Fic: Dream A Little Dream
Title: Dream A Little Dream
Author: Corona
Fandom: Reaper
Pairing: Sam/Andi, Sam/Devil
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Someone has replaced the Work Bench's floor with mirrors. It's like walking between two parallel universes.
Someone has replaced the Work Bench's floor with mirrors. It's like walking between two parallel universes. Sam gets confused on the way from the front door to the back and ends up in a stock room that contains nothing but Koi and water features.
He thinks about asking for directions before he remembers that he works here. Besides from this perspective the customers are nothing but a two dimensional painting. Sam thinks that's kind of neat. He'll find his own way, it'll give him a chance to get used to the floor.
Though the more he looks at it the more he feels disturbingly like General Zod.
There are half a dozen cars parked in the middle of the Bench, and there doesn't seem anything strange about this either, other than the vague thought that Ted's going to be really unhappy when he gets back from- wherever he went? Sam doesn't remember anything specific, there's just a Ted-shaped hole, an absence of Ted.
It takes Sam an age to find Andi. She's in the plant section, balanced on a stack of compost, boot kicking the plastic until he can see the dents made by her heels. The slippery green leaves sway above her head.
"Hey."
"Hey," she says with a smile and pats the sack next to her.
It squeaks when Sam sits on it, and compost flutters into the air, spins over the mirrored floor.
"Are you hiding?" he asks.
"Hiding, no, I'm just making sure I have a good seat."
"Ah," he says like that makes sense. Then realises that it really doesn't. "For what?"
"Umm," Andi grins. "Not being found."
"That-" Sam starts nodding and he can't stop. "That's a good plan."
Andi tips her head to the side, as if to say 'of course it's a good plan, it was my plan.'
They watch stock move past them on the giant overhead conveyor belt, they can't see most of what's on it, just the bottom trundling along, the occasional edge of a giant flat screen or shed is visible from where they sit.
Sam thinks maybe he could get up there for a shift if he really wanted to. Though he's not sure how he'd get down again.
He tells Andi as much, and suddenly she's laughing like it's the most hilarious thing in the world, laughing hard enough that her mouth is high at the corners. It's white and slightly crooked and utterly genuine, Sam thinks she looks amazing.
She catches him looking and her laugh skids into something quieter but no less amused.
"You're staring," she accuses.
"You were laughing," Sam explains, which doesn't really mean anything.
"Was it in a weird way," Andi asks through a smile. "Was there too much tooth action going on?" She pulls a face that makes him laugh.
He shakes his head.
"No, no you were just laughing, it was nice."
Andi nods and smiles like she gets it, which Sam is really grateful for.
She's still smiling when she slithers across from her bag to his, one hand catching the material of his shirt and dragging him in. And then they're kissing in the plant section, hands skidding on bags of compost, laughing whenever they're free, and it's good and it's right. It's absolutely perfect.
"Do you trust me?" Andi asks between kisses and there's a smile in the words, something playful.
"Yes," Sam says with barely a pause, because he does, he really does.
She laughs, a burst of air and amusement that flares over his cheek.
"Close your eyes."
He does, laughing, and she checks he can't see by covering them with her hand before kissing him again. She doesn't stop smiling long enough to kiss him properly for a long moment. But she does catch his hands and pull them up to the fluttering edge of her shirt. All indecent laughter and dare.
They're still technically at work he thinks but Sam knows it's okay in a weird and confusing way. So he slides his hands over material and starts to tug open the tiny little buttons, one by one, parting the edges until the backs of his fingers slide over the smooth skin of Andi's stomach. It shivers under a trail of laughter, and Sam has to pause to catch hold of her waist, to pull her up and kiss her just a little harder.
She breaks away, drags her fingers through his hair and pushes pointedly into his hands.
Sam's hands are moving again, finding the edges, only they aren't tiny little buttons anymore, they're the much larger slippery black buttons of a suit jacket, sliding through their holes on every quick push. Easier buttons, just two, or three, he can't remember, before it swings open.
His hands slide under the jacket that wasn't there a moment ago, and there's heat under expensive cotton, his fingers skate over it, and for a long second he's confused.
He thinks he should open his eyes.
But he's far too afraid what he'll see.
His hands are still moving, fingers shifting deeper under the jacket until he's drawn in again. The movement settles him into different hands, hands that catch his waist and hold him still while he breathes and pulls uncertainly at smooth lines of material. And for a fraction of a second he has bare skin under his fingertips.
The hands push him further back, until the slippery weight of the plants folds around him. Until it's darker, much darker, and everything behind his eyelids is black.
