A/N: I hate doing this because I don't want to give away anything, but there is a pretty honest, graphic sex scene toward the end of this chapter, so I'M GIVING THIS CHAPTER AN M RATING. If it makes you uncomfortable, don't worry. I'm going to use a horizontal line to denote when the really steamy parts begin and end, so if you don't want to read it, DON'T read between the lines. :) If you feel like you've missed part of the story, just send me a PM, and I will give you a more G-rated summary of what happened. Enjoy!
Chapter 13
TJ watched her parents leave, her mother quietly shutting the door behind her. They had said they were going shopping, which was a thinly veiled excuse to give TJ and Sam some time alone to watch the movie. They had taken to Sam as if he actually was their son, even her dad, and TJ wasn't surprised. Who wouldn't like Sam? But TJ wasn't sure if she was grateful or wary.
She hadn't missed the tacit agreement between Sam and her mom, both of them eyeing the milkshake and Sam surreptitiously nodding that he'd take care of it. Did they think she was blind? Did they think that she was too dumb to figure out that they would make her drink the stupid shake one way or another?
She closed her eyes, so very tired. She was so tired of being angry all the time, so tired of being the freak, so tired of being treated like some kind of prisoner. The doctors weren't letting her go home because she wasn't giving them what they wanted—tears of remorse and opening up about how much she hated herself for all the world to see. She wanted to tell them all to fuck off—well, she actually had at one point or another—and they were punishing her for that, making her stay for at least another week, practically force-feeding her.
It wasn't even really that she didn't want to eat. In a way, it was like she was resigned to it, like she'd been caught, and now she had to face the music, had to gain weight. It was being treated like a mental case that made her defiant, that made her not want to drink the fucking shake just because they were watching her, just because she was not to be trusted. No matter how much she protested that she knew she'd screwed up, that she was ready to get help, they still looked at her with doubt, and that enraged her and made her, perversely, not want to cooperate.
She didn't make a move to turn on the movie, even though her parents were gone. Her head was resting on Sam's shoulder, kind of on his chest, too, and his arm was around her. If she listened closely, she could hear his heartbeat, and she found it comforting. She vacillated between never wanting him to leave her and not wanting him there to witness her humiliation, amazed that he still seemed to care about her despite the fact that he knew her dirty, disgusting secret. She was afraid that, at any moment, he would realize how pathetic she really was, and she would never see him again.
"So, uh, are you ready to watch the movie?"
She sighed deeply, which caused an ache in her still-sore abdomen, and her voice came out barely audible. "Yeah."
Sam was quiet for a moment and then said, "We don't have to watch it, TJ, if you don't feel like it."
It made her want to cry that he was so understanding, and she swallowed painfully, pissed that embarrassing tears were always so readily available. Normally, she would have jumped at the chance to watch the movie with him. Even though The Breakfast Club had come out around the year she was born, her mom had gotten her hooked on it—on most of the John Hughes films, in fact—and she loved it.
In different circumstances, finagling Sam into watching it with her would have been icing on the cake, but she wasn't in the mood for it today. There wasn't much she found joy in these days, and the fact that she'd been told she was stuck in the hospital for another week had sent her into a black void. All she wanted to do was sleep, and if she couldn't do that, she wanted to work on her classwork. Those were the only two things that seemed to give her any respite from the depression.
"It's just—I—I guess I'm tired," she stammered lamely.
He reached forward with his right arm and grabbed the shake. "Here."
She just lay there, staring at it.
"TJ, if you don't drink it, they're never gonna leave you alone. You know that."
She hated it, but she knew he was right. Besides, it didn't seem as bad when it was Sam offering her the drink.
She remained where she was, head nestled on his shoulder, but she reluctantly took the shake from him and sipped on the straw. It was too rich, too fake-chocolate tasting, and she grimaced, but she kept it in her hand instead of putting it back on the table.
Sam didn't give her any idiotic words of encouragement like Carla and even her mom tended to do, and TJ was glad. Instead, he made small talk. "So, uh, you've gotten a lot of cards and stuff, even one from your Latin professor."
TJ glanced around the room at the flowers, get-well cards, and stuffed animals her mom had decorated the otherwise sterile-looking room with. They looked cheerful and out of place, not fitting TJ's mood.
"Your dad showed it to me," he went on, a smile in his voice. "I thought it was pretty funny that it was signed 'Professor Prick.'"
She huffed. "Yeah. That one's a mystery. I've never called him that to his face. He's been surprisingly cool about me missing class, though."
Sam played idly with the hospital ID bracelet on her wrist, his fingers sometimes brushing her skin. "Who is the cheesy teddy bear from?"
She eyed the brown, oversized bear sitting in a chair in the corner of her room. It was at least three feet tall. "That's from my downstairs neighbors, Zach and Ralph. Their apartment is directly below mine."
His tone was was ironic. "Yeah, I know."
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes. "How do you know that?"
"Because they carried me up the stairs outside your apartment so I could get to you, you know, when we found you."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. She knew how much Sam would have hated asking the two frat boys for help.
