Back Into You - Sam/Lindsey - Prompt: Anger
Title: Back Into You
Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)
Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke. All things AtS belong to Joss Whedon.
Pairing: Sam/Lindsey
Sequel to “Guest Lecturer”.
Claim: SPN Crossovers at sam_slut_a_thon (Prompt: 13 - Anger), and SPN Crossovers at 50_smutlets (Prompt: 31 - Feel)
Spoilers: s1 SPN, s5 AtS
~*~*~
He recognizes the voice behind him almost from the first word. It’s a low, cool murmur that slides over his skin and makes his cock give a little twitch.
It’s a voice that he’s tried damn hard to forget. A voice that haunts him in his dreams, teases him that the sex was good, even if the reason for it wasn’t.
“You never called, Sam. I’m sort of hurt.”
Sam turns, ignoring Dean’s questioning stare, and gives Lindsey a once over with his eyes. Expensive suit, button up blue shirt, and a tie only a shade darker. He’s grown out his hair some since two years ago, when Sam last saw him. There’s a cocky quirk to his lips that makes Sam want to say something hurtful.
So he says something that’s completely untrue, giving away one hundred percent that he knew why Lindsey had taken him to bed that night. Hopes he rattles Lindsey just a little. “You weren’t that good of a fuck.”
Dean sucks in a breath, reminding Sam that he never quite told his older brother about that part of his life. The part that didn’t involve pretty blonde girls and dreams of white picket fences, the idea of two-point-five children and a job as a high paid attorney.
Funny, this part of his life still has an attorney in it, that person just isn’t Sam.
“Liar,” Lindsey laughs. When his gaze slides over to Dean, Sam feels something start in his stomach. When Lindsey’s lips spread in a slow, teasing grin, Sam realizes that maybe he’s a little jealous. After all, he was the one that was supposed to be recruited, right? Not fair that Dean gets that attention from Lindsey just like he gets it from everyone else.
“You… and this guy?” Dean manages, voice raspy with shock. Sam shoots him a look, pleased to see that Dean doesn’t look like he wants to be on the other end of Lindsey’s stare.
“Lindsey McDonald,” Lindsey introduces himself before Sam can even work up an answer. “I tried to recruit your brother for my firm a couple years ago.”
“Oh.” And the way Dean says that one word is painful and sharp and hurtful. Like he’s just been reminded that Sam ran away from family and duty to go to school, when really Sam knows that Dean never forgets. It’s always there at the back of his mind. “A…uh… good firm?”
It’s like he’s trying to make small talk, Sam decides, then decides that’s exactly what Dean is doing. And whatthefuck? because Dean never makes small talk. Shit. The whole my-brother-screws-guys thing must’ve really thrown him. Sam groans internally, knowing there’ll be one helluva conversation later. Or not, because it’s possible that Dean will try to ignore this and create an awkwardness between them that’ll end up in a fight.
Of the two - Sam thinks he might prefer just to go ahead and have the awkward-as-fuck-all conversation. At least then he won’t be waiting for it to sneak up on him when he’s least expecting.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize until Lindsey is speaking again that there’s a good reason for Lindsey not to answer Dean’s question.
“Wolfram and Hart. One of the best at what they do.”
Sam’s spine stiffens, eyes widening. He realizes what Lindsey just said, but he doubts that Dean did.
“They?” he asks, quickly, before Dean can launch into a rant because, yes, they know damn well who Wolfram and Hart is. Dad had them in his fucking journal. Lawyers that weren’t just jokingly evil - they were completely evil in body and soul.
Lindsey shrugs, gives Sam a crooked smile. “I left the firm a couple years ago to… find myself.”
There’s more to it than that, but Sam doubts that Lindsey would tell him. Especially not with Dean sitting right there, vibrating anger and irritation. He looks like he might jump up and hit Lindsey at any second.
“Um… okay,” Sam nods, like that’s the most logical thing in the world even though he doesn’t think it is. “So… just passing through, then?” he asks, thinking not looking for me, right?
Lindsey gives a nod, a little shrug of the shoulders, and Sam can remember what those shoulders feel like under his hands. Can remember the press and push of Lindsey entering him, working him over and higher.
“Sammy -“ Dean says when Sam stands, his tone a warning.
“I just want to talk to him,” Sam shrugs off the warning. If Lindsey had wanted to hurt him, he could have done it years ago. He hadn’t then; Sam didn’t think he would now.
Dean’s jaw tics, clenching. “Fine.”
