Bet you thought I had forgotten about this one. I regret to say that I got carried away writing something else, which takes up an unbelievable amount of time and is still ongoing, which is why there is only four chapters to put up instead of my intended five. Hopefully you can find some enjoyment in them though :)
This one takes place Pre-Season, though not that much before. I don't really know how this one came about, it was just the first thing I thought of on seeing the word :')
As always, I make no profit. I own nothing.
6. Curl
He understood, perhaps a little better than most, the tendency to want that which you never had. But what he didn't understand was why she, so beautiful and perfect already, deigned to change something which was arguably her most striking aspect (and certainly one of his favourites) in a vain quest to achieve what haute-couture dictated was exactly that.
Sam watched, unashamedly enraptured, as Jessica moved the hot irons over individuals sections of her hair; once, twice, transforming wayward curls into a pin-straight style. She suited it straight; it framed her face with a sort of sophistication which its natural constitution could not manage, and bestowed upon her an alluring ambiance right out of the silent movie era. But Sam preferred it curly.
Eyes instinctively drawn toward the corner of the mirror; instinctively drawn to his, she caught him looking and laughed. He smiled sheepishly in return.
"Why?" Sam asked simply, cocking his head to the side, all the better to glimpse the last rays of sunlight fall upon her through the open window which fronted the vanity table. They surrounded her like an angelic aura. His angle. In that light, she reminded him so much of Mom.
"Sometimes it's nice to do something a little different," she shrugged, moving on to the next section. "Besides, it seemed more befitting of the occasion; more sophisticated."
"You're perfect just the way you are," he assured her with feeling.
She laughed girlishly, her cheeks blushing with a beautiful rose tincture.
"It's just for one night."
Even after a year and a half, he could still make her blush, and she still made him nervous. They were the marks of love. A love which would never fade.
He left her at the vanity in order to change into his suit and tie. The first he had ever bought for himself, and the first which ever properly fitted. The dress code for the evening was formal. As high class as one could extend to on a budget.
Sam Winchester was never one for boisterous social events, more likely to be found with a book in hand than a glass, and wild, all-night parties were a thing of somebody else's collage experience. In fact, Dean could have probably credibly claimed to have had wilder times with a six pack in a Poole house. But with the end of the academic year drawing nigh, and in celebration of a perfect score; a feat of no little repute, Jess had convinced him to attend Justin's annual cocktail event.
Justin's parents were exceedingly wealthy and indulged in extravagant year round vacations, leaving the house empty. From what he had heard, it marked a prestigious venue indeed.
Sam moved back into their room, searching through the top drawer of the dresser for a salvageable pair of socks. He disregarded completely the clumsy balled and clearly most recently purchased of the array for fear of disgorging the little velvet box they imbued. Bought two weeks previous, he was waiting for the right time to ask her.
Her amazing golden tresses were now as straight as a seaward horizon, but she still persisted to pass the irons over particular sections, as if dissatisfied with the result.
He sat upon the bed a resumed watching her, having nothing else to do but wait. Her very presence was intoxicating to him; and an eternal torture on his heart, which was bound to navigate the erratic waves of feeling. He didn't think it was possible to be so in love with someone.
"I still wish you would have worn it curly," he whispered, teasing lightly; she looked radiant, as ever. Jessica just smiled long-sufferingly, rolling her eyes dramatically for his benefit.
Sam chuckled. He would be the first to admit that the didn't comprehend the social pressures placed on women to satisfy the ever shifting and controversial ideals of desirability: to look a certain way when everyone was individual, nor their incessant preoccupation and need to satisfy these short-lived credentials. But hey, he grew up in a family which was essentially homeless and placed the restoration of armaments above similar sartorial needs. Clearly, he could have been missing something.
Sam always thought she was beautiful, even when she would insist the adverse. When she neglected make-up for a day of sloth, and wore garments no more flattering than a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an old hoodie of his own, long shrunk in the wash. When she laughed, and her cheeks would dimple; something she was self-conscious about. When she awoke, blinking owlishly through the residual tendrils of sleep, skin warm and lined, hair a mess. When she looked upon others with that innate compassion and a will to help. When her eyes were swollen and red after watching The Notebook for the four-hundred and twenty-fifth time.
Beauty wasn't solely in the skin, it was in the person to; in a form more concentrated and sometimes miss-idendified. And the times when she thought she looked the least presentable, he thought she actually looked the most beautiful. For it was a natural beauty, and entirely her own.
Jessica was his first love. She had breezed into his life like a world-wind of possibility, and affection had been instantaneous. She made him so sure and yet so unsure of himself that any pretentiousness, which sometimes characterises the initial days of love, was rendered obsolete. He had no option but to be completely and irrevocably true to himself, and she loved him anyway. The intellect and the idiot that he was. And there was something about that first love which made it remarkable; having no precedent, and nothing to compare. It was a potent voyage of discovery, about yourself and about them. Not even itself would ever feel so ardently again, as how it felt in that initial instance. They were living a romance, right out of fiction.
