Summary:

Sam meets you in a diner. After saving you from a violent attack, Sam keeps in touch and you grow closer.

This ended up being pretty smutty. I'm not sorry.

Notes:

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, language and an animal death (briefly mentioned).

Trigger Warnings: There is a description of an attempted sexual assault written as a first (second?) person experience.

Work Text:

::

You're working as a server at Tilly's Diner when you meet Sam.

You never imagined, at thirty, you'd be a waitress in this shit-hole town. A useless college degree, and a couple of sick parents later, you ended up back in Castle Rock. Right where life spit you out. You came back to help out your mom when you're dad got sick and somewhere along the way you just stayed.

Eighteen-year-old you would be furious. Unable to believe that you're waiting tables in your hometown like all the people you pitied when you were young.

I can't believe people stay here, you used to think. Who actually wants to live here. What a boring fucking shit place to spend your life.

Yes, dreams of a glamorous life surrounded by shiny, happy people died the day your father got sick. Then mom followed. Now life is just you living in your childhood home. Living alone in an old house that's obscenely large for one person.

You're capable, self-sufficient and independent . You take care of yourself now and you do just fine. You get by. You make it work.

Sam comes into the diner early on a Tuesday morning and plops down into the back booth. Everyone knows everyone else in this town. A tall, young, good looking guy makes the whole place take notice. Benny, who's been admiring you since high school, whistles loudly as you pass his table.

Eileen, the only other waitress at Tilly's, pats you on the butt and nudges you away from the counter. "You take him."

"That's your section." You respond, shrugging. The idea of being thrown at the first stranger to walk through the door doesn't appeal to you. No matter how attractive he might be. It's the principal of the thing.

"Ohhhh, come on." Eileen wiggles her eyebrows "I'm going on break." She unties her apron and before you have time a make a stink she's grabbed her pack of Marlboro lights and she's out the door.

You grab a hot pot of coffee and head over to his table. He looks up from his book and gives you a soft smile that makes you smile back involuntarily.

"Coffee?" You offer, gesturing the pot in his direction.

"Sure," he turns over the clean coffee mug already resting on the table and sits back as you fill it for him.

You don't know it then, but it's the beginning.

::

He comes once or twice a day for almost a week, sometimes he never leaves. He sits with a laptop and books strewn all over the table from lunch to dinner. He's polite and he tips well. He's starting to grow on you. Somewhere along the way you exchanged names…and then a little more.

Sam stays late. He sits at the counter, eats pie with whip cream and talks to you about books, people, family….you find yourself telling him things you've never told any before. Sam has this easy smile and kind eyes that make you feel like you can let your guard down.

He makes you laugh.

He tells you cheesy, awful jokes that make you chuckle and roll your eyes. It's been a long time since anyone made you feel this way. It's been a long time since you've had any levity.

Sam watches you with a quiet appreciation that you'll never know. He thinks it's incredible that someone as smart and interesting as you works in this dark little place. He thinks your beautiful, especially beautiful at the end of the night when you're tired and take down your ponytail to reveal a mess of wild hair.

He wonders how someone like you ended up so sad, in a place like this.

He wonders what it would feel like to fuck you for the first time. He's thought about that more than once.

Sam wonders if he would make you any happier…or end up adding to your misery.

He tells you that he's a private investigator. "More like a researcher, really" he corrects himself.

You like the way that sounds: a researcher. You like that he watches you work. Watches you wait on other tables trying forcing small talk. You like the way he smiles when your eyes catch.

::

"Hey," he grabs your wrist as you walk away from his booth. It's been a long time since anyone has touched you, especially someone that you didn't already despise. His fingers are on your skin only for a second, but it's enough to send a flush straight to your cheeks.

"Yeah?" You shift your weight from one foot to the other. Sam's handsome and physically fit and doesn't smell like the saw mill, unlike every other guy in town. There's something about Sam that makes you feel a little excited. That's not a feeling you're comfortable with.

"You've lived here your whole life right?" He looks out the window into the rainy street and then back to you.

"I grew up here. Left for a little while but came back….so yeah. I've lived here almost my whole life."

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," you sit down across from him, wedging your hands under your thighs so you don't fidget.

