Fic: A Potentially Dangerous Impression, SPN/HSM, Sam/Ryan, NC-17 (22/?)
Title: A Potentially Dangerous Impression (part 22 of ?)
Author: SallySimpson
Fandoms: Supernatural collides with High School Musical
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Ryan Evans
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1653, this chapter
Disclaimers: The usual. I am in no legal or professional way associated with any of the assorted films, shows, studios, actors, etc. I do not pretend this story actually happened, particularly as it's about fictional characters.
Summary: East High is the scene of a bizarre string of cyclical unexplained murders. It's got to be a job for Sam and Dean, but only one of them can go undercover as a high school student.
In this chapter: What exactly does Ryan want from Sam?
strgazr04, here is your chapter!
1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 || 11 || 12 || 13 || 14 || 15 || 16 || 17 || 18 || 19 || 20 || 21
"But first... do something for me?"
"Huh?" Sam snapped his attention back into place to find Ryan looking at him with that smile of his, that impossible mix that was part sweet, part devious. All irresistible. "Anything."
"No. No way."
"Come on, Sam," Ryan murmured, reaching up to stroke his fingers along the strong line of Sam's jaw. "Please?"
But Sam wasn't even looking at him; his attention was fixed on the expensive salon, the doorways to the lush spa rooms beyond, the stylist waiting obsequiously before them. "Absolutely not."
"But you've got such gorgeous eyes!" Ryan protested gently, linking his fingers with Sam's and forcibly turning his boyfriend to look at him. "And people hardly ever get to see them."
Sam seemed to relax a bit, and gazed down at him with that single-minded focus Ryan had caught the leading edge of a few times. That look that always made his insides squirm, in that deliciously excited way. "You see them," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, and they always get me hot," Ryan murmured, delighted when Sam's cheeks flushed.
"And... that's what you want for the rest of the world? Really?"
Ryan shrugged. "A little envy can be a really fun thing," he suggested, "you know. When it's someone else's." Sam rolled his eyes and Ryan chuckled. "Okay, so don't do it for me. Just do it for yourself, then, because you'll be making even more of what you've got."
"Why would I want to do that?" Sam asked, and Ryan had to shake his head because really, Sam needed to ask such a question?
"Your gayness is so anorexic," he muttered. "It's in danger of disappearing altogether." Ryan chewed on his lower lip a moment, and decided, "I think it must be Dean's fault."
"Wait, what?" Sam pulled back to look at him in concern. "What's this got to do with Dean?"
"Nothing," Ryan rushed to reassure him, "it was just a joke, Sam. And this-" he pulled his hand out of Sam's grasp and waved expansively at the salon, "is just a haircut."
"No. No, it's not. At any rate, it's not mine," Sam insisted. "Seriously, Ryan! I don't look good with short hair. Just let it go."
Ryan sighed. The whole brick wall thing was starting to get really old. "Short hair works for everyone," he explained patiently. "It's long hair that's hard to pull off. You just get a good haircut, and then all you'll need is regular trims-"
"Maybe you haven't noticed this yet, but I'm really not the 'regular trim' type-"
"Fine," Ryan grated through his teeth, and then quickly grabbed Sam's shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss, just to shut him up while he could. He eased back with a last lick to Sam's lips, and soaked up the dazed look in those green eyes.
They really were gorgeous.
"We'll just move onto clothes, and forget this ever happened," he told Sam in a whisper, ignoring the way the stylist was suddenly watching them with just a little too much interest.
Sam blanched. "Clothes?"
"Clothes," Ryan repeated firmly, and took hold of Sam's hand. "Or we're staying right here and you're getting a facial."
"Clothes it is."
* * *
"Not that one, too bland. Something with more color," Ryan ordered, completely ignoring the way Sam was frantically shaking his head.
"No color, really!" Sam pleaded with the departing attendant. Ryan tsked in affectionate exasperation, and had to smile.
