You stood in front of the mirror, turning from side to side, inspecting every single inch of your body in your reflection. Turning to the left, you pressed a hand to your stomach, sucking in your breath for a moment. Then letting it out, you sighed heavily and turned back to look at yourself straight on. Your hair fell around your shoulders and your eyes sparkled in anticipation. You had taken a small chunk of the money you had been saving up and bought an entirely different outfit than what you typically wore. Black, opened-toed heels, patterned leggings, and a white lace tanktop were not staples of your closet like they were for some girls. Your outfits consisted typically of jeans, flats or tennis shoes, band tees or button ups, but not this. Not this girly.

This was all for Sam. You would never admit it if he didn't notice, but if he did…Not that he was likely to notice you anyway. You had seen his type. Tiny, petite girls with dark hair and eyes and shy smiles. You were anything but tiny and petite. You weren't fat, you were plus sized. When you were in middle and high school it had really bothered you. You had hidden yourself in shapeless, ugly clothes, hiding away every piece of skin you could. And then you graduated and entered the real world and found out that just taking a piece of clothing and making it bigger didn't make it acceptable for every body type. You found out that there were clothes for your cut and your body, and that not every guy was like the guys at your high school; only interested in the beautiful, size three, cheerleaders. You had come out of your shell and accepted your curves for what they were. Beautiful.

But then stupid Sam Winchester walked into your life. All tall and ripped and gorgeous and stupid, with his long hair and equally long eyelashes, and you started stumbling over yourself. Sure, you still wore the same clothes you always had, but it was practical. Always practical. You had a job to do, and heels and lace didn't make your job any easier. In fact, your skills at your job had been what first caused Sam to notice you. He had noted your technique and asked you to show him the overarching head slice move you had done earlier that day. And since then, every time you had to work together, he had flirted with you. At least, you thought it was flirting. But then again, you knew what Ruby looked like.

Pulling your hair around to frame your face, you leaned towards your reflected and swiped a thumb across your lower lip to even out your lipstick. Ready or not Sam Winchester. Turning on your heel, you crossed your room swiftly, hesitating as you reached for the doorknob. What if he didn't notice? Or even more nerve wracking, what if he did and this went a step further? You were good as friends. You worked together and grabbed beers together and talked classic literature together. Anything else would be…awkward. Right?

Opening the door and stepping out into the hallway, you walked as confidently as you could manage in heels, hesitating in the doorway of the living room. Sam was sprawled across the couch, all lanky and lean. His gaze was focused on the television, where a rerun of some sitcom was playing. A lock of his dark hair fell across his face, and he reached up with long fingers to brush it out of the way. Shifting your weight slightly, he caught a glimpse in his peripherals and turned his head to face you, a look of shock morphing into surprise and…pleasure? Sam sat up straighter, reaching across the table for his beer, a teasing grin playing across his lips.

"I thought we were just hanging out."

Oh God. There it was. You were just friends, just sitting on the couch drinking beer and watching sitcoms. Maybe later you would order a pizza and then eventually, he would fall asleep and you would go back to your room and that would be it. Whipping your hair out of your face, you shrugged half-heartedly. "Yeah, well, who says that you have to look like a hunter every second of every day?"

Crossing the room, closing the space between the two of you, you dropped down next to him, reaching for the beer that he had already opened at put on the table in front of your usual spot, trying to appear as casual as possible. But as you reached for the bottle, Sam caught your hand, pulling your attention to his face. He looked so serious, all of a sudden. A shy smile teased the corners of his lips as he said softly, "I didn't say you looked bad. You look gorgeous. It's just that if I had known this was a date," his teasing tone was back, "I would've dressed a bit nicer."

Blush colored your cheeks and you felt heat building in your chest and neck and face. Pulling your hand away gently, kindly, you said in a cavalier tone, "It's not a big deal. Really. I just thought I would put a little bit of effort into it tonight. I had some nice stuff lying around that I never really get to wear, so." Then grabbing your beer, you took a hearty sip for courage and to distract you from rambling. There was no way now that you were going to admit that this stuff was all new, that you had purchased it all in hopes that he would see you. Really see you.

Sam watched you for a moment, unmoving, before rolling his eyes and laughing softly. Dropping back against the couch, the two of you sat in silence for a moment, staring at the screen. You were so stupid. He was teasing you and joking around. He didn't want to date you. You weren't going to be anything other than his female hunter friend that was replacing his brother. Humiliating, really. Your thumb traced the edge of the label on your bottle as you stared absentmindedly at the television. All of that work you put into looking so amazing, only to end up sitting on the couch watching sitcoms. Scratch that. American Idol auditions. You were so lost in being moody and trying not to look moody that it took you a moment to feel the weight of Sam's hand on your leg, just above your knee.