Dean had always been the more confident with girls; growing up and even now. He was smooth and charming, while Sam had been crippled with shyness and notably awkward (and perhaps just a little too tall to be cute about it). As the self-proclaimed; 'awesome big brother.' Dean had of course offered his services to the needy cause, in-spite of Sam's protests.
Several decidedly graphic and certainly uncomfortable sessions later, Sam had felt even more insecure for his 'tuition'. It was a few years before he fully comprehended that what Dean had actually taught him about, was lust. Sam was a romantic, Dean was a realist (or so the latter shamelessly maintained.)
One thing Dean's tuition had neglected though, which ironically, might have actually been of some benefit, was the mention of just how good love felt. How it was as integral as breathing. How words were a useless mime, inadequate to its expression … Maybe because Dean didn't believe in it himself.
But though Sam had never lied to her, he had not been entirely honest either. And no matter how close they held each other, there would always be a veil which existed between them; something time had made both tactile and distant. The entities he had seen and hunted. The things which he had intended and done. He would never open her eyes to that world of fears, and he would never go back to that life … but the memory of it persisted, and something told him it always would, like a shadow in the back of his mind.
He gazed unhurriedly at the bedside clock, reading 6:57pm on it's digital display. Justin was opening the doors at seven.
"You know we're going to be late?" He asked mildly. Personally, he wasn't over concerned. Given the choice he would have preferred to spend a night in with Jess, but maybe Justin would be slightly put out.
Jessica just grinned from where she was expertly apply mascara;
"It's a girls prerogative to show up fashionably late," she assured him easily.
"Oh, right," Sam laughed, his heart stuttering slightly as she spun on the stool to face him, finally satisfied with her appearance. She looked stunning, and everyday took his breath away. "And what's my excuse then?"
She alighted with an alluring smile and converged upon him, draping her arms around his neck and folding herself into a position whereby she straddled his legs.
He was intoxicated by the scent of her perfume, the very caress of her skin, warm against his own, and his arms wrapped around her instinctively; drawing her closer and eliciting a wonderfully girlish giggle when he accidentally brushed against a particularly sensitive spot. He kissed her neck tenderly, just once.
"That you are too much the gentleman to leave a lady stranded."
She pulled back slightly, taking his face in her hands. They gazed upon each other so intently that it seemed with just a little more conviction, they could descry the others soul, until they were forced to look away; light-headed with affection.
"And so," she whispered breathlessly, "you stayed."
Without preamble, his lips were moving against hers; a communion of silk, in a rhythm now second nature. They were the steps of an infant dance, yet to attain accreditation; full of passion, intensity and excitement, and yet similarly reserved, hesitant and deferential. In that moment, nothing else in the world mattered, but the gravity which held them fused.
"I love you," he murmured around the motion.
"I love you too."
Finally, regretfully, she drew back. Her lips lingering against his, motionless for an instant. Then, in one fluid movement, she slid off his lap and took hold of the form flattering, midnight blue, evening dress.
"No peeking," she warned playfully, narrowing her eyes shrewdly.
Sam mimed the motion of crossing his heart, which only made her giggle. How in a million chances had he ever won the love of someone so perfect?
They left their small, student-let hand in hand. It's meagre proportions were like a housing of infinite space to their perception, because it was something which was, without exception, entirely their own. If Sam had the world, he would give it to her freely. But it's bestowal would have to wait. One day, though, they would have that white picket fence.
He held ajar her door, as she alighted in the car. Chivalry may have been on the decline, but it wasn't dead yet. The jewel-like detail upon the sweet-heart neck shimmered like so many stars in the approaching dusk.
The drive was quite; a world of content, spoiled by word. Idle clouds strolled leisurely across the sky, painted an iridescent patchwork by the failing rays of sunset. In hue, in constitution, they were love.
Their destination was indeed a spectacle of grandeur. It made even the most flagrant feeling seem small and inconsequential, out-matched by the imposing splendour.
Sam swallowed hard, suddenly nervous, wondering whether an over-abundance or lack of decorum constituted the tone for the evening.
Nevertheless, he slipped his arm around Jessica's waist as they walked soundlessly across the lawns, their way illumined by a procession of ground lights, just blinking into life. In her presence he was happy, wherever they might eventually wind up.
Then, quite abruptly, their was a distant rumble above; the only precognition, for instantly began to fall, small drops of moisture like a mist. It was nothing more than a summer shower; intrusive and brief, but instantly Sam had stripped off his blazer, and held it over her head like a canopy, their pace quickening.
"Every time!" Jessica mumbled with half-hearted exasperation. Sam just smiled.
As soon as they gained the ornate porch, he restored his attire, endeavouring not to appear smug. Though the moisture had barely touched her, the humidity alone had sufficed. All her effort had been for nothing because already her golden locks had began to curl perceptibly again.
In the amber ambiance of the front porch, he lifted a tress with his finger, admiring it appreciatively;
"Looks like I got my wish after all."
Thank you for reading :)
- One Wish Magic.