"Sit down, Sam," he urged, placing his palm dead-center of Sam's chest and walking him back into a Louis XIV-style armchair. Sam's legs folded and he sat down heavily, and Ryan seized the opportunity to climb into his lap, straddling his thighs.
"Ryan, you're-" Sam's gaze darted around the vast room in paranoia. "You're sitting on my lap in a public place," he hissed.
"Yes, and everyone in here is jealous," Ryan replied, with what he considered to be impermeable logic. As if the ritzy boutique and its employees cared about anything beyond the shine on his credit card, anyway. "And you," he said, rubbing his thumb over Sam's lower lip, "are unbelievably cute when you're flustered."
"Ryan!"
"Shhh," Ryan soothed, "I promise this won't hurt a bit." Another shopgirl appeared, her arms laden with shirts, and Ryan brightened. "Ooh, yes! The crimson is good."
"The crimson is not good- "
"It's perfect, thank you," Ryan interrupted, pressing his fingers lightly to Sam's mouth. "I'd love to see some more deep emeralds, and maybe some midnight blue. Jewel tones. Oh! And that newsboy cap," he pointed, "yes, that one!"
Sam stared at the hat and shrank back like it was about to attack him. "Don't come near me with that thing!"
Ryan sighed, but handed the cap back to the attendant and waved her away again. "That's fine. Not everyone can make it work, anyway." He turned back to his boyfriend and gently laid his palms on his cheeks. "Sam, you're panicking," he whispered.
"I'm not panicking," Sam protested, shaking his head.
"Yes. You are."
"Okay, maybe a little." Sam looked at him with such pleading in his eyes that Ryan had to take a moment and shake off the sudden impression of a puppy face. "This is not my- my-"
"Your milieu, I know. It's okay, Sam, there's no shame in that."
"My milieu?"
"Yes, it means your accustomed surroundings, your-"
"I know what it means, Ryan!" Sam's eyes flashed green fire, and Ryan ducked his head, dropping his hands to Sam's shoulders. "I'm sorry," Sam muttered, the anger flowing out of him as suddenly as it had appeared, his muscles marginally relaxing again beneath Ryan's fingers. "I'm... I'm kind of under a lot of stress right now. And you're right, this isn't my world."
"I know. It's mine," Ryan said softly, lifting his gaze again. "I just wanted you to spend a little time in it with me." Then he shrugged, and offered a half-smile. "It's not like I'm dragging you off to Broadway, or anything. I won't even make you get a pedicure."
Sam shook his head, but couldn't quite hold back his grin. "There are lengths I wouldn't go to, Ryan," he murmured. "Not even for you."
Ryan's smile widened into a smirk. "Yeah, you would," he whispered, tipping his head forward.
And this time Sam kissed him back.
* * *
Hours later, the sting of the shopping expedition had been lessened somewhat, buried beneath an absolutely phenomenal six-course Thai dinner and soothed away by an evening of Ryan's undivided attention. Sam was relaxed to the point of near-melting, now, lying on his back on the Evans' vast green lawn, his head in Ryan's lap and the stars twinkling far overhead.
"I want you to wear your new coat the next time you take me out," Ryan murmured, stroking his fingers through Sam's thick - and still mercifully untrimmed - hair.
Sam huffed a soft laugh, and grinned up at him. "It's cashmere, Ryan."
"I know." Ryan smiled slyly. "And you were working it."
Now Sam snickered, unable to help himself. "I can't even believe I own it. You can be really overwhelming, you know that?"
Ryan shrugged, clearly unoffended. "When I set my mind to it, sure. You're worth it."
Sam's smile tilted, but he didn't argue. At some point in the afternoon he'd simply given up and let himself lose track of the grand sum 'his' purchases were racking up on Ryan's tab, no matter that he'd been given no choice in the matter anyway. It had clearly delighted Ryan to have him as his giant dress-up doll, and Sam didn't think he could face taking his metaphorical hat in his hands, going back to Dean and explaining that they needed to rush out and do a whole lot of pool hustling because he now had a closet full of silk.
