Work Header


Work Text:

The Trickster's gift, like all of the Trickster's gifts meant gathering the honey off of the thorns.

Dean was, last time Sam saw him, out of Hell. Alive and whole, looking as if it had never happened.

But an exchange-in-kind of sorts had happened; that was the price of the gift, and whether it was because even the Trickster had to bow to rules, or because he was just a bastard, Sam didn't ask. Just said "Do it." Had that moment with Dean in his arms, and then once again, found himself in a world without Dean. Only this time, it really was forever. A gift that saw Sam 500 years into the future and light-years away from Earth, his "mojo" fully active, hunted across the 'verse because of it, and eventually (completely by accident) driven into the arms of a family as crazy, as rough and tumble, and as loving as any he had ever known.

He'd lost Dean.

He'd found the crew of the Serenity.

He'd gained River.

Tiny slip of a thing, she. Not a girl. Not fully a woman. Maybe not ever fully a woman. Broken and reforged into a weapon.

A weapon made for somebody else's war. A tool for furthering somebody else's agenda.

Just like him.

Kindred to him not only through blood ties — the Tams trace their family back to Earth-that-was, including a Dean Winchester of Sioux County, South Dakota — but in other ways, too. Ways that are sometimes as frightening as they are strange and beautiful.

But at this moment, Sam is glad that one of their kindrednesses, Simon, the older brother who loves and protects River with a single-minded devotion that reminds Sam a lot of Dean sometimes, is miles away from Serenity, helping with a difficult birth.

It's been building between Sam and River since the day he set foot on this ship. So, when River turns and asks him the question with nothing more than the heat in her eyes, it's the naturalest thing in the 'verse to follow her to her bedchamber, sink to his knees, shift her skirt aside, and touch and taste her in the ways she's longed for ever since she's been old enough to be wanted for something other than her mind.

(She's been so very afraid this moment would never come. Sam can feel her joy — a bright, hot flame — burning in his psyche.)

River shivers and cries out as Sam flutters his tongue delicately over her, savoring her growing heat and wetness. He crooks his finger at the end of a deep stroke, making her arch up and cry out, giving Sam a face full of the taste and smell of woman in all her glory. And — OhGod — she's so tight around his finger as he pistons it in and out that he's wracked with tremors of his own as he thinks about what it will feel like when she's finally sheathed around his cock.

He wants to. So. Very. Much.

But not now, not this time. This time is all about River.

Sam can feel the orgasm building in her. Not only through what his mouth and hand tell him; he can feel it building in the back of his mind, too. It's coming, like thunderheads on the horizon.

And he can't wait to send that lightning corkscrewing up her spine.