When Sam told him that the trip to the range would be worth his time, he meant it. After an hour of learning how to shoot 9mm handguns, they’re steaming up the front seat of Sam’s old Highlander and Sam’s got his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. The parking lot is deserted; they parked far enough from the building that the outdoor lights can’t reach them.
It’s stupid, a little reckless, but so fucking hot to feel Sam swallow around him, struggling yet unwilling to give up his mouthful when Dean tries to urge him off. Dean returns the favor back at his place where he can kneel on the thick, imported rug in his bedroom instead, taking his time as he takes Sam apart.
Once those needs are sated, they sit together at the kitchen island, laptops open, and search for another hunt. Sam packs up his things at a quarter ‘til eleven, still debating with Dean about whether or not that ‘mysterious break-in’ up in Minneapolis could be a ghost. Dean considers asking Sam to stay-that’s a point they haven’t reached-but before he can get the words out, Sam is waving goodbye and shutting the door behind him.
~~~
The second gift is on Dean’s desk when he gets in on Wednesday. This time, the box is significantly bigger and there’s no note . Dean opens it carefully, confused when the labels beneath the paper are printed in German.
He slices open the cardboard and laughs out loud. Inside are one hundred of his favorite Swiss nutrition bars-only available in certain cities and notoriously difficult to find online. Whoever is leaving these gifts knows Dean extremely well, and he can only say that about a handful of people, only one of whom works at Sandover.
Just like that, he knows who his Secret Valentine is.
Dean picks up his phone, ready to end the game, but curiosity stops him. There’s one more day for gifts-the holiday itself-and he wants to see what’s going to happen. Instead, he calls his assistant into the office to ask whether the gift basket filled with products he’d ordered from Lisa’s favorite salon (and he owes his assistant an extra, extra long lunch today for that suggestion) was delivered, and settles into the rest of his day.
AS fate would have it, actual work keeps Dean and Sam apart until late on Thursday. It’s well past seven o’clock by the time Dean’s ready to head home, and when he gets there, he has two texts from Sam. The first one asks if Dean is up for dinner and the second proudly proclaims, “I think I found us a ghost!”
Sam arrives less than an hour later with a bag full of takeout (sushi for Dean and steak hibachi for himself) and a smile on his face. He’s swapped his Sandover attire for jeans and a navy blue shirt, and Dean can’t help admiring how the denim fits over his ass when he bends over.
“Focus, Dean,” he teases when he catches Dean staring. “Let me tell you about this ghost, first.”
Dean tries to listen when Sam tells him about what he thinks is a spirit haunting an art gallery, he really does, but all he can think about are the new suspenders in his closet and the box of bars he’d stashed in a safe place at the office. He thinks about the effort that went into picking them out and sneaking them into Dean’s office without anyone seeing (though he’s starting to suspect that his assistant has a soft spot for his Secret Valentine).
A few minutes later, having missed almost everything Sam told him, Dean leans forward on the sofa and cuts Sam off.
“We need to talk.”
“I-” Sam stops in the middle of his theory of a haunted painting. “Huh? Talk about what?”
“The gifts, the ones from my Secret Valentine.”
“I thought you said you liked them.”
“I do,” Dean admits, attempting to keep his expression serious, “that’s the problem. Whoever it is...they obviously like me a lot.”
“Dean-”
“I think they might be obsessed with me.”
Sam stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. As hard as Dean tries, he can’t stop his lips from curving into a smirk, and that’s enough to send Sam into laughter, breathless and relieved.
“Holy shit, Dean,” he gasps when he’s no longer bent double. “You figured out it was me, didn’t you?”
“You gave yourself away with the Swiss bars.”
Sam shakes his head. “Damn, I knew I should have saved those for last.”
“Was it a random draw? You getting me?”
Sam ducks his head, but Dean sees the way he’s smiling. “I might have hacked the list to make sure I had your name.”
“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Dean says, feigning a swoon and falling against Sam’s shoulder.
“Really?” he hears Sam ask. “I thought-well, we’ve never talked about what this is. I figured keeping it a secret would be better if you weren’t sure.”
“I was sure that night,” Dean tells him, sitting up and reaching over for Sam’s hand. “I thought maybe you wanted to keep it casual.”
“I took you to a gun range, Dean, and then blew you in the parking lot.” Sam looks earnest now, and it lends a weight to his words that wasn’t there before. “In a few months, you’ve become my best friend, and that feels totally normal. I think we’ve raced past casual. Hell, at this point, we’re a little codependent, don’t you think?”
Dean shrugs. Whatever they are, he doesn’t really care. His life after meeting Sam Wesson doesn’t even compare to the one he had before. Sam takes one look at his face and pulls him in for a kiss that says more than an entire stack of Valentine’s cards ever could.
