A Perfectly Normal Response (Or: Part 5- Fanboy Sam Would Really Like to Have No Regrets About This)
Title: A Perfectly Normal Response (Or: Part Five - Fanboy Sam Would Really Like to Have No Regrets About This)
Author: tawg
Word count: ~2,700
Rating: M
Pairings/characters: Sam/Balthazar, mentions of Castiel/Balthazar. Supporting cast.
Notes: Have you seen the fanart the lovely mendelian aka wing-hugs did for part three? Aka, Sam wakes up in a pile of men? Go check it out.
Summary: It occurs to Sam that there's a pattern emerging, that sulking is not good for personal hygiene, and that you can make friends in the most embarrassing situations.
Sam spent the second week of the filming break ensconced in his flat, lying in bed and eating Cheetos. By Thursday Dean was sick of Sam not responding to his texts and busted around to Sam’s place to see what was going on. Sam refused to let Dean in until he went and got more Cheetos.
“So what’s up?” Dean asked when he was sitting on Sam’s couch and Sam was curled up on the armchair with the blanket from his bed wrapped around him.
“Nothing,” Sam replied. “I’m just resting up before we go back to filming.”
“And the reason you haven’t showered in days?”
“I’ve showered,” Sam replied defensively. “Recently.”
“Well, you can go shower again,” Dean said, leaning forward and giving Sam a no-nonsense look. “We got dinner with Bobby tonight.”
Sam wrapped the blanket more firmly around his middle and, despite Dean’s accusations, did not sulk. “You can go without me.”
“Well, yes. I can physically go to Bobby’s without you, thanks for pointing that out.”
Sam huffed. “Fine. You may go without me.”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t wanna. Besides, he told me to bring you. And you’re the new kid on set, so you really don’t get a choice.” Dean gave Sam a bright smile that brought out the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. “So come on, champ. Up and at ‘em.”
Sam scowled but there was no dealing with Dean when he had a plan locked into his head. So Sam shuffled into the bathroom and managed to fit showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth into twenty minutes, though Dean was yelling at him to hurry up before Sam had even turned the water on. “What’s the dress code?” Sam asked, scooting into his bedroom with a towel around his waist.
“Don’t be naked?” Dean suggested from the other room.
Sam pulled on clean underpants and jeans, new socks and an old t-shirt. Then a button-up shirt over the top, followed by a hooded jacket for indoors and his massive padded brown coat for the perilous few moments he’d be spending outside. Dean gave him the eye as Sam scoured his small living room for his boots.
“You’ve never really adjusted, have you?”
“I was in California before I moved here,” Sam complained, throwing his scarf and mittens onto the couch before hunting under the coffee for his left boot. “It’s a big change, alright? Why do all of the shows film through winter, anyway?”
“Summer holidays, Sammy,” Dean replied. “You don’t see bikini babes in winter.”
“It’s Vancouver,” Sam replied. “You don’t see bikini babes any time of the year.”
Dean shrugged, peering at Sam’s bookcase. “We’ll just have to head back to the states for the break.” He ran one finger along the spine of a book. “You really dig this series, don’t you?”
Sam looked up from his place on the floor, yanking his laces tight. “Well, yeah. It’s pretty cool.”
Dean nodded, and then cast a long look around Sam’s apartment. The posters on his wall, the DVD cases sitting on his television. There was a common theme. “I guess. But if we ever have poker night here, I’m telling everyone you did it up like this for a joke.”
Sam flushed as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. “I’ve been meaning to pull the posters down,” he mumbled, shoving his keys in his pocket.
“Hey, I’m just glad you got over your Hanson phase.”
“Oh shut up,” Sam retorted as he shoved Dean out of the apartment and locked the door behind them.
~*~
The first day back on set was thrilling. Dinner at Bobby’s had been fun, with Becky getting drunk and giggly on white wine and Jo teaching her how to fleece Dean at poker. Gabriel and Gordon swapping stories about who had the most ridiculous family members (Sam was sure they were both lying) and Bobby constantly having to chase Ellen out of his kitchen. Missouri, the health and safety officer on set, had produced something like five different types of pie for dessert and, to Dean’s disgust, had taken a shine to Sam and insisted that he try all of them. There had easily been twenty people there, and that warm sense of fun and familiarity carried over to the workplace. People were laughing and smiling, and while Bobby was as big a grouch as ever when it came to people wasting his time, he was easily softened with a compliment to the amazing batch of chilli he’d made.