His mouthed curved in amusement, as if he knew what she was thinking, and he put his hand around hers and lifted the shake to her lips. "Drink."
She absently obeyed, hardly tasting it, still thinking about what he'd done, the fact that he'd saved her life really sinking in for the first time. Humbled, she said simply, "Thank you."
He kissed the top of her head. "You're welcome."
She blushed a little, but it wasn't from embarrassment. She was flushed all over and felt a fierce love for him, an unrequited emotion that made her heart clench and took her breath away.
They were quiet after that, Sam occasionally encouraging TJ to drink the shake, but it wasn't awkward or annoying. The silence was finally broken when TJ finished the drink and made a loud, rude, slurping noise with the straw in the empty cup like a little kid would do, signifying that she was done.
Sam chuckled and tossed the cup into a small, nearby trashcan like a pro.
"Nice shot." She didn't remind him that they were supposed to save it so Carla could see that she drank it all.
"You feel any better?"
She thought for a moment. Maybe she did feel slightly better, but she wouldn't have admitted that to anyone but Sam. If it had been Carla, she would have denied it just on principle alone. "I guess," she said with reluctance.
"Look, TJ, I know it all sucks, but most of what they do to you is for your own good." He paused, staring at the laptop with the paused movie. "It's taken me a long time to realize that, but I can sort of see it, now, and believe me, I was not an easy patient."
"What did you do, brood them to death?"
He let out a small laugh. "Something like that. As you know, I've also pretty much been a dick to Dean and Bobby."
"You've had a lot to adjust to, Sam. It's understandable, and I'm sure the shoulder injury didn't help."
He snorted. "No, it didn't, and what made it even worse was that it happened because of my own stupidity."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what happened, right?"
"All Dean said was that you fell getting out of the shower."
His tone was dry. "There's a little bit more to it than that. I was fucked up on pills and Jack Daniel's."
She was surprised. "You were?" She'd hardly ever seen him drink anything but water, and certainly not whiskey.
"Yeah. My friend Jack and I had a good thing going until I screwed up my shoulder."
"Hm. Maybe I should give him a call," she said morosely.
"Uh, no. Trust me, it just makes things worse." His voice took on a huskier quality. "You know you can talk to me about anything, TJ."
Her throat narrowed and her chest suddenly tightened, making it impossible to speak.
"It helped, you know, when I talked to you." He laced his long, tapered fingers through hers. "I told you personal things that I would never tell anyone else."
She swallowed with difficulty and found her voice. "I know, and I'm glad you felt comfortable enough to do that, but with me, it's different."
"Why?"
Because I'm in love with you, and I don't want you to know just how sick and pitiful I really am because I want you to love me back. She couldn't say that, of course, knew he would never be in love with her, knew that she didn't deserve it. She didn't know how it was possible, but her throat and chest tightened even more, painfully so, and she couldn't stop the torrent of tears that suddenly streamed down her cheeks. She felt the weight of the bulimia and her futile feelings for Sam crushing her, and she shook her head, unable to squeeze enough air out to speak.
He hugged her tighter and placed his right palm gently on her cheek in a comforting gesture, rubbing away tears with his thumb.
She fisted a handful of his shirt, holding onto him for dear life as another wave of shameful despair washed through her. She was sobbing now, harder than she'd ever sobbed in her life. It made her incision hurt, but she couldn't stop the flood of emotion.
"Hey, it's okay," he said in a soothing voice.
She cried like a baby for several minutes, Sam murmuring words of comfort the whole time, and when she was done, she reached over and grabbed a few tissues from the box on her nightstand and blew her nose as delicately as she could, trying not to sound like some kind of lovesick moose. Then she lay her head back on Sam's shoulder, not looking at him, even though she could feel him looking down at her. "Wow," she said, wincing a little at the ache in her abdomen, "that was embarrassing."
He kissed the top of her head again. "Don't be embarrassed. Talk to me, TJ."
"I can't."
"Nothing you say will change the way I feel about you."
She couldn't keep a little sarcasm from her tone. "Because I'm your best friend, right?"
He gave a little perplexed laugh. "Is that a bad thing?"
Yes. It's bad because I want to be your girlfriend, not your fucking best friend. "No. You're my best friend, too. Maybe I should weave you a friendship bracelet, since I'm stuck here for another week. Don't they make loony bin patients do crafty stuff like that?"
She could feel his eye roll, even if she couldn't see it.
"You're not in the loony bin, TJ."
"I almost puked myself to death, Sam. That's pretty demented."
"When did it start?"
"Well, let's see. The binge was around eleven-fifteen, so I guess the puking started around noon."
"That's not funny. You know I'm talking about the bulimia."
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Gretchen said it was when you were a freshman in the dorms."
She felt heat rushing up her neck, shame warring with anger at Gretchen for telling him about it and wondering just how much her friend had said. "Well, why are you asking me? Just ask Gretchen," she groused.
