It Takes Two
Author: Jett
Fandom(s): Supernatural/Smallville (crossover)
Rating: M (language, situations)
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Clark Kent - which means SLASH
Spoilers: All aired eps of Supernatural and Smallville (just in case).
Feedback: Reviews are great and make me feel warm and loved.
Notes: For my Sam/Clark posse. Mwah.

Also, if slash is not your cuppa, the back button is your friend.

It Takes Two - Chapter 5
by Jett

Sam pulls back, tongue and lips sliding over Clark's mouth, disruption, separation, detachment undesired. He feels energized yet breathless. Trepidation percolates up, spilling out, forcing Sam to move away out of necessity. He silently owns Clark's gravity has become a riptide, and Sam can't afford to be dragged under. The loss of heat, connection, makes him want it back, want it NOW, want it more, but Sam has to think - or pretend to think - because Clark isn't exactly normal. Dealing intimately with "not exactly normal" always, always, always comes back to sink teeth in Sam's ass.

"Maybe we shouldn't do this," says Clark, breaking the silence and Sam looks at him, looks into those green eyes that make him feel like it's too late, like he's lead, under fifty feet of ocean.

Sam stands there, takes in the breadth and length of Clark's body, the hardness of it in every possible respect.

Clark isn't saying "No" in spite of what Clark's said.

"No," says Sam. But this "no" isn't "No, we shouldn't" either.

Sam slams Clark into the nearest hard surface, swears he hears the crack of gypsum board beneath Clark's body as Clark impacts the wall - and Sam doesn't care. The only thing that matters now as Sam gives into the current that is Clark.

Sam finds a spot behind Clark's ear and dips his nose into the crease. He roots behind Clark's ear, probing, and Clark shudders. Sam pauses where ear gives way to lobe. The tip of his nose touches Clark's earlobe lightly, and Clark squirms. Sam exhales. He inhales and Clark moans a little as Sam's nose moves from lobe to neck to nape. Clark doesn't smell like Sam expects. He inhales again, taking in notes of smoke and Ivory freshness in spite of the demon brawl. He loses himself there at the nape of Clark's neck, feeling Clark's hair as it brushes his cheek.

Sam shifts a final time before his tongue flicks out, returning to the juncture of ear and throat. From there, he travels to the middle of the side of Clark's neck, licking, tongue sliding downward with concentrated, deliberate intent. Clark pushes himself back, curling into the ruined wall as he responds. More drywall crumbles as Sam's lips take on the task. He sucks lightly, careful not to mark - it's not his style - although... he wonders if in spite of the bullet hole and given the lack of burns, if teeth could bruise Clark's skin.

Sam steps back again, this time, to survey territory. Clark's still a very large "c" in a very small space - and there's more damage to the wall than Sam thought. Sam steps up once more, lips touching Clark's as he kisses him. There's fervor on both sides, so much hunger between the two of them Sam thinks spontaneous combustion's a distinct possibility.

Sam drops his mouth to Clark's chin, licks a stripe in the dimple there, continues with lips and tongue down to Clark's chest. He picks a nipple, breathes, licks then breathes again. Sam delights as Clark whimpers, his face contorted prettily, the apparent joy of the experience etched in the curves of his mouth, the crinkles by his eyes. Clark's noisy and really easy to please, and right now, that makes Sam all kinds of happy.

Sam continues south, past Clark's navel, past the dark trail. Sam licks, tongue persuasive, dreamy. Clark gasps. Sam's tongue darts along and Clark begins to whimper. When Sam takes all of Clark into his mouth, Clark begins to writhe. Sam steadies him with a hand as he suctions rhythmically, slowly at first, and Clark's moans let him know to pick up the pace.

Sam sucks harder and faster, faster and harder, faster, faster, harder, harder until Clark moans wildly, shudders empty.

Sam stands, tongue tracing the edges of his lips as he licks. Clark's suddenly there, mashed against him, tongue at the ready, and he finishes what Sam started, tonguing the edge of Sam's mouth before pressing his lips deeply into Sam's. In that instant, Sam feels small, so impossibly small, and he bends into Clark, eager to share all there is to share. "Your turn," Clark says, his voice deep, hypnotically authoritative. Sam watches as Clark stoops and wraps those lips around him, those lips made for sucking, and that's precisely what Clark does.

