SPN fic: I Wanna Hold Your Hand (Sam/Jess)
Title: I Wanna Hold Your Hand
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Jess
Rating: non-work-safe
Length: 912 words
Summary: Jess watches the cute guy in her class and daydreams.
Notes: Written for kink_bingo's hand fetish prompt. I think I am being more fluffy than hardcore with these things. Also, it's difficult to come up with titles for ficlets. And, uh, sorry about the disappearing post earlier.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to The CW.
Tall, dreamboat Sam Winchester is in the row just in front of Jess, one seat over to the right. And she didn't even have to maneuver her way into this position, because he got here late today. That's a first; he's been early to class all these three weeks, and she's gotten into a balance of coming after he does but early enough that there's still a nice pick of seats.
It's a good thing this is art history, where she knows most of the content already, because he really makes it hard to concentrate on the lectures. She can't see his face from this angle, just the way the long brown hair curls at the nape of his neck.
But that's okay. She's watching his hands. He's taking lengthy, detailed notes, like always, pencil scritching softly over paper. His left hand is spread out on the desk as he leans forward, his thumb stroking repetitively over the spiral binding of the notebook.
Jess gives up on notes and flips to a new page in her sketchbook, starts drawing that hand.
God, his hands are huge. His fingers are incredibly long and slender, almost delicately shaped, with just enough raw, dry skin at the knobby knuckles to counteract that. There's a thin white line of scar on the back of his left thumb, and she wonders what kind of knife caused it: does he cook, carve wood, what?
As the professor goes on about the sudden naturalistic shift in Egyptian art under Akhenaten, Jess imagines what Sam's hands would feel like. He'd be able to cup an entire breast in one palm, drag rough callused fingertips over her nipples, light flicks with those bitten nails. He's still stroking the metal of the notebook binding, probably not even aware that he's doing so, certainly unaware that she's thinking of him doing the same thing to her skin.
Her gaze traces over the edges of his fingers to copy them on paper, and now she wants to do the same with her tongue. She'd suck two fingers into her mouth, swallow them down, run her tongue pressed tight between them, look up at him as he moaned. She'd make him imagine, too.
Jess squirms guiltily in her seat. She shouldn't be thinking this in class. She stares down at her sketchbook, pencil moving listlessly on the paper now, mind wandering as a hot tingle sets up between her legs.
She can't stop thinking it, though. He'd span his hands across her belly, grip down her legs and rub back up the insides of her thighs, and she'd be so wet, he'd slide all his fingers right inside her, solid and hot. She can almost feel his palm pressed hard against her clit as his fingers thrust in and out, curling up, his other hand circling her ass.
Maybe he'd do it just like this. Maybe he'd stick his hand right down her pants in a movie theater, or in the corner of a bar, and get her off in public. She'd have to be quiet, she'd have to pretend nothing was happening, even when she came hard, trembling against him. Then he'd put his fingers in his own mouth and lick off the taste of her before going back to watching the screen or sipping his beer.
She knows, she just knows this guy has it down as she stares at his hands and bites back a needy whimper. She wants to see his fingers curled around that beer bottle, curled around his own cock, gripping at the sheets as she rides him, fresh white cloth tangled against his tanned skin. Nails digging into her back as they fuck, fingers tugging at her hair as she sucks him, holding hands when they walk across campus, laughing together. Rubbing her feet, feeding her breakfast in bed, exchanging wedding rings, cupping a baby's head.
Now Jess knows she's really getting carried away. Better to just focus on how those long fingers and that soft tongue could work together to get her off over and over. She crosses and uncrosses her legs under the desk.
He raises his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, brush through the strands of his hair. Then it's back to the relentless stroking of his notebook.
He could hold her hips down, pressing bruises into her flesh, marks she could savor for days after. Wrap one of those huge hands around both her wrists at once, keep her pinned. Or she could tie him up, put some cuffs on him, watch those fingers clench and strong arms strain as she teased him. He'd look so good.
Why isn't class over yet, so she can go back to her room and finish this off? Touch herself and imagine that it's him doing it?
Jess lifts her head dazedly, shaking those thoughts away, as the professor raps the blackboard and explains that they'll need to get a partner for the upcoming research paper. It doesn't even take half a second for the flash of inspiration, the desperate rush of adrenaline and worry that someone else might beat her to him. He's right there, he's hot, she really wants to meet him, and she's heard him talk in class, he's smart, he won't bring her grade down. She's been waiting for her moment and now it's here.