Cas and Balthazar hadn’t been at the dinner, largely due to Bobby not inviting them. (“I have to put up with actors at work. I’m not doing it in my private life.”) Sam figured that it wasn’t that big of a deal, really. If their date had gone well, they’d probably kept one another busy enough throughout the break. Which was a good thing. Because they were good guys, and getting themselves sorted out was the best thing for all involved. Chuck had stepped up Sam’s re-write responsibilities, so Sam spent more time cooped up in the trailer and less time wandering around the set. Which meant less time getting pranked by Gabriel and teased by Dean, but also less time talking to his friends and stealing cupcakes from Jo.
“Poor boy,” Jo said with a complete lack of sincerity. “Have to do real work around here all of a sudden? How will you cope?”
“I love the work,” Sam replied, picking pumpkin seeds out of his savoury muffin and eating them individually. “I just miss the people. If I wanted to be crammed into a small space with a computer, I’d still be in IT.”
“Hey, speaking of, do you think you could look at my phone sometime? It’s not getting picture messages?”
Sam was about to open his mouth to explain that mobile phones weren’t really his area of expertise when Balthazar happened upon them. “Morning writer-monkey,” he said, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder before turning to Jo. “Mind if I steal him for a bit?”
“Go wild,” Jo replied. “But don’t forget to take him for his morning walk.” Sam pulled face at Jo and allowed Balthazar to drag him away.
“So what’s up?” he asked as Balthazar led him into the maze of trailers.
“There’s just one little thing I need you for at the moment,” Balthazar replied.
“Well, I guess I’m happy to help if I can,” Sam replied, trying to keep track of which direction the main body of the lot lay in.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the perfect candidate,” Balthazar returned, gesturing for Sam to step between two trailers. Sam walked into the space and frowned when he saw that the other end was blocked by a truck parked nearly flush against the two trailers. He turned to tell Balthazar that it was a dead end, and Balthazar kissed him.
Balthazar’s kisses were strong and forceful, just like his personality. He splayed his hands on Sam’s chest, one hand sliding down to press purposefully at the flat firmness of Sam’s belly, pressing him back against one of the trailers. Sam made a surprised noise, his hands hovering absently for a moment before he settled them on Balthazar’s waist, before Balthazar bit on Sam’s lower lip and Sam’s hands clenched in a possessive grip. Mouths moved, hands strayed, and Balthazar’s hip pressed against Sam’s crotch with an insistent pressure that had Sam spreading his legs so Balthazar could stand between them, letting Sam grind against him as Balthazar buried one hand in Sam’s hair and angled his face just right for kissing.
Balthazar was very good at kissing.
“Wait,” Sam managed, and then gasped as Balthazar took that as an incentive to go further, to lick into Sam’s mouth and suck on Sam’s tongue. “Wait,” Sam tried again, “Cas?”
“I’m Balthazar,” Bal murmured against Sam’s mouth. “But if you want to play dirty I’m game.”
“No, I, ah,” Sam made a strained noise as Balthazar moved his attention to Sam’s neck, yanking Sam’s head to one side by his hair and sucking the soft skin just under the line of Sam’s jaw. “You and Cas. Your date. Fuck, ah. Last week.”
Balthazar had a hand on Sam’s cock, gripping him through his jeans and humming appreciatively at Sam’s hardness. “Didn’t work out,” he said as he worked Sam’s belt loose. “Big surprise.”
Sam bit his lip, trying to smother a groan as Balthazar slipped his hand down the front of Sam’s pants. “God, Balthazar.”