He sighed. "Because I want to understand, and I want to hear it from you."
She stared at her fuzzy, white slippers and his brown, sock-clad feet and then at his loafers, which were sitting on the seat cushion of his wheelchair. "Why do you wear such suburban-dad shoes?"
"That has absolutely nothing to do with what we're talking about."
"Maybe we should get you some Converse sneakers. I know nobody wears them now, but I swear they'll be cool in a few years. You can be a trendsetter."
"Teej," he said with soft reproach.
He'd been calling her that lately, and she liked it, liked that he had a special name for her. She sighed and then said out of nowhere, "Eleven."
She still wasn't looking at him, but she could imagine that his brow was creased into a frown.
"What?" he said, sounding a little puzzled.
"It started when I was eleven."
"The bulimia?"
"No. The dieting."
"You started dieting when you were eleven?"
She nodded her head. "I've always been...large."
"You mean tall?"
"Well, that, too. I was always the tallest girl in the class, and usually there weren't too many boys taller than me, either. I was always encouraged to play basketball and all the guy sports, like touch football. I'm sure if organized football for girls had existed, everyone would have wanted me for a linebacker," she said wryly.
He snorted. "Oh, come on. You're not a linebacker, TJ. You're just tall."
She huffed through her nose. "You just say that because you've only known the thin TJ. You didn't know the 'big-boned' TJ. That's how old ladies used to describe me. Sometimes they'd say I was 'statuesque,' trying to be delicate about it, I guess."
He grabbed her hand and rubbed one of her knuckles with his finger. "I don't see any big bones, just long ones, maybe."
She laughed a little. "Yeah, well, thanks. There were lots of words for it, though—stout, corn-fed, heavyset, solid. You get the idea. I wasn't necessarily obese or anything. I was just big."
He tilted his head a little and his eyes reflected her pain, as if he knew. "Did people actually call you those things?"
She looked at her fuzzy slippers again. "Pretty much, at one point or another, yeah. Most of them didn't mean to be unkind. I don't think they realized how much it affected me."
He put his fingers under her chin and tilted her face toward him. "Hey. None of that is true."
She rolled her eyes. "Not now. Haven't you heard? I'm thirty pounds underweight. I'm a bulimic with anorexic tendencies."
"Yeah. Kind of like I'm disabled and a paraplegic."
"Oh." She stared at him, realizing that he really did get it. "Yeah." She felt something release inside her, felt a little of the crushing weight lessen.
"It sucks to be labeled, doesn't it?"
"Wow. Now we really need to watch the movie. It's all about that. There's this one part at the end where Molly Ringwald, the rich girl, gives Judd Nelson, the loser, her diamond earring. It's so romantic and cool."
He grinned, showing his dimples. "You're such a girl."
You're such a hotty. She didn't say it, but she felt that surge in her blood again, the one that only Sam could cause.
"So, tell me the rest," he urged.
She paused for a moment, sort of reevaluating, and realized that it actually wasn't so bad, talking about it all with Sam. She exhaled and began her story. "I started yo-yo dieting when I was eleven."
"What's yo-yo dieting?"
"It's when you gain and lose weight, gain and lose. I probably lost and gained the same twenty-five pounds a million times. It was pretty painful, the 'Oh, TJ, you look so greats' and the 'Oh, well, it's really hard to keep it off, honeys.'"
He frowned, obviously trying to understand, like a really cool, good-looking, awesome guy who'd never had weight issues would do.
She actually held in a smile at the earnest expression on his face. "Anyhow, I was frustrated that I could never keep off the weight. I always felt so in control and successful when I lost it and like such an awful failure when I would gain it back again. It was like an addiction, though. I would be so hungry and obsessing about food when I was losing it and then promising myself, over and over, that I would start dieting again tomorrow, that whatever I was eating was The Last Supper, when I was gaining it all back.
"As you know from Gretchen," she said dryly, "I started the real eating disorder when I was a freshman in college, although the yo-yo dieting was probably a milder form of one." She took a deep breath, suddenly feeling the ache in her abdomen and chest again. "The always-lovely Chanel and a few of her friends were on the same floor as I was in the dorms."
He started rubbing circles on the palm of her hand in the gesture that was becoming their mutual way to comfort each other.
"I overheard Chanel talking about me behind my back one night. I won't bore you with the details, but the gist of it was that..." She trailed off. It was a memory that she'd kept locked away for a long time, and she still couldn't repeat the words she'd heard Chanel say, especially not to Sam. She cleared her throat and began again. "She made remarks about my size, and what she said hurt."
His jaw hardened, and his brow creased into a stormy look. "I'm sorry," he said, and he kissed the top of her head for a third time.
It was becoming a habit with him that she liked, although she wished he'd move it down a bit, like, say, to her lips. She forced the thought out of her mind and shook her head, focusing on the topic at hand. "As much of a bitch as Chanel is, it's not her fault. It was more about self-control. I was tired of always failing to keep the weight off, and I resolved that night that I would do whatever it took to lose the weight and keep it off. I was never going to be fat—or what I thought was fat—again."
