You’d been with men before. Many. Hell, you’d even hooked up with Dean that week in Tuscaloosa. This was different. Sam was different.
Dean was just a fling. A great fling, but a fling. Oh, you had fun with Dean. It was all smiling kisses and giddy adventure. Quickies in the restroom, and early morning wake up calls. It had been amazing. Loud and fun and exciting
Sam was different.
There was no rush with Sam, even when time was short. Every second was flush with passion, and he always took his time, bringing you both to the edge with carefully executed moves born from intense observation.
There was no giddy playfulness; just a wide eyed desire that drew you in, pulling you closer and closer until all you would do was breathe and feel. Sam consumed every bit of you; he shut your mind as well as your eyes, pushing the world away, leaving only his hands on your skin, his lips on yours.
Sam is fire. He burns. Sam is dark flame and heaviness that drags you down into this place where there’s nothing but flesh and blood and soul and love and it’s never, ever just a fling. It’s all consuming, and scary, and more intimate than any other because Sam gets under your skin and inside your head.
He knows what you want because he wants it too. He’s magic and lust. He’s darkness and oxygen. He is intense and real.
Ellen's Bar and Tab 