“Mm,” Balthazar hummed as he sucked at Sam’s neck. “You make such pretty noises.” He played his fingers over the straining cotton of Sam’s underwear, slipping a long finger into the gap between buttons at the front, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the head of Sam’s cock, coaxing the slick wetness of precome to soak into the thin material. Sam whined, twisting his fingers in the rough material of Lucifer’s shirt, arching against Balthazar as the actor pulled the neck of Sam’s shirt down and ran his teeth along the hard lines of a collarbone.
“What happened?” Sam panted. “With Cas?”
“You really want to talk about this now?” Balthazar asked, sounding amused. He moved beyond that final barrier, wrapping his hand around the hot length of Sam’s cock, gripping it tight and stroking it with a sharp twist at the end that made Sam keen, a long needy sound that Balthazar swallowed up with another greedy, heated kiss.
“It’s just,” Sam stammered as Balthazar set up a rhythm, long and steady strokes broken up by him grasping the head of Sam’s cock loosely and doing wondering confusing twisting things with his fingers that made Sam’s knees buckle and caused Balthazar to chuckle low in his throat. “There’s a bit of a pattern. Of Cas rubbing you the wrong way. And then, ah, yes. And then you find me and-”
“And rub you the right way?” Balthazar suggested before nipping at Sam’s earlobe. “Although, you did find me last time. And there was minimal rubbing.” Balthazar dragged Sam’s face down for another kiss, pressing his body flush against Sam’s, pinning Sam back against the cold wall of the trailer yet still managing to work his hand around Sam’s cock in the most wonderful ways. “So it’s really more of a theme than a pattern,” he concluded, his lips brushing against Sam’s own as he spoke.
“Oh,” Sam replied. Then he groaned, “Oh,” as Balthazar swung one leg out and around so he was straddling one of Sam’s splayed thighs, pressing his own firm cock in tight jeans against Sam, rocking his hips against the friction as he changed the tempo of his hand around Sam’s cock, jerking him faster and harder. Sam’s head fell back against the trailer with a long, breathy moan, one that hitched at the end as Balthazar took that as an invitation to bite at the taut skin, making Sam jerk and shudder.
“Mm, that’s it,” Balthazar said softly, pulling back to look between their bodies. He ran the blunt fingernails of his free hand down Sam’s side, a hard burn of a sensation that coiled low in Sam’s abdomen, that had him panting and making noises high in his throat as Balthazar jerked him off with expert movements and such sexy self-confidence, that had Sam gripping Balthazar’s hip and the back of his neck, dragging him closer so Sam could press their mouths together with mindless furiosity, muffling the sweet, embarrassing noises that were dragged from him as he came, hard and fast and desperate in the middle of a maze of trailers half an hour outside of Vancouver.
Sam slumped back against the trailer, sliding down the side a little as his legs trembled. There was a buzzing noise, and Balthazar pulled a beeper out of one pocket with the hand that wasn’t covered in Sam’s semen. “Ah, what unfortunate timing,” he said as he read the display. “Must dash.” And with that he flicked his soiled hand sharply through the air, sending an arc of cooling come splattering against grey gravel. (And Sam had no idea why that motion made his dick twitch, why it coiled up a new interest in him.) And then Balthazar adjusted himself, pulling his still hard cock up to lie against his stomach and pulled his shirt down to cover the bulge. He blew Sam a kiss and headed off back towards the soundstage.
Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His shirt was covered in semen. He was pretty certain he had some love bites on his neck. He was aware that he looked like someone who had been completely and utterly debauched. He had been debauched. Thoroughly and wonderfully and he’d enjoyed every minute, every second that Balthazar’s hands hand mouth had been on him. He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.
He had planned to stay out of this mess. Not sneak away with one of the contributors for a quickie. And then Sam heard footsteps on the gravel and the sound of someone talking on their phone. He looked down at himself again, dick hanging out of his pants and his shirt beyond saving. He shoved his junk back into its rightful, modest place and, with a complete lack of other options, dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled under one of the trailers.
Sam lay there on the cold gravel, re-fastening his belt and zipping up his jacket and generally cursing his inability to make good choices. Cursing Balthazar and his damn predictable response to rejection. Cursing Castiel and his trust issues that were no doubt at the root of all this. Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his head on straight, to figure a way out of this. And then a pair of feet crunched to a halt beside him, and there was a rap of knuckles against the side of the trailer.