And besides, Sam was pretty sure Ryan wasn't responsible for paying his own credit card bills anyway.
"Hey," he said softly, clearing his throat after a few more moments of easy silence. "We really do need to talk about school."
Ryan's brows quirked as he gazed down at Sam's face. "What about it?"
Sam bit his lip. "I'm serious. I don't think you should go back there."
"I have to go back sometime," Ryan replied, clearly puzzled. "It's my senior year. I'm kind of planning on graduating."
"Yeah, but-" Sam sat up, and shifted around to take Ryan's hands in his. "You don't have to go back this week. Maybe not next week either. Just- I mean, you just got out of the hospital anyway. It's not like you don't have a perfect excuse all lined up."
Ryan stroked his thumb over the back of Sam's hand. "You know I'm fine," he said quietly, giving Sam another glimpse of that spine of steel, so rarely revealed and yet so secretly formidable.
"That's not the point," Sam insisted. "I- look, Ryan, I really don't know how to tell you this." He sighed and twined their fingers together, watching the play of moonlight on Ryan's skin. "I'm really worried about you. I meant it when I said I think you're in danger at school."
"From... what?" Ryan asked, and cracked a grin. "More badminton?"
It was supposed to be funny. Should have been. But Sam just couldn't bring himself to smile. "I'm serious."
"You're very serious, I can see that." Ryan leaned in and brushed a kiss over Sam's mouth. "But I'm still not seeing why."
"Because-" Sam broke off, frustrated, and then licked his lips, tasting Ryan. "Because on Tuesday, Jenna Brady got burned in a freak chemistry accident. On Wednesday, you had a fucking heart attack out of nowhere. Tomorrow..." he trailed off, and shrugged. "I don't know what's going to happen, Ryan. But people are getting hurt at school."
He looked up to find Ryan watching him steadily, his eyes dark and fathomless in the moonlight. "Sam," Ryan whispered, and leaned close for a slow kiss, drawing Sam in and leaving him weak. "You worry too much."
To Chapter 23
Author: SallySimpson
Fandoms: Supernatural collides with High School Musical
Pairing: Sam Winchester/Ryan Evans
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1653, this chapter
Disclaimers: The usual. I am in no legal or professional way associated with any of the assorted films, shows, studios, actors, etc. I do not pretend this story actually happened, particularly as it's about fictional characters.
Summary: East High is the scene of a bizarre string of cyclical unexplained murders. It's got to be a job for Sam and Dean, but only one of them can go undercover as a high school student.
In this chapter: What exactly does Ryan want from Sam?
strgazr04, here is your chapter!
1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 || 11 || 12 || 13 || 14 || 15 || 16 || 17 || 18 || 19 || 20 || 21
"But first... do something for me?"
"Huh?" Sam snapped his attention back into place to find Ryan looking at him with that smile of his, that impossible mix that was part sweet, part devious. All irresistible. "Anything."
"No. No way."
"Come on, Sam," Ryan murmured, reaching up to stroke his fingers along the strong line of Sam's jaw. "Please?"
But Sam wasn't even looking at him; his attention was fixed on the expensive salon, the doorways to the lush spa rooms beyond, the stylist waiting obsequiously before them. "Absolutely not."
"But you've got such gorgeous eyes!" Ryan protested gently, linking his fingers with Sam's and forcibly turning his boyfriend to look at him. "And people hardly ever get to see them."
Sam seemed to relax a bit, and gazed down at him with that single-minded focus Ryan had caught the leading edge of a few times. That look that always made his insides squirm, in that deliciously excited way. "You see them," Sam pointed out.
"Yeah, and they always get me hot," Ryan murmured, delighted when Sam's cheeks flushed.
"And... that's what you want for the rest of the world? Really?"
Ryan shrugged. "A little envy can be a really fun thing," he suggested, "you know. When it's someone else's." Sam rolled his eyes and Ryan chuckled. "Okay, so don't do it for me. Just do it for yourself, then, because you'll be making even more of what you've got."