He tightened his arm around her, made her feel safe, and it gave her the strength to go on.
"At first, it was just not eating. And I thought, 'Yay, I'm anorexic'—and, yeah, crazy as it sounds, I was glad I was anorexic—but the hunger became unbearable. So, inevitably, I would binge, and I had to keep my promise to myself, my vow, that I wouldn't gain it back. So, I started..." She had to stop for a second, overcome with shame, trying to fight back the embarrassing, annoying tears again. She took in a fortifying breath and said, "I started making myself throw up. I got better for a while, but when Gretchen moved out, I started it again. I don't know why, really. I guess it's a control thing. I can't control my looks or my height, but I can control my weight."
He was quiet, still rubbing the circles on her hand.
She craved his touch, and she felt the need to babble, to do something to fill in the silence, to somehow keep him there, thinking that he was probably wishing he could get up and run away instead of being stuck there with her. "So, there you have it," she said. "I can't even be a proper anorexic. I know it's gross and disgusting, the whole barfing thing, but I couldn't stop."
He ceased rubbing her hand.
She closed her eyes for second, feeling the loss of his touch. "It's pretty pathetic, what I did. I know that. I mean, good Lord. There's people starvin' all over the world, and here I am doing it to myself on purpose, landin' myself in the hospital, almost killin' myself."
He still hadn't said anything, and the silence was deafening.
In a subdued tone, she said, "If you want to leave now, I'll understand. You can call an orderly—"
"Would you shut up?" He cupped her face in his hand. "Don't be ridiculous."
She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and saw understanding and acceptance in them.
His mouth curved a little, and his dimples showed. "Why would I want to leave? We haven't even watched the movie." With mock sincerity, he said, "I really want to see that part where Molly Ringwald gives her earring to Judd Nelson."
She laughed, and her heart was full to overflowing, and she almost blurted out right then and there that she loved him. Instead, she said, "You're so awesome."
"So are you," he said with sudden gravity. His hand was still tenderly holding her face, and he stared into her eyes. "There's nothing that you could ever tell me that would make me think differently. You have an eating disorder, TJ, but you are strong, and you will beat it. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Do you hear me?"
She nodded, a little in awe of him. He was so commanding and certain, how could she argue?
His gaze shifted down to her lips.
For a split second, she thought he might actually kiss her, and her heart almost leaped out of her chest.
He ran his thumb along her cheekbone, his gaze still lingering on her mouth, but then, after a moment, his eyes seemed to shutter, and he let his hand fall to his lap. He cleared his throat and looked away, exhaling a deep breath. "So, uh, I guess we should get this movie started, then."
Her mouth had gone a little dry, and she swallowed. "Yeah," she said a little too brightly, and she leaned forward and unpaused it.
She felt like an idiot for thinking that he had wanted to kiss her, and she needed a good dowsing in a cold shower to cool her ardor. It was getting harder and harder to hide her feelings for him. In fact, it was downright painful, and she had the disturbing feeling that, eventually, one way or another, she was going to break.
XXXXXXXX
A week and a half later, Sam watched TJ as she studied, laptop in her lap and textbook lying open just to the side of her on the mattress. It was late in the evening, around ten. He was sitting next to her in his bed, both of them resting their backs against pillows supported by the wall, since he didn't have a headboard. He was looking at her profile, relieved that she was starting to look healthier and starting to fill out a little bit.
Her hair was down. She'd been wearing it that way more, and he liked it. It was silky and shiny again, and the color was dark and rich.
As though she felt his gaze on her, she turned to look at him, training her doe eyes and her impish freckles on him.
It made him smile. "Hey."
She gave him a faint smile in return. "Hay is for horses," she said, and held his gaze for a second before going back to her laptop.
She had been quiet today, and Sam chalked it up to the fact that she still tired easily. She had been released from the hospital four days ago, and her mom had gone back to her teaching job in Kentucky. Sam and Ferna Sue had both been worried when TJ had insisted that she could start going back to her classes, but, so far, other than the tiredness, she seemed to be handling them okay. However, she wouldn't be cleared to go back to work at Shorty's by her doctor for probably another month.
Fern had made Sam promise to look after TJ and make sure she went to her counseling sessions, saw her nutritionist, and went to her doctor's appointments, which Sam was glad to do. He was encouraged by the fact that Fern had trusted him and that she hadn't even seemed to question whether or not he was up to the task of looking out for her daughter.
He had been a little concerned at first that it might be weird and awkward getting TJ to eat, but she had been given specific foods and recipes by her nutritionist and a minimum number of calories that she was supposed to consume a day, and she and Sam had been making most of the meals together, sometimes with Bobby's help. She seemed to be adjusting without too much problem, and Sam felt almost guilty for having doubts. The only meal he didn't see her eat was breakfast, but she had promised that she was eating it, and he believed her. He knew that she needed him to believe her.