And then he’s up and moving away, back to the car, probably to go back to their motel. Walking back won’t be too much of a chore; the Sleep Tight Inn is only three blocks up the street, then one more over from that. Right now he wants to talk to Lindsey.
~*~*~
He’s not entirely sure how talking to Lindsey ended up being fucking Lindsey, but Sam is okay with it. If he had to think about it, he would probably say that it was inevitable. That the moment he’d heard Lindsey’s voice again he’d wanted this.
And if he’s going to have to have a talk with Dean when he gets back to their room, he sure as hell wants to have a nice, hard fuck under his belt to dull the edge of his nerves.
There are marks on Lindsey’s chest, runes that Sam doesn’t recognize.
Protection, Lindsey whispers into his skin. Strength.
Sam hadn’t asked, doesn’t care to know. He’s balls-deep in Lindsey’s body, cock thick and hard with need. He doesn’t want to think too much about what he’s doing outside of the want this, need this churning in his stomach, because then he might remember that, oh yeah, Lindsey could be evil.
Or that Lindsey could just be using him to get something. Again. Like when Lindsey tried to recruit him before.
Sam prefers to think that he’s using Lindsey this time around, as he slams into his ass, balls slapping skin. Lindsey is flushed pink, covered in sweat-sheen. Blue eyes open, blown, and unseeing. One hand fists in the bedspread and the other clutches at Sam’s shoulder. Blunt nails scrabble for purchase on slicked skin. Just right. Right there. So good. Pain wars with pleasure, nails dragging grooves in Sam’s skin.
His hips flex forward, and Lindsey is tight around him, body clenching at the welcome intrusion even when he’s this relaxed, this open. There are words and sounds coming from his mouth that are spoken in a language older than anything on this earth - the pure open vowels and drawls of sex. Sam shifts, cants his hips up, and Lindsey’s back arches, the moans turning to fuckyeahfuck.
Sam has the presence of mind to want to make this as good for Lindsey as it is for him as his cock swells and stiffens with that first anticipatory rush that means he’s soclosesogood.
He reaches between the two of them, sweat-slick hand sliding around Lindsey’s cock, tugging on it rough and hard. It’s an awkward angle and lacks in finesse as Sam tries to pick up the rhythm of his hips. Then it clicks and it’s good. Fist tight pressure around his dick, hand slip-sliding over Lindsey’s cock, squeezing and twisting.
“Do it,” Sam hisses, teeth clenched. When this became a battle, he’s not sure, but it feels that way to him. Feels like vengeance and war all rolled into one. A fight fought with sex, and if he can just make Lindsey come, then he’s won, and he’ll have fucked this twisted desire right out of his system, and back into Lindsey where it surely belongs.
Gripping harder, tighter, he pulls and tugs. Lindsey’s eyes go shocked-wide the instant before he comes. Blue-bright, lust-dark, and completely open. In his hand, Lindsey pulses and shoots between them, cock jerking in spasms that echo through his body, going straight to Sam’s dick.
It’s no surprise when he comes not even seconds later, the hand that holds him up clenching in the bed, white-hot lightning sparking off behind his eyes in flashes of color that he has no name for. He grunts, pushing in, riding through the pleasure-cum-pain when Lindsey bears down on him hard, clenching him tighter than he’d thought was possible. He balls ache with the release, come shooting up to fill the condom in thick gushes that seem to come from the core of his fucking being.
He’s bone-weary when the rush ends. Too tired to do more than pull out of Lindsey, ease the condom off of his still-hard-too-sensitive cock, and toss it in the trash.
Like last time, Lindsey just watches him get dressed.
“Come help me take over the firm?”
Sam’s eyes narrow, back stiffening. “Thought you said you left to find yourself.” The words are scathing, biting, like he expected Lindsey to have changed on some level, even when he knew that there was no way in hell.
Lindsey laughs. “I did. And in doing so, I found out I wanted to run Wolfram and Hart, not just work there.”
A sigh is the only answer Sam gives, but he thinks it’s probably all Lindsey really expected.
He knows this is the last time this can ever happen because they really are on two separate sides.
Months later, pouring over newspaper clippings of some heavy ass demonic shit that went down in Los Angeles, Sam comes across the notice. A man shot dead, Lindsey’s obituary lumped in with the dozens of others that died during those dark days.
Sam wonders if maybe he should have asked Lindsey to fight on their side, tried to tempt him the same way Lindsey had done with him.
He doesn’t think that plan would have worked any better than Lindsey’s had.