“Excuse me?” a voice called. Sam held his breath, and effort that proved to be for naught when the figure beside the trailer crouched down and peered beneath it. Black hair and gray eyes and, from the look of his clothes, an actor.
“Hi,” Sam said.
“Hi,” came the reply. “...You alright down here?”
“I’m fine,” Sam returned. “Just, you know. Hiding.”
The other man grinned at Sam, an openly amused smile. “Your feet are sticking out,” he said.
Sam gave him a ‘what can you do?’ look in response. “I never said I was good at hiding.”
The man laughed. “Well, that’s true. Listen, I’m meant to be filming today, and I’m a little bit lost..?”
“Sure, back up,” Sam replied, scrambling out from under the trailer. He dusted himself off, and his new friend brushed his back off. “I can’t guarantee I’ll get you back to the set quickly, but I can generally find my way out of here.”
In the clear daylight, the man Sam was talking to was a little shorter- maybe Dean’s height - with a striking jaw, a classic kind of handsome that would fade into roguish charm as he got older. He looked familiar but then, being an actor in Vancouver, Sam had no doubt seen him around before. “I’m guessing you’re not an actor then?” he said.
“What gave me away?” Sam asked. “My bad posture or the way I failed to interact with my surroundings?”
“An actor would have demanded higher quality gravel to lie on,” came the reply, and Sam laughed easily and genuinely.
“I’m Sam,” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m on the re-write team.”
“John,” the other man replied. “Today I’m ‘man standing by the bar’, and tomorrow I’ll be ‘man staring meaningfully while talking on cell phone.”
“Sounds like hard work there.”
“You wouldn’t believe.”
“So should I call you Big Shot John?” Sam asked as he led the way towards the end of the row. “Star of the Show John?”
John laughed, a bark of a laugh that reminded Sam of someone he knew. “There are so many people with the same name in this industry,” he replied. “Everyone calls me Young John.”
“Young John,” Sam repeated. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
Author: tawg
Word count: ~2,700
Rating: M
Pairings/characters: Sam/Balthazar, mentions of Castiel/Balthazar. Supporting cast.
Notes: Have you seen the fanart the lovely mendelian aka wing-hugs did for part three? Aka, Sam wakes up in a pile of men? Go check it out.
Summary: It occurs to Sam that there's a pattern emerging, that sulking is not good for personal hygiene, and that you can make friends in the most embarrassing situations.
Sam spent the second week of the filming break ensconced in his flat, lying in bed and eating Cheetos. By Thursday Dean was sick of Sam not responding to his texts and busted around to Sam’s place to see what was going on. Sam refused to let Dean in until he went and got more Cheetos.
“So what’s up?” Dean asked when he was sitting on Sam’s couch and Sam was curled up on the armchair with the blanket from his bed wrapped around him.
“Nothing,” Sam replied. “I’m just resting up before we go back to filming.”
“And the reason you haven’t showered in days?”
“I’ve showered,” Sam replied defensively. “Recently.”
“Well, you can go shower again,” Dean said, leaning forward and giving Sam a no-nonsense look. “We got dinner with Bobby tonight.”
Sam wrapped the blanket more firmly around his middle and, despite Dean’s accusations, did not sulk. “You can go without me.”
“Well, yes. I can physically go to Bobby’s without you, thanks for pointing that out.”
Sam huffed. “Fine. You may go without me.”
Dean shrugged. “I don’t wanna. Besides, he told me to bring you. And you’re the new kid on set, so you really don’t get a choice.” Dean gave Sam a bright smile that brought out the crows feet at the corners of his eyes. “So come on, champ. Up and at ‘em.”
Sam scowled but there was no dealing with Dean when he had a plan locked into his head. So Sam shuffled into the bathroom and managed to fit showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth into twenty minutes, though Dean was yelling at him to hurry up before Sam had even turned the water on. “What’s the dress code?” Sam asked, scooting into his bedroom with a towel around his waist.
“Don’t be naked?” Dean suggested from the other room.
