[SPN] FIC: "Square in a Round," Sam/Jess, NC17
FINALLY. Jesus Christ, guys. I started this fucker in April.
Title: Square in a Round
Pairing: Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean implied
Rating: NC17. Porn, y'all.
Summary: Sam finds something that belongs to Jess, and is fucked. Figuratively first, then literally.
Warnings: PEGGING. Implication of drugged!sex (THE ECSTASY KIND, NOT THE DATE-RAPE KIND). Oh, and angst. Lots of angst.
Notes: Long-awaited (well, I'm sure someone was waiting for it) prequel to Bruised, in which Sam is pegged. YAY, PEGGING. This is for my dearest, darling anoneknewmoose, who is SLEEPING right now but will be very pleasantly surprised when she wakes up! Or, more likely, she'll be annoyed because she won't have time to read the fic before she goes to work. BUT IT'S DONE, BABY, AND IT'S ALL YOURS. Thanks to the CWRPS Krew, vanitymachine, memphis86, and vinylroad for their prereads and cheerleading. Also thanks to muchniat, who made me a pegging icon JUST FOR THIS FIC, which I appreciate very muchly even though I kind of had to get rid of it when my account reverted back to free. SIGH. 5200 words.
- - -
"Damn," Sam says, rummaging around in the drawer of Jess' nightstand. "Babe, I think we're out."
She laughs. "No way. I'm never out."
He pulls the drawer all the way out, turns it over. "You're out."
"Am not. There's an emergency stash in my underwear drawer."
Sam grins at her, leaning in to kiss her again. "Slut," he says, yelping when she bites his lip. He stumbles from the bed, bare-ass naked and horny as hell, and Jess won't stop giggling as he starts going through her dresser drawers. "Where the hell are they?" he asks.
"Where all normal people keep their underwear, Sam," she says, rolling her eyes. "Top one."
He yanks open the drawer, panties flying everywhere as he digs through them. Then his fingers close on something hard and thick and cold that his brain doesn't parse as a dildo until after he pulls it out, looking at it stupidly. Turning around and pointing it at her, he asks, "What the hell is this?" Even as he says it, he knows that the answer is obvious and that she is definitely going to make fun of him later for asking; sex makes him dumb sometimes, as she never lets him forget.
Now, though, she just gives him this incredibly sexy smile, the white of her teeth flashing in the low light. "Jealous?"
"No, I just -" It's...weird, he thinks as he turns it over in his hands, oddly curved with a knobby bit on one end.
"Sam. Just grab a condom already, okay?"
And, well, she doesn’t have to ask twice; Sam obediently puts the toy back, fishes around for the box of Trojans, and scampers back to bed.
[one year later]
Jess has so much stuff that it's almost incomprehensible to Sam, even after three days of boxing it all up. After growing up living out of an Army surplus duffel, he tends to think that owning anything that can't be packed in fifteen minutes flat is extravagant and sloppy.
He's sure that Dean would laugh his ass off to see Sam trying to get a Japanese lantern into a wax-paper sack, but as far as Sam is concerned Dean could go ahead and laugh -- Sam is the one who's moving into a one-bed on the east side of campus with a hot blonde.
That is, if they can ever get all of her shit out of the place where she lives now.
"Here," Jess says, hitting Sam in the chest with an empty laundry basket. "Just throw clothes in here. I'll have to refold them later anyway."
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, grinning when she glares at him. He pulls open the top drawer of her dresser. "God damn you have a lot of underwear."
"A lady can never have too much lingerie," she sniffs, ducking into the closet.
Grumbling, he pulls the drawer all the way out and upends it into the basket.
And there in the pile of satin and lace (and condoms, because he forgot to close the box the last time they dipped into the emergency stash) is that funny-shaped dildo thing. He picks it up, staring at the weird curve of it. "Jess?"
"What?" She pokes her head out of the closet.
"Seriously, what is this thing?"
"What's what?" She bounces over to the dresser, nimbly avoiding the detritus on the floor. "Oh. That's Ivan."
Feeling his face heat, Sam says, "It has a name?"
"Well, he is a Terrible Harness-Free Strap-On Cock of Doom. Or at least that's what Ange and Keri called him when they bought him for me." Jess shrugs. "Ivan seemed to fit."
"Ivan IV's full title, of course, being Ivan the Terrible Cock of Doom," he says, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Was there, uh, any reason why you needed a strap-on, harness-free or otherwise?"
She gives him a curious look. "Nope, it was just a joke. Why?"
Sam thinks of slick fingers spreading him open, of the heat and ache and satisfaction of being slowly filled, and blushes even more deeply. "No reason."
"Uh-huh." Cocking her head to the side, Jess studies him for a second. Then she shrugs again and bends to pick up the basket. "Come on, babe; we've got a lot to move before they kick me out at 5."
"Yeah, okay," he answers, wondering if she can hear the relief in his voice.
[one month later]
"Do you trust me?" Jess asks, and Sam thinks that that's a hell of a thing to ask a guy when you're about to have his dick in your mouth.
"What? Jesus, babe, of course I trust you." He shifts his hips and spreads his thighs a little wider, trying to subtly direct her attention to his cock.
She grins wickedly. "I was hoping you'd say that," she says, and then one of her slender fingers is pressing into his ass as she closes her lips around the head of his dick.
"Fuck!" he cries, back arching off the bed, hands fisting in the sheets.
Instantly Jess withdraws. "Shit, Sam, I'm so sorry, I didn't --"
"No! No, it's fine, just...surprised." He smiles encouragingly, strokes her hair. "Go ahead."
She probes at him again, hesitantly looking up at him through her lashes. "You're sure this is okay?"
"Positi -- oh God, yeah."
Jess hums around his dick, stroking in and out of his ass with a single finger, then two. The lube -- lube? When did she pull out the fucking lube? -- makes these obscene, wet little sounds as she drags her fingers over his prostate, and damn, it's so amazing that he can't help but moan on every stroke. Then she adds a third finger, and the moans become desperate, plaintive cries.
Sam doesn't even realize that he's begging until he comes in her sweet, hot mouth with a rushed "ohGodfuckmepleasemmyes."
Gently, Jess pulls away, giving his cock one last swipe with her tongue before rolling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He hears the water run and guesses that she's washing her hands.
When she climbs back into bed, he turns onto his side and buries his face in her hair, spooning up against her and kissing the back of her neck.
"Well," she says, squirming a little as he nibbles at her earlobe. "That was interesting."