"This is gonna sound weird, but just hear me out okay?" It's his turn look uncomfortable and he shifts in his seat, then leans forward over the table. "Have you ever noticed anything weird? Anything strange?"

You frown and look away for second then snap your eyes back to his. "Define strange."

"Well," Sam looks around, "I don't know, old ghost stories or local legends…"

You chew on your cheek for a moment and decide to humor him. People do love a good ghost story. "Well all the guys swear the saw mill is haunted. The night crew can tell you some unbelievable stories. I've never been convinced it's anything more than lack of sleep and too much coffee. Oh, and the old Randall House out on US-17 is haunted. It's been abandoned since I was a kid. We used to take turns trying to see who had the guts to get the closest to the front door before running away. Cross my heart, I swear I saw a guy standing in the window when I was kid, scared the shit out of me. He was probably homeless or something but he was there. I'll never forget that."

"So you believe it? Ghosts?"

"Kinda," you shrug. "I believe in the possibility of just about anything."

You sit back and watch Sam nod and scribble something in his note book. He smiles at you, nodding "Thanks for the info."

"No problem." As you stand Sam begins to collect his things, shoving his laptop into a bag.

"Hey, umm" He smiles sheepishly, running his hand through his hair "Do you wanna-"

Sam is cut off mid-sentence as a group of guys from the mill makes themselves comfortable at the both next to you. Greg Glaston, of Glaston hardware, snaps at you with his chubby fingers, "Come on sweetheart, quit flirting and get us some hot coffee!"

"Sorry," you mouth silently and roll your eyes. Sam grins.

"See you tomorrow." Sam gently squeezes your elbow as he brushes past you and with that he's out the door, and into the wet, dark night.

::

The next day Sam is nowhere to be found. His booth is empty until lunchtime when Lars Hansen saunters in and belches loudly as he makes himself at home.

The day turns into night and your heart drops a little when there's no sign of your mystery Sam. By the next evening, he's still a no show, you decide he's probably moved on. You don't know why you even let yourself entertain the idea of anything between the two of you. Not that you let your mind wander that far. There was something about the feeling when he touched your arm…it's been playing over and over in the back of your mind.

Time to shut it off. You're good at that.

::

Several days later.

It's almost midnight and you're the only person left. Eileen went home an hour ago, the cook just burnt rubber peeling out of the parking lot. It's just you and Benny Latch. Benny's a bully, asshole and had a crush on you since high school and never been afraid to show it. You've avoided his wandering hands and crude comments for 15 years. Now you're trapped behind the counter watching him take his sweet time eating a hot roast beef sandwich, counting the seconds until you can go home.

All you want is to lay down, close your eyes and forgot about your own life a little while.

You make no attempt at subtlety when you walk over and shut off the neon "Tilly's Diner: HOT EATS" sign, darkening the front of the building. Then you shut off the lights to the back of the place, leaving only the bulbs over his table burning.

Benny looks up and grins at you, "Sure you don't wanna join me sweetheart?"

"I'm sure Benny. Enjoy your supper." You offer up a crooked, stiff smile and re-check all the salt and pepper shakers for the morning.

"Don't worry, I'll enjoy it." He quips and you look away before rolling your eyes.

You lose yourself in busy work and when you look up again the place is empty…or maybe not. You can feel someone behind you.

Benny presses his body into your back, effectively trapping you between him and counter. "What the hell are you doing?" You shriek trying to turn around. He grabs a fist full of your hair, snapping your whole body to attention.

"Come on," he growls at the shell of your ear, "just relax."

He smells like Miller Lite and body odor, a combination that will permanently burn itself into your brain. He's a big guy, bigger than you realized before now.

"Benny, come on…stop…please." You do your best to sound calm, but there's panic in your voice that he seems to react to by throwing his full weight into you. Your stomach is even with the counter-top and he knocks the wind out of your. You've never been punched in the stomach before, but you imagine this is what it feels like. You claw at the stack of clean coffee mugs but he grabs your arm, twisting it behind your back. The pressure makes it feel like he's going to break your wrist with one wrong move. "Please…"

"Shut up!" He shouts, releasing your arm. You push back against him with everything you have and for a moment you think maybe you've broken free. You're about to run to the door when Benny takes a handful of hair and yanks backward violently before your face bounces off the counter. Your world goes hazy for a moment, there's no pain just deafening silence as a warm flow of blood streams down your face.