Sam pulled on clean underpants and jeans, new socks and an old t-shirt. Then a button-up shirt over the top, followed by a hooded jacket for indoors and his massive padded brown coat for the perilous few moments he’d be spending outside. Dean gave him the eye as Sam scoured his small living room for his boots.
“You’ve never really adjusted, have you?”
“I was in California before I moved here,” Sam complained, throwing his scarf and mittens onto the couch before hunting under the coffee for his left boot. “It’s a big change, alright? Why do all of the shows film through winter, anyway?”
“Summer holidays, Sammy,” Dean replied. “You don’t see bikini babes in winter.”
“It’s Vancouver,” Sam replied. “You don’t see bikini babes any time of the year.”
Dean shrugged, peering at Sam’s bookcase. “We’ll just have to head back to the states for the break.” He ran one finger along the spine of a book. “You really dig this series, don’t you?”
Sam looked up from his place on the floor, yanking his laces tight. “Well, yeah. It’s pretty cool.”
Dean nodded, and then cast a long look around Sam’s apartment. The posters on his wall, the DVD cases sitting on his television. There was a common theme. “I guess. But if we ever have poker night here, I’m telling everyone you did it up like this for a joke.”
Sam flushed as he wrapped his scarf around his neck. “I’ve been meaning to pull the posters down,” he mumbled, shoving his keys in his pocket.
“Hey, I’m just glad you got over your Hanson phase.”
“Oh shut up,” Sam retorted as he shoved Dean out of the apartment and locked the door behind them.
~*~
The first day back on set was thrilling. Dinner at Bobby’s had been fun, with Becky getting drunk and giggly on white wine and Jo teaching her how to fleece Dean at poker. Gabriel and Gordon swapping stories about who had the most ridiculous family members (Sam was sure they were both lying) and Bobby constantly having to chase Ellen out of his kitchen. Missouri, the health and safety officer on set, had produced something like five different types of pie for dessert and, to Dean’s disgust, had taken a shine to Sam and insisted that he try all of them. There had easily been twenty people there, and that warm sense of fun and familiarity carried over to the workplace. People were laughing and smiling, and while Bobby was as big a grouch as ever when it came to people wasting his time, he was easily softened with a compliment to the amazing batch of chilli he’d made.
Cas and Balthazar hadn’t been at the dinner, largely due to Bobby not inviting them. (“I have to put up with actors at work. I’m not doing it in my private life.”) Sam figured that it wasn’t that big of a deal, really. If their date had gone well, they’d probably kept one another busy enough throughout the break. Which was a good thing. Because they were good guys, and getting themselves sorted out was the best thing for all involved. Chuck had stepped up Sam’s re-write responsibilities, so Sam spent more time cooped up in the trailer and less time wandering around the set. Which meant less time getting pranked by Gabriel and teased by Dean, but also less time talking to his friends and stealing cupcakes from Jo.
“Poor boy,” Jo said with a complete lack of sincerity. “Have to do real work around here all of a sudden? How will you cope?”
“I love the work,” Sam replied, picking pumpkin seeds out of his savoury muffin and eating them individually. “I just miss the people. If I wanted to be crammed into a small space with a computer, I’d still be in IT.”
“Hey, speaking of, do you think you could look at my phone sometime? It’s not getting picture messages?”
Sam was about to open his mouth to explain that mobile phones weren’t really his area of expertise when Balthazar happened upon them. “Morning writer-monkey,” he said, clapping a hand on Sam’s shoulder before turning to Jo. “Mind if I steal him for a bit?”
“Go wild,” Jo replied. “But don’t forget to take him for his morning walk.” Sam pulled face at Jo and allowed Balthazar to drag him away.
“So what’s up?” he asked as Balthazar led him into the maze of trailers.
“There’s just one little thing I need you for at the moment,” Balthazar replied.
“Well, I guess I’m happy to help if I can,” Sam replied, trying to keep track of which direction the main body of the lot lay in.
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re the perfect candidate,” Balthazar returned, gesturing for Sam to step between two trailers. Sam walked into the space and frowned when he saw that the other end was blocked by a truck parked nearly flush against the two trailers. He turned to tell Balthazar that it was a dead end, and Balthazar kissed him.