END
Author: Jinni (jinni.tth@gmail.com)
Rated: NC17
Disclaimer: All things SPN belong to Eric Kripke. All things AtS belong to Joss Whedon.
Pairing: Sam/Lindsey
Sequel to “Guest Lecturer”.
Claim: SPN Crossovers at sam_slut_a_thon (Prompt: 13 - Anger), and SPN Crossovers at 50_smutlets (Prompt: 31 - Feel)
Spoilers: s1 SPN, s5 AtS
~*~*~
He recognizes the voice behind him almost from the first word. It’s a low, cool murmur that slides over his skin and makes his cock give a little twitch.
It’s a voice that he’s tried damn hard to forget. A voice that haunts him in his dreams, teases him that the sex was good, even if the reason for it wasn’t.
“You never called, Sam. I’m sort of hurt.”
Sam turns, ignoring Dean’s questioning stare, and gives Lindsey a once over with his eyes. Expensive suit, button up blue shirt, and a tie only a shade darker. He’s grown out his hair some since two years ago, when Sam last saw him. There’s a cocky quirk to his lips that makes Sam want to say something hurtful.
So he says something that’s completely untrue, giving away one hundred percent that he knew why Lindsey had taken him to bed that night. Hopes he rattles Lindsey just a little. “You weren’t that good of a fuck.”
Dean sucks in a breath, reminding Sam that he never quite told his older brother about that part of his life. The part that didn’t involve pretty blonde girls and dreams of white picket fences, the idea of two-point-five children and a job as a high paid attorney.
Funny, this part of his life still has an attorney in it, that person just isn’t Sam.
“Liar,” Lindsey laughs. When his gaze slides over to Dean, Sam feels something start in his stomach. When Lindsey’s lips spread in a slow, teasing grin, Sam realizes that maybe he’s a little jealous. After all, he was the one that was supposed to be recruited, right? Not fair that Dean gets that attention from Lindsey just like he gets it from everyone else.
“You… and this guy?” Dean manages, voice raspy with shock. Sam shoots him a look, pleased to see that Dean doesn’t look like he wants to be on the other end of Lindsey’s stare.
“Lindsey McDonald,” Lindsey introduces himself before Sam can even work up an answer. “I tried to recruit your brother for my firm a couple years ago.”
“Oh.” And the way Dean says that one word is painful and sharp and hurtful. Like he’s just been reminded that Sam ran away from family and duty to go to school, when really Sam knows that Dean never forgets. It’s always there at the back of his mind. “A…uh… good firm?”
It’s like he’s trying to make small talk, Sam decides, then decides that’s exactly what Dean is doing. And whatthefuck? because Dean never makes small talk. Shit. The whole my-brother-screws-guys thing must’ve really thrown him. Sam groans internally, knowing there’ll be one helluva conversation later. Or not, because it’s possible that Dean will try to ignore this and create an awkwardness between them that’ll end up in a fight.
Of the two - Sam thinks he might prefer just to go ahead and have the awkward-as-fuck-all conversation. At least then he won’t be waiting for it to sneak up on him when he’s least expecting.
He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t realize until Lindsey is speaking again that there’s a good reason for Lindsey not to answer Dean’s question.
“Wolfram and Hart. One of the best at what they do.”
Sam’s spine stiffens, eyes widening. He realizes what Lindsey just said, but he doubts that Dean did.
“They?” he asks, quickly, before Dean can launch into a rant because, yes, they know damn well who Wolfram and Hart is. Dad had them in his fucking journal. Lawyers that weren’t just jokingly evil - they were completely evil in body and soul.
Lindsey shrugs, gives Sam a crooked smile. “I left the firm a couple years ago to… find myself.”
There’s more to it than that, but Sam doubts that Lindsey would tell him. Especially not with Dean sitting right there, vibrating anger and irritation. He looks like he might jump up and hit Lindsey at any second.
“Um… okay,” Sam nods, like that’s the most logical thing in the world even though he doesn’t think it is. “So… just passing through, then?” he asks, thinking not looking for me, right?
Lindsey gives a nod, a little shrug of the shoulders, and Sam can remember what those shoulders feel like under his hands. Can remember the press and push of Lindsey entering him, working him over and higher.
“Sammy -“ Dean says when Sam stands, his tone a warning.
“I just want to talk to him,” Sam shrugs off the warning. If Lindsey had wanted to hurt him, he could have done it years ago. He hadn’t then; Sam didn’t think he would now.
Dean’s jaw tics, clenching. “Fine.”
