I awoke to furious knocking on my door. It was only 5:30 in the morning and my glorious one night stand was still passed out on the bed. "For god's sake…" I muttered, throwing on Sam's undershirt and padding my way over to the door. I opened it a crack without undoing the security lock, enough to see big brother's wide smirk.
"Mornin' bartender," he said, waggling his eyebrows at the apparel he undoubtedly recognized. "I'm sure you and Sammy had fun last night, but we kinda got work to do. So if you could just…" he mimed unlocking the security chain with his finger, pointed inside my apartment, then back out again. I sighed, but undid the lock and swung the door wide.
"Sammy!" he yelled, letting himself in and also showing himself to my bedroom. He was in for quite the show.
"Jesus, Sammy! I did not need to see that!" I heard some rustling and some incoherent muttering. Dean quickly retreated with a look of horror etched on his face. "God did I not need to see that," he mumbled.
Sam quickly followed, hastily pulling up his pants, shirt hanging unbuttoned across his bare chest. I was staring – some might say ogling – and he smiled warmly at me. His smile widened when he noticed it was his shirt I was currently swimming in, and gave me a peck on the lips. "Morning, Lana."
I couldn't help but smile back as a ghost of last night's pleasure tingled down from my lips to my toes. I bit my lip. "Dean says you need to go." Hurt flashed in his puppy dog eyes, and I realized he must have taken that to mean I wanted him to go. Which was most certainly the opposite of what I wanted. Though, based on his reaction a moment ago, if I got what I really wanted, Dean would probably scratch his eyes out.
"We've got that, uh… thing… to take care of." When he thought I wasn't looking, he bared his teeth and slashed his finger across his throat; I guess they had been here to kill that vampire.
"The vampire is dead. And you are the least subtle hunters I have ever met," I said, still eying them in my peripheral vision. "How is it that you manage to get the jump on anything?" I taunted, turning to Dean.
"Well, I'm pretty damn sure Sammy got the jump on you last night, sweetheart," he retorted. Alright, that was a good one. I playfully punched him in the arm, and he feigned injury before plopping down in a kitchen chair. Sam had been watching our exchange with amusement.
"So, looks like we got some spare time on our hands," Dean said. "What ever should we do with ourselves?" He looked pointedly between me and his brother.
"Actually," Sam said, scratching the back of his head, "I'm kind of starving."
"Yeah you are," Dean mused, earning another punch in the arm.
"Want to grab some breakfast?" Sam asked me, the sweetness and uncertainty having returned to his demeanor.
"Ugh," I groaned. "I am a hot mess." I gestured to my disheveled appearance – matted hair, no pants, and reeking of sex. "How about I make something here?" Hunters rarely got a home-cooked meal, and I was sure they were tired of the same old diner food. The boys nodded eagerly.
I reached up into a cabinet to grab a boxed mix, the long shirt I was wearing not quite long enough to cover my whole ass. Out of the corner of my eye I saw both brothers gaping, then Dean giving his brother a little fist bump.
I threw the biscuits in the oven and fried up some bacon and eggs. Sam seemed more health conscious and, after his performance last night, I kind of wanted to impress him; I made an egg white omelet with chopped veggies and a green smoothie.
"One heart attack on a plate for the reckless one," I said, placing the bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit with an extra side of bacon down in front of Dean. He dug in and made some noises eerily similar to the ones I'd elicited from his brother last night.
"Marry her," he said through a mouthful of food. I smiled, too pleased by his acceptance.
"And an egg white omelet and green smoothie for the sexy one," I finished, tactfully leaning my unbridled chest against his back as I placed the dishes in front of him. Dean looked offended, both by my comment and the healthy meal. He shook his head.
"Seriously, dude. Marry her," he mumbled, taking another huge bite out of his sandwich.
"Oh my god, Lana, this is amazing," Sam proclaimed, trying to take his time eating but failing miserably. I beamed at him, proud that I could do something special for him; my mind quickly wandered to other special things I could do for him… or to him.