Glancing down at your leg, you noted for the first time how close your legs were to each other. Almost touching. And Sam was so casual that for a moment you wondered if he even knew he was touching you. Maybe he had had a few beers before you walked out and was just buzzed enough that he couldn't really feel whose knee he was touching. But when your eyes flicked from your knee to his face, you noticed his lips. Turning up in a flirtatious smirk, his eyes fixed a little too intently on the television. This was good, right? Again, heat crept up your neck, into your cheeks, and you knew that your face was bright red. And then you felt his thumb trace the inside of your knee in almost exactly the same pattern as what you had been tracing on your bottle. Swallowing hard, you tried your very best to keep your eyes focused on the television. But Sam, with his long fingers that were drawing designs on the inside of your thigh. When had his hand slipped up that high? It's not that you were complaining. This was like a dream.

Your heart was fluttering and your palms were sweating and your hands were shaking and you wanted him so badly you could barely contain yourself. So with as much courage as you could muster, you leaned forward and placed your bottle on the coffee table and turned to face Sam. But before you could make another move, or speak, his lips were on yours. It was everything you had ever dreamed of. And then his hand was at the back of your neck, holding you close, his long fingers tangling in your hair and then your fingers were locked behind his head. He pushed you back gently and you fell back against the single couch pillow that you owned, that actually didn't match the couch at all. Sam's knee parted your legs and he had his hands on either side of you, holding himself up. The kisses wiped away the self-doubt bit by bit.

And then Sam's hand was at your hip, sliding up your shirt, pulling it over your head and his lips were making trails across your collarbone and breasts. It was all happening so quickly you didn't have time to be self-conscious about your weight. And Sam clearly wasn't turned off. Every spot he touched, or kissed, felt burned into your skin, and you were thankful that the blush had maintained itself in your face, because it wouldn't do to have your skin flushing the rest of the time. Sam nipped the skin around your collarbone, leaving light marks that would get darker in time, bruising lightly under his teeth. Your hands reached right under the hem of his shirt, tracing the skin above his waistband, grinning when you heard him suck in his breath.

But when he reached for your waistband, you put a hand up to stop him.

"Wait," you whispered, your heart pounding so furiously that you were sure he could it hear louder than he could hear your words.

He pulled back, clearly confused, his breathing heavy. How could you tell him that you were afraid that this, whatever this was, would happen, and he would go back to hunting and not seeing you as anyone other than the hunter girl with the impressive moves. He would never see you again like this. You were just going to be the hookup that happened on a Friday night when he was bored and tired of watching television after he had had a bit too much to drink. You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it again. Too unsure of yourself, and suddenly wanting very much to cover yourself up rather than speak. And then you said, barely above a whisper, "I've never done…this before."

His brow furrowed in confusion and concentration for a moment before realization spread across his features and his eyes softened from fire to compassion. Leaning back towards you, hesitantly this time, he kissed you softly, gently, before pulling back slightly so that he could whisper in your ear, "I see you. I know you think I don't, but I do. And I know how much work you put into tonight, even if you try to pretend you didn't. And I want you. But if you don't want to go there today, just…just tell me. And I promise, I'll wait."

With every word out of his beautiful mouth, you felt your heart rate increasing again, and your confidence bolstering. You were his, signed, sealed, and delivered. And before you knew really what you were doing, your hands gripped the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. A grin spread across his face and he reached for you, pulling you against him. You were thrust into a frenzy of kissing and light bites and hurrying to pull each other's clothing off as quickly as possible. And as Sam took his time, making sure you were absolutely ready, and as he eased into what would go down in history as the most beautiful, sensual, romantic sex that had ever happened on such a cheap couch in a cheap apartment with fairly cheap beer and American Idol on the television, you heard the words in the song on the television.

"Cause all of me
Loves all of you
Love your curves and all your edges
All your perfect imperfections
Give your all to me
I'll give my all to you"

And you finally understood everything. Sam didn't care about the extra curves. He didn't care that you didn't look like anyone he had dated in the past. He was solely focused on you. As you were. All of you. And as the passion built and you fell apart in his arms, you felt the warmth that had spread through your body settle in your chest. You had Sam Winchester. And everything, in this moment, was perfect.