His face heats. "If you say so." He slides his hand between her legs, dipping his fingers into the wet of her cunt and circling her clit with his fingertips.
"Mm." She turns her head to kiss him, licking delicately at his lower lip. "Don't think I'm not on to you, Sam. We are so going to talk about this tomorrow."
If you say so, Sam thinks, and then proceeds to do his damnedest to make her forget her own name, much less his enthusiasm for ass play.
- - -
"Coffee," Jess says, stumbling into the kitchen just before seven.
Without looking up from his anthro text, Sam points to the mostly-full pot on the table.
"Jesus God I love you." She throws open a cabinet and grabs a mug.
"I bet you say that to all the guys."
After pouring herself a cup, she wraps her hands around it and inhales deeply, a beatific expression on her face. "Only the ones who give me caffeine."
They sit at the table in companionable quiet as she drinks her coffee and he studies.
He glances up briefly when she reaches for the pot again. "Why are you up, anyway?"
"Can't I get up early to wish my man good luck on his test?"
Sam gives her a skeptical look. "When your first class is at noon? Since when do you give up even the slightest opportunity to sleep in?" He closes his book and picks up his own empty coffee cup, going to rinse it out.
She follows him to the sink, sliding an arm around his waist. "Well, I figured we could talk." Her hand drifts down to grope his ass through his jeans.
Sam freezes, still holding his mug under the faucet. "Um," he says, thinking that it's way, way too early for this.
The water in the cup runs over, soaking his cuff.
Hell. "Babe, I've got to go."
"What? Your class isn't until nine!"
"Yeah, I know. I'm going to the library to study," he says, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily for comfort.
"Why can't you study here?" Jess asks plaintively, her hand still resting possessively on his ass.
He swallows hard. "Promised Becky I'd meet her early. We'll talk later." He kisses her cheek, grabs his books and his keys, and flies out the door before she can protest further.
As soon as he rounds the corner, he fishes in his pocket for his cell. "Hey, Becks. Can you meet me at Green? Now?"
"What? Why?" Becky's voice is sleepy and confused.
He pauses. "No reason."
[one week later]
"God, yeah," Sam says, biting his lip as he sinks into the pliant heat of Jess' cunt.
She arches her back, gasping."Come on, Sam," she moans, rocking against him, and really, what kind of gentleman would he be if he refused?
Her nails dig into his shoulder blades as he fucks her and score down his back when he slips a hand between them to toy with her clit. Holy shit he loves having sex with Jessica, loves the warmth and the taste of her, loves the sounds she makes, loves everything --
He does not love the feeling of her fingers dipping into his crease to press against his hole. That he can definitely, definitely live without.
Jess feels him tense -- of course she does, she's got her fingertip in his ass -- and frowns up at him. "Babe?"
"Um." He kisses her to cover his panic, licking into her mouth and sucking on her lower lip just the way she likes it, and tries to think of something to say that won't result in his having to jerk off in the bathroom. "I -- I want you on top."
"What?"
Sam gathers her in his arms and rolls them so that she's draped across his chest instead of spread out under him. "Come on, I love watching you like this." He flexes his hips, as if to remind her that he's still inside her.
She looks at him like she's fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but she obligingly sits back anyway, and fuck if she isn't the hottest thing alive -- he really does love to watch her. Sam's dick twitches when she runs a hand down her torso to touch herself, fingers lightly brushing against him at the junction of their bodies.
"Fuck, yeah, just like that," he gasps, digging his heels into the mattress so he can thrust up into her, covering her tits with his hands.
Jess groans. "Yeah, okay." She picks up a rhythm and rides him hard, wringing his orgasm out of him with the fluttering contractions of her climax and collapsing breathlessly on his chest.
She rolls off of him and curls up against his side, and Sam thinks he's home free until she props her chin on her hand and gives him that pensive little frown again.
"What’s wrong with you?" she asks.
"Nothing’s wrong, Jess," he says. He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Then what the hell was -- that?" She makes an eloquent one-handed gesture.
Sam sighs. "I’m just...not comfortable with it."
She arches an eyebrow. "You seemed pretty damn comfortable the other night, babe."
"Yeah, well, I’m not."
"Why?"
Jaw clenching almost involuntarily, Sam says, "I'm just not, alright?"
She harrumphs and turns over, clearly annoyed with him but too sleepy to argue.
He knows she’s not satisfied with that answer. He’s not really satisfied with having to keep secrets from her, either, but there’s just no way to tell her that he’d rather not think about Dean while he’s having sex with her, and there’s really no way to tell her why he can’t think about being fucked without thinking about Dean.
- - -
Sam spends an entire week dreading that she'll try it again -- or worse, withhold sex entirely until he comes clean. Not that Jessica is really the type be so petty; she likes fucking way too much to try to pull anything like that.
Or so he hopes.
In the meantime, he's super-nice to her. He makes dinner twice and does the dishes (all of them, not just the dishwasher-safe stuff) without being asked; he agrees to the majority of her requests before she can finish making them.
He doesn't really expect that to bite him in the ass, but oh, it does.
- - -
Sam really, really hates clubbing. He might even hate it more than he hates the thought of celibacy.
Fat fucking lot of good it does to say that now.
Jess leans in and kisses his cheek, all glittery eyeshadow and glossy candy-pink lips, and says, "Watch my stuff, okay?" before scampering off to the dance floor.
He sinks further into the couch, taking a long pull on his beer, and settles in for a long night of purse-sitting.
"Hey, budge over," a husky alto says.
Sam turns to glare at the source of the voice. "Angela. Glad you could make it." His tone makes it perfectly clear that he's nothing of the sort, but he scoots over anyway.
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, flopping down next to him. "Guarding the handbags again, are we?"
"So it would seem."
Ange laughs, too loud as always, and lights up. "So what's up, Sammy? How's your sex life?"
Christ, Sam thinks. Ange is the only one of Jess' friends that he really doesn't like, which is exactly why she hovers around him whenever possible, just being her obnoxious, chain-smoking self and leering at every cute girl who walks by. "Fine," he says, praying she'll shut up.
"Heard you've got some hang-up about anal." She flicks her cigarette and looks at him intently, daring him to deny it.
Sam's jaw drops. Fucking hell. "She didn't," he says darkly, glaring for all he's worth.
Ange grins. "Oh, she did. Come on, man; that's what chicks do. Why wouldn't she tell me?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're a lesbian?"
"Who else is she going to call about strap-on issues?"
Sam buries his face in his hands. "This conversation is not happening."