Of course, even if Fern hadn't asked, he still would have wanted to take care of TJ. He felt very protective of her and hated it when she was out of his sight. The only times he wasn't with her were when she was in class and after she went home at night to go to bed. He had a fierce need to be with her, to know that she was okay, but he also needed to be with her for his own selfish reasons. Now, more than ever, he needed her to make him forget. He felt a disquiet deep inside himself, a building anxiety, and knew that Azazel was coming soon. The nights were torture for him, and he couldn't sleep.
She marked her place in her book, closed it, and shut down her laptop. "I guess I should go. It's getting late."
He grabbed her hand, liking the feel of her smooth skin. He wanted to touch her all the time, couldn't seem to get enough of her. She had almost died, and he told himself that was the reason his feelings had changed toward her—they were much stronger and more intense than he'd realized that night he'd had the talk with Dean—and he didn't analyze it too closely. There was too much brewing on the horizon, and the last thing he needed right now was to complicate his relationship with TJ. Maybe after he took care of Yellow Eyes, maybe then. Maybe when he was whole.
She gave his hand a friendly squeeze and tried to let go.
He held on tighter, not releasing her. "Stay. I don't want you to go."
Why had he said that? He knew she shouldn't stay. What if he had an accident during the night? He knew TJ would understand, but it wouldn't make it any less embarrassing.
"We're both tired," she said. "In fact, Sam, you look exhausted. Get a good night's sleep. I'll see you after my class in the morning."
He still didn't let go of her hand. He was losing his mind. "Sleep here."
She arched her brows. "I'm not that kind of girl."
"I won't be able to sleep if you don't stay."
She frowned a little. "Why can't you sleep anymore, Sam? This has been going on for a while, hasn't it?"
He shrugged. "I don't know."
"Is it nightmares?"
He didn't answer. This was not something he could talk about with her right now, but, eventually, if he survived to tell the tale and he managed to trick the demon into curing him, he would have to tell her everything. He wondered what her reaction would be.
She reached over with her free hand and softly caressed his cheek. Then she traced his jawline and lightly ran her fingertips over his neck.
He felt a jolt of unexpected adrenaline rush through him, a sexual feeling that he hadn't experienced in a very long time, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the small taste of pleasure.
She let her fingertips roam over the little bit of his collarbone that was exposed under his shirt.
His heartbeat quickened, and he was torn between knowing he should make her stop and wanting her to touch him forever. Finally, reason won out, and he gently grabbed her wrist. "Teej, what are you doing?"
She kept her features neutral, but there was something more in her eyes, something smoldering just below the surface. She extricated her wrist from his grasp and turned herself more toward him. "Aren't you ever curious, Sam?"
He raised his brows. "I thought you weren't that kind of girl."
"I'm a scientist. I like to experiment."
The way she said it made his blood heat up.
"I mean, it's sort of like you're a virgin again. Don't you want to see what it's like? I mean, you haven't...done anything since your injury, right?"
"I know what it'll be like. It'll be like nothing. I can't feel anything, TJ."
She stared at him with those eyes, and, in the next instant, she was straddling his lap. She wiggled her hips a little. "You can't feel that, can you?" Her voice was objective, actually like a scientist, but her eyes were still beautifully sensual.
He gritted his teeth, embarrassed and a little angry. "You know I can't. Just stop."
She bent down and kissed him just under his jawline in the curve where his neck began. "You can feel that, though, can't you?" she said softly.
Yes, he could. It took his breath away, and he felt pathetic for craving such a simple thing. "S-Stop."
"Why do you want me to stop? What have you got to lose, Sam? We're just friends. It's not like we're in love with each other. Let me do this for you. There's no strings attached, and you know I won't judge you. You know you can trust me." She placed her hands on the nape of his neck and started to rub the outline of his ears lightly with her thumbs.
The small action felt incredible. He'd been told in rehab that the parts of his body that still had sensation would be extra sensitive in order to compensate, but he hadn't believed it—until now.
"I won't even kiss you on the mouth. You know, like in Pretty Woman."
"What?" He suddenly wanted nothing more than her mouth on his.
"You know, that movie with Julia Roberts and Richard Gere? The hookers in that great example of classic cinema said that's the one cardinal rule—never kiss on the mouth. It makes it too personal."
"You're not a hooker."
Her eyes darkened seductively and she leaned over, replacing her thumb with her lips on his earlobe, darting her tongue into his ear.
His body tensed, and his heartbeat sky-rocketed.
She kissed him in the place just under his ear on his neck. "I'll be whatever you want me to be," she whispered, her breath warm and teasing.
It felt so good, and it had been so long, that he couldn't resist. He grabbed her upper arms, feeling shivers of pleasure course through him as she kissed her way from his earlobe down his neck to where his collarbone began.
She tugged on his shirt and said, "This needs to go."
He felt trepidation. What was he doing? What good would come of this?
She was quick, though, and pulled his shirt off, watching out for his shoulder, before he could protest. Then she stared at him, her expression one of disbelief. "Oh, my God."
