not afraid to attempt to drill into you. They hadn’t had much success.

You hummed as you clicked the strap across your body, shrinking further down into the seat. You were feeling better now that you weren’t sitting across from Gordon, now that it was just you and Sam. You loved Dean, of course you did, but Sam was just so easy to be around. The two of you clicked, simple as that, and you adored it.

“I’m gonna call Ellen,” Sam said decisively, frowning at the road. “Maybe she knows him.”

You nodded. “Mhm, good idea.”

You were still humming – the melody from something that had been playing on the drive that day, you thought – as you entered the motel room, gulping down a glass of water before jumping onto the kitchen counter. Your heels made a dull thud, thud, thud, on the cupboards as you swung them, the zipper of Sam’s jacket swishing over the cheap vinyl. You watched him take a seat on the bed and dial Ellen.

You listened idly to his side of the conversation, eventually sliding off the counter top and coming to sit behind him on the bed. You rested your head on his shoulder, sighing. It had been an oddly long day.

“But I thought you said he was a good hunter,” he was frowning.

You thought you heard her say “Hannibal Lecter”, and frowned too. Shit, was Gordon some kind of serial killer? You hoped not.

Sam’s back was warm under your cheek, but his shoulders were tense. The last few weeks hadn’t been easy. You hadn’t known John Winchester well, but the time you’d spent with him had been… Well, it hadn’t been nice exactly, but you could see the love he had for his sons. You couldn’t imagine going through what Sam had, almost losing his brother and then really losing his father in the space of a week. You thought he was handling everything reasonably well, all things considered.

There’d been one moment, just a few days ago, when you’d thought he might crack. Dean had been out like a light in the back of the car, and you’d reached around to snap a photo of him squished up against the window. You’d laughed at it – he looked ridiculous. When you’d glanced up to show Sam, he was staring straight at the road, a muscle in his jaw twitching.

“Alright?” you’d asked, and he’d nodded.

You’d frowned. “Want me to drive for a bit?”

This time, a head shake.

He wasn’t alright, you could see that clear as day. “Sam, pull over,” you said softly.

He’d swung the car off the road so abruptly you’d jerked against your seatbelt, simply sitting with his foot on the brake and both hands on the steering wheel.

You’d reached over and put the car in park, switching off the ignition. “Come on,” you’d said, “out.”

He’d leant against the side of the car, arms crossed, staring out into the field you were driving past.

“Interesting grass?” you’d asked, bumping your shoulder against his.

He hadn’t smiled exactly, but his mouth had definitely twitched up a bit at the corner. You’d consider that a win.

“Seriously,” you’d prodded. “What’s up?”

“I don’t…” He’d trailed off, picking at a loose thread on his shirt. “I can’t…”

You’d frowned as he’d shaken his head, looking anywhere but you. You’d told yourself something like this was gonna happen eventually, prepped the whole “I’m here no matter what” speech a thousand times, but now you didn’t really know what to do. The only thing you could think of was to put your hand on his back, rubbing slow, soothing circles like your kindergarten teacher used to do when you were upset.

Sam’s voice was choked when he finally spoke. “I can’t lose you.”

Four words, but you were convinced your heart had shattered right there.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, stepping to face him. You took his hands in yours, uncrossing his arms.

“How can you–?”

You cut him off, shaking your head as you raised his hands to your face and kissed his knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated. “Nowhere you can’t follow.”

He’d just nodded, pulling you into a tight hug. You breathed deeply, the strong smell of the most recent laundromat’s detergent all around you, your fingers bunched in the back of Sam’s shirt.

“I’ve got your back,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

“I know,” he murmured into your hair, “I’ve got yours, too.”

“Good.” You’d pulled away, smiling as you stretched up to kiss him. It was soft and chaste, but that was all either of you needed.

Then Dean had woken up and shouted at you to save your “romantic moments” for when you weren’t supposed to be driving. You’d grumbled that he was just jealous, which he’d vehemently denied amongst a lot of vomit noises. But later, as you’d waited for Sam to get back with lunch, he’d put his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close to his side.

“I’m glad he’s got you,” he’d said. “Real glad.”

“You’ve got me too,” you’d smiled. “Always.”

He’d just stared at you for a moment, his arm still around you, before he’d cleared his throat and stepped back. “Thanks,” he’d muttered. “‘ppreciate it.”

Now, with the same softness, you let your hand slide up Sam’s back and across his shoulders, then down his side. You brushed over his chest, down to his stomach, then back up to settle over his heart. You always forgot how big he was until you tried to get your arms around him, then it was like hugging a mountain. You loved it.

He cleared his throat.