She laughs again. "You're not that lucky, Winchester."
"Of course I'm not."
"Aww, come on. I'm not really that bad." She finishes her cigarette and lights another. "So what's your damage?"
He grits his teeth. "Not talking about this."
Continuing as if she hadn't heard him, she says, "I mean, you've never struck me as a 'phobe, so you can't possibly be afraid that it makes you queer."
He glares at her again.
"Sam, the right answer to that question is, 'Yes, Angela, I know perfectly well that liking things up my ass doesn't make me gay.'" She gives him a pointed glance.
He digs his fingers into the couch's worn upholstery. "Goddamn, Ange, what part of not talking about this did you not understand? Just shut up before the whole place hears you."
"Fine."
Sam breathes a sigh of relief.
She manages a whole five minutes of silence -- and that has to be some kind of record, for her -- before saying, "Look, Slick, I know you don't like me, and I know you'd rather hear this from anyone but me, but this has got to stop, because you're driving Jess up the fucking wall. She loves you, and she's not going to quit just because you like taking it in the ass."
"It isn't that simple." Shit, what he wouldn't give for it to be that simple.
"Why not?"
"Because --" of Dean, he thinks, but if he can't tell Jess, he sure as hell can't tell Ange. "It just...isn't."
Angela rolls her eyes. "Sam, are you cheating on her?"
"What? No!"
"Do you have any intention of cheating on her?"
Sam looks at her like she's grown a second head.
"Then she's your only source for dick, man." She puts out her cigarette, grinding it emphatically into the bar-glass ashtray. "All you've got to do is wrap your head around that enough to ask her for it. Seriously. That's what normal people do."
"But --"
"No buts." Standing, she straightens her skirt and flounces off.
He just stares after her.
- - -
Jess is all over him from the moment they leave the club, and after one look at her blown-out pupils, Sam guesses that it’s because she’s rolling. Usually, Jess plus ecstasy equals a long night of enthusiastic sex. If he weren’t so preoccupied over his conversation with Ange -- well, that’s not really fair, he thinks, but it’s always nice to have someone to blame -- he’d probably be overjoyed.
He gets her a glass of orange juice and watches her drink it, then steers her towards the shower. She laughs and tugs at his clothes as he cranks the hot.
"Just give me a minute, okay?" he asks, ducking out of the bathroom and shutting the door.
He crosses the room to Jess' dresser and digs through her underwear drawer until his fingers close around Ivan.
Who the hell names shit like this, anyway?
It’s not anything he’s really thought about before, getting fucked by a girl, and now that he is thinking about it...he doesn't know what to think.
Dean would be laughing his head off, if he knew.
No -- Dean would tell Sam to sack up and stop being a cockblocking bastard. Then he'd laugh.
"Saa-aaaaaaaamm," Jess suddenly calls from the shower.
Startled, Sam drops the toy, and then sheepishly bends to pick it up. It’s...pretty, really, all tinted acrylic and smooth, hard curves in his hands. Biting his lip, Sam tries to imagine how it would feel inside him, and despite all of his numerous issues, his cock is undeniably interested in the prospect.
Damn.
He stows the thing back in her drawer. “Coming, babe,” he says, pulling his t-shirt over his head and making his way back to the bathroom.
Honestly, his past sex life has no business encroaching on his present one.
- - -
Jess is still zonked out when Sam wakes up the next morning -- well, afternoon, but who cares -- so he leaves her drooling into her pillow and takes his laptop into the kitchen to check his email.
He's got a new message from Angela with "fuck i'm hungover" in the subject line that just says "PEGGING" in the body. He deletes it.
Sam logs on to Facebook and Myspace, reads Slashdot, and checks a couple of the webcomics he likes before remembering that it's Saturday and most of them don't update on weekends. Eventually he ends up trawling Wikipedia for poorly written articles about ghosts and knife fighting techniques, alt-tabbing out when he hears Jess moving around in the bedroom.
He smiles as she winds her arms around his neck from behind. "How do you feel?"
"Mmm. Mild headache, but otherwise I'm fabulous." She kisses his cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me."
"I like taking care of you," he says simply, because he actually does, even apart from the occasional drug-fueled, mind-blowing sex.
She shrugs, tugging on a lock of his hair, and snags his Coke from the table. "You sleep okay?"
"What? Oh, yeah." He takes back his drink and frowns to find it empty. "I was drinking that, you know."
"Emphasis on the 'was,'" she says, but she goes to the fridge to grab him a new one anyway, sliding into the seat across from him after she sets it on the table. "So."
"So." Sam pops open the can, watches the carbonation mist out the top. "I had a nice conversation with Angela last night."
Jess groans and presses her forehead into the heel of her hand. "Oh my God, she didn't."
He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Oh, she did."
"Sam, I." She licks her lips. "I don't know what she said, but I totally didn't -- she wasn't supposed to say anything."
"It's okay, honestly."
"It isn't. You're not comfortable with it, and -- I just shouldn't have told her."
"Well, who else are you going to go to for strap-on issues."
She uneasily returns his lopsided grin.
Sam reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Seriously, babe, it's okay. And I'm maybe not as...not comfortable as you think. Maybe."
Her eyes widen. "Really?"
"Yeah, really."
[one day later]
The anticipation is killing him.
After dinner, Jess went to their bedroom, grabbed Ivan from her dresser, and tossed it on the bed. "Shower," she said, and pushed Sam into the bathroom. So he cleaned up, a bit more...thoroughly than usual, and then Jess traded him places in the bathroom and hasn't been out yet.
Sam wonders what the hell is taking her so long in the bathroom, because he feels a little silly laying naked in bed, his wet hair soaking the pillow and his cock half-hard. He really doesn't want to use the phrase "get it over with," but frankly, he's beginning to wonder if she even wants to do this at all. Surely it shouldn't take this long for her to get ready. He's the one who's about to get fucked here, after all.
"Babe?" he calls, addressing the closed bathroom door.
And then she opens the door, says, "What?" and Sam completely forgets what he was going to say, because she looks amazing. Jess is always beautiful, but now she's gorgeous in the way that girls can only be when they're trying very, very hard to look like they're not trying at all. Minimal makeup, hair full and gorgeous and loosely tied back, gloriously naked -- and it hits him how much she wants this to be special, how special she's trying to make it for him. Warmth spreads through his chest, suffusing and liquid, and he can't get up fast enough to wrap his arms around her, breathe in the scent of her hair.
"I love you," he says, simply.