The sudden pain that shoots from your forehead brings your world back into focus. You're lying limp bent over the counter, watching bright red blood pool inches from you face. Benny reaches around to roughly paws at your breasts before tugging at your jeans, which refuse to slip over your hips while still buttoned.

He's cursing and fumbling at the fly of your jeans. It takes a couple tries before he's successfully exposed your black panties which are the only thing left covering you. You hear the zip of his fly and panic.

Then for a moment, there is nothing.

The weight of his foul-smelling body is gone and you blink, confused. Benny's head unceremoniously hits the counter next to yours. There's a sickening crack as his cheekbone makes contact with surface.

Benny roars back up "I'll fucking kill you!" and then comes the sound of flesh hitting flesh. One hit, two hits, the sickening smack of skin splitting.

There's hands on you again, only this time they're they're gentle and shaking. When you lift your head and turn: Sam. Your eyes blink wide and wild.

His chest is puffing fast with breath, his face red and nostrils flared. You look from him to Benny who's lying sprawled out in the floor, then back to Sam who's nose is starting to bleed. You don't say anything.

What the fuck is happening.

Everything is suddenly clear again and you wince as your head pulses. You taste the blood dripping down your face and into your mouth.

"Hey," Sam carefully cradles your jaw in one warm hand, "You're okay."

"I…" you can't form thoughts, "I think I'm bleeding."

"You're gonna be okay." Sam sounds reassuring, more confident now. You try to move and list slowly to one side as he catches you. "Hey, hey, hey. Hold on."

You watch, wide eyed and still stunned, as he reaches down and pulls your jeans back over your hips. Without asking he picks you up with a rag doll, stepping over Benny he carries you over to the booth by the door and sits your down.

"You hit your head pretty hard. Don't close your eyes. If you feel like you're going to fall asleep, you talk to me okay?"

Benny makes a noise from behind the counter and you look to Sam.

"Hit him again." Sam looks at you, and you suddenly realize that you're crying and screaming at him. "Sam. Hit. Him. Again."

Sam is still for a moment, looking from you to the phone in his hand.

"Fuck you!" Benny yells from behind the counter. Sam moves fast back to him. You can't see it but you hear Sam's hand connect with flesh and Benny goes silent.

Then Sam calls 911.

He kneels in front of you as the sirens in the distance grow louder and louder. He keeps looking at your forehead, the face he makes tells you that it must look as bad as you feel. He holds your small hands in his and keeps you talking.

How old are you? What street did you grow up on? What's your favorite movie?

You do your best to answer.

The first cop through the door is the Chief, Pete McNamara, who played on the local baseball team with your dad. He looks at you in horror, then to Sam. His hand moves toward his gun. He doesn't recognize Sam.

"It was him." You shake your head and point toward Benny.

The rest is a blur. There are questions. Then more questions at the hospital.

The nurse asks you if she can call someone to drive you home. When you tell her no, Sam pipes up. "I'll wait for her," he nods. "I'll get her home."

You don't know quite what to say, the car ride home is mostly silent save for directions. You live near the coast in your parent's old house. It looms dark as Sam parks the car in the driveway. You both stare dead ahead, both unsure of where to go from here.

"Thank you." You bellow awkwardly in his direction. You didn't mean for it to come out like that, too much adrenaline.

"You're welcome." he forces a smile.

"What were you doing there that late anyway?" You shift in passenger seat to get a better look at him.

"I was going to ask if you'd have a drink me." He states matter-of-factly.

"Oh." You're glad that it's dark because you're blushing. "Well, I don't think I'm up for a drink tonight, but I'll take a rain check…if you still want to. "

"Yes, of course I still want to." Sam gives you a small genuine smile but winces when he looks at patched up gash on your head. "I'm staying at the White Gull Motel, right next to the only bar in town. I'm strategically placed when you're up to it."

"I didn't think you were ever coming back." You confess. Everything you say now feels unexpected, as if someone else is speaking for you.

"Sorry, I had to work a job that lasted a little longer than expected. It's finished now." Sam grips the steering wheel. "Do you want me to walk you inside?"

