This girl has been traveling with the boys for some time now, but feels especially close to Sam. Takes place in cold wooded area, maybe somewhere like the Golden Trout Wilderness of California in the winter. The protagonist is PURPOSEFULLY described vaguely and given hardly any back ground, because that way she can become whatever the reader wishes. Hope you like reading it! I sure enjoyed writing it...
"Nightmare?"
Sam was leaning in the doorway of the little kitchen of the cabin, looking at me intently. It is a rustic place, and only his eyes and silhouette are visible in the luminous pool of the candle.
"Mmm" I reply noncommittally, looking down into my steaming tea. It's quiet for a moment. He walks over and eases onto the wooden bench where I sit… For such a huge man, he is remarkably graceful. I'm conscious suddenly that he wears no shirt, as the spirals of his tattoo trap my eyes. It didn't bother me, of course; I have dressed wounds all over his body, watched demons attack him with the deepest, most intimate secrets they could twist out of his soul, so bare skin was hardly revealing.
"My nightmares used to be terrible", he says solemnly. "If anyone knows how you feel, I do."
I glance over, and our eyes hold so intensely that I feel myself shiver. He had endured so much hurt. Sam had literally been to hell and back, and was willing to review that time to help me with my own night terrors.
He reaches over, hesitates, his eyes flickering to the floor, before tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His hand lingers for a moment, and I take the opportunity to lace my fingers through his. We are close, but never alone together, in the middle of the night. These were uncharted waters.
"Sometimes, the stars seem very cold in the sky," I say. "Mostly beautiful, but occasionally very cool… and I feel alone."
"It's a lonely life, what we have. But there are joys. Right now being in this dinky cabin at 1am in the kitchen with you is pretty conducive to not giving a fuck about the outside world, or its remote stars."
I laugh, and, without any forewarning, he leans over and kisses me.
Sam sucks gently on my bottom lip as my fingers tangle into his curly hair. His lips part, and I sigh softly before our kiss deepens, and we pull each other closer- one calloused hand on my side, fingers splayed over the slope between my hipbone and the expanse before the bottom of my ribcage, the other on my cheek; my hands in his soft hair and on top of the languid muscle over his naked shoulder blade, the tips of my fingers barely brushing the delicate knobs of his spine.
'He could have wings too', I think as I trace the outline of the bones beneath my hand. Sam thinks he's damned, but his own Grace is as pure as any angels', and his wings would be as sublime.
There is warmth everywhere: the dying embers of the ancient stove at my back, the little glow of the candle shining quietly on the wooden table beside us, the heat emanating from Sam's limbs as they embrace me. I'm in his lap now, and his kisses are slow and sweet, but a whisper of tension begins to murmur between our bodies as we explore the valleys and canyons of each other… his rough thumb circles just beneath the curve of my breast, and he convulsively pulls me tighter against his chest with a soft growl when I suckle and then nip his earlobe. Sam's tender- there has been so much pain lately, and we luxuriate in the surety of each others' affections- but still, there's a greater urgency present as he hitches my thigh back so that the junction of our hips fit together, and his teeth leave marks on my skin.
Sam starts gathering the fabric of my shirt in his hands, and looks at me questioningly before I smile and kiss his nose. I lift my arms and he pulls off the warn-out cloth, as though I was a child. My skin tingles slightly at the cold breeze, but it is delicious, Sam's warm hands on my bared skin, lips heated against my collarbone and breasts, while the slight chill in the air keeps me awake. I am nothing but a confluence of overwhelming sensations.
Sam's gaze meets mine, where I look down from a few inches above. His eyes are sad. He has lived many, many years beyond the ones he has officially allotted. Sam is at once the saddest, and least disserving of this emotion, person I have ever met. He is not sad now, though, as the crinkling in the corner of his eyes and slight curve to his lips attest to.
He laces his fingers through my hair and pulls me down for another deep kiss, while his other hand grasps my lower back flush against him. I push achingly against the hardness between his hips, and Sam gasps and closes his eyes before breathing out slowly. His large hands curve around my hips now, and I rock back and forth over the bulge. Sam's not looking at me - his head is thrown back, eyes closed, as he breathes in and out deeply- but his grip is almost painfully tight.
"She loved me for the dangers I had passed, And I loved her that she did pity them", he jokes quietly when he pulls his head back up to look at me again. It was true, in a lot of ways. Sam's tale wrung my heart, and I knew he was used to a more antagonistic reaction to the news that he had, well, started the apocalypse and released Lucifer, then I had provided. But I probably would have loved him anyway. There was so much purity, despite the pain. There was kindness and so, so, so much remorse. There was also a stubborn streak of morality, an ironic sense of humor that was unexpected from this serious younger brother, that I would have appreciated in any circumstance.
"Since when do you quote Shakespeare?" I laugh, and then a wave of electricity washes through my body as his hands travel to my underwear and start toying with it- twisting the band between his fingers, shifting underneath them where they are slimmest on the side of my hip.
"Well, I did go to Stanford…"
Reviews/thoughts are appreciated. xo