Balthazar’s kisses were strong and forceful, just like his personality. He splayed his hands on Sam’s chest, one hand sliding down to press purposefully at the flat firmness of Sam’s belly, pressing him back against one of the trailers. Sam made a surprised noise, his hands hovering absently for a moment before he settled them on Balthazar’s waist, before Balthazar bit on Sam’s lower lip and Sam’s hands clenched in a possessive grip. Mouths moved, hands strayed, and Balthazar’s hip pressed against Sam’s crotch with an insistent pressure that had Sam spreading his legs so Balthazar could stand between them, letting Sam grind against him as Balthazar buried one hand in Sam’s hair and angled his face just right for kissing.
Balthazar was very good at kissing.
“Wait,” Sam managed, and then gasped as Balthazar took that as an incentive to go further, to lick into Sam’s mouth and suck on Sam’s tongue. “Wait,” Sam tried again, “Cas?”
“I’m Balthazar,” Bal murmured against Sam’s mouth. “But if you want to play dirty I’m game.”
“No, I, ah,” Sam made a strained noise as Balthazar moved his attention to Sam’s neck, yanking Sam’s head to one side by his hair and sucking the soft skin just under the line of Sam’s jaw. “You and Cas. Your date. Fuck, ah. Last week.”
Balthazar had a hand on Sam’s cock, gripping him through his jeans and humming appreciatively at Sam’s hardness. “Didn’t work out,” he said as he worked Sam’s belt loose. “Big surprise.”
Sam bit his lip, trying to smother a groan as Balthazar slipped his hand down the front of Sam’s pants. “God, Balthazar.”
“Mm,” Balthazar hummed as he sucked at Sam’s neck. “You make such pretty noises.” He played his fingers over the straining cotton of Sam’s underwear, slipping a long finger into the gap between buttons at the front, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the head of Sam’s cock, coaxing the slick wetness of precome to soak into the thin material. Sam whined, twisting his fingers in the rough material of Lucifer’s shirt, arching against Balthazar as the actor pulled the neck of Sam’s shirt down and ran his teeth along the hard lines of a collarbone.
“What happened?” Sam panted. “With Cas?”
“You really want to talk about this now?” Balthazar asked, sounding amused. He moved beyond that final barrier, wrapping his hand around the hot length of Sam’s cock, gripping it tight and stroking it with a sharp twist at the end that made Sam keen, a long needy sound that Balthazar swallowed up with another greedy, heated kiss.
“It’s just,” Sam stammered as Balthazar set up a rhythm, long and steady strokes broken up by him grasping the head of Sam’s cock loosely and doing wondering confusing twisting things with his fingers that made Sam’s knees buckle and caused Balthazar to chuckle low in his throat. “There’s a bit of a pattern. Of Cas rubbing you the wrong way. And then, ah, yes. And then you find me and-”
“And rub you the right way?” Balthazar suggested before nipping at Sam’s earlobe. “Although, you did find me last time. And there was minimal rubbing.” Balthazar dragged Sam’s face down for another kiss, pressing his body flush against Sam’s, pinning Sam back against the cold wall of the trailer yet still managing to work his hand around Sam’s cock in the most wonderful ways. “So it’s really more of a theme than a pattern,” he concluded, his lips brushing against Sam’s own as he spoke.
“Oh,” Sam replied. Then he groaned, “Oh,” as Balthazar swung one leg out and around so he was straddling one of Sam’s splayed thighs, pressing his own firm cock in tight jeans against Sam, rocking his hips against the friction as he changed the tempo of his hand around Sam’s cock, jerking him faster and harder. Sam’s head fell back against the trailer with a long, breathy moan, one that hitched at the end as Balthazar took that as an invitation to bite at the taut skin, making Sam jerk and shudder.