"Why would I want to do that?" Sam asked, and Ryan had to shake his head because really, Sam needed to ask such a question?
"Your gayness is so anorexic," he muttered. "It's in danger of disappearing altogether." Ryan chewed on his lower lip a moment, and decided, "I think it must be Dean's fault."
"Wait, what?" Sam pulled back to look at him in concern. "What's this got to do with Dean?"
"Nothing," Ryan rushed to reassure him, "it was just a joke, Sam. And this-" he pulled his hand out of Sam's grasp and waved expansively at the salon, "is just a haircut."
"No. No, it's not. At any rate, it's not mine," Sam insisted. "Seriously, Ryan! I don't look good with short hair. Just let it go."
Ryan sighed. The whole brick wall thing was starting to get really old. "Short hair works for everyone," he explained patiently. "It's long hair that's hard to pull off. You just get a good haircut, and then all you'll need is regular trims-"
"Maybe you haven't noticed this yet, but I'm really not the 'regular trim' type-"
"Fine," Ryan grated through his teeth, and then quickly grabbed Sam's shoulders and pulled him down for a kiss, just to shut him up while he could. He eased back with a last lick to Sam's lips, and soaked up the dazed look in those green eyes.
They really were gorgeous.
"We'll just move onto clothes, and forget this ever happened," he told Sam in a whisper, ignoring the way the stylist was suddenly watching them with just a little too much interest.
Sam blanched. "Clothes?"
"Clothes," Ryan repeated firmly, and took hold of Sam's hand. "Or we're staying right here and you're getting a facial."
"Clothes it is."
* * *
"Not that one, too bland. Something with more color," Ryan ordered, completely ignoring the way Sam was frantically shaking his head.
"No color, really!" Sam pleaded with the departing attendant. Ryan tsked in affectionate exasperation, and had to smile.
"Sit down, Sam," he urged, placing his palm dead-center of Sam's chest and walking him back into a Louis XIV-style armchair. Sam's legs folded and he sat down heavily, and Ryan seized the opportunity to climb into his lap, straddling his thighs.
"Ryan, you're-" Sam's gaze darted around the vast room in paranoia. "You're sitting on my lap in a public place," he hissed.
"Yes, and everyone in here is jealous," Ryan replied, with what he considered to be impermeable logic. As if the ritzy boutique and its employees cared about anything beyond the shine on his credit card, anyway. "And you," he said, rubbing his thumb over Sam's lower lip, "are unbelievably cute when you're flustered."
"Ryan!"
"Shhh," Ryan soothed, "I promise this won't hurt a bit." Another shopgirl appeared, her arms laden with shirts, and Ryan brightened. "Ooh, yes! The crimson is good."
"The crimson is not good- "
"It's perfect, thank you," Ryan interrupted, pressing his fingers lightly to Sam's mouth. "I'd love to see some more deep emeralds, and maybe some midnight blue. Jewel tones. Oh! And that newsboy cap," he pointed, "yes, that one!"
Sam stared at the hat and shrank back like it was about to attack him. "Don't come near me with that thing!"
Ryan sighed, but handed the cap back to the attendant and waved her away again. "That's fine. Not everyone can make it work, anyway." He turned back to his boyfriend and gently laid his palms on his cheeks. "Sam, you're panicking," he whispered.
"I'm not panicking," Sam protested, shaking his head.
"Yes. You are."
"Okay, maybe a little." Sam looked at him with such pleading in his eyes that Ryan had to take a moment and shake off the sudden impression of a puppy face. "This is not my- my-"
"Your milieu, I know. It's okay, Sam, there's no shame in that."
"My milieu?"
"Yes, it means your accustomed surroundings, your-"
"I know what it means, Ryan!" Sam's eyes flashed green fire, and Ryan ducked his head, dropping his hands to Sam's shoulders. "I'm sorry," Sam muttered, the anger flowing out of him as suddenly as it had appeared, his muscles marginally relaxing again beneath Ryan's fingers. "I'm... I'm kind of under a lot of stress right now. And you're right, this isn't my world."
