Cynosure
John/Sam. PG. 535 words.
alternative garage scene.
“You know I can hurt you. You know that.”
Sam looks down at John’s hand, pinning him against the car door.
Its warmth bleeds through his shirt, and unthinkingly he pushes into its touch.
John releases his hand, slowly, until only fingertips make contact. But his eyes don’t lose their intensity, their sharp focus.
He moves closer and shoves Sam back a second time. Hard enough to make the Ford truck stutter.
“I can break every single bone in your body,” he breathes out.
Sam lifts his gaze, allowing it to travel over John’s angular features.
“Like no-one’s threatened me with that before,” he murmurs. The unspoken presence of Mark’s name hovers between them, and the corners of John’s mouth tighten.
“He won’t lay another hand on you.”
“Yeah, I think you’ve seen to that,” Sam says with a huff, a grim half-smile.
John digs his fingers into cotton, gathering it into a fist.
“Doesn’t mean you’re out of danger, though.” He can feel Sam’s heart pulsing faster. Hear the hitch in his breath.
“John-”
“You said to me once, that you’re not the kind of person I’d want to be around.”
Sam breathes through his nose and looks somewhere over his shoulder.
“No, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“For someone so intent on keeping secrets, you ask a lot of questions,” he retorts.
John pushes his hand higher, until his thumb is pressed into the jugular vein.
“You can either answer me or risk the alternative.”
Sam jerks his head stubbornly, turning to rest his cheek on the window.
He stares at the concrete floor of the garage, like he’s waiting for a verdict.
This is not what John expected.
“Of the two of us, you’re not the freak. How do I know I can trust you?”
Defiant silence.
“Look at me.” John grips his chin. “How do I know you’re not going to tell anyone?”
The heat from his fingers rises. And Sam envisions fingerprints scorched onto his skin.
“Because nobody would believe me, asshole,” he hisses.
John relaxes incrementally, and Sam seizes the moment to knock John’s hand away.
Twists his lean body to the side, knocking elbow against metal, and aims for the door.
But a burning vice clamps down around his arm, and it takes everything he has - and more - not to cry out.
Hot breath dampens the back of his neck.
“I think you’re right.” A low laugh. “But I still need your word.”
Sam finds himself being dragged back into a hard chest. A forearm snakes across his windpipe.
He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Enough to draw blood.
“Among my people,” John whispers, “a promise is a covenant.”
“Let go of me,” he says hoarsely.
“We’re going to make our covenant. Right here.” A voice threaded with steel.
Sam closes his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking.
He thinks about the mercurial nature of the boy who isn’t a boy. Protecting him, only to turn on him.
He thinks about his strength. About being utterly at its mercy. And how he can’t stay away.
“I promise.”
Dry lips brush over his ear, down over his cheek. And he feels them curve into a smile.
alternative garage scene.
“You know I can hurt you. You know that.”
Sam looks down at John’s hand, pinning him against the car door.
Its warmth bleeds through his shirt, and unthinkingly he pushes into its touch.
John releases his hand, slowly, until only fingertips make contact. But his eyes don’t lose their intensity, their sharp focus.
He moves closer and shoves Sam back a second time. Hard enough to make the Ford truck stutter.
“I can break every single bone in your body,” he breathes out.
Sam lifts his gaze, allowing it to travel over John’s angular features.
“Like no-one’s threatened me with that before,” he murmurs. The unspoken presence of Mark’s name hovers between them, and the corners of John’s mouth tighten.
“He won’t lay another hand on you.”
“Yeah, I think you’ve seen to that,” Sam says with a huff, a grim half-smile.
John digs his fingers into cotton, gathering it into a fist.
“Doesn’t mean you’re out of danger, though.” He can feel Sam’s heart pulsing faster. Hear the hitch in his breath.
“John-”
“You said to me once, that you’re not the kind of person I’d want to be around.”
Sam breathes through his nose and looks somewhere over his shoulder.
“No, I’m not.”
“Why?”
“For someone so intent on keeping secrets, you ask a lot of questions,” he retorts.
John pushes his hand higher, until his thumb is pressed into the jugular vein.
“You can either answer me or risk the alternative.”
Sam jerks his head stubbornly, turning to rest his cheek on the window.
He stares at the concrete floor of the garage, like he’s waiting for a verdict.
This is not what John expected.
“Of the two of us, you’re not the freak. How do I know I can trust you?”
Defiant silence.
“Look at me.” John grips his chin. “How do I know you’re not going to tell anyone?”
The heat from his fingers rises. And Sam envisions fingerprints scorched onto his skin.
“Because nobody would believe me, asshole,” he hisses.
John relaxes incrementally, and Sam seizes the moment to knock John’s hand away.
Twists his lean body to the side, knocking elbow against metal, and aims for the door.
But a burning vice clamps down around his arm, and it takes everything he has - and more - not to cry out.
Hot breath dampens the back of his neck.
“I think you’re right.” A low laugh. “But I still need your word.”
Sam finds himself being dragged back into a hard chest. A forearm snakes across his windpipe.
He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Enough to draw blood.
“Among my people,” John whispers, “a promise is a covenant.”
“Let go of me,” he says hoarsely.
“We’re going to make our covenant. Right here.” A voice threaded with steel.
Sam closes his eyes, willing his hands to stop shaking.
He thinks about the mercurial nature of the boy who isn’t a boy. Protecting him, only to turn on him.
He thinks about his strength. About being utterly at its mercy. And how he can’t stay away.
“I promise.”
Dry lips brush over his ear, down over his cheek. And he feels them curve into a smile.