She turns her head and looks up at him, lips quirking up in a small smile. "I love you, too," she says, and stands on tiptoe to kiss him. "Now get back on the bed."
"Yes, ma'am." He drags her with him as he stumbles backwards, drinking in her lips, grinning into the kiss as he falls back on the mattress. "How do you want to do this?" he asks, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone.
Jess nips gently at his lower lip. "I want to watch you," she says. "Want to see your face while I'm getting you ready."
Jesus Christ, he thinks, his dick jerking against his stomach, hard as nails now. "Okay," he manages, and parts his thighs to give her room.
She grins, wide and wicked, and licks her way down his chest, fingers pressing behind his balls as she tastes the head of his cock. Then her mouth moves lower, her hands spreading him, and he arches off the bed as she licks at his hole.
"Oh my God, Jess," he moans, and she hums in response, the tip of her tongue slipping inside him. It feels fucking incredible, the way she's just eating at him, and she makes pleased little noises in her throat while she does it, like tongue-fucking his ass is her favorite thing in the world, like there's nowhere else she'd rather be. It drives him insane, and suddenly he has to taste her, needs something to occupy his mouth and make her as crazy as she's making him.
"Hey," he says, tangling a hand in her hair. "I want -- let me lick you. God, just. Please."
And then she's mouthing at his balls and draping herself over his chest, her slender fingers pushing into his ass as she presses her cunt back against his face.
Sam lifts up to reach her with his lips, tastes her. She's dripping, sweet and thick on his tongue, and the scent of her is almost overpowering. "Jesus, you're so wet," he pants into her slit.
"Have been for hours," she groans, grinding against his mouth. "Wanted this so much." Then she swallows his cock and scissors her fingers inside him, and God. She's going to kill him.
He moans, feeling her heartbeat in her clit, and bats at her shoulder. The combination of her musky-rich sweetness sliding over his lips and tongue and the blinding pleasure of her hands and mouth have him on the verge of coming, and she's barely even touched his dick.
"Stop," he gasps, groaning as she pulls off his cock with a soft sound. "Gonna -- God, don't touch me." His hips spasm, and she takes the hint, trailing her tongue back down to play around his perineum as she fucks him open with her fingers.
When Sam loses track of how many fingers she's got up his ass, when he's keening incoherently, Jess rolls off him and sits back on her heels, splaying her legs and grabbing for the toy, slipping it into place and stroking it with slick fingers. The unfamiliar weight of it in her hand seems to surprise her, and she looks unsure for the first time since she pulled the damn thing out and unceremoniously dropped it on the bed.
"Hey," Sam says softly, reaching out to touch her thigh. "We don't have to do this tonight."
"I want to, Sam." She bites her bottom lip. "Are you sure you do?"
"Uh." He watches, mesmerized, as she strokes the fake cock, and her eyes fall shut with pleasure as it moves inside her. God, she's so beautiful, as gorgeous as he's ever seen her; it steals his breath to look at her, and his dick throbs impatiently. "Yeah. Fuck yeah, I want it," he breathes, spreading his legs wider. "Come on, fuck me."
And then she smiles brilliantly and leans forward to kiss him, and Sam couldn't say another word even if his mouth weren't full of her tongue, her taste.
Jess moves between his thighs, smooth, slick acrylic pressing briefly against his flushed cock before she pushes his thigh up toward his chest and slides the toy back along his crease. "Ready?" she asks, and then presses forward when he nods.
He's so open that she's buried in him with a single short thrust, cool and hard and fucking huge inside him. Sam hisses, tenses his thighs, and Jess' eyes fly open in startled pleasure.
"Oh my God," she says. "That's -- is it good?" She watches his face, obviously trying very hard not to move.
Sam exhales, reaches out and runs a hand over the curve of her hip. "It's good for you?"
She drops her head, moans. "Yeah, fuck yeah." And she rolls her hips a little, tightens her hold on her end of the toy, and suddenly the angle inside Sam is just right and a sharp burst of pleasure clouds his vision. It feels...familiar and new all at once, almost killingly good.
"Oh shit," he says, and grabs her ass, pulling her in closer. "Fuck me, come on."
Her hips stutter on the first couple of thrusts, and the dildo slips out once, but they get the hang of it. Sam curls a hand around his cock after a minute, and Jess alternates between kissing him breathless and watching him touch himself, watching the toy move in and out of his ass. She comes before he does, crying out and shaking above him, losing the rhythm.
Sam moans in frustration, and she stares at him with blown pupils and parted lips. "Want you on top," she murmurs, and tucks herself against his chest so he can roll them over.
He sits back, knees splayed around her hips, the fake cock so deep inside him, and it only takes a few hard rocks back, a few strokes before he spills over his fingers and Jess' belly.
"Fuck," she moans as he pulls the toy out of her and shimmies down the bed to taste her again, licking his come and hers from her abdomen, her thighs, groaning at the bittersweet salt of them mixed with sweat. He laps at her clit and she comes again, pressing up against his mouth. Then he collapses on the bed, pillowing his head on her thigh.
Ivan lies forgotten on the bed as he breathes her in.
After a moment, Jess threads her fingers through his hair, pulls his mouth to hers for one last sweet, sated kiss.
"Jesus," she murmurs against his lips, something like awe in her voice.
"Yeah." He flops onto his back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders when she curls up against his side.
She murmurs, "What was his name, Sam?"
"Hmm?"
"The guy. The one who -- yeah."
Sam suddenly feels flayed open, raw. God, he wants so badly to tell her. Not just about Dean -- about everything, about Dad and Mom and the things that go bump in the night and the reason he has no home to go to over breaks.
The words well up in his throat, and he pushes them back down.
He loves her too much to tell her.
"Blake," he says softly, the fake confession feeling coarse and toxic on his tongue. "He was -- he lived on my floor freshman year." It's not really a lie, he tells himself -- there really was a Blake on his floor freshman year, and Sam really did fuck him a couple of times -- but it still tastes like betrayal, although whether of Dean or Jess he absolutely doesn't know.
"Did I ever meet him?"
"No, babe. You never did." He tries not to think of them together, of Jess shaking Dean's hand and giving him an easy smile and how fucking normal it would be.
"Mm." Jess yawns, sleepily nuzzling his shoulder. "Was he good to you?"
And fuck, Sam's heart is breaking in his chest. "Yeah. He was."
- - -
EXHORTATION TO COMMENT. I expect everyone will be DEAD FROM PORN, but ONE NEVER KNOWS.
Title: Square in a Round
Pairing: Sam/Jess, Sam/Dean implied
Rating: NC17. Porn, y'all.