Sam's cheek drags along the edge of a fern. A strange tickle that shivers all the way through his brain. The fern turns into a hand, much larger and hotter than it should be, turning his head, finding his mouth.
The kiss is no longer soft, it isn't playful, it's aggressive and greedy and it's not asking it's just taking. This isn't the same kiss as before.
This one isn't right.
This one burns.
Sam knows that he's no longer kissing Andi, and he can't make himself stop.
He means to let go, he means to pull his hands away, because he can't, he can't do this.
Just-
Just one more second, just another second. He's going to stop. He is going to stop. But he has two fists full of cotton and he's still pushing back, kissing up and in which is nothing, absolutely nothing, like the way he'd ever kiss Andi.
He thinks he can smell something burning.
There's a curl of laughter against his mouth that's disturbingly familiar.
"Open your eyes."
He stills under the voice, under that voice, licks his lips and falters.
"I can't-"
"Open them." It's not a request it's a command, and Sam obeys.
He can't see anything, the world is completely black.
He lifts a hand, overwhelmed by the thought that there's nothing, literally nothing, in front of him. It's caught in mid-air, fingers that feel like they've been in the sun slide round his wrist and pull him in again.
It's easier in the dark.
Sam finds out that his skin tastes like fire, and every time he kisses him there's that same endless smile just under his mouth. Teeth hard and wet, and when Sam dares to push too far, sharp.
He doesn't pull away when fabric tears, when fingers grip his waist hard enough to bruise.
It occurs to him that he doesn't intend to, that he doesn't want to.
He wants to fall all the way down.
He wants-
Someone is shaking him.
-
And then Sam's awake, shifting and blinking, and staring at Sock, who's eyeballing him curiously over a bowl of what looks like ice cream.
"You were jostling my midnight snack," Sock explains.
Sam's bedroom is dark but completely and utterly real. He swallows, and his heart is beating so fast it feels like his whole body is vibrating.
"Were you having a sex dream?" Sock raises an eyebrow.
Sam makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat.
"Cos it sounded like you were."
"Oh my god," Sam manages quietly. His brain gets stuck there and just loops and repeats over and over.
"I didn't wake you up for like five minutes, I just sat here and listened to you," Sock admits.
Sam throws the sheet back over his head.
Author: Corona
Fandom: Reaper
Pairing: Sam/Andi, Sam/Devil
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine or anything to do with me. I own nothing.
Summary: Someone has replaced the Work Bench's floor with mirrors. It's like walking between two parallel universes.
Someone has replaced the Work Bench's floor with mirrors. It's like walking between two parallel universes. Sam gets confused on the way from the front door to the back and ends up in a stock room that contains nothing but Koi and water features.
He thinks about asking for directions before he remembers that he works here. Besides from this perspective the customers are nothing but a two dimensional painting. Sam thinks that's kind of neat. He'll find his own way, it'll give him a chance to get used to the floor.
Though the more he looks at it the more he feels disturbingly like General Zod.
There are half a dozen cars parked in the middle of the Bench, and there doesn't seem anything strange about this either, other than the vague thought that Ted's going to be really unhappy when he gets back from- wherever he went? Sam doesn't remember anything specific, there's just a Ted-shaped hole, an absence of Ted.
It takes Sam an age to find Andi. She's in the plant section, balanced on a stack of compost, boot kicking the plastic until he can see the dents made by her heels. The slippery green leaves sway above her head.
"Hey."
"Hey," she says with a smile and pats the sack next to her.
It squeaks when Sam sits on it, and compost flutters into the air, spins over the mirrored floor.
"Are you hiding?" he asks.
"Hiding, no, I'm just making sure I have a good seat."
"Ah," he says like that makes sense. Then realises that it really doesn't. "For what?"
"Umm," Andi grins. "Not being found."
"That-" Sam starts nodding and he can't stop. "That's a good plan."
Andi tips her head to the side, as if to say 'of course it's a good plan, it was my plan.'
They watch stock move past them on the giant overhead conveyor belt, they can't see most of what's on it, just the bottom trundling along, the occasional edge of a giant flat screen or shed is visible from where they sit.
Sam thinks maybe he could get up there for a shift if he really wanted to. Though he's not sure how he'd get down again.
He tells Andi as much, and suddenly she's laughing like it's the most hilarious thing in the world, laughing hard enough that her mouth is high at the corners. It's white and slightly crooked and utterly genuine, Sam thinks she looks amazing.
She catches him looking and her laugh skids into something quieter but no less amused.
"You're staring," she accuses.