"You should stay here with me" you blurt out and you can feel the tears coming. Normally you are not someone to share your personal shit with other people, but you're beyond tired and your emotions our running rampant. "I mean, it's late and I have a spare bedroom and to be honest I really don't wanna be in this house by myself tonight. It'd just be nice to not be alone. I'm always alone."

"I'll stay." Sam agrees without hesitation. You get the feeling that he doesn't get to sleep in a real bed very often.

You fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. You sleep a long, deep, dreamless sleep. When you wake up it's almost noon the next day. You shuffle down the second floor hallway in sock feet to the guest bedroom. The door is open and the bed is made. For moment you think he's left until the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen wafts past your nostrils.

You make a pit stop in the bathroom and look in the mirror for the first time. You look like a train wreck. There's still blood in your hair and a bandage covering half your head. Your left eye looks like you were punched in the face, swelling black and blue. You start to pull hair out of a messy ponytail when you notice deep purple hand marks on both your wrists..

What happened was awful, but it could have been a lot worse. In many ways.

The sight of your own face makes you feel short of breath and you sink down onto the toilet to regain your composure.

Sam clears his throat, leaning on the door-frame. "I made you breakfast. I hope you like pancakes and bacon because that's all I could find….are you okay?"

"Yeah," you wave your hand in his direction and take a deep breath. "I just saw myself in the mirror. I didn't realize it was this bad."

Sam's gaze narrows and he steps into the small bathroom. The bridge of his nose is a bruised, leaking black and blue under his right eyes. He's still handsome, even with a black eye and a few battle scars.

He saved your from your crazed high school classmate turned would-be-rapist, then made you breakfast the next morning. It's increasing clear that Sam isn't like anyone you've ever met before.

"Here," Sam grabs a hand towel and wets it. He kneels down. He's so close you can feel his breath, smell his aftershave. He dabs at your hairline, delicately cleaning the blood away. You close your eyes and let him work. You stiffen a little when you feel him reach up and release your hair from the lopsided mess of a ponytail.

He brushes your hair.

You've never had anyone other than your mother brush your hair. It's comforting and a million miles away from the violence of the night before.

You open you eyes and he's still there, sitting on his haunches and watching you. He looks away for a moment as if you've caught him doing something forbidden.

"Thank you." You're going to cry again. You can feel it.

"You're welcome." Sam responds softly, he doesn't move, just looks into your eyes. A tear falls down your cheek, then another. You feel the familiar sensation of Sam's hand cupping the side of your face.

"I mean…thank you." you sputter and then grab him. You pull him to you and you hold him tight. He hugs you back, softly at first, but as you start to sob his arms tighten until you're in the midst of his strong, full embrace. His body is warm and he smells like pancake mix and cheap laundry detergent. You cry and he holds until the wave of tears recedes and you can pull yourself together.

"Come on," he reaches for your hand and pulls you up. "I made more bacon than any two people should ever eat. You better be hungry."

The two of you eat breakfast at the dining room table. It's been years since you sat here, at this table. Growing up it was reserved for holidays and guests. You sit up unnaturally straight, picking up a piece of bacon and chewing it slowly. Your jaw is sore and eating is surprisingly problematic.

Sam gives you a gentle smile and wolfs down the plate in front of him within minutes, then sits back relaxed, like he's been here all along.

You wonder if this is what it's like to have someone. If Sam would always cook you breakfast. If normal people can just "be" instead of always feeling like they have a secrets to hide and pain to swallow.

After breakfast you help him wash the few dishes and apologize as you head back to bed.

When you wake up later that afternoon you find him drinking a beer and folding laundry in the fading light of your living room. You watch him, propped against the door frame until he notices you.

"I thought I'd help, you had a lot of laundry." He shrugs, shoving a suddenly nervous hand into the pocket of his jeans. "I didn't touch your unmentionables." He tooks down the pile of panties left in the bottom of the basket and you grin.

"Thanks. I don't fold them anyway. I'm more of 'throw 'em into drawer' kind of girl." You move toward him and take a seat on the couch. "I can't believe slept all day."

