?

Log in

No account? Create an account
hidden

smalltrolven

The Wanting Comes In Waves

All Sam/Dean, All The Time


Previous Entry Share Next Entry
ouijaboard
smalltrolven

Fic: Second Time Around (Sam/Dean, NC-17) 3 of 4

Back to Part Two

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

He took the long way back to his own apartment building and pulled into his usual spot in the underground garage. He stared out at the concrete wall kind of blankly until he heard a tapping on his car window. Chuck again? He turned to look but no, it was Amara this time. She stepped back as he got out of the car.

“Why’d you do this, Amara? Are you trying to prove something here?”

“Chuck made me see I’d gotten it wrong, bringing Mary back. He put her back in Heaven where she belonged all along. But I still wanted to give you a thank-you gift for what you did for us. So, I gave you a chance to have what you’ve always wanted the very most, Sam.”

“How did you even know that though?” Dean asked feeling naked and afraid, particularly because he stood before her in his nicest jeans still smelling of his brother’s come. This was a reminder of her absolute power over reality.

“I was inside you, remember, Dean? And featuring heavily in your favorite fantasy about a life with Sam was this world Zachariah put you in all those years ago. I think I was picking up on your feelings about how it would have been so much easier for you two to finally get together because you hadn't known who you were, or that you were brothers.”

“But why did you have me remember myself this time?” Dean asked.

“Chuck said you needed to have agency,” Amara said rolling her eyes. “I told him it was stupid, that you had too many internal roadblocks, but I guess he was right…again.”

“I do though, I just left him, just now, high and dry. Right after telling him I wanted to be with him. I screwed it all up again,” Dean said with despair, knowing he’d fucked up their chance to get out of this place.

“All is not lost, Dean. Just let him give you another chance, okay?” Amara said, as she smiled and disappeared.

Dean sank down into his thoughts as he rode up in the elevator. His flopped on his leather couch and closed his eyes. How in the world were there any chances left for Sam to give him? How could he even ask that of him? He reached for his phone.

Dean: You still up?

Sam: Yeah, just watching Sports Center

Dean: I really loved dinner, and um…dessert

Sam: Is this just a thing where you’re not up to being out and proud or something? Because I’m not into that.

Dean: Not exactly, but close to it. If you give me another chance, I’ll try to explain it to you.

Sam: I’ll think about it.

Dean: That’s more than I deserve, good night Sammy

Sam: Night Dean

Dean fell asleep on the couch and dreamed the same awful dreams of Sam dying violently and not being able to save him, of making love with Sam in his bedroom in the bunker, in the Impala and motel rooms across the country, one after the other, it was exhausting going from pinnacle of joy to the depths of despair. He felt more tired when woke up, it took a triple espresso from his complicated machine to get him going that morning. He dressed in his favorite blue shirt with the white cuffs and the matching suspenders. He slicked his hair down just right and rode off to work intending to get his man one way or the other.

On his desk was a steaming cup of hazelnut latte, and a bear claw pastry. There was a note next to it that read:

Thought about it.

You’re too sweet to resist.

Can you do lunch?

~Sam

Dean reached for his phone while he sipped the sweet coffee.

Dean: Yum, this is perfect, thank you. How did you know I needed this?

Sam: Felt bad about leaving you hanging last night

Dean: You are not the one that should be feeling bad, that’s on me. We’ll keep talking at lunch right?

Sam: Maybe you should just text it to me, seems like you do better with your words if you write them down

Dean: I can’t help it that you’re so damn distracting, see you in the lobby at noon.

Sam: Ok c u then, Signed, Damn Right I’m Distracting

Dean: Sticking out tongue emoji

He got a morning’s worth of work done very easily, making all his sales calls with a smile on his face whenever he thought of Sam. It was all going well until Zachariah stuck his ugly mug in the doorway again.

“Dean, got your report, looking good, mister. Keep up the good work.”

“Thanks, Mr. Adler,” Dean said with a grimace.

“Noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with that fellow from IT. Not on company time, young man, rules are rules,” Zachariah said with a disapproving finger waggle.

“Even though I’m on salary and commission, I still believe I get a lunch hour,” Dean said, not mentioning Sam’s name. The less Zachariah got involved the better.

“You do, but his is only forty-five minutes. I’ve had a talk with his manager, he’ll be watching. Don’t want to make little Sammy lose his job do you?”

“Thanks for the warning,” Dean said, looking down at his work and hoping Zachariah would get the hint.

“I told your half-brother Adam one time that you two were psychotically, irrationally, erotically codependent on each other. And if this situation isn’t the ultimate proof of all that, I don’t know what is.”

“No wonder we won and you lost,” Dean said, thinking back to that satisfying moment when he’d stabbed this bastard in the face.

