Hey, guys! Just so you know, this? This is the sex chapter. Yes, indeed, there are some sexy, sexy times to be had this week. And if you don't want to read that, you certainly don't have to. But you really, really should.
They get as far as the parking lot before Matt is backing Sam up against his car (a blue Toyota Camry, and if Sam was imagining him as more of a classic car kind of guy, that doesn't have to mean anything). He captures Sam's mouth in a languid kiss, gets a hand in his hair and slides his tongue in to press it against the tip of Sam's with a little kitten lick that makes Sam's toes curl.
It feels nice, really nice, but Sam straightens up and pulls his head out of Matt's grasp.
"Can we get out of here?" he asks.
Matt takes a step back.
"Why? You got someone who doesn't need to see you here?"
For the first time, his jovial demeanor has slipped away, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"My family," Sam tells him truthfully.
Matt relaxes.
"Yeah, okay, I get it," he says. "I was afraid you were going to say you were married or something! Done that dance before. Way too much drama."
He walks around the car and clicks the unlock button on his keychain.
"Come on, let's get out of here."
Sam struggles with the door handle for a few seconds, coordination alcohol-deadened, before Matt reaches over from the driver's side and pushes it open for him. He doesn't say anything, just watches Sam as lurches into his seat and begins struggling with the seatbelt with mild amusement.
If Sam were in Matt's situation, he'd be pretty worried if the person he was about to sleep with wasn't even sober enough to get into a car by themselves, but Matt doesn't say a word, just puts the car in drive and pulls onto Main.
Sam is completely aware of what he's doing, consent issues barely a twinkle on the horizon, but it does make him wonder what kind of person this guy is. He knows nothing about Matt, absolutely nothing, but Sam's still trusting him enough to let him drive them to some random motel, to take Sam's clothes off and get inside him. It feels like there's something wrong with that.
Yeah, this is exactly why Dean is the one who does the one night stands and Sam stays at home with his laptop.
"So what do you do?" Sam asks abruptly.
Matt looks at him out of the corner of his eye, smile tugging at his lips.
"I'm a software engineer," he says.
That's a lie. Even drunk, Sam's had enough experience with witnesses to sniff that out.
At least he didn't say he was an astronaut.
"I think this place might be good," Matt tells him, gesturing to a sign for the Super 8 Motel. "Never been there before, though, so no promises."
Lie.
His hand is back on Sam's knee, doing a slow slide up his thigh, fingers playing at the seam of Sam's jeans. Sam shivers, lets Matt kiss him long and deep before he goes and gets them a room.
Once they're inside, Matt is back at his mouth, hands skimming from Sam's hips up over his chest, stripping off Dean's shirt and throwing it blindly behind them. Sam gives back as good as he gets, stripping the other man out of his t-shirt so he can get his hands on those broad, bare shoulders and dig in his fingers as Matt moves from his mouth to attack his neck.
Sam shoves him back before he can leave a mark, keeps pushing until Matt's knees hit the bed and he sinks down. Sam straddles him, knees pressed tight against the other man's hips. He grabs Matt's face between his hands, yanks it upwards so he can kiss him again, grinding down with a rasp of denim on denim.
This is the part Sam likes. This part is easy, when Sam can just turn off his brain, stop worrying about demons and his dad and Dean, and just feel.
He works Matt's jeans open, shoves his hand into the other man's underwear, dragging his fingers over a sharp, smooth cut of hip before getting a hand on his dick.
"Yeah," Matt groans hot against his mouth. "Get it out."
For once, Sam is more than happy to do what he's told. He shift his weight up so Matt can hastily wiggle out of his jeans and boxer briefs, then settles back down. He gives Matt's cock a few pumps, watches with hooded eyes as the purpling head slides through his fist, a drop of precome beading at the slit.
Matt groans appreciatively, hips shifting, and Sam's already halfway to the floor by the time he manages to grunt out: "God, yeah, suck it."
Sam doesn't need to be told twice. He gets the base of Matt's dick firmly in his fist then drags his tongue against the underside, re-familiarizing himself with the taste. It's been a long time since he did this, but that doesn't tamper his enthusiasm. In fact, it almost makes it better.
Sam curls his lips over his teeth and slips his mouth over Matt's cock. He lets it sit for a moment, heavy on his tongue, before he ramps up the suction, draws all the way back until the tip slips out with an obscene slurp.