"It's the pain meds, they really knock you out if you're not used to them." He sits next to you, while leaving a respectful distance. He's nervous and it dawns on you for the first time that he really does have a thing for you. It's a realization that sends a sharp heat to your belly. He shifts like a gun shy kid on his first date, running his hand through his hair.

"You wanna watch TV?" You ask, punching the remote until you find a true crime news show and settle in. By the time the show is over your feet are tucked under Sam's thigh, his forearm resting in your legs.

He helps you back to bed, there is an awkward goodnight as he excuses himself.

The next morning, Sam's gone. He leaves a sweet little note tucked under your fruit bowl that reads:

Take care of yourself. I'll call you. I'll come back.

And he does, come back that is, but it's not for a long time.

::

You do your best to get on with your life. You take a few more days off work, but the truth is you need money and in a small town like this jobs are hard to come by. So you strap on your Keds and force yourself back into a routine at Tilly's.

People whisper. Greg Glaston makes a point of never sitting in your section, mostly so that he and his friends can trade rumors under their breathe without you hearing. It could just be your imagination, but you get the feeling your swollen, bruised face is like a roadside attraction.

Janette Granby (who grew up with you mom) sends her eggs back twice, each time getting a closer look at your back eye - people pay for a coffee, but really they're spending money to watch the girl that Benny almost killed. The girl, who for some reason, was in the diner after close with two men.

Everyone has a version of the story, most involving some kind of quiet implication that you brought it upon yourself. Depending who's telling the story you were fucking Benny or Sam and sometimes both at the same time.

It takes everything within you make it through that first day. Later that night, as you sit crying on your couch,Sam calls. Just as he promised.

"Y/N?" Sam's voice is low, you can hear a TV playing soft in the background.

"Hi. Hey." You wipe your nose trying to disguise the sound of distress.

Sam can tell anyway. "Are you crying? Everything okay?"

"No, not really." You confess. Damn, it feels good to just say how you really feel. You figure he's already seen you at your worst, so what the hell. "I'm a fucking mess, Sam."

"Hold on, I'm gonna step outside." You listen as he closes a door behind him and the sounds of the television are replaced by that of distant traffic. "Sorry…It'll get better, easier. How was your first back at work? That Bad?"

"I didn't think I was going to make it, I almost left, five or six times. I hate all those people, I'm just another thing to gossip about to them." You whine, falling back on a cushion.

"Tell me what happened." Sam coaxes. And you do. You talk and Sam listens as if he somehow knows instinctively what you really need is just someone else. To not feel alone.

That's where it starts, this thing between you and Sam.

Your daily conversations gradually move away you're need to purge the day's frustration and become more and more about the sharing of two lives.

There are nights when Sam calls after a few too many beers. On those nights he says things that make you blush. He'll confess that he can't stop thinking about you, that he wants to be with you and touch you. To feel your body rise and fall as he performs unspeakable acts.

The best thing about Sam is that what happened in the diner doesn't affect how he sees you. You've never been a victim, you're the beautiful woman that brought him back to drink the same shitty coffee day after day. Returning in hopes of something more.

Some nights he just texts, but everyday, he checks in.

::

Sam: Hey, how are you feeling?

Y/N: I'm doing good, feeling better. How are you? Where are you?

Sam: I'm ok.

Just tired.

I'm in Montana with my brother. It's cold.

Y/N: It's cold here too.

Sam: I'm watching Dean work his magic on a unsuspecting bartender.

Y/N: Sounds fun.

Sam: It's not.

I'd rather be watching Dateline with you.

Y/N: I'd like that.

Sam: When I come back can I take you to dinner?

Y/N: Of course

You feel the heat rise in your cheeks and hide your face in your hands as you let out a squeal. You're a grown woman sitting alone in your living room, huddled under a sea of blankets…but Sam makes you feel excited. Excited the same way you felt when Bobby Houseman asked you to the prom.

A nice, normal guy that you're actually attracted to is interested in you. This breaks a lifetime streak of losers, perverts and unrequited feelings.

::

Two months later, when your face has healed and heart has followed suit, Sam finally shows up a couple day earlier than he told you would.

It's just shy of 1 AM. You're almost ready for bed, fresh from an evening of self pampering and a hot bath, when you hear a knock at your door.

You open the door just enough to see who it is.