I nibbled on a biscuit and had a strip of bacon or two, but I really did feel gross. "I need to take a shower," I stated, frowning at my appearance. "Anyone care to join me?" I asked, eyes still focused on the bread that I was picking at.
There was a brief pause, then the chair next to me scraped across the floor and in an instant I was slung over Sam's shoulder like a sack of flour. I squealed in delight and kicked my legs in the air, waving goodbye to Dean.
"Guess I'll just watch tv or something," he called after us. "Loudly!"
I giggled as Sam slammed the bathroom door behind us.
When Sam and I were finished – i.e. we were out of hot water – we re-entered the living room only to find it empty. There was a note scrawled hastily on some scratch paper:
Ain't no tv in the world loud enough to drown out whatever the hell you two were doin' in there. Caught a case – just your standard run-of-the-mill angry spirit a few hours north. I'll swing by and pick you up in a day or two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do… and everything I would do. – The Actual Sexy One.
"Guess I'm stuck here," he said, trying to sound nonchalant even though his face wore the expression of a child who'd just been told that Christmas was going to last a week.
"Looks that way," I reiterated. We both looked longingly toward the bedroom. "But I think we'd better wait for the water heater to recharge before we participate in any… recreational activities."
So we spent the whole day talking. Well, mostly talking. We both agreed that since this was a one time deal – though we were also both trying to hide our disappointment at that fact – that we could ask or tell each other absolutely anything; we would be brutally and completely honest and for once never hold anything back.
He told me about his family – how many people he'd loved and lost, how guilty and angry he felt all the time, how he often wished Dean had let him die after they'd attempted the Trials. But we also laughed about fake FBI names (they used musicians, while I preferred authors), faeries, aliens, and suicidal teddy bears. When he – reluctantly – revealed about the Supernatural series, I dragged his ass to the nearest bookstore and we spent hours poring over the incredible life he'd lived.
I told him my sob story – orphaned by hunter parents, raised by my much older brother, who quickly perished in their footsteps. Bounced around in foster care for a while, which was just as bad as any horror story you'd have heard, before giving in to my past and hunting solo for a while. By the time I'd decided to quit – to have a normal life – I'd already brutalized my body too deeply for too long.
It was this secret that I held closest to my heart, and freely gave to the man stretched out on the couch beneath me. "I always wanted a family," I admitted, mumbling into his chest and pinching at the fabric of his shirt. "Even when I was hunting I just thought – I could always go back. But…" I hadn't realized a tear had escaped my eye until Sam wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. I hadn't cried in years, and even then I would never have allowed myself to be that vulnerable in front of another person. I took a deep breath. "Can't always get what you want. Guess the Mason line stops with me," I finished, shrugging.
Sam was quiet as he wrapped his massive arms more tightly around me. I nestled deeper into his embrace as the traitorous tears began to fall. "I mean, what would I even know about being a parent? I never had any," I babbled, trying to contain the rising sorrow that I had kept at bay for so long, but now threatened to overtake me. "And we know what's out there. This world is no place for a ba-" I choked on the last word, unable to finish without the dam bursting.
Sam was rubbing gentle circles in my back. Just when I thought I'd regained my composure, he cupped his hand behind my head and lightly kissed the crown. He let out a breath – almost a sigh – and whispered, "You would have been a great mother."
And that's when I lost it. I went full-blown, unearthing-all-the-repressed-feelings, snot-covered bawling. He held me and stroked my hair, offering gentle kisses and soothing touches, never trying to tell me that it was okay, because he could see that it damn well wasn't.
Of course, once I regained some control over my emotions, I was absolutely mortified. I pried myself out of his arms and rushed toward the bathroom. I grabbed some tissues, blew my nose and wiped my eyes. Sam came up behind me and began massaging my shoulders. I shrugged out of his comfort and wrapped my arms defensively around my waist.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, realizing how much of a stereotypical spaz I was being. "You get one day off and I had to go and…" I sniffed, "ruin it with…" another wet sniff, "my freakin' pity party," I pouted. Still avoiding his gaze, I glanced in the mirror at my hopelessly red and blotchy reflection. "I'm a mess," I whined, trying to comb my fingers through my hair and wipe the smeared mascara from under my eyes.