Reaching forward, Jess taps Sam on the shoulder, and he turns to look at her.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Jess
Rating: non-work-safe
Length: 912 words
Summary: Jess watches the cute guy in her class and daydreams.
Notes: Written for kink_bingo's hand fetish prompt. I think I am being more fluffy than hardcore with these things. Also, it's difficult to come up with titles for ficlets. And, uh, sorry about the disappearing post earlier.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to The CW.
Tall, dreamboat Sam Winchester is in the row just in front of Jess, one seat over to the right. And she didn't even have to maneuver her way into this position, because he got here late today. That's a first; he's been early to class all these three weeks, and she's gotten into a balance of coming after he does but early enough that there's still a nice pick of seats.
It's a good thing this is art history, where she knows most of the content already, because he really makes it hard to concentrate on the lectures. She can't see his face from this angle, just the way the long brown hair curls at the nape of his neck.
But that's okay. She's watching his hands. He's taking lengthy, detailed notes, like always, pencil scritching softly over paper. His left hand is spread out on the desk as he leans forward, his thumb stroking repetitively over the spiral binding of the notebook.
Jess gives up on notes and flips to a new page in her sketchbook, starts drawing that hand.
God, his hands are huge. His fingers are incredibly long and slender, almost delicately shaped, with just enough raw, dry skin at the knobby knuckles to counteract that. There's a thin white line of scar on the back of his left thumb, and she wonders what kind of knife caused it: does he cook, carve wood, what?
As the professor goes on about the sudden naturalistic shift in Egyptian art under Akhenaten, Jess imagines what Sam's hands would feel like. He'd be able to cup an entire breast in one palm, drag rough callused fingertips over her nipples, light flicks with those bitten nails. He's still stroking the metal of the notebook binding, probably not even aware that he's doing so, certainly unaware that she's thinking of him doing the same thing to her skin.
Her gaze traces over the edges of his fingers to copy them on paper, and now she wants to do the same with her tongue. She'd suck two fingers into her mouth, swallow them down, run her tongue pressed tight between them, look up at him as he moaned. She'd make him imagine, too.
Jess squirms guiltily in her seat. She shouldn't be thinking this in class. She stares down at her sketchbook, pencil moving listlessly on the paper now, mind wandering as a hot tingle sets up between her legs.
She can't stop thinking it, though. He'd span his hands across her belly, grip down her legs and rub back up the insides of her thighs, and she'd be so wet, he'd slide all his fingers right inside her, solid and hot. She can almost feel his palm pressed hard against her clit as his fingers thrust in and out, curling up, his other hand circling her ass.
Maybe he'd do it just like this. Maybe he'd stick his hand right down her pants in a movie theater, or in the corner of a bar, and get her off in public. She'd have to be quiet, she'd have to pretend nothing was happening, even when she came hard, trembling against him. Then he'd put his fingers in his own mouth and lick off the taste of her before going back to watching the screen or sipping his beer.
She knows, she just knows this guy has it down as she stares at his hands and bites back a needy whimper. She wants to see his fingers curled around that beer bottle, curled around his own cock, gripping at the sheets as she rides him, fresh white cloth tangled against his tanned skin. Nails digging into her back as they fuck, fingers tugging at her hair as she sucks him, holding hands when they walk across campus, laughing together. Rubbing her feet, feeding her breakfast in bed, exchanging wedding rings, cupping a baby's head.
Now Jess knows she's really getting carried away. Better to just focus on how those long fingers and that soft tongue could work together to get her off over and over. She crosses and uncrosses her legs under the desk.
He raises his hand to scratch at the back of his neck, brush through the strands of his hair. Then it's back to the relentless stroking of his notebook.
He could hold her hips down, pressing bruises into her flesh, marks she could savor for days after. Wrap one of those huge hands around both her wrists at once, keep her pinned. Or she could tie him up, put some cuffs on him, watch those fingers clench and strong arms strain as she teased him. He'd look so good.
Why isn't class over yet, so she can go back to her room and finish this off? Touch herself and imagine that it's him doing it?
Jess lifts her head dazedly, shaking those thoughts away, as the professor raps the blackboard and explains that they'll need to get a partner for the upcoming research paper. It doesn't even take half a second for the flash of inspiration, the desperate rush of adrenaline and worry that someone else might beat her to him. He's right there, he's hot, she really wants to meet him, and she's heard him talk in class, he's smart, he won't bring her grade down. She's been waiting for her moment and now it's here.
Reaching forward, Jess taps Sam on the shoulder, and he turns to look at her.