When the kiss breaks, both of them breathing heavily and straining through their pants, Dean asks, “I still get one more gift, right?”
Sam’s lips move along Dean’s jaw. “If you’re asking me to fuck you…”
“No, I mean, yes, obviously I want that, too.” He’s got Dean too flustered to think in a straight line. “I’m talking about the last day of the exchange.”
Sam hums, pretending to ponder the idea as his hands roam along Dean’s chest, flirting with his shirt buttons. “Let’s see how good you are tonight, and then I’ll see if you deserve your last gift.”
~~~
On Valentine’s Day, Dean walks into Sandover with a smile on his face. All around him, employees are opening their cards, taking Instagram-worthy photos of the bouquets sitting on their desks, and showing off their final gifts.
He rode the elevator up with Sam Wesson, who had patted him discreetly on the ass before getting off on a lower floor, both carrying travel mugs of coffee made in Dean’s fancy machine before they left this morning.
Dean’s almost not expecting to see a box on his desk-what Sam gave him last night, more than once, would have been more than enough to wrap up the gift exchange-but the sight of a long, flat package eases the last of the tension in his chest. Even the handwritten note makes him smile.
Open carefully. I’m serious, Dean. CAREFULLY.
He obeys the written order, imagining Sam standing next to the desk, and slowly opens the box. When he sees the machete lying inside-high carbon steel, polished wood handle-he starts laughing like an idiot, grateful that he thought to close his door first.
To hell with being codependent, Dean thinks. This is what made for each other feels like.
SHUT UP YOU THIS WAS TOO FUCKING CUTE AND NOW I’M FIGHTING WITH YOU
Saaaaaam. Excitedly getting his Dean a ghost for Valentine’s. And the two of them, thinking the other wants to be casual, unable to understand the uncontrollable urge to be close that tugs them together. This is everything best about Smith/Wesson fic But with CUTESY VALENTINE’S SHIT thrown in.
^^^^ everything Cherie said above but throw in an AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH and omg now I can't stop also thinking about the gifts Dean Smith wanted to get Sam Wesson. (they could always celebrate Sweetest Day in October and also be spooky and romantic THIS COULD JUST BE THEIR THING.)
Sweet little psycho codependents in love. In any universe. <333
Ugghhhhh how Sam straight up calls out the codependence yessss. And also how they’re oh so casual (yeah right) but totally getting each other off every day!! And all the lil jabs at Dean’s diet and meticulousness but also feeding into it with the gifts. Love this!
Nothing more romantic than a fucking machete! Gosh, this was perfect! Sam going through the trouble of hacking the list so he could be Dean's secret valentine, and all his cute gifts. Both of them wanting to be more than just fuck buddies but not having the courage to say something. Even that butt tap on the elevator had me swooning lol! Thank you so much for sharing, this was lovely!
When Sam told him that the trip to the range would be worth his time, he meant it. After an hour of learning how to shoot 9mm handguns, they’re steaming up the front seat of Sam’s old Highlander and Sam’s got his lips wrapped around Dean’s cock. The parking lot is deserted; they parked far enough from the building that the outdoor lights can’t reach them.
It’s stupid, a little reckless, but so fucking hot to feel Sam swallow around him, struggling yet unwilling to give up his mouthful when Dean tries to urge him off. Dean returns the favor back at his place where he can kneel on the thick, imported rug in his bedroom instead, taking his time as he takes Sam apart.
Once those needs are sated, they sit together at the kitchen island, laptops open, and search for another hunt. Sam packs up his things at a quarter ‘til eleven, still debating with Dean about whether or not that ‘mysterious break-in’ up in Minneapolis could be a ghost. Dean considers asking Sam to stay-that’s a point they haven’t reached-but before he can get the words out, Sam is waving goodbye and shutting the door behind him.
~~~
The second gift is on Dean’s desk when he gets in on Wednesday. This time, the box is significantly bigger and there’s no note . Dean opens it carefully, confused when the labels beneath the paper are printed in German.
He slices open the cardboard and laughs out loud. Inside are one hundred of his favorite Swiss nutrition bars-only available in certain cities and notoriously difficult to find online. Whoever is leaving these gifts knows Dean extremely well, and he can only say that about a handful of people, only one of whom works at Sandover.
Just like that, he knows who his Secret Valentine is.
Dean picks up his phone, ready to end the game, but curiosity stops him. There’s one more day for gifts-the holiday itself-and he wants to see what’s going to happen. Instead, he calls his assistant into the office to ask whether the gift basket filled with products he’d ordered from Lisa’s favorite salon (and he owes his assistant an extra, extra long lunch today for that suggestion) was delivered, and settles into the rest of his day.