Summary: Sam finds something that belongs to Jess, and is fucked. Figuratively first, then literally.
Warnings: PEGGING. Implication of drugged!sex (THE ECSTASY KIND, NOT THE DATE-RAPE KIND). Oh, and angst. Lots of angst.
Notes: Long-awaited (well, I'm sure someone was waiting for it) prequel to Bruised, in which Sam is pegged. YAY, PEGGING. This is for my dearest, darling anoneknewmoose, who is SLEEPING right now but will be very pleasantly surprised when she wakes up! Or, more likely, she'll be annoyed because she won't have time to read the fic before she goes to work. BUT IT'S DONE, BABY, AND IT'S ALL YOURS. Thanks to the CWRPS Krew, vanitymachine, memphis86, and vinylroad for their prereads and cheerleading. Also thanks to muchniat, who made me a pegging icon JUST FOR THIS FIC, which I appreciate very muchly even though I kind of had to get rid of it when my account reverted back to free. SIGH. 5200 words.
- - -
"Damn," Sam says, rummaging around in the drawer of Jess' nightstand. "Babe, I think we're out."
She laughs. "No way. I'm never out."
He pulls the drawer all the way out, turns it over. "You're out."
"Am not. There's an emergency stash in my underwear drawer."
Sam grins at her, leaning in to kiss her again. "Slut," he says, yelping when she bites his lip. He stumbles from the bed, bare-ass naked and horny as hell, and Jess won't stop giggling as he starts going through her dresser drawers. "Where the hell are they?" he asks.
"Where all normal people keep their underwear, Sam," she says, rolling her eyes. "Top one."
He yanks open the drawer, panties flying everywhere as he digs through them. Then his fingers close on something hard and thick and cold that his brain doesn't parse as a dildo until after he pulls it out, looking at it stupidly. Turning around and pointing it at her, he asks, "What the hell is this?" Even as he says it, he knows that the answer is obvious and that she is definitely going to make fun of him later for asking; sex makes him dumb sometimes, as she never lets him forget.
Now, though, she just gives him this incredibly sexy smile, the white of her teeth flashing in the low light. "Jealous?"
"No, I just -" It's...weird, he thinks as he turns it over in his hands, oddly curved with a knobby bit on one end.
"Sam. Just grab a condom already, okay?"
And, well, she doesn’t have to ask twice; Sam obediently puts the toy back, fishes around for the box of Trojans, and scampers back to bed.
[one year later]
Jess has so much stuff that it's almost incomprehensible to Sam, even after three days of boxing it all up. After growing up living out of an Army surplus duffel, he tends to think that owning anything that can't be packed in fifteen minutes flat is extravagant and sloppy.
He's sure that Dean would laugh his ass off to see Sam trying to get a Japanese lantern into a wax-paper sack, but as far as Sam is concerned Dean could go ahead and laugh -- Sam is the one who's moving into a one-bed on the east side of campus with a hot blonde.
That is, if they can ever get all of her shit out of the place where she lives now.
"Here," Jess says, hitting Sam in the chest with an empty laundry basket. "Just throw clothes in here. I'll have to refold them later anyway."
"Yes, ma'am," he replies, grinning when she glares at him. He pulls open the top drawer of her dresser. "God damn you have a lot of underwear."
"A lady can never have too much lingerie," she sniffs, ducking into the closet.
Grumbling, he pulls the drawer all the way out and upends it into the basket.
And there in the pile of satin and lace (and condoms, because he forgot to close the box the last time they dipped into the emergency stash) is that funny-shaped dildo thing. He picks it up, staring at the weird curve of it. "Jess?"
"What?" She pokes her head out of the closet.
"Seriously, what is this thing?"
"What's what?" She bounces over to the dresser, nimbly avoiding the detritus on the floor. "Oh. That's Ivan."
Feeling his face heat, Sam says, "It has a name?"
"Well, he is a Terrible Harness-Free Strap-On Cock of Doom. Or at least that's what Ange and Keri called him when they bought him for me." Jess shrugs. "Ivan seemed to fit."
"Ivan IV's full title, of course, being Ivan the Terrible Cock of Doom," he says, trying to cover his embarrassment. "Was there, uh, any reason why you needed a strap-on, harness-free or otherwise?"
She gives him a curious look. "Nope, it was just a joke. Why?"
Sam thinks of slick fingers spreading him open, of the heat and ache and satisfaction of being slowly filled, and blushes even more deeply. "No reason."
"Uh-huh." Cocking her head to the side, Jess studies him for a second. Then she shrugs again and bends to pick up the basket. "Come on, babe; we've got a lot to move before they kick me out at 5."
"Yeah, okay," he answers, wondering if she can hear the relief in his voice.
[one month later]
"Do you trust me?" Jess asks, and Sam thinks that that's a hell of a thing to ask a guy when you're about to have his dick in your mouth.
"What? Jesus, babe, of course I trust you." He shifts his hips and spreads his thighs a little wider, trying to subtly direct her attention to his cock.
She grins wickedly. "I was hoping you'd say that," she says, and then one of her slender fingers is pressing into his ass as she closes her lips around the head of his dick.
"Fuck!" he cries, back arching off the bed, hands fisting in the sheets.
Instantly Jess withdraws. "Shit, Sam, I'm so sorry, I didn't --"
"No! No, it's fine, just...surprised." He smiles encouragingly, strokes her hair. "Go ahead."
She probes at him again, hesitantly looking up at him through her lashes. "You're sure this is okay?"
"Positi -- oh God, yeah."
Jess hums around his dick, stroking in and out of his ass with a single finger, then two. The lube -- lube? When did she pull out the fucking lube? -- makes these obscene, wet little sounds as she drags her fingers over his prostate, and damn, it's so amazing that he can't help but moan on every stroke. Then she adds a third finger, and the moans become desperate, plaintive cries.
Sam doesn't even realize that he's begging until he comes in her sweet, hot mouth with a rushed "ohGodfuckmepleasemmyes."
Gently, Jess pulls away, giving his cock one last swipe with her tongue before rolling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He hears the water run and guesses that she's washing her hands.
When she climbs back into bed, he turns onto his side and buries his face in her hair, spooning up against her and kissing the back of her neck.
"Well," she says, squirming a little as he nibbles at her earlobe. "That was interesting."
His face heats. "If you say so." He slides his hand between her legs, dipping his fingers into the wet of her cunt and circling her clit with his fingertips.