You smiled, placing a soft kiss where his hair brushed the back of his neck, using your free hand to sweep it away.

“Ok, yeah,” Sam said to Ellen. He sighed as your lips trailed higher, up under his ear.

“Mhm, we will.” His fingers curled in the bed covers as you sucked ever so gently at the spot you’d found, the one you knew drove him insane.

“Yep, alright. Thanks, Ellen.” A forceful swallow as you rubbed slow patterns across his front, nothing but the thin material of his shirt separating your hand from his skin.

“Ok. Bye.”

You smiled as the phone beeped, then was thrown to the bed. You eased your hand under his shirt, shivering as your fingers met the warm expanse of his torso. You could touch him like this forever, if you were given the chance.

“What’re you doing?” he breathed, tilting his head back, baring his throat.

“Kissing you,” you whispered as you moved down the muscle of his neck, “touching you,” as your hand ran gently over his pectoral, thumb grazing his nipple.

“Mm, do I get to kiss you too?”

You smiled. “If you ask nicely, yeah.”

“Please?”

“Hm?”

He sighed. “(Y/N), come on.”

“Nope,” you laughed softly. “Ask nicely.”

You felt his chest heave under your hand, and you pressed your mouth to his neck again.

“Pretty please,” he murmured.

You pretended to be considering this for a moment, dragging it out. Truth be told, you wanted him to kiss you just as much as he wanted to, but God it was fun teasing a bit. Especially like this, when it was you draped over his back, hinting at giving him hickeys, touching wherever you pleased.

“Go ahead,” you replied.

Before you could even draw another breath he’d turned and brought his hand up to cup your face, pressing his lips against yours. You let him lick into your mouth, his tongue sliding languidly alongside your own, the faint taste of beer still clinging to him. It was all so soft and gentle and full of care, everything you adored about him.

He shifted back on the bed, turning to face you. Your hands were still under his shirt, arm still stretched across his body as he pushed against you.

“I love this on you,” he murmured as his hands found the opening of his jacket, pushing it back over your shoulders.

You smiled. “You want me to take it off?”

“And this.” He plucked at the t-shirt you wore underneath, already coaxing it upwards.

“Alright,” you laughed, batting his hands away. “Patience is a virtue.”

“Whoever said that clearly never met you.”

You looked away, hoping to hide the pink you could feel flooding your cheeks. However many times you did this, Sam never failed to get you flustered. You could sense his eyes on you as you stripped yourself of your shirt and his jacket, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine.

He started to shuffle back further onto the bed, one hand settling on your waist as he leant down to kiss along your jaw. You sighed, your mind halfway made up to just let him keep going like that. But no.

“Uh-uh,” you said, pushing him gently off you.

“What do you–? Oh.”

You smiled as you slid off the bed, kneeling between his legs. You ran your hand up his thigh, deftly undoing his belt and fly. Heck, you’d had practice. “Can I?”

“Yes,” he nodded quickly. “God, yes.”

You rolled your eyes, gesturing to his pants. “Well you gotta help me out a bit, yeah?”

“Sorry,” he grinned, shedding them in one smooth motion.

“And those.” You pointed at his underwear.

“Yes, your highness.”

“Damn right,” you muttered as you kissed your way up his thigh, nipping gently at the skin of his hip. He smelled of the soap from last night’s motel room, faint but still there, a little sweat from the night’s earlier action. You could taste it where your tongue touched him, and man was it good.

His voice was breathy when he asked, “You gonna keep teasing me forever?”

“Maybe.” You watched as goosebumps appeared where your breath tickled him, smiling to yourself.

“Is that what’s got you smiling like that?”

You sat back on your heels, arms resting on his knees as you looked up at him. He was so gorgeous, the shitty neon lighting of the room glancing off his hair in a kind of halo. You thought your next words through very carefully.

“No,” you said slowly. “I’m thinking about how your cock’s gonna feel in my mouth. How you’re gonna say my name when I’ve got you so deep down my throat I’m almost gagging. I bet you won’t be able to keep your hands off me, I’ll make you feel so good.”

Sam’s mouth fell open, his hands twitching where they rested on the duvet.

“What do you think?”

He swallowed. “I think I’m not even gonna take you up on that bet, I think you’re right.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok then.” You smiled, leaning forward and taking his dick in your hands. It was hard and warm to the touch, already leaking precum. You licked down, then up again, swirling your tongue around the head.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Please, (Y/N).”

“You want me to suck it?”

“Yes. Please.”

You shrugged. “Since you asked so nicely.” You sank your mouth down onto him, your hands working what wouldn’t fit. Sam’s thighs tensed, and you moved. You could have stayed like that forever, you thought, just holding him in your mouth. You had half a mind to ask about that, actually.