"Hi, I was going to call but my phone died. I hope I'm not intruding." Your thoughtful, handsome Sam is standing in the dark on your porch with hesitant smile and a bouquet of tiger lilies.

"Come in." A wide smile full of nervous excitement spreads through your body as you unhook the chain and usher him into your home.

"I have no idea what kind of flowers you like. I took a guess." Sam hands you the bouquet, his eyes never leaving the sight of you.

"They're beautiful, thank you." You accept the offering, "Let's get these is some water."

He follows you to the kitchen, where you fill your only empty vase with water and place it carefully on the center of your kitchen table.

Sam's stare is unrelenting and you blush, looking from him. He grins and takes a steps closer to you. "I had a whole thing planned, where I actually called first; dinner and a drive up the coast. It was all very romantic, but Dean sort of fucked my timeline. So, here I am with gas station flowers. I really hope I'm not intruding."

"You're not." You beam, so happy to have him here, standing in front of you instead of a disembodied voice on the other end of your cell phone. It's been months of nothing but talk. You're instantly hyper aware of how short your robe is. "I just wish I looked a little more presentable."

"You look beautiful." Sam replies without skipping a beat. You don't have any response for that, just a tremor of excitement when he gets even closer, a warm, rough hand cupping your cheek. He runs his thumb under your eye where it was blue and puffy the last time he saw you in person. "You're a new woman."

"A huh." You gulp as he closes the gap. You almost forgot how big and tall he is, but you're quickly reminded as he looks down at you.

"You smell so good," Sam mumbles, his eyes trailing over your neck, then further. He leans down, his lips hover close enough that you feel his breath. "Like cherries."

"I just ate some yogurt" You whisper absentmindedly. It's the least sexy thing you could have replied, that is until your next statement. His words aren't registering anymore. Sam Winchester may have just broken your brain. There's nothing but the sensation of his skin on yours as you murmur, "it was mixed berries."

Sam chuckles and kisses you, soft and slow at first. You push your body into his without hesitation, you've been thinking about his touch for weeks. You run your fingers through his hair, twisting, pulling him into you.

Sam makes a soft, wonderful sigh as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hands are everywhere, pulling and tugging at your waist, then your hips.

You'll never know it, but he had a dirty little dream about you that woke him on the verge of satisfaction, covered in sweat with a raging hard-on. He dreamt he ate you out on the counter at the diner, then fucked you while you rode him in an empty booth. He can't stop thinking about the way you say his name in that dream "Sam", long and drawn out like you couldn't live without him.

Sam unties your robe, slipping it easily off your shoulders. From there it pools to the ground of the kitchen, the same place you'd like to end in a few minutes. Sam's mouth moves from your lips to your neck. His hot, wonderful mouth sucking and kissing sends shivers up your spine.

You arch into him, his hands sliding down your back then cupping your ass before lifting you into the air and placing you on the counter. He pulls back to make eye contact, making sure this is really happening, making sure it's what you want. Your eyes are wild and full of lust, giving him full consent.

It's been two years since the last time you had sex with anyone, and even that wasn't good sex.

You're pretty sure Sam could make you come just by looking at you the right way.

Without warning he lifts your nightie over your head and there you are: completely naked on the kitchen counter wedged between the flour jar and a box of Cornflakes.

Sam gives you one look from head to toe, licking his lips as his eyes go dark.

He moves between your legs, spreading you wide as he pulls his own shirt off revealing a toned chest that leads down to an equally impressive set of abs. You're ready. Ready to feel him inside you, to feel him on you and in you and around you and just fucking everywhere.

To make you feel alive.

Both of his massive hands are on your breasts, your nipple twisting between two fingers, gentle tugging that makes your belly stir. When you open your eyes Sam is kneeling and looking up at you from between your legs. He pulls your body to the edge of the counter and you think your heart might stop.

There is little that could prepare you for the feeling of his tongue on your clit. It's the first move he makes before sucking the little bud into his mouth. You entire world vibrates around you as your body waves from head to toe, shoving your slick into his face. It seems to be the reaction he's looking for because he buries himself between your legs making fast little circles, twirling around the most sensitive part of you.

You dare to look down and the sight of him eating you out is too much. You screw your eyes shut and shut feel the warmth of tongue flicking over and over.