“It is a wonder, a wonder of God’s own creation indeed,” Zachariah said solemnly giving Dean a creepy smile as he finally, blessedly left him alone.

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*

Lunch went differently than it had yesterday. Mostly because all Dean could think about when he saw Sam’s hands moving over his soup and sandwich plate was that same hand being covered in his come, of Sam’s beautiful lips and tongue sucking the skin clean. He was hard almost the entire duration of lunch which was both tantalizing and embarrassing.

When they were walking back to work, hand in hand, Sam pulled him into a doorway alcove to kiss him rough and hard. Dean didn’t respond right away because he was shocked at the suddenness of it, Sam started to pull away, but Dean gave it back to him even harder, his lips going numb with the pressure and friction.

“Glad I took a chance just now,” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear as he licked and nibbled around the edge.

Dean shivered in Sam’s arms as a perfect thrill of lust and longing ran through him. “I’ve been hard all fucking lunch,” Dean growled into Sam’s neck, nipping at the skin just below his collar.

“Do you want to come over tonight, I’ll cook you dinner?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there,” Dean managed to answer between long consuming kisses.

They walked the rest of the way to work in a hurry, adjusting themselves and giggling about it like schoolboys. Sam had his hand on Dean’s lower back in the elevator and wasn’t letting go. He stayed on the elevator when the door opened on his floor.

“Sam, you’re going to be late getting back from lunch,” Dean said.

“Don’t care, Mr. Smith, it’s obvious to me that your ‘system’ needs some adjustment. I’m here to take care of you,” Sam said with a sly grin.

Dean tried to hide the shiver of desire that trickled down his spine at Sam’s words, the way he’d looked so directly at where he was still hard from lunch. Then before he’d realized where this was going to go, the door was locking behind them and Sam had him backed up against Dean’s desk, his shirt was unbuttoned, suspenders off his shoulder. Sam’s lips were all over the skin of his neck and shoulder, his teeth nipping and sinking in, making Dean moan at the feeling. He tried to quiet himself but then Sam stopped the movements of his hand. Dean whined at the loss of friction.

“Like hearing you, so damn hot, don’t be quiet on my account, Dean,” Sam said, one hand pressing and squeezing over the obvious hard-on contained in Dean’s suit pants.

Dean bit his lip and groaned quietly, hoping no one walking outside his closed office door could hear, but then not caring much when Sam had his pants unzipped, his hand stroking Dean fast and sure. When Sam began riding his leg, humping down for friction Dean finally gave in and touched him, gripping Sam’s hardness through his khakis. He chuckled when he had to quickly muffle Sam’s answering groan in a deep kiss.

Sam increased the speed of his hand, tightening it just that little bit more that Dean needed. He mumbled against his lips, “Give it up for me, Dean. C’mon give it to me.”

Maybe it was because he’d been hard all through lunch, or the make-out session on the way back to work, or the demanding tone of voice Sam used, but Dean came like a shot out of his pearl-handled Colt. Sam joined him right afterwards, before Dean had even had a chance to get him out of his pants. There were some paper napkins in his desk drawer from all those take-out salads he’d been eating for them to clean up with. Dean was glad that he hadn’t gotten anything on his dress shirt that would show. Luckily Sam’s khakis had been spared also.

Sam tucked his yellow polo shirt back in and ran his fingers through his hair. He pulled Dean’s suspenders up one by one, cinched his tie back up and ran his hands over Dean’s shoulders.

Dean looked up into Sam’s face and got lost in all the emotions he saw playing there. His brother’s lips were a perfect shade of deep pink, swollen from all the kissing, and his hair was curling up at his temples. Dean ran a finger over Sam’s lips gently, he’d done that, made Sam’s lips get all puffy and kissable. His hand pushed the curls back from his face and held the back of Sam’s head, he pulled him down for a lingering kiss that tried to say everything they weren’t saying out loud.

“We still doing dinner at your place?” Dean asked, once they’d reluctantly parted.

“Yes, I’m making us hamburgers, Wesson-style,” Sam said.

It was still so strange to hear Sam referring to himself as anything other than a Winchester. Dean got over the momentary twinge of strangeness as Sam gathered up his bag and opened the door.

“Glad I could help, Mr. Smith. Let me know if your system gives you any more trouble,” Sam said loudly, winking at him theatrically.


Dean waved and tried not to laugh at Sam’s exit line. He could still taste Sam on his tongue, his skin felt warmer wherever Sam’s hands had been, and he knew it probably smelled like sex in his office. He smiled at the thought of Zachariah coming in here now, and put his head down to try and finish his afternoon’s worth of work.

*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*


Part Four