And then he’s up and moving away, back to the car, probably to go back to their motel. Walking back won’t be too much of a chore; the Sleep Tight Inn is only three blocks up the street, then one more over from that. Right now he wants to talk to Lindsey.
~*~*~
He’s not entirely sure how talking to Lindsey ended up being fucking Lindsey, but Sam is okay with it. If he had to think about it, he would probably say that it was inevitable. That the moment he’d heard Lindsey’s voice again he’d wanted this.
And if he’s going to have to have a talk with Dean when he gets back to their room, he sure as hell wants to have a nice, hard fuck under his belt to dull the edge of his nerves.
There are marks on Lindsey’s chest, runes that Sam doesn’t recognize.
Protection, Lindsey whispers into his skin. Strength.
Sam hadn’t asked, doesn’t care to know. He’s balls-deep in Lindsey’s body, cock thick and hard with need. He doesn’t want to think too much about what he’s doing outside of the want this, need this churning in his stomach, because then he might remember that, oh yeah, Lindsey could be evil.
Or that Lindsey could just be using him to get something. Again. Like when Lindsey tried to recruit him before.
Sam prefers to think that he’s using Lindsey this time around, as he slams into his ass, balls slapping skin. Lindsey is flushed pink, covered in sweat-sheen. Blue eyes open, blown, and unseeing. One hand fists in the bedspread and the other clutches at Sam’s shoulder. Blunt nails scrabble for purchase on slicked skin. Just right. Right there. So good. Pain wars with pleasure, nails dragging grooves in Sam’s skin.
His hips flex forward, and Lindsey is tight around him, body clenching at the welcome intrusion even when he’s this relaxed, this open. There are words and sounds coming from his mouth that are spoken in a language older than anything on this earth - the pure open vowels and drawls of sex. Sam shifts, cants his hips up, and Lindsey’s back arches, the moans turning to fuckyeahfuck.
Sam has the presence of mind to want to make this as good for Lindsey as it is for him as his cock swells and stiffens with that first anticipatory rush that means he’s soclosesogood.
He reaches between the two of them, sweat-slick hand sliding around Lindsey’s cock, tugging on it rough and hard. It’s an awkward angle and lacks in finesse as Sam tries to pick up the rhythm of his hips. Then it clicks and it’s good. Fist tight pressure around his dick, hand slip-sliding over Lindsey’s cock, squeezing and twisting.
“Do it,” Sam hisses, teeth clenched. When this became a battle, he’s not sure, but it feels that way to him. Feels like vengeance and war all rolled into one. A fight fought with sex, and if he can just make Lindsey come, then he’s won, and he’ll have fucked this twisted desire right out of his system, and back into Lindsey where it surely belongs.
Gripping harder, tighter, he pulls and tugs. Lindsey’s eyes go shocked-wide the instant before he comes. Blue-bright, lust-dark, and completely open. In his hand, Lindsey pulses and shoots between them, cock jerking in spasms that echo through his body, going straight to Sam’s dick.
It’s no surprise when he comes not even seconds later, the hand that holds him up clenching in the bed, white-hot lightning sparking off behind his eyes in flashes of color that he has no name for. He grunts, pushing in, riding through the pleasure-cum-pain when Lindsey bears down on him hard, clenching him tighter than he’d thought was possible. He balls ache with the release, come shooting up to fill the condom in thick gushes that seem to come from the core of his fucking being.
He’s bone-weary when the rush ends. Too tired to do more than pull out of Lindsey, ease the condom off of his still-hard-too-sensitive cock, and toss it in the trash.
Like last time, Lindsey just watches him get dressed.
“Come help me take over the firm?”
Sam’s eyes narrow, back stiffening. “Thought you said you left to find yourself.” The words are scathing, biting, like he expected Lindsey to have changed on some level, even when he knew that there was no way in hell.
Lindsey laughs. “I did. And in doing so, I found out I wanted to run Wolfram and Hart, not just work there.”
A sigh is the only answer Sam gives, but he thinks it’s probably all Lindsey really expected.
He knows this is the last time this can ever happen because they really are on two separate sides.
Months later, pouring over newspaper clippings of some heavy ass demonic shit that went down in Los Angeles, Sam comes across the notice. A man shot dead, Lindsey’s obituary lumped in with the dozens of others that died during those dark days.
Sam wonders if maybe he should have asked Lindsey to fight on their side, tried to tempt him the same way Lindsey had done with him.
He doesn’t think that plan would have worked any better than Lindsey’s had.
END