“Mm, that’s it,” Balthazar said softly, pulling back to look between their bodies. He ran the blunt fingernails of his free hand down Sam’s side, a hard burn of a sensation that coiled low in Sam’s abdomen, that had him panting and making noises high in his throat as Balthazar jerked him off with expert movements and such sexy self-confidence, that had Sam gripping Balthazar’s hip and the back of his neck, dragging him closer so Sam could press their mouths together with mindless furiosity, muffling the sweet, embarrassing noises that were dragged from him as he came, hard and fast and desperate in the middle of a maze of trailers half an hour outside of Vancouver.
Sam slumped back against the trailer, sliding down the side a little as his legs trembled. There was a buzzing noise, and Balthazar pulled a beeper out of one pocket with the hand that wasn’t covered in Sam’s semen. “Ah, what unfortunate timing,” he said as he read the display. “Must dash.” And with that he flicked his soiled hand sharply through the air, sending an arc of cooling come splattering against grey gravel. (And Sam had no idea why that motion made his dick twitch, why it coiled up a new interest in him.) And then Balthazar adjusted himself, pulling his still hard cock up to lie against his stomach and pulled his shirt down to cover the bulge. He blew Sam a kiss and headed off back towards the soundstage.
Sam let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. His shirt was covered in semen. He was pretty certain he had some love bites on his neck. He was aware that he looked like someone who had been completely and utterly debauched. He had been debauched. Thoroughly and wonderfully and he’d enjoyed every minute, every second that Balthazar’s hands hand mouth had been on him. He groaned, pressing a hand to his forehead.
He had planned to stay out of this mess. Not sneak away with one of the contributors for a quickie. And then Sam heard footsteps on the gravel and the sound of someone talking on their phone. He looked down at himself again, dick hanging out of his pants and his shirt beyond saving. He shoved his junk back into its rightful, modest place and, with a complete lack of other options, dropped to his hands and knees and scrambled under one of the trailers.
Sam lay there on the cold gravel, re-fastening his belt and zipping up his jacket and generally cursing his inability to make good choices. Cursing Balthazar and his damn predictable response to rejection. Cursing Castiel and his trust issues that were no doubt at the root of all this. Sam ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his head on straight, to figure a way out of this. And then a pair of feet crunched to a halt beside him, and there was a rap of knuckles against the side of the trailer.
“Excuse me?” a voice called. Sam held his breath, and effort that proved to be for naught when the figure beside the trailer crouched down and peered beneath it. Black hair and gray eyes and, from the look of his clothes, an actor.
“Hi,” Sam said.
“Hi,” came the reply. “...You alright down here?”
“I’m fine,” Sam returned. “Just, you know. Hiding.”
The other man grinned at Sam, an openly amused smile. “Your feet are sticking out,” he said.
Sam gave him a ‘what can you do?’ look in response. “I never said I was good at hiding.”
The man laughed. “Well, that’s true. Listen, I’m meant to be filming today, and I’m a little bit lost..?”
“Sure, back up,” Sam replied, scrambling out from under the trailer. He dusted himself off, and his new friend brushed his back off. “I can’t guarantee I’ll get you back to the set quickly, but I can generally find my way out of here.”
In the clear daylight, the man Sam was talking to was a little shorter- maybe Dean’s height - with a striking jaw, a classic kind of handsome that would fade into roguish charm as he got older. He looked familiar but then, being an actor in Vancouver, Sam had no doubt seen him around before. “I’m guessing you’re not an actor then?” he said.
“What gave me away?” Sam asked. “My bad posture or the way I failed to interact with my surroundings?”
“An actor would have demanded higher quality gravel to lie on,” came the reply, and Sam laughed easily and genuinely.
“I’m Sam,” he said, holding his hand out. “I’m on the re-write team.”
“John,” the other man replied. “Today I’m ‘man standing by the bar’, and tomorrow I’ll be ‘man staring meaningfully while talking on cell phone.”
“Sounds like hard work there.”
“You wouldn’t believe.”
“So should I call you Big Shot John?” Sam asked as he led the way towards the end of the row. “Star of the Show John?”
John laughed, a bark of a laugh that reminded Sam of someone he knew. “There are so many people with the same name in this industry,” he replied. “Everyone calls me Young John.”
“Young John,” Sam repeated. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise.”