He felt a stab of humiliation. Did she find him repulsive—all the old hunting scars, the fact that his body was like two different people put together, one half healthy and strong, the other half weak and useless?
He grabbed for his shirt. "TJ, please. Just stop."
"I'm sorry," she whispered, and ran her fingers over his chest muscles, tracing them, and then over an old scar. "There's no way I'm stopping," she said defiantly, and lifted her eyes to his. "You're so..." She trailed off and swallowed thickly. "Your body is beautiful, Sam."
He was stunned for a moment, and then he felt suddenly lighter, almost euphoric. He wanted TJ. God, how he wanted her. He grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and began pulling it up.
She put her hands on his, halting him. "This is about you, not me."
"I want to see you, TJ. I want to feel you."
There was pain in her eyes, and she covered it up with a wry smirk. "Let's not ruin the illusion."
"I want to touch your skin and feel your body. It's part of the pleasure for me."
Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she looked away. "I don't want you to see."
He cupped her trembling chin with his finger and turned her head toward him. He was still sitting up against the pillows, and he leaned forward a fraction and kissed her tenderly on the lips, relishing the sweetness of her, the smell of her hair. He pulled back just enough to say, "I want this to be personal. I need it to be. Let me see you, TJ."
She closed her eyes. It wasn't a protest or permission.
He pulled off her sweatshirt.
She was like a statue, unmoving, and the sight of her stole his breath.
She was still too thin, which was to be expected, but her skin was so feminine and flushed, almost glowing, giving off a heat that called to him. It was marred only by the fresh, neat, dark-pink scar just under her breastbone and the small, matching holes where the tubes had been. She was stunning, and her imperfections made her more desirable to him because he understood.
He ducked his head and placed his lips lightly on the scar, inhaling the dewy, clean scent of her.
She sucked in an audible breath, her abdominal muscles flinching.
He unhooked her bra, pulled it off, and then cupped one of her breasts in his hand, where it fit perfectly, and put his mouth over her other breast, working his tongue over her taut nipple.
"You are beautiful, TJ," he managed to rasp out. "You're so, so beautiful."
She ran her fingers through his hair and then pushed him back against the pillows, locking her gaze with his. Then, she kissed him, long and deep, her tongue slowly caressing the inside of his mouth. It was unlike any kiss he'd ever experienced—hot, throbbing, decadent—and he was disappointed when she broke away, but not for long.
She started out with little kisses down his neck, then a tender, reciprocal kiss on the surgical scar of his right shoulder, then down his arm, kissing the inside of his elbow and flicking her tongue in the crease there.
It felt incredible, and, again, it was like his body was compensating for what he'd lost, letting him feel more intensely in places he never would have noticed before. It caused a mini earthquake inside him, and he took in a sharp breath. "Oh, God."
She then kissed her way across his chest, stopping to lick and tease each nipple.
It was almost...orgasmic, and he groaned.
She lingered there for several minutes, obviously sensing the sweet torment she was causing, and then made her way down to the area just above his navel. She began to taste him there with her tongue, swirling it in hot little circles all across his stomach.
It was driving him wild, a thousand times more intense than he'd ever thought possible, and when he closed his eyes, he saw a burst of vivid colors, a kaleidoscope of intense splendor that echoed what he was feeling.
And then he felt...nothing.
He opened his eyes and saw that she was kissing him below his navel where he had no sensation. She had unzipped his jeans and pulled his boxers off his hips and was in the vicinity of his hipbone, rapidly making her way lower and lower. He tried to keep the disappointment and bitterness from his voice, knowing she didn't realize it. "TJ, I can't—you're kissing me in the area I can't feel."
She stopped and raised up, blushing furiously, and sat back on her heels. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry. I forgot."
"It's okay."
"It's just—"
"It's just what?"
She looked down, blushing an even deeper shade of red. After a minute, though, she seemed to compose herself and looked him in the eye, her brow slightly creased. "I know you don't—I'm sorry you can't feel it, but I can. For me, you're all there, Sam. I can feel all of you. Your body is whole and complete, and, well, it turns me on. I—I like kissing you there. I know that makes me selfish, and I'm sorry."
Again, he was stunned by her honesty and was speechless.
"I'm sorry," she repeated, and she sounded almost desperate. "Please—"
"Come here," he commanded, reaching for her.
She obeyed.
He put his finger over her lips, realizing that she thought he was mad at her. "It's okay." He tugged on her upper arms, pulling her to him, and kissed her the way she had kissed him, thorough and searing, loving the connection to her, the sense that they were becoming one.
Still kissing her, he roamed his hands over her breasts, coaxing her nipples with his thumbs, eliciting a small moan from her that seemed to vibrate into him.
When they finally broke the kiss, she gave him a sultry, challenging look. "Sam, I want to—" She stopped, as if she was trying to find the right words to say. "This is an experiment, right?"
He smiled, feeling slightly drunk on adrenaline. "I guess, if you want to call it that." He ran his fingertips over her ribs, and she shivered.