"Mm." She turns her head to kiss him, licking delicately at his lower lip. "Don't think I'm not on to you, Sam. We are so going to talk about this tomorrow."
If you say so, Sam thinks, and then proceeds to do his damnedest to make her forget her own name, much less his enthusiasm for ass play.
- - -
"Coffee," Jess says, stumbling into the kitchen just before seven.
Without looking up from his anthro text, Sam points to the mostly-full pot on the table.
"Jesus God I love you." She throws open a cabinet and grabs a mug.
"I bet you say that to all the guys."
After pouring herself a cup, she wraps her hands around it and inhales deeply, a beatific expression on her face. "Only the ones who give me caffeine."
They sit at the table in companionable quiet as she drinks her coffee and he studies.
He glances up briefly when she reaches for the pot again. "Why are you up, anyway?"
"Can't I get up early to wish my man good luck on his test?"
Sam gives her a skeptical look. "When your first class is at noon? Since when do you give up even the slightest opportunity to sleep in?" He closes his book and picks up his own empty coffee cup, going to rinse it out.
She follows him to the sink, sliding an arm around his waist. "Well, I figured we could talk." Her hand drifts down to grope his ass through his jeans.
Sam freezes, still holding his mug under the faucet. "Um," he says, thinking that it's way, way too early for this.
The water in the cup runs over, soaking his cuff.
Hell. "Babe, I've got to go."
"What? Your class isn't until nine!"
"Yeah, I know. I'm going to the library to study," he says, the lie rolling off his tongue far too easily for comfort.
"Why can't you study here?" Jess asks plaintively, her hand still resting possessively on his ass.
He swallows hard. "Promised Becky I'd meet her early. We'll talk later." He kisses her cheek, grabs his books and his keys, and flies out the door before she can protest further.
As soon as he rounds the corner, he fishes in his pocket for his cell. "Hey, Becks. Can you meet me at Green? Now?"
"What? Why?" Becky's voice is sleepy and confused.
He pauses. "No reason."
[one week later]
"God, yeah," Sam says, biting his lip as he sinks into the pliant heat of Jess' cunt.
She arches her back, gasping."Come on, Sam," she moans, rocking against him, and really, what kind of gentleman would he be if he refused?
Her nails dig into his shoulder blades as he fucks her and score down his back when he slips a hand between them to toy with her clit. Holy shit he loves having sex with Jessica, loves the warmth and the taste of her, loves the sounds she makes, loves everything --
He does not love the feeling of her fingers dipping into his crease to press against his hole. That he can definitely, definitely live without.
Jess feels him tense -- of course she does, she's got her fingertip in his ass -- and frowns up at him. "Babe?"
"Um." He kisses her to cover his panic, licking into her mouth and sucking on her lower lip just the way she likes it, and tries to think of something to say that won't result in his having to jerk off in the bathroom. "I -- I want you on top."
"What?"
Sam gathers her in his arms and rolls them so that she's draped across his chest instead of spread out under him. "Come on, I love watching you like this." He flexes his hips, as if to remind her that he's still inside her.
She looks at him like she's fighting the urge to roll her eyes, but she obligingly sits back anyway, and fuck if she isn't the hottest thing alive -- he really does love to watch her. Sam's dick twitches when she runs a hand down her torso to touch herself, fingers lightly brushing against him at the junction of their bodies.
"Fuck, yeah, just like that," he gasps, digging his heels into the mattress so he can thrust up into her, covering her tits with his hands.
Jess groans. "Yeah, okay." She picks up a rhythm and rides him hard, wringing his orgasm out of him with the fluttering contractions of her climax and collapsing breathlessly on his chest.
She rolls off of him and curls up against his side, and Sam thinks he's home free until she props her chin on her hand and gives him that pensive little frown again.
"What’s wrong with you?" she asks.
"Nothing’s wrong, Jess," he says. He reaches out and tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Then what the hell was -- that?" She makes an eloquent one-handed gesture.
Sam sighs. "I’m just...not comfortable with it."
She arches an eyebrow. "You seemed pretty damn comfortable the other night, babe."
"Yeah, well, I’m not."
"Why?"
Jaw clenching almost involuntarily, Sam says, "I'm just not, alright?"
She harrumphs and turns over, clearly annoyed with him but too sleepy to argue.
He knows she’s not satisfied with that answer. He’s not really satisfied with having to keep secrets from her, either, but there’s just no way to tell her that he’d rather not think about Dean while he’s having sex with her, and there’s really no way to tell her why he can’t think about being fucked without thinking about Dean.
- - -
Sam spends an entire week dreading that she'll try it again -- or worse, withhold sex entirely until he comes clean. Not that Jessica is really the type be so petty; she likes fucking way too much to try to pull anything like that.
Or so he hopes.
In the meantime, he's super-nice to her. He makes dinner twice and does the dishes (all of them, not just the dishwasher-safe stuff) without being asked; he agrees to the majority of her requests before she can finish making them.
He doesn't really expect that to bite him in the ass, but oh, it does.
- - -
Sam really, really hates clubbing. He might even hate it more than he hates the thought of celibacy.
Fat fucking lot of good it does to say that now.
Jess leans in and kisses his cheek, all glittery eyeshadow and glossy candy-pink lips, and says, "Watch my stuff, okay?" before scampering off to the dance floor.
He sinks further into the couch, taking a long pull on his beer, and settles in for a long night of purse-sitting.
"Hey, budge over," a husky alto says.
Sam turns to glare at the source of the voice. "Angela. Glad you could make it." His tone makes it perfectly clear that he's nothing of the sort, but he scoots over anyway.
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbles, flopping down next to him. "Guarding the handbags again, are we?"
"So it would seem."
Ange laughs, too loud as always, and lights up. "So what's up, Sammy? How's your sex life?"
Christ, Sam thinks. Ange is the only one of Jess' friends that he really doesn't like, which is exactly why she hovers around him whenever possible, just being her obnoxious, chain-smoking self and leering at every cute girl who walks by. "Fine," he says, praying she'll shut up.
"Heard you've got some hang-up about anal." She flicks her cigarette and looks at him intently, daring him to deny it.
Sam's jaw drops. Fucking hell. "She didn't," he says darkly, glaring for all he's worth.
Ange grins. "Oh, she did. Come on, man; that's what chicks do. Why wouldn't she tell me?"
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because you're a lesbian?"
"Who else is she going to call about strap-on issues?"
Sam buries his face in his hands. "This conversation is not happening."
She laughs again. "You're not that lucky, Winchester."