"I know. It's mine," Ryan said softly, lifting his gaze again. "I just wanted you to spend a little time in it with me." Then he shrugged, and offered a half-smile. "It's not like I'm dragging you off to Broadway, or anything. I won't even make you get a pedicure."
Sam shook his head, but couldn't quite hold back his grin. "There are lengths I wouldn't go to, Ryan," he murmured. "Not even for you."
Ryan's smile widened into a smirk. "Yeah, you would," he whispered, tipping his head forward.
And this time Sam kissed him back.
* * *
Hours later, the sting of the shopping expedition had been lessened somewhat, buried beneath an absolutely phenomenal six-course Thai dinner and soothed away by an evening of Ryan's undivided attention. Sam was relaxed to the point of near-melting, now, lying on his back on the Evans' vast green lawn, his head in Ryan's lap and the stars twinkling far overhead.
"I want you to wear your new coat the next time you take me out," Ryan murmured, stroking his fingers through Sam's thick - and still mercifully untrimmed - hair.
Sam huffed a soft laugh, and grinned up at him. "It's cashmere, Ryan."
"I know." Ryan smiled slyly. "And you were working it."
Now Sam snickered, unable to help himself. "I can't even believe I own it. You can be really overwhelming, you know that?"
Ryan shrugged, clearly unoffended. "When I set my mind to it, sure. You're worth it."
Sam's smile tilted, but he didn't argue. At some point in the afternoon he'd simply given up and let himself lose track of the grand sum 'his' purchases were racking up on Ryan's tab, no matter that he'd been given no choice in the matter anyway. It had clearly delighted Ryan to have him as his giant dress-up doll, and Sam didn't think he could face taking his metaphorical hat in his hands, going back to Dean and explaining that they needed to rush out and do a whole lot of pool hustling because he now had a closet full of silk.
And besides, Sam was pretty sure Ryan wasn't responsible for paying his own credit card bills anyway.
"Hey," he said softly, clearing his throat after a few more moments of easy silence. "We really do need to talk about school."
Ryan's brows quirked as he gazed down at Sam's face. "What about it?"
Sam bit his lip. "I'm serious. I don't think you should go back there."
"I have to go back sometime," Ryan replied, clearly puzzled. "It's my senior year. I'm kind of planning on graduating."
"Yeah, but-" Sam sat up, and shifted around to take Ryan's hands in his. "You don't have to go back this week. Maybe not next week either. Just- I mean, you just got out of the hospital anyway. It's not like you don't have a perfect excuse all lined up."
Ryan stroked his thumb over the back of Sam's hand. "You know I'm fine," he said quietly, giving Sam another glimpse of that spine of steel, so rarely revealed and yet so secretly formidable.
"That's not the point," Sam insisted. "I- look, Ryan, I really don't know how to tell you this." He sighed and twined their fingers together, watching the play of moonlight on Ryan's skin. "I'm really worried about you. I meant it when I said I think you're in danger at school."
"From... what?" Ryan asked, and cracked a grin. "More badminton?"
It was supposed to be funny. Should have been. But Sam just couldn't bring himself to smile. "I'm serious."
"You're very serious, I can see that." Ryan leaned in and brushed a kiss over Sam's mouth. "But I'm still not seeing why."
"Because-" Sam broke off, frustrated, and then licked his lips, tasting Ryan. "Because on Tuesday, Jenna Brady got burned in a freak chemistry accident. On Wednesday, you had a fucking heart attack out of nowhere. Tomorrow..." he trailed off, and shrugged. "I don't know what's going to happen, Ryan. But people are getting hurt at school."
He looked up to find Ryan watching him steadily, his eyes dark and fathomless in the moonlight. "Sam," Ryan whispered, and leaned close for a slow kiss, drawing Sam in and leaving him weak. "You worry too much."
To Chapter 23