She took his face in both of her hands, her eyes full of meaning. "What I want is you. I want you inside me."
He swallowed, denial on his lips.
She kissed him and rested her forehead on his. "Please, just let me try."
He shook his head.
She sat back a little. "You said yourself you can get an erection. Let's just see what happens."
Again, he shook his head. "I don't think it's enough. It won't last—"
"Sam, you're safe with me. If it doesn't happen, it doesn't happen. Like I said, you know I'm not going to judge you. At least you'll know one way or the other, for the next time," her brow creased, and she swallowed, "when you're maybe with someone you're serious about, maybe in love with, like a girlfriend."
I think I'm in love with you. He wanted to say it, but it was wrong. He couldn't move forward with anything until he knew what would happen with Azazel. If things didn't go as planned, but he still managed to survive—if he was stuck in a wheelchair forever—he didn't want TJ to be tied down to him.
She started kissing him again on his neck and making the circles again with her tongue. Then she stopped long enough to say, "Please, Sam." Her Kentucky accent came through, sounding deep and husky.
He couldn't make himself answer her, couldn't exactly deny her. She was very persuasive.
All of his senses were focused on what she was doing to him, on the new sensations that his hypersensitive nerves were allowing him. He'd never really paid attention to these feelings before, had never really properly noticed them before his injury.
He could hear the rustle of clothing and knew that, although her tongue was giving him pleasure in all the places he still had sensation, her hands were somewhere else, doing things he hadn't exactly given her permission to do but that he hadn't forbidden, either. On a subconscious level, he understood what she was doing—knew when she paused to take off her jeans—but he didn't want to think about it, chose to focus instead on what he could feel, rather than on what he couldn't.
He suddenly felt her moving in a rhythm, but then she stopped and placed his hands on her hips. "Make me move, Sam. I want you to do it."
At first, he couldn't. He was frozen, overwhelmed by the fact that she must have made him hard, that he was inside her, and he hadn't even known it. It was horrifying that he couldn't feel it, but, at the same time, the look of blatant desire on her face was exhilarating. He realized in that moment that a big part of the enjoyment of sex, of his masculinity, even, was being able to give a woman pleasure.
"Sam, please. I want you to control it."
He obeyed her then, moving her hips with his hands in an up and down motion, feeling the hard curves of her hipbones.
She closed her eyes. "Oh, God. A little faster. Make me go a little faster."
He did as she asked, watching her face, remembering what it felt like, living vicariously through her.
Time seemed to stop, and then she bent forward, thrusting her tongue in his ear.
It sent a hot shiver down his spine, and it took him a second to realize that she was resisting him now, that she had stopped moving.
She placed his hand down on her private area. "Finish me, Sam," she said, voice husky with desire.
He felt with his fingers the moisture of her, the heat. He could tell by his fingers that he was still inside her, but he wasn't filling her as he should be, and he knew he had lost his erection. He was mortified, and his heart sank.
"Sam, please. It's okay. It still feels so good."
He pulled at her hips, trying to get her off of him.
She fought him. "Don't you dare. Finish me before I go insane."
He began to rub her, then, with his fingers, and soon her breathing came fast and heavy, and she was radiating heat and the musky smell of sex.
She took his mouth in a kiss, thrusting her tongue and moaning softly, letting him feel the building inferno inside her. When she climaxed, he felt a surge of excitement in his body, too, unlike anything he'd felt before. It wasn't the denouement that he had experienced before his injury, the starburst of a normal orgasm, but it was good. In fact, the whole experience had been a steady, pulsing wave of pleasure, no real beginning or end. It wasn't better than the sex he'd known before his injury, but he was shocked to discover that it wasn't necessarily worse, either. Just...different.
TJ had shown him erogenous zones that he had never known he had—and new ways to experience them. And he wanted to do it again. With her. He knew that a lot of his enjoyment had been because it was with her, that she was the most important part of the equation.
Spent, she held onto his shoulders, panting, her forehead resting in the curve of his neck.
He was panting, too, and, at first, he felt dazed. It had been good for him, but then he remembered with fierce embarrassment what had happened, and he swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
She drew back and looked at him, giving a little laugh. "For what?"
He felt heat creeping up his neck and looked away. "I think it's safe to say the experiment was pretty much a failure."
"Oh," she said, the realization of what he meant in her voice. She placed her palm on his cheek. "I wouldn't say that at all."
He suddenly felt the old feelings of despair and humiliation.
"Sam, look at me."
He hesitated, but then he finally did as she asked.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. You still satisfied me, and, believe me, it was amazing."
He knew what she was doing, that she was trying to boost his self-confidence. "No charity compliments, remember?"
She took his face in both her hands and kissed him tenderly and deeply. When she was done, she said, "It wasn't a charity compliment."
What he saw in her eyes made his heart soar in one moment and then plummet to his stomach in the next. Dean had been right. Her feelings for him were there, raw and unfettered. Her expressive eyes said it all, and he knew then that she had feelings for him that ran much deeper than just friendship.