"Of course I'm not."
"Aww, come on. I'm not really that bad." She finishes her cigarette and lights another. "So what's your damage?"
He grits his teeth. "Not talking about this."
Continuing as if she hadn't heard him, she says, "I mean, you've never struck me as a 'phobe, so you can't possibly be afraid that it makes you queer."
He glares at her again.
"Sam, the right answer to that question is, 'Yes, Angela, I know perfectly well that liking things up my ass doesn't make me gay.'" She gives him a pointed glance.
He digs his fingers into the couch's worn upholstery. "Goddamn, Ange, what part of not talking about this did you not understand? Just shut up before the whole place hears you."
"Fine."
Sam breathes a sigh of relief.
She manages a whole five minutes of silence -- and that has to be some kind of record, for her -- before saying, "Look, Slick, I know you don't like me, and I know you'd rather hear this from anyone but me, but this has got to stop, because you're driving Jess up the fucking wall. She loves you, and she's not going to quit just because you like taking it in the ass."
"It isn't that simple." Shit, what he wouldn't give for it to be that simple.
"Why not?"
"Because --" of Dean, he thinks, but if he can't tell Jess, he sure as hell can't tell Ange. "It just...isn't."
Angela rolls her eyes. "Sam, are you cheating on her?"
"What? No!"
"Do you have any intention of cheating on her?"
Sam looks at her like she's grown a second head.
"Then she's your only source for dick, man." She puts out her cigarette, grinding it emphatically into the bar-glass ashtray. "All you've got to do is wrap your head around that enough to ask her for it. Seriously. That's what normal people do."
"But --"
"No buts." Standing, she straightens her skirt and flounces off.
He just stares after her.
- - -
Jess is all over him from the moment they leave the club, and after one look at her blown-out pupils, Sam guesses that it’s because she’s rolling. Usually, Jess plus ecstasy equals a long night of enthusiastic sex. If he weren’t so preoccupied over his conversation with Ange -- well, that’s not really fair, he thinks, but it’s always nice to have someone to blame -- he’d probably be overjoyed.
He gets her a glass of orange juice and watches her drink it, then steers her towards the shower. She laughs and tugs at his clothes as he cranks the hot.
"Just give me a minute, okay?" he asks, ducking out of the bathroom and shutting the door.
He crosses the room to Jess' dresser and digs through her underwear drawer until his fingers close around Ivan.
Who the hell names shit like this, anyway?
It’s not anything he’s really thought about before, getting fucked by a girl, and now that he is thinking about it...he doesn't know what to think.
Dean would be laughing his head off, if he knew.
No -- Dean would tell Sam to sack up and stop being a cockblocking bastard. Then he'd laugh.
"Saa-aaaaaaaamm," Jess suddenly calls from the shower.
Startled, Sam drops the toy, and then sheepishly bends to pick it up. It’s...pretty, really, all tinted acrylic and smooth, hard curves in his hands. Biting his lip, Sam tries to imagine how it would feel inside him, and despite all of his numerous issues, his cock is undeniably interested in the prospect.
Damn.
He stows the thing back in her drawer. “Coming, babe,” he says, pulling his t-shirt over his head and making his way back to the bathroom.
Honestly, his past sex life has no business encroaching on his present one.
- - -
Jess is still zonked out when Sam wakes up the next morning -- well, afternoon, but who cares -- so he leaves her drooling into her pillow and takes his laptop into the kitchen to check his email.
He's got a new message from Angela with "fuck i'm hungover" in the subject line that just says "PEGGING" in the body. He deletes it.
Sam logs on to Facebook and Myspace, reads Slashdot, and checks a couple of the webcomics he likes before remembering that it's Saturday and most of them don't update on weekends. Eventually he ends up trawling Wikipedia for poorly written articles about ghosts and knife fighting techniques, alt-tabbing out when he hears Jess moving around in the bedroom.
He smiles as she winds her arms around his neck from behind. "How do you feel?"
"Mmm. Mild headache, but otherwise I'm fabulous." She kisses his cheek. "Thank you for taking care of me."
"I like taking care of you," he says simply, because he actually does, even apart from the occasional drug-fueled, mind-blowing sex.
She shrugs, tugging on a lock of his hair, and snags his Coke from the table. "You sleep okay?"
"What? Oh, yeah." He takes back his drink and frowns to find it empty. "I was drinking that, you know."
"Emphasis on the 'was,'" she says, but she goes to the fridge to grab him a new one anyway, sliding into the seat across from him after she sets it on the table. "So."
"So." Sam pops open the can, watches the carbonation mist out the top. "I had a nice conversation with Angela last night."
Jess groans and presses her forehead into the heel of her hand. "Oh my God, she didn't."
He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Oh, she did."
"Sam, I." She licks her lips. "I don't know what she said, but I totally didn't -- she wasn't supposed to say anything."
"It's okay, honestly."
"It isn't. You're not comfortable with it, and -- I just shouldn't have told her."
"Well, who else are you going to go to for strap-on issues."
She uneasily returns his lopsided grin.
Sam reaches across the table and takes her hand. "Seriously, babe, it's okay. And I'm maybe not as...not comfortable as you think. Maybe."
Her eyes widen. "Really?"
"Yeah, really."
[one day later]
The anticipation is killing him.
After dinner, Jess went to their bedroom, grabbed Ivan from her dresser, and tossed it on the bed. "Shower," she said, and pushed Sam into the bathroom. So he cleaned up, a bit more...thoroughly than usual, and then Jess traded him places in the bathroom and hasn't been out yet.
Sam wonders what the hell is taking her so long in the bathroom, because he feels a little silly laying naked in bed, his wet hair soaking the pillow and his cock half-hard. He really doesn't want to use the phrase "get it over with," but frankly, he's beginning to wonder if she even wants to do this at all. Surely it shouldn't take this long for her to get ready. He's the one who's about to get fucked here, after all.
"Babe?" he calls, addressing the closed bathroom door.
And then she opens the door, says, "What?" and Sam completely forgets what he was going to say, because she looks amazing. Jess is always beautiful, but now she's gorgeous in the way that girls can only be when they're trying very, very hard to look like they're not trying at all. Minimal makeup, hair full and gorgeous and loosely tied back, gloriously naked -- and it hits him how much she wants this to be special, how special she's trying to make it for him. Warmth spreads through his chest, suffusing and liquid, and he can't get up fast enough to wrap his arms around her, breathe in the scent of her hair.
"I love you," he says, simply.