Sam moaned, his fingers twisting in the covers as you pulled your head back, then forward again, sucking and licking along his length. You’d wanted to take your time at first, tease him and see how long it took for him to be fisting your hair and moving your head for you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure.

“Oh my God,” he whispered as you increased your speed, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. His dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, something you might have been embarrassed about in the past. Now it turned you on.

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Sam’s hips despite his best efforts. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat.

“(Y/N),” he panted. “Shit, (Y/N).”

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos – before you met him, that was – as his hand finally flew to your hair, his fingers carding through it. He was trying so hard to be gentle, and you loved him for it.

“You look so hot like that,” he whispered. “How’re you so fucking hot?”

You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You vividly remembered a conversation you’d had with Sam and Dean in the car once, where Dean had proclaimed that “there are blowjobs, and then there are blowjobs.” Sam had turned and looked at you, raising an eyebrow. Dean had yelled at you both and told you to get a room. What you were doing right now was definitely a blowjob, and you were loving every second of it.

“I’m gonna cum,” Sam was panting, “(Y/N) oh my God I’m gonna cum.”

His fingers tightened in your hair, his head thrown back and his cock twitching in your mouth. You went all in, sucking and licking and jerking with everything you had in you.

Yes, you thought as you swallowed everything he gave you, basking in his muttered curses and groans like they were water and you were a wilted houseplant. This was heaven, right here. Every time you watched him come undone, you were completely convinced it couldn’t get any better than this. And without fail, the next time it did.

He was still panting as you licked him clean, as gently as you could. His hand had settled on your shoulder, large fingers caressing your skin so tenderly it made you want to cry.

“You ok?” you asked, sitting back. You patted his knee, watching his face carefully. He was flushed, a light sheen of sweat sticking some of his hair to his forehead. You hadn’t really paid much attention at the time, but now you wished you’d made him take off his shirt too. You loved watching his chest heave as he tried to catch his breath.

“Ok?” he echoed, opening his eyes. He grinned. “I’m more than ok.”

You smiled back, licking your lips. “Good.”

“Come up here,” he said, patting his leg. “And take off your pants.”

“Magic word?”

“Please.” Then, on second thoughts, “pretty please.”

You laughed, but got up and shed your jeans anyway. You slid onto his lap, straddling his thigh and wrapping your arms around his neck. He kissed you softly, holding you close against him. The material of his shirt tickled your skin, very noticeably baring you from the silken warmth of his skin.

“Off,” you said against his lips, plucking at the garment.

“Off,” he repeated, tracing the line of your underwear.

Almost perfectly in sync, the two of you shed the offending clothing.

“I love this,” he whispered as he reached behind you, deftly unfastening your bra and pulling it away from you. He set it aside carefully, almost reverently, then bent his head and fastened his mouth to your breast. “Hey,” he said after a moment, frowning.

You frowned too. “What’s wrong?”

His finger traced a delicate circle over your other breast, tapping at a spot just above your nipple. “What’s this?”

You squinted at the area, then laughed. The faded yellowish bruise wasn’t all that visible, but of course Sam would find it.

“What is it?”

“It’s a hickey. From you. From last time.”

His face cleared. “Shit, didn’t realise it’d last that long. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you smiled. “Makes me think of you whenever I see it.”

“Maybe I should give you more, then.”

Your grin widened. “Please.”

“Mm?”

You rolled your eyes. “Pretty please.”

“Ok.” He bent once more, sucking a matching spot into your unmarked breast. Then he added another one beside it, and a third right in the middle of your sternum.

“No more low cut tops, I guess,” you sighed, stifling a moan as he moved downwards with another.

“Shame,” he murmured into your skin, “I love those low cut tops.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’d be insane not to.”

You laughed, then gasped as he ran his hand up your thigh.

“Relax,” he said.

“I’m relaxed, I’m so relaxed.”

“Your heartbeat says you’re lying.”

“That’s for you,” you told him, meeting his eyes. “That’s what you do to me.”

“And this?” His finger darted between your legs, sliding easily with how wet you were.

“Yeah,” you gasped, “all for you.”

He cursed softly, then lowered you gently onto the bed. He propped himself half over you, half beside you, his hand stroking down over your stomach, your hips, around your pelvis.

“Please,” you moaned. “Sam, please.”

“Please what?”

“Touch me. Please,” you added as an afterthought.

“Nice manners,” he noted, rubbing achingly slow circles over your clit.

You gripped his arm, fingers digging into the muscle as he bent and resumed his assault on your breasts.

“You take such good care of me,” he continued, his voice muffled slightly by your soft flesh. “You always take such good care of me.”

