kunju (innie_darling) wrote,

Two Sam/OMC ficlets (NC-17)

Just before Christmas, I'd asked for Sam/OMC and Sam/OFC prompts and I got two. Here are the two teeny ficlets I wrote in response:

earthquakedream said I think it'd be really fun to see Sam with someone who's the total opposite of him - optimistic, happy-go-lucky, who hasn't had anything really bad happen to him before. It'd be interesting to see how Sam reacts to that! And then she named the OMC "Casey."

"Free To Be Thee and Me" (AU of 5x03 - "Free To Be You and Me")

"So yeah, I could have bummed around in New York or L.A., but then I would have been just another tourist, you know -"

Sam cut him off with his mouth, hands busily working on getting Casey out of that tight green t-shirt. "But here in Oklahoma, you're what?" he asked, binding Casey's wrists over his head with a tangle of green fabric.

"Hottest bartender in the state," Casey said, grinning up at him. "Happy to be demoted to second once you walked in." There's no fear in his eyes even though Sam's got him all tied up with nowhere to go but where Sam chooses; Casey is rubbing up against him like it was some other guy who slaughtered Lilith and set Lucifer free. When Sam moves to undo the fastenings on their pants, Casey beams, not understanding how dangerous getting close to Sam can be. Sam's not about to enlighten him; it feels too good to have someone look at him without judgment, without a sense of history gone awry, and just see him for who he always thought he was.

Casey sucks him off with dedication, running booze-scented hands over him as he works. It's pleasure, not fear or withdrawal, that closes Sam's eyes. He lets them drift shut as he works Casey open with skilled fingers, lines himself up, and pushes in. This - this feels more honest than anything else he's done in years, just two people in a bed, intent on each other, no histories or destinies or blood.

Casey's sleeping face down, worn out, when Sam slips from the bed to get a beer from the fridge. "Sam," he hears just as the first cold swallow hits his throat, and he can't suppress a shiver.

"No," he whispers, disbelieving.

Casey turns over, blond hair flattening, lines etching themselves onto his face, a look of weary desperation in his - Lucifer's - eyes. "Sam," he says, gently. "Are you going to say yes to everyone but me?"

And deirdre_c said How about Sam at the fan convention in "The Real Ghostbusters" hooking up with a fanboy who roleplays Sam Winchester?! *smirk* And she kept on smirking!

"Not Quite a Mirror" (outtake from 5x09 - "The Real Ghostbusters")

You knew you were only going to get one shot at this, one perfect moment where you understood that Sam Winchester was actually real, that the choices you'd posed to yourself as hypotheticals were part of his past, and then he was in front of you with a question in his eye and you nearly sprained your neck in your eagerness to nod.

And now you're kneeling in front of him, eyes caught by the slow progress of his zipper, metal clasps giving up their embrace, your white-tipped finger guiding the tab. You look up, up, up - he really is as tall as all of Dean's teasing said - and his head is tipped forward as if to see you, but his eyes are closed. A frown of concentration is deepening the lines on his face. You've got his jeans open, and you're waiting for him to remember you; your panting breath hits the skin just above the line of his boxers, and his eyes open, more disbelieving than anything else, and he reaches down to you.

With arms that long, he can even lounge a little against the wall and still touch your face. One huge palm rests over the side of your face, and you're memorizing the callouses you can feel against your skin, indications of all the weapons he's borne his whole life. His eyes meet yours, and suddenly it seems like the height of presumption for you to have assumed that this was what he'd been asking for. He must be psychic; before you can get back to your feet, his hand is on your shoulder, keeping you on your knees. His other hand slips into his underwear, pulling himself out, and you have to blink to make sure you aren't seeing things.

Because he's huge. Not even Carver Edlund had words for this, and you wouldn't have believed them anyway. He's huge and not even fully hard yet, and you wonder how any girl could have managed without a demon's lack of concern for the skin it's in.

The silence between you is broken only by your harsh breathing. Your hands steal up to touch his stomach, hard muscle unsoftened by hair or flab, and you dip your head low to taste. Tentative, because it makes no sense that you're here, that he's real, that this is even possible. You wish for a fleeting moment that your hair grew faster, that you could be a better mirror for him as your mouth completes the circuit.

He's heavy on your tongue and your jaw will ache, but you keep your eyes open, wide like you'll see more that way, more of this man you've idolized since you picked up the first book a few years ago. His head is tipped back now, lolling against the wall, and the rush of pleasure that goes through you lets you take another inch of him in.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something glinting. Devon is standing there, amulet gleaming on his chest, glittering eyes locked on you. He falls back against the wall like he's getting winded just watching you, and his mouth falls open. "That's my boy," he whispers as a rush of come floods your throat.

As always, I'd love to hear what you think.
Tags: fic, supernatural, supernatural_fic_my

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