AS fate would have it, actual work keeps Dean and Sam apart until late on Thursday. It’s well past seven o’clock by the time Dean’s ready to head home, and when he gets there, he has two texts from Sam. The first one asks if Dean is up for dinner and the second proudly proclaims, “I think I found us a ghost!”
Sam arrives less than an hour later with a bag full of takeout (sushi for Dean and steak hibachi for himself) and a smile on his face. He’s swapped his Sandover attire for jeans and a navy blue shirt, and Dean can’t help admiring how the denim fits over his ass when he bends over.
“Focus, Dean,” he teases when he catches Dean staring. “Let me tell you about this ghost, first.”
Dean tries to listen when Sam tells him about what he thinks is a spirit haunting an art gallery, he really does, but all he can think about are the new suspenders in his closet and the box of bars he’d stashed in a safe place at the office. He thinks about the effort that went into picking them out and sneaking them into Dean’s office without anyone seeing (though he’s starting to suspect that his assistant has a soft spot for his Secret Valentine).
A few minutes later, having missed almost everything Sam told him, Dean leans forward on the sofa and cuts Sam off.
“We need to talk.”
“I-” Sam stops in the middle of his theory of a haunted painting. “Huh? Talk about what?”
“The gifts, the ones from my Secret Valentine.”
“I thought you said you liked them.”
“I do,” Dean admits, attempting to keep his expression serious, “that’s the problem. Whoever it is...they obviously like me a lot.”
“Dean-”
“I think they might be obsessed with me.”
Sam stares at him with wide, shocked eyes. As hard as Dean tries, he can’t stop his lips from curving into a smirk, and that’s enough to send Sam into laughter, breathless and relieved.
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“You gave yourself away with the Swiss bars.”
Sam shakes his head. “Damn, I knew I should have saved those for last.”
“Was it a random draw? You getting me?”
Sam ducks his head, but Dean sees the way he’s smiling. “I might have hacked the list to make sure I had your name.”
“That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever done for me,” Dean says, feigning a swoon and falling against Sam’s shoulder.
“Really?” he hears Sam ask. “I thought-well, we’ve never talked about what this is. I figured keeping it a secret would be better if you weren’t sure.”
“I was sure that night,” Dean tells him, sitting up and reaching over for Sam’s hand. “I thought maybe you wanted to keep it casual.”
“I took you to a gun range, Dean, and then blew you in the parking lot.” Sam looks earnest now, and it lends a weight to his words that wasn’t there before. “In a few months, you’ve become my best friend, and that feels totally normal. I think we’ve raced past casual. Hell, at this point, we’re a little codependent, don’t you think?”
Dean shrugs. Whatever they are, he doesn’t really care. His life after meeting Sam Wesson doesn’t even compare to the one he had before. Sam takes one look at his face and pulls him in for a kiss that says more than an entire stack of Valentine’s cards ever could.
When the kiss breaks, both of them breathing heavily and straining through their pants, Dean asks, “I still get one more gift, right?”
Sam’s lips move along Dean’s jaw. “If you’re asking me to fuck you…”
“No, I mean, yes, obviously I want that, too.” He’s got Dean too flustered to think in a straight line. “I’m talking about the last day of the exchange.”
Sam hums, pretending to ponder the idea as his hands roam along Dean’s chest, flirting with his shirt buttons. “Let’s see how good you are tonight, and then I’ll see if you deserve your last gift.”
~~~
On Valentine’s Day, Dean walks into Sandover with a smile on his face. All around him, employees are opening their cards, taking Instagram-worthy photos of the bouquets sitting on their desks, and showing off their final gifts.
He rode the elevator up with Sam Wesson, who had patted him discreetly on the ass before getting off on a lower floor, both carrying travel mugs of coffee made in Dean’s fancy machine before they left this morning.
Dean’s almost not expecting to see a box on his desk-what Sam gave him last night, more than once, would have been more than enough to wrap up the gift exchange-but the sight of a long, flat package eases the last of the tension in his chest. Even the handwritten note makes him smile.
Open carefully. I’m serious, Dean. CAREFULLY.
He obeys the written order, imagining Sam standing next to the desk, and slowly opens the box. When he sees the machete lying inside-high carbon steel, polished wood handle-he starts laughing like an idiot, grateful that he thought to close his door first.
To hell with being codependent, Dean thinks. This is what made for each other feels like.
FIN.
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Saaaaaam. Excitedly getting his Dean a ghost for Valentine’s. And the two of them, thinking the other wants to be casual, unable to understand the uncontrollable urge to be close that tugs them together. This is everything best about Smith/Wesson fic But with CUTESY VALENTINE’S SHIT thrown in.
Excuse me I have to go vomit rainbows
THE LAST GIFT WAS A ROMANTIC M A C H E T E
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Sweet little psycho codependents in love. In any universe. <333
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A machete! LOL!!!
💗
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