"You're so wet." He praises, his mouth still pressed into you. Two long fingers slip past your lips, you're so turned on that he can sink in knuckle deep in one easy move.

"Sam!" You call out, which seems to encourage him to move faster. Between his fingers, tongue and your lack of sex life, this could be over much sooner that you'd like. You're almost completely off the counter now. Your butt is resting on the edge for balance only.

Sam removes his fingers as his tongue dips into your wet heat. He begins to move his head from side to side, widening the range of motion and you grab at whatever you can to stabilize yourself. You've never had a man fuck you with his mouth before. It's overwhelming.

"Sam" you plead, knotting a hand in his hair. You're going to come but you don't want it this way. "Sam I'm gonna…oh God….I want you to fuck me first."

Sam's head pops up from between your legs, his mouth shiny as his tongue darts out to licks his lips. You make a pathetic, garbled sound at the sight of him.

"Yeah?" he questions like he hadn't quite heard you.

You nod, feeling somewhat ridiculous but then he's standing between your legs again, unbuckling his belt as his pants drop around his ankles, revealing a throbbing cock that's just as impressive as the rest of him. There's another adjustment of bodies, getting you back to the edge of the counter. He palms his dick and lines himself up with your sex, nearly shaking with anticipation as he takes moment to kiss you, just a press of his lips as he pushes inside you. You simultaneously feel his lip curl against your mouth as he slides home, pressing long into your body, pushing in as far as he can. The pleasure is immediate, an indescribable heat shooting out in all directions.

"Jesus," You hiss, hips stuttering as his stretches you wide. He drops his head to the bend of you neck, muffling a uncontrolled groan as he bottoms out.

"Don't move." He commands, stiffening as every muscle in his body visibly contracts. Somewhere in the recesses of your mind there's a realization that he's trying stave off his own impending orgasm. Trying to keep his body from reaching it's crescendo before he's even fucked you . "You feel too good, how are you this tight…"

Those words alone send you into overdrive. He doesn't move his body, instead brings his hand between you and grazes a thumb over your clit, making slow circles. You gasp, sitting back to give him more access. A strangled sob tears from your throat at the feeling of him flush inside you as he plays with your clit.

Sam is trying his best to regain control of his own body. The last thing he wants to pop like a kid on prom night. He sucks in a few ragged breaths, in awe at the sight of you. You're leaning back, giving him a full view of your naked body, stuffed with his cock as your mouth hangs open in a perfect 'o.' The noises coming out of you aren't making this any less complicated.

Lost in a haze of over-stimulation, you feel him start to move. There's a thrust of his hips, he pulls out completely and slides back in. Then again. And again. Each time removing himself completely before plunging back inside. It's a torturous pace that puts your own resolve to the test.

Sam groans as he picks up speed, thrusting deeper and faster as your bodies slap together. Your small kitchen is filled with the squishy, messy sounds of sex mixed with grunts and gasps. Sam pulls you to him, kissing you deep as your chest crushes into his. He leans back, pressing his forehead into yours, never losing his rhythm as he pumps hard and steady.

You feel impossibility full as he ruts into you, his hand moving back down to your apex, thumbing you sensitive clit once again. A surge of pleasure begins to build again as you approach critical mass.

"Look at me." Sam barks. Your eyes pop open to the staggering sight of him, covered in a sweat, muscles tensed, as he pumps faster into you. He's pushing you both closer to the end now, slamming into your body hard enough to lift you off the counter with every thrust.

"Sam…" You warn, the desperate way you say his name letting him you're close, teetering on the verge of coming undone.

"Don't close your eyes. I want you to look at me when you come." Sam instructs, his voice thick with his own self-control. He knots a his hand in the hair at the base of your head, snapping your neck taut.

The combination of his words and movement of his hips sends you over the edge. He slams into you one more time before your world begins to pulse, your body twitching hard into Sam's. You struggle to comply with his request, watching the satisfaction on his face as you come throbbing around his cock. He holds himself deep inside, filling you to the brim as your orgasm overtakes you. You put up a good fight before eyes rolls back in your head and you sputter his name laced with a string of frenzied profanity.