“Cause I love you,” you whispered.

“Mhm, you gonna let me take care of you too?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “Of course.”

“Good.”

You whined at the loss of his fingers on your clit, then bit your lip to quiet what would have been a loud moan as he slipped the finger inside you. The heel of his hand ground against your sensitive bundle of nerves, his finger putting just the right pressure in just the right places. You’d be a mess in no time, and you both knew it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you panted, your back arching as you chased the feeling.

“Hm?” His chest was warm where it pressed against your side, the muscles of his arm rippling subtly under the skin where your fingers dug into him. His free hand stroked your shoulder, his mouth busy littering your chest with hickeys. You could feel him growing hard again against your thigh.

“Fuck me?” you half asked, half offered.

He grunted softly at your words, nodding. “Got a condom?”

“Mhm, yeah, sure. One sec.” You reached over to your jeans, rummaging in the pockets until you struck gold. Or foil, you supposed. You watched as Sam tore it open and slid it on, as easily as if he was tying shoelaces. He’d gotten stupidly fast at putting the things on, courtesy of the whole “Dean could get back any minute so let’s just be as fast as we can” element you so often found yourselves dealing with. You weren’t complaining.

“Ready?” he asked, positioning himself between your legs. You rocked your hips gently, feeling his hardness pressed against your dripping centre.

He nodded, then softly slid inside you. You both gasped at the feeling, the familiar stretch and the warmth of it. It was like he was made for you, the way he fit.

“Fuck,” you whispered, your fingers twisting in the duvet.

“Alright?” he asked, and you nodded.

“Move,” you urged him. He did, slow and gentle. The light was doing that thing with his hair again, and you wanted nothing more than to run your fingers through it. Brush it off his forehead, kiss him there, smooth the faint worry line that seemed to be present more and more frequently. You’d do anything to make it disappear forever.

“You feel so good,” he murmured, leaning forward to deliver more kisses to your chest. You were gonna have a whole forest of hickeys when you were done.

“You feel good,” you replied. Your breath was coming short, a light sheen of sweat gathering over your skin even though you weren’t the one doing all the work.

“Touch yourself,” he encouraged you, “I want you to cum while I’m fucking you.”

“Shit, ok,” you replied, reaching down and running a finger in tiny circles over your clit. You loved how easily you could give and take control with him, how quickly and smoothly you could switch roles when you wanted to. It wasn’t just in bed, either, and you adored it. You adored him.

Your own hand combined with the steady thrusting of his dick was perfect. You weren’t going to last long, and judging by Sam’s shuddering breaths and muttered curses, your name sprinkled throughout, neither was he.

“(Y/N), fuck,” he moaned, his abdominal muscles twitching and tensing.

“I’m gonna cum,” you gasped as you felt the tightness coiling inside you, more, more, more– “Holy fuck, I’m gonna–” You released with a frantic cry of his name, your spine arching and your legs locking around his hips. You felt yourself contract around his dick, the stuttering of his strokes as he too reached his climax.

He slowed eventually, coming to a stop as the tremors receded from your body and your brain returned to your head. You were spent, content to lie there with his warm, comforting weight on top of you until the world stopped turning.

He rolled off you, peeling off the condom and tying it neatly before tossing it to the floor to be disposed of later. You turned to face him, your head resting on his bicep, his other arm draped over your side. His hand stroked your back, soft and loving.

You smiled as you reached up, sweeping the hair from his face. “You good?” you murmured, cupping his cheek gently.

He nodded, leaning forward to kiss you softly. You reciprocated, then stretched up and placed a kiss on his forehead.

“How about you?” he asked.

“I’m great.” Then you sighed, your thumb stroking tiny arcs across the curve of his cheekbone. “You’re so beautiful,” you whispered.

“Look at you,” he answered. “You’re so beautiful.”

You closed the few inches of space between you, pressing your lips to his. “I really do love you,” you said as you pulled away. “So much.”

He smiled. “I know, I love you too. More than anything.”

You went to kiss him again, but his phone buzzed and you froze. He groped for it blindly, frowning. You’d both learnt the hard way that if his phone went off and Dean wasn’t with you, it was best to check it.

Sam snorted, flipping it around for you to see.

The text, from Dean, was two sentences. “Back in 1/2 hour. Get decent.”

“Screw you, Dean.”

Sam laughed, tossing the phone to the side. “I guess we’ve got half an hour.”

“I’m taking a shower then,” you said. “I saw a vending machine, like, right outside, and I really want a soda right now.”

“I’ll get you a soda if you let me take the shower with you?”

“Deal.” You held out your hand as if to shake on it, but he kissed it instead. Yeah, “gentleman” was definitely high up on that list.

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