Matt lets out a sound that's halfway between a swear and a gasp, and Sam smirks to himself for a second before he gets his mouth back on it, licking and sucking with determination. He uses his free hand to press against Matt's stomach, pushing until he's lying flat on the bed, hard abs quivering under Sam's palm.
Sometimes Sam thinks he likes oral even more than actual fucking. He loves listening to the sounds of someone undone because of him, loves feeling their every tremble and groan thrum through his own body. Loves holding them open, dragging them thrashing to the edge of pleasure, loves being the one to choose when to keep them dancing there and when to push them over. He loves going down on girls, making them come over and over again until they're soaked, trembling and ready for Sam to slide inside as easy as a knife through butter. He loves doing it to guys, likes keeping them on the edge while he fingers himself, sucking them long and hard until they think they just can't take any more, then climbing onto their laps and sinking right down on their dicks.
Speaking of which.
"Don't come yet," he says, pulling off of Matt's cock.
"Shit," Matt hisses. "Okay, then you need to stop."
He fists the hair at the base of Sam's skull, drags him up until they're pressed chest to chest and kisses him again while he shoves Sam's pants and underwear down and off of his legs. He palms at Sam's ass, rocking his hips so their cocks drag against each other, and now it's Sam's turn to make the happy sounds.
Matt pulls away, head thumping against the mattress with a frustrated groan.
"Hold on, I gotta get the stuff," he says, wiggling out from under Sam to dig through his pants pockets.
Sam doesn't move, just props himself up on his elbows and knees and tries to slow the pounding of his heart.
Matt's hands are back on him then, palms dragging up the backs of his thighs to press into the globes of his ass, squeezing his cheeks together before pulling them gently apart, one lube-slicked knuckle playing against Sam's hole.
"This isn't your first time or somethin', is it?" Matt asks quietly.
"No," Sam answers, forehead mushed up against the bedspread.
Matt hums.
"You're just kind of tense," he says, pressing a kiss against the base of Sam's spine. "Relax."
Sam does his best, shuts his eyes and breathes out slowly like he remembers, and then there's a finger sliding inside of him, a gentle drag in and out making his insides tremble.
It always feels strange at first – maybe Sam never did it enough times to really get used to it – but it's a good strange, a foreign kind of pleasure that makes Sam bite his lip and shuffle his hips backwards, asking for more without words.
By the time Matt's got three fingers inside of him, Sam's dripping with sweat. Matt was gentle at first, but he's really getting into it now, thrusting his fingers in and out like he's already fucking Sam, nipping at Sam's shoulders with his teeth. Sam can't seem to close his mouth, every shove drawing another breathy groan. His arms and legs are trembling from the effort to hold himself up, hips churning against Matt's fist. Matt's a talker, keeps grunting about how good Sam looks, about how slutty he sounds, and God, Sam doesn't care, he just wants Matt to give it to him.
"You ready?" the other man asks finally.
His middle finger grazes against Sam's prostate on an out-stroke, and Sam makes a high, desperate noise, nods frantically against the mattress.
Matt pulls his fingers out of Sam to roll on the condom, and Sam uses the time to wiggle onto his back, limbs sprawled haphazardly. Matt tugs him down the bed, uses his big hands to splay Sam's thighs, shuffling on his knees until he's positioned himself in the V of Sam legs.
Sam looks up at him and thinks that, with his eyes half-closed and the dim florescent glow of the lamp at the Matt's back, he could really be anybody. Sam reaches out for him, arms spread wide and hands groping, and stares at the blurry scattering of freckles on his cheek while they kiss.
The other man rolls his hips, and then he's pushing inside Sam, a slow but irresistible force opening Sam up. The muscles in Sam's thighs jump and shudder, but he's pinned down, spread wide, can't do anything but take it.
He keens when Matt bottoms out, gets a bruising grip the other man's biceps as he rocks his hips against Sam's ass, slow at first, then faster, harder and harder until Sam is bouncing on the mattress with the force of it, making it creak in protest, making the headboard smack against the wall, and Sam can feel the pleasure building, can't stop himself from crying out over and over, little "ah, ah, ah"s getting louder with every teeth-rattling thrust—
And then the door to the room burst open with a crash and something is dragging Matt off of Sam, right out of him, and Sam cries out in shock and pain. He hears the all too familiar sound of a gun being cocked and scrambles for some kind of weapon, anything, before he hears the voice, so twisted with fury that Sam barely recognizes it:
"Get the hell away from my brother!"