He felt the same, but he couldn't tell her that she meant everything to him. He wanted to ask for more time, to ask her to wait, but he couldn't do that. Things were too uncertain, and he wasn't even sure he'd be alive in a few days. He'd either be cured or dead. The showdown with Azazel was coming. He could feel it. His fucking demon blood was attuned to it.
He looked away from her and closed his eyes, feeling his chest compress painfully.
She placed her palm on his cheek and gently turned his face toward her. "Sam?"
He opened his eyes and felt his heart break at what he saw.
There was profound sadness and resignation on her features, and she gave him a weak smile. "It's okay. Best friends, no strings attached, right?"
She had misunderstood his reaction, thought he didn't feel the same as she did, and he didn't correct her. It was better this way, better that she believed there could be nothing between them but friendship, at least for now. However, doing what was right didn't keep him from feeling a crushing guilt, knowing he was hurting her. It was almost more than he could stand.
Her smile grew stronger, although the sadness was still there, and she rubbed her fingers gently over his forehead, as if trying to smooth the creases there. "Don't give me the puppy-dog eyes, Sam. It's okay."
Before he could respond, she raised herself up and then swiveled onto her side of the bed and jumped off, picking up her jeans and underwear that she had flung onto the floor. She turned her back to him and began putting them on, and he leaned from side to side, pulling his boxers and jeans back up onto his hips that she had pushed down to his thighs.
He watched as she deftly put her bra back on and then her SDSU sweatshirt, covering her bony spine and her skin that he now knew the softness and warmth of so intimately. She pulled her hair out from under the collar of the sweatshirt, her dark strands cascading in a silky shroud just past her shoulders, and the sight made his heart ache and his mouth go dry. His voice was husky and thick. "TJ—"
"I don't know why—I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I'm really not that kind of girl. Let's just pretend it didn't happen, okay?" she drawled. She was trying to be nonchalant, but her accent betrayed the depth her emotion. She put her textbook and laptop back into her backpack and slung it and her purse over her shoulder, as he'd seen her do a hundred times.
It would be impossible to pretend it hadn't happened. He would never forget what she had done for him, how good she had made him feel. He just wished he could have done the same for her.
She just stared at him for a minute, her face unreadable. "I'll call you after my class tomorrow morning."
He nodded, unable to find his voice.
In the next instant, she was out the door, shutting it quietly behind her.
XXXXXXXX
The next morning, Bobby raised up from his sofabed and stretched, trying to get the usual stiffness out of his back. It was time to get Sam up, although Sam didn't really need Bobby's help anymore. He could do most things on his own again and really only need Bobby's help for the more difficult, uneven transfers. He could transfer himself to most things using the board, although he was probably doing more with his shoulder than he should be. It didn't seem to be having an adverse affect on him, though. Dr. Ogden had said the other day at Sam's checkup that everything was looking good, and the shoulder was still healing well.
Bobby hoped they got all the Yellow-Eyed Demon crap resolved soon. He'd been away from his salvage business for a long time, and, although it was basically just a front for his hunting activities and a way to get a meager income, he still couldn't totally neglect it for much longer. Sam was much better, and Bobby wasn't needed as much on that score. He was basically just a glorified babysitter, hopefully keeping the demon from messing with Sam.
Bobby rubbed a hand over his face and scratched his head. He had been keeping a close watch on the signs, and the demonic activity had escalated. The demon would make a move soon. He just hoped to God they'd be ready this time before something bad happened to Sam.
He stood up and pulled on his jeans and a flannel shirt, which he always wore, no matter how nice the weather was outside, because flannel was all he had. Then he made his way into the kitchen and got a pot of coffee started before walking down the hallway to Sam's door. He knocked and called, "Sam, you need any help?"
There was no answer.
He knocked louder. Sam was usually awake by this time, but there was no telling. TJ had stayed later than usual last night, so maybe that had something to do with it. "Sam? Just want to know if you need some help, kiddo."
There was still no answer, and that was definitely not like Sam. He was still too much of a hunter to sleep through Bobby's knocking.
Bobby opened the door a crack and peeked through. Sam's bed was unmade, and he wasn't in it. He opened the door wider and went over to the bathroom, repeating his knocking. "Sam, you in there?"
There was no answer from Sam, no noises like water running or teeth being brushed.
"Boy, if you don't want me comin' in there and interrupting somethin', you better start talkin'."
He was met with silence.
He tried the knob, and it turned easily, obviously unlocked. He opened the door to an empty bathroom, and the hairs started to prickle on the back of his neck.
He turned around, searching Sam's room with his eyes, and felt a stab of fear at what he saw. He didn't know how he had missed it before. Sam's wheelchair sat in the farthest corner from the bed, empty, mocking.
"Balls!" he yelled, and then felt something stronger was in order. "Damn it all to hell!"
A cold feeling of dread seeped into the pit of his stomach. He ran a shaky hand over his face, sure that the Winchester boys were going to be the death of him someday soon, and went to find his phone to call Dean.
TBC