Sam stumbles back slightly as Clark begins. Clark's doing something with his mouth and tongue Sam can't place, but he knows he likes it, he likes it a lot, and he shows his gratitude by moving his hips to match Clark's rhythm. And Clark stills him with three fingers and a palm, and sucks hard and soft and hard, cheeks hollowing like a professional's and holy fuck what the hell does he have in his mouth that makes Sam feel like this?

Sam wobbles a bit as the urge to release builds like a freight train without brakes - and Clark stops. "Wha -" says Sam, surprised and without more words to offer.

"I want you inside me," says Clark, as he stands, pivots and walks away, tapping his ass.

If the tapping and the walk and that ass aren't an engraved invitation, Sam isn't a Winchester. He's staring at it, taking it all in, that beautifully shaped, rounded - "Inside. Now," growls Clark.

Evidently, it's taking Sam too long. And Sam who always wants to do the right thing, does the thing that feels right. Instantly, he's behind Clark, grinding into muscled flesh. He's satisfied there, relishing the feeling, his flesh against Clark's tight, tight ass when -

"Now," orders Clark again with enough bass in his voice to make Sam believe he means it.

So, Clark likes it rough. Without lube, without prep, Sam shoves in, hands on either side of Clark's ass as he pushes.

Clark doesn't wince or scream. Instead, Sam gets more writhing and another rumbling moan as Clark splays his hands against the wall. Balancing, Clark releases one hand to guide Sam's hand as Sam thrusts into Clark. One hand grips Clark's ass, the other strokes Clark as Clark continues to direct him, and when Sam's spent, he swears he sees a rush of images - sun and stars and sky - and understands everything before limp darkness removes meaning. Seconds later, Clark finishes too.

Panting, Sam laughs a little, and Clark follows suit. He lowers his head onto Clark's shoulder and kisses it lightly before pulling away, directing himself to the shower. Lathering, he enjoys the flowing warmth of the water, and Sam's wandering mind drifts all-too-soon back to the reality. "Dean," he says near inaudibly to no one.

Sam climbs out of the shower as Clark enters the bathroom, and God, his mind's off again. There's something about Clark's half-lidded eyes, that just-been-fucked look that makes Sam want to fuck Clark again. And again. And again. Instead, Sam says, "The knobs are backwards. Hot's cold, cold's hot."

Clark nods, and Sam leaves the bathroom. He gets dressed and slips out, heading down the street to the bodega. When he comes back, he glimpses Clark through the half-open door, his reflection visible in the mirror. Sam watches Clark remove the bandage. The bullet hole's gone, skin healed, pristine as a newborn's.

Clark steps out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, hair drooping into curls that frame his face. He's equally beautiful wet, and Sam feels himself getting hard again in spite of keeping his mind where it should be: the here and now. But, he won't give in. Not this time. Not until he gets an answer or three. "Bought some beer," says Sam. "Owed you." Clark dresses. Sam tries not to watch. "Didn't have a lot of options, but -"

Clark takes the Corona and places it on the nightstand. "This'll do," says Clark, buttoning the top of his jeans.

Sam raises his beer and Clark repeats the gesture. "To new friends." The two bottles clink as Clark's connects with Sam's. "So, do you do this often?" asks Sam. "The demon thing," he says, clarifying.

"No," says Clark, swallowing. "Do you?"

"Yeah," says Sam. He takes a long pull of Corona, fills his mouth with amber liquid. "Thanks. For tonight. For everything."

"I feel like I should be thanking you," says Clark, and he smiles a Crest-white smile. The smile gives Sam pause. Finishing the beer, Clark grabs the towel, runs it through his hair a final time. "I should probably go."

"Yeah," says Sam when he means "Don't." He still has one important question for Clark. Instead of asking, he says, "My brother'll be back soon."

Sam turns the bottle up and sucks it dry.

Clark's standing by the door by the time Sam gets around to asking, "Where can I find you? You know, if something happens and I need -"

"I'm always around," says Clark. He smiles again, smile as brilliant as the demon's, and walks into the night.

Deciding, Sam leaps across the room. He pulls the door open, but Clark's gone. "Let's hope," says Sam.

FIN