Your heart pounds fast against his chest as Sam kisses you. He teases your mouth open, his tongue dipping and twirling. Just as your climax begins to fade, his hips begin to move again, quick little jabs that mimic the penetration on his tongue.

It doesn't take long. Sam whimpers into your mouth, pulling you flush with him. He buries his dick as deep as he can as he comes, erupting, sunk inside where you're warm and wet.

"Y/N," He pants, breathless. You feel him twitch, his hands sliding up for your sides and then around your back, crushing you in a tight embrace. Sam's out of breath, his chest heaving as he drops his head to your shoulder. He peppers your skin with breathless kisses, from the ball of your shoulder up to to your neck, slowly sucking with each touch. "I've been thinking about doing that for a long time."

"You took long enough." You scold him, playful and spent. Sam's grip weakens and he lets go of your body to cup your face with both his hands, pressing a quick kiss on your lips.

"I'm here now." Sam moves his hips back, pulling his cock out. He bites his bottom lip at the wonderfully obscene sight of your slick thighs, soaked with a combination of your arousal. His eyes trail back up the length of you, taking in every inch of your naked body displayed before him.

He's never seen anything as beautiful you in this moment; completely satisfied and freshly fucked. The idea that he's the one who's done this to you, made you this dripping, glowing mess…it's enough to make his stomach tight.

::

Later, after you've shared a pint of Häagen-Dazs and and had a long shower, Sam lays with you, naked under crisp sheets.

You're face to face, lying in a tangled embrace. You have one leg between his, as you run a finger along his jawline. You're so close you can feel his breath on your lips. Sam has one arm casually swung over your side, letting his fingers play at the small of your back, the other crooked under his head to mirror your position. There's still a new flush in your cheeks and he's incredibly satisfied knowing he put it there.

You tell him stories about your mom when you were little. How you played in the creek behind your house. Stories about how you caught crayfish, brought them home and put them in the bathtub. Your mother was furious when she found them (at two in the morning) walking around in shallow water, clicking their tiny claws against the porcelain.

"She woke me up in the middle of the night asking me what I was thinking putting them in bathtub. She wasn't even upset, I think she was trying not to laugh, but I was so scared she'd yell…she just grabbed a flashlight, a bucket and my hand. We walked down to the river and we put them back in the water one by one. She said 'we just won't tell your dad about this." Sam smiles and tilts his head forward kissing you at the corner of your mouth. He's close enough so that he can only look into one eye at a time, his nose pressed into yours. He asks about your father and you wince. "You would have liked him, he was a good man."

Sam tells you about his dad and a boy, Ricky, he met in Texas when he was ten. His dad was on a job and Ricky was the first friend he remembers making. He explains about how they watched movies, shot his dad's rifle in back of Ricky's house, in the woods. They even stole a playboy from the gas station, Sam was sure they'd get caught but they didn't.

"So one day I went over to his house, his mom made us these killer sandwiches and we wandered around in the woods for who knows how long. Then this stray dog comes running up out of nowhere…I always wanted a dog when I was a kid" Sam pauses, and you wait for him to find his words again. "Anyway this dog comes up to us, I go to pet it and Ricky stops me tells me to 'watch this'. I'm just a kid so I play along. Fuck. He shoots it…shoots the damn thing right there in front of me. I ran back straight to the motel, it had to be a couple miles–didn't stop until I made it back, Jesus I cried in the bathroom for an hour…Ricky came by the room the next day and I didn't answer the door—I never talked to him again. I never told anyone about that. I still think about it sometimes."

"People can be cruel." You run a hand up his arm and then back down letting your fingers trail to his hand, entwining fingers with his. You're both quiet for a long time. Sam's hands wander everywhere. His palms traveling over nude skin - cupping, rubbing, grabbing until he's between your legs for a third time that night, making love to you, slow and sweet.

::

"Are you happy here?" Sam whispers, wrapped around you from behind. The sun's coming up and you're on the precipice of slumber, utterly exhausted.

"I am right now. Here with you." You mutter drowsily. "But it's mostly lonely. Just me."

"Come back with me," Sam breathes at the shell of your ear. "We could be happy together. We could try."

"Sam, I…" You're voice goes silent as sleep takes you.

"Tomorrow." He replies softly, his own eyes fluttering shut.

And from here, well, this is only the beginning.