He pulled my chin up so he could look me in the eye. His thumb traced my jawline as his hand brushed my hair back and came to rest in the crook of my neck. "You're so beautiful," he once again proclaimed. I laughed nervously, looking for sarcasm behind the sentiment and finding none.
When he leaned down to kiss me, it wasn't like the others, which were hot and fiery and made me weak in the knees and wet in the panties. No, this kiss was different – it ran soul-deep and held a lifetime of unspoken promises. It was the kind of kiss that you compared all other kisses to; the kind of kiss that seemed to anchor you to the earth and made you feel like you're flying at the same time. And I never wanted it to end.
I pulled him slowly behind me to the bedroom. We took our time getting there – stopping every few steps to kiss, caress, explore, embrace. When we reached the foot of the bed, Sam picked me up as if I weighed nothing and delicately placed me on the mattress, like you would a sleeping child that you didn't want to wake.
He positioned himself between my legs and I wrapped them around his waist, pulling him close so that he was resting on his forearms. We stared into each other's eyes; he brushed a strand of hair from my face and I trace his bottom lip with the pad of my thumb.
He began to kiss me – first the lips, then making his way down my neck and across my collarbone. When he reached the tip of my shoulder he muttered against my skin, "Turn over." I flipped onto my stomach and tucked my arms under my chest. The heels of his palms slid up the length of my spine and arched over my shoulder blades, weaving their way through the knotted muscles and releasing what felt like a lifetime of stress.
Up and down, down and up; he systematically worked his way along my whole upper body, slow, then fast, then back to slow until I was a pile of jelly. When I was fully relaxed, his hands began to navigate to other areas of my body – down the lengths of my arms, cupping my hipbones, squeezing my inner thigh. As amazing as Sam's hands were, my body ached for even more of him.
His long legs had been straddling me, so when I tucked my knees under me and leaned back, there was a wall of pecs to support me. I rested my head back on his shoulder and he leaned down to kiss my cheek. I placed his hands on my breasts and he worked them to stiff peaks while I rolled my hips against his groin.
He widened his stance and guided my knees apart as one of his hands wandered between my legs. His fingers easily bypassed the loose-fitting sweatpants and began to work their magic within my sensitive folds. I reached my arm back as my insides began to coil and clutched the back of his neck; he bent his head down and nibbled at the base of my ear. I bit my bottom lip, unable to contain the moan behind it.
My breathing became ragged and he knew I was close. Still at my back, he lifted me onto my knees and gently pushed me onto my elbows so that my hips were high in the air and I was at a downward angle. His hands slid into my waistband and tugged the pants down my ass to my thighs, taking his time appreciating the firm, round muscle.
He removed his hands for a moment and I heard him unzip his jeans. Then he was touching me again, hand sliding up my inner thigh and dipping a finger, then two, into my warm center, testing my readiness. When he removed them, I opened my hips even wider and relaxed my core, readying myself for his considerable length.
I gasped in surprise – and delight – when he breeched my opening, sliding in slowly to the base of his shaft. I clenched the pillow in my fists and tried to catch my breath. This new position was even more intense than the last.
"Is this alright?" he questioned, noting my vulnerable position and lack of active participation.
"Just… give me a second," I responded breathlessly. Once my body had stretched and shifted, I nodded and he slowly worked his way out and in again. He pushed a little harder the next time; "Yes!" I cried. Encouraged by my vocalization, he continued to put more power behind his thrusts. He only spilled into me once my own orgasm clenched around him.
When he pulled out, we both collapsed on the bed. He was on his back, so I crawled half on top of him, tucking one arm under his shoulder and slinging the other across his chest, intertwining one leg with his and curling in on him. He kissed the top of my head and held me close, lightly tracing lines up and down my arm.
We rested, then made love again; showered – together – then ate and repeated the whole process over again. Time seemed to stand still in our little bubble, so we were both surprised when a familiar inconsiderate knock sounded on the door and Dean poked his head in.