She turns her head and looks up at him, lips quirking up in a small smile. "I love you, too," she says, and stands on tiptoe to kiss him. "Now get back on the bed."
"Yes, ma'am." He drags her with him as he stumbles backwards, drinking in her lips, grinning into the kiss as he falls back on the mattress. "How do you want to do this?" he asks, stroking a thumb over her cheekbone.
Jess nips gently at his lower lip. "I want to watch you," she says. "Want to see your face while I'm getting you ready."
Jesus Christ, he thinks, his dick jerking against his stomach, hard as nails now. "Okay," he manages, and parts his thighs to give her room.
She grins, wide and wicked, and licks her way down his chest, fingers pressing behind his balls as she tastes the head of his cock. Then her mouth moves lower, her hands spreading him, and he arches off the bed as she licks at his hole.
"Oh my God, Jess," he moans, and she hums in response, the tip of her tongue slipping inside him. It feels fucking incredible, the way she's just eating at him, and she makes pleased little noises in her throat while she does it, like tongue-fucking his ass is her favorite thing in the world, like there's nowhere else she'd rather be. It drives him insane, and suddenly he has to taste her, needs something to occupy his mouth and make her as crazy as she's making him.
"Hey," he says, tangling a hand in her hair. "I want -- let me lick you. God, just. Please."
And then she's mouthing at his balls and draping herself over his chest, her slender fingers pushing into his ass as she presses her cunt back against his face.
Sam lifts up to reach her with his lips, tastes her. She's dripping, sweet and thick on his tongue, and the scent of her is almost overpowering. "Jesus, you're so wet," he pants into her slit.
"Have been for hours," she groans, grinding against his mouth. "Wanted this so much." Then she swallows his cock and scissors her fingers inside him, and God. She's going to kill him.
He moans, feeling her heartbeat in her clit, and bats at her shoulder. The combination of her musky-rich sweetness sliding over his lips and tongue and the blinding pleasure of her hands and mouth have him on the verge of coming, and she's barely even touched his dick.
"Stop," he gasps, groaning as she pulls off his cock with a soft sound. "Gonna -- God, don't touch me." His hips spasm, and she takes the hint, trailing her tongue back down to play around his perineum as she fucks him open with her fingers.
When Sam loses track of how many fingers she's got up his ass, when he's keening incoherently, Jess rolls off him and sits back on her heels, splaying her legs and grabbing for the toy, slipping it into place and stroking it with slick fingers. The unfamiliar weight of it in her hand seems to surprise her, and she looks unsure for the first time since she pulled the damn thing out and unceremoniously dropped it on the bed.
"Hey," Sam says softly, reaching out to touch her thigh. "We don't have to do this tonight."
"I want to, Sam." She bites her bottom lip. "Are you sure you do?"
"Uh." He watches, mesmerized, as she strokes the fake cock, and her eyes fall shut with pleasure as it moves inside her. God, she's so beautiful, as gorgeous as he's ever seen her; it steals his breath to look at her, and his dick throbs impatiently. "Yeah. Fuck yeah, I want it," he breathes, spreading his legs wider. "Come on, fuck me."
And then she smiles brilliantly and leans forward to kiss him, and Sam couldn't say another word even if his mouth weren't full of her tongue, her taste.
Jess moves between his thighs, smooth, slick acrylic pressing briefly against his flushed cock before she pushes his thigh up toward his chest and slides the toy back along his crease. "Ready?" she asks, and then presses forward when he nods.
He's so open that she's buried in him with a single short thrust, cool and hard and fucking huge inside him. Sam hisses, tenses his thighs, and Jess' eyes fly open in startled pleasure.
"Oh my God," she says. "That's -- is it good?" She watches his face, obviously trying very hard not to move.
Sam exhales, reaches out and runs a hand over the curve of her hip. "It's good for you?"
She drops her head, moans. "Yeah, fuck yeah." And she rolls her hips a little, tightens her hold on her end of the toy, and suddenly the angle inside Sam is just right and a sharp burst of pleasure clouds his vision. It feels...familiar and new all at once, almost killingly good.
"Oh shit," he says, and grabs her ass, pulling her in closer. "Fuck me, come on."
Her hips stutter on the first couple of thrusts, and the dildo slips out once, but they get the hang of it. Sam curls a hand around his cock after a minute, and Jess alternates between kissing him breathless and watching him touch himself, watching the toy move in and out of his ass. She comes before he does, crying out and shaking above him, losing the rhythm.
Sam moans in frustration, and she stares at him with blown pupils and parted lips. "Want you on top," she murmurs, and tucks herself against his chest so he can roll them over.
He sits back, knees splayed around her hips, the fake cock so deep inside him, and it only takes a few hard rocks back, a few strokes before he spills over his fingers and Jess' belly.
"Fuck," she moans as he pulls the toy out of her and shimmies down the bed to taste her again, licking his come and hers from her abdomen, her thighs, groaning at the bittersweet salt of them mixed with sweat. He laps at her clit and she comes again, pressing up against his mouth. Then he collapses on the bed, pillowing his head on her thigh.
Ivan lies forgotten on the bed as he breathes her in.
After a moment, Jess threads her fingers through his hair, pulls his mouth to hers for one last sweet, sated kiss.
"Jesus," she murmurs against his lips, something like awe in her voice.
"Yeah." He flops onto his back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders when she curls up against his side.
She murmurs, "What was his name, Sam?"
"Hmm?"
"The guy. The one who -- yeah."
Sam suddenly feels flayed open, raw. God, he wants so badly to tell her. Not just about Dean -- about everything, about Dad and Mom and the things that go bump in the night and the reason he has no home to go to over breaks.
The words well up in his throat, and he pushes them back down.
He loves her too much to tell her.
"Blake," he says softly, the fake confession feeling coarse and toxic on his tongue. "He was -- he lived on my floor freshman year." It's not really a lie, he tells himself -- there really was a Blake on his floor freshman year, and Sam really did fuck him a couple of times -- but it still tastes like betrayal, although whether of Dean or Jess he absolutely doesn't know.
"Did I ever meet him?"
"No, babe. You never did." He tries not to think of them together, of Jess shaking Dean's hand and giving him an easy smile and how fucking normal it would be.
"Mm." Jess yawns, sleepily nuzzling his shoulder. "Was he good to you?"
And fuck, Sam's heart is breaking in his chest. "Yeah. He was."
- - -
EXHORTATION TO COMMENT. I expect everyone will be DEAD FROM PORN, but ONE NEVER KNOWS.