"You were laughing," Sam explains, which doesn't really mean anything.
"Was it in a weird way," Andi asks through a smile. "Was there too much tooth action going on?" She pulls a face that makes him laugh.
He shakes his head.
"No, no you were just laughing, it was nice."
Andi nods and smiles like she gets it, which Sam is really grateful for.
She's still smiling when she slithers across from her bag to his, one hand catching the material of his shirt and dragging him in. And then they're kissing in the plant section, hands skidding on bags of compost, laughing whenever they're free, and it's good and it's right. It's absolutely perfect.
"Do you trust me?" Andi asks between kisses and there's a smile in the words, something playful.
"Yes," Sam says with barely a pause, because he does, he really does.
She laughs, a burst of air and amusement that flares over his cheek.
"Close your eyes."
He does, laughing, and she checks he can't see by covering them with her hand before kissing him again. She doesn't stop smiling long enough to kiss him properly for a long moment. But she does catch his hands and pull them up to the fluttering edge of her shirt. All indecent laughter and dare.
They're still technically at work he thinks but Sam knows it's okay in a weird and confusing way. So he slides his hands over material and starts to tug open the tiny little buttons, one by one, parting the edges until the backs of his fingers slide over the smooth skin of Andi's stomach. It shivers under a trail of laughter, and Sam has to pause to catch hold of her waist, to pull her up and kiss her just a little harder.
She breaks away, drags her fingers through his hair and pushes pointedly into his hands.
Sam's hands are moving again, finding the edges, only they aren't tiny little buttons anymore, they're the much larger slippery black buttons of a suit jacket, sliding through their holes on every quick push. Easier buttons, just two, or three, he can't remember, before it swings open.
His hands slide under the jacket that wasn't there a moment ago, and there's heat under expensive cotton, his fingers skate over it, and for a long second he's confused.
He thinks he should open his eyes.
But he's far too afraid what he'll see.
His hands are still moving, fingers shifting deeper under the jacket until he's drawn in again. The movement settles him into different hands, hands that catch his waist and hold him still while he breathes and pulls uncertainly at smooth lines of material. And for a fraction of a second he has bare skin under his fingertips.
The hands push him further back, until the slippery weight of the plants folds around him. Until it's darker, much darker, and everything behind his eyelids is black.
Sam's cheek drags along the edge of a fern. A strange tickle that shivers all the way through his brain. The fern turns into a hand, much larger and hotter than it should be, turning his head, finding his mouth.
The kiss is no longer soft, it isn't playful, it's aggressive and greedy and it's not asking it's just taking. This isn't the same kiss as before.
This one isn't right.
This one burns.
Sam knows that he's no longer kissing Andi, and he can't make himself stop.
He means to let go, he means to pull his hands away, because he can't, he can't do this.
Just-
Just one more second, just another second. He's going to stop. He is going to stop. But he has two fists full of cotton and he's still pushing back, kissing up and in which is nothing, absolutely nothing, like the way he'd ever kiss Andi.
He thinks he can smell something burning.
There's a curl of laughter against his mouth that's disturbingly familiar.
"Open your eyes."
He stills under the voice, under that voice, licks his lips and falters.
"I can't-"
"Open them." It's not a request it's a command, and Sam obeys.
He can't see anything, the world is completely black.
He lifts a hand, overwhelmed by the thought that there's nothing, literally nothing, in front of him. It's caught in mid-air, fingers that feel like they've been in the sun slide round his wrist and pull him in again.
It's easier in the dark.
Sam finds out that his skin tastes like fire, and every time he kisses him there's that same endless smile just under his mouth. Teeth hard and wet, and when Sam dares to push too far, sharp.
He doesn't pull away when fabric tears, when fingers grip his waist hard enough to bruise.
It occurs to him that he doesn't intend to, that he doesn't want to.
He wants to fall all the way down.
He wants-
Someone is shaking him.
-
And then Sam's awake, shifting and blinking, and staring at Sock, who's eyeballing him curiously over a bowl of what looks like ice cream.
"You were jostling my midnight snack," Sock explains.
Sam's bedroom is dark but completely and utterly real. He swallows, and his heart is beating so fast it feels like his whole body is vibrating.
"Were you having a sex dream?" Sock raises an eyebrow.
Sam makes some sort of noise in the back of his throat.
"Cos it sounded like you were."
"Oh my god," Sam manages quietly. His brain gets stuck there and just loops and repeats over and over.
"I didn't wake you up for like five minutes, I just sat here and listened to you," Sock admits.
Sam throws the sheet back over his head.