The Silver Bullet Murders

Good to See You Again

Delia was glued to his back. Her hands were fisted so tightly in his jacket it would take the jaws of life to pry them off, and her cheek was pressed so close between his shoulder blades that her nose was misshapen and it was hard to understand her when she spoke. She refused to open her eyes, steadfastly maintaining that if she couldn’t see the apparition floating through the elementary school halls, it wasn’t there.

Sam sighed and reached a hand back to rub her elbow.

Dean chuckled softly. Delia heard him, so peaked over her shoulder to glare, which inspired a louder laugh and a smirk. “Jerk,” she growled at him. Dean’s smirk split into a toothy smile.

In a passing classroom, a jar of paperclips tipped off the edge of the teacher’s desk. The jar broke. Glass and paperclips scattered over the floor, a few sliding as far as the hall. Delia squealed and lurched against Sam.

Dean guffawed.

“It’s not fuckin’ funny!” Delia let go of Sam to whip around and snap.

“Oh, but it so is.”

“There’s nothing funny about ghosts, Dean,” Delia explained, all seriousness, like she, not Dean, had been hunting her entire life.

Dean turned down one corner of his mouth and seemed to actually consider Delia’s statement, then shrugged. “Ghosts, no. You being scared of ghosts, that’s hilarious.”

“It’s an angry ghost!”

“Of an elementary school teacher,” Dean countered. “You used to kill werewolves and you’re scared of an angry elementary school teacher.”

“Werewolves at least say ouch when you stab them!” Delia took a step toward Dean, and Sam, sensing an impending real fight, opened his mouth to stop it, but Dean spoke first.

“Whoa!” He held up a hand to silence to Delia.

“What?” she whispered.

“Do you hear that?”

All the color drained from Delia’s face. Sam could almost see her ears straining. “No…” she choked out, and then Dean doubled over in a new fit of laughter. An embarrassed flush started on the bridge of Delia’s nose and gradually spread over her cheeks, which puffed out when she made a wordless irritated noise. She punched Dean in the shoulder, and when all that caused was a hiccup in his outburst, she smacked him on the back of the head. Sam took Delia by the shoulders and lead her a few paces away from his brother before she could realize the perfect height of Dean’s face in relation to her knee. He knocked Dean in the temple with his knuckles.

“Hey, that actually hurt…” Dean came up rubbing the spot with a look of surprise on his face.

With an exasperated eye roll, Sam told him, “Let’s get going.”

“Aw, how cute, Sammy, stickin’ up for your girlfriend.” Delia was a ways ahead of them now, just to prove she could.

“You’re an idiot.”

Some twenty minutes and an airborne desk later, Delia had wriggled her way back behind Sam and in front of Dean. Her wounded pride wouldn’t allow her to cling to Sam as she had before, but with every unexplained sound, Dean noticed, her hands twitched nervously toward his little brother’s shoulders. He just couldn’t resist…

Dean grabbed Delia’s hips, jerked her toward him, and shouted, “Rah!” in her ear.

Delia screamed; Sam spun around; Dean let Delia struggle in earnest against his hold for a few seconds. Tear drops had beaded up in the corners of her eyes. She didn’t realize it was Dean who had captured her.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, voice tight with irritation, just as his brother let Delia go. She threw herself at Sam, wrapping her arms around his waist and sniffling into his chest. She was shuddering so violently her tremors vibrated through Sam’s body, and he could feel her heart thudding against his stomach. When he rested his hands on her back, she took a step closer, feet on either side of his right foot. She wouldn’t budge, and as if Sam hadn’t had a hard enough time completing this job with her flush with his back, completing it with her leg between his thighs and the soft front of her so tight against him was damn near impossible.

“You’re an ass,” he told Dean, sucking in a breath and placing a trembling hand on Delia’s hair.

Dean smirked with trademark confidence. “But you’ll thank me later.”

vWv

The roar of the Impala’s engine combined with the rattle of gravel it kicked up carried over the little radio Bobby had perched on top of the car he was elbow deep in. He ducked out from under the hood and wiped his hands on the cloth stuck through his front belt loop. It, as well his t-shirt, jeans, and face, were already so smudged with grease, he wasn’t sure the effort made a difference. Regardless, he repeated the gesture before extending a hand to Dean.

“How’re you doin’, boy?”

Dean squinted one eye shut, rubbed the back of his head, and looked under his arm, back toward to the Impala. “Well, uh, we’ve been worse, I guess.”

“Where’s your brother?” Bobby cocked his head to look around Dean. The passenger door swung open as far as it would go. Two feet, presumably Sam’s, stuck out next, and finally a hand gripped the top of the door, using it as leverage to drag the attached body to a standing position.

“Dean,” a labored voice shouted, “Little help, here?” Sam’s head appeared. He maintained his one handed hold on the door.

“Yeah, ‘course, Sammy, just hold on there.” He jogged back to the Impala, Bobby following.

Dean took the arm keeping Sam upright and draped it around his shoulders, pulling Sam’s jacket away from his body and revealing his other hand, clutching his side. A burgundy stain bloomed away from his fingers, soaking the grey fabric.

“Jesus boys, what the hell happened?”

“Was just gettin’ to that, Bobby,” Dean grunted, stumbling a moment under his brother’s weight. “Christ, Sammy, you have gotta lay off the ho-ho’s!”

Before Sam could work up some smart-ass answer, Bobby repeated, a little louder this time, “Dean, the hell happened?” He walked around to brace Sam’s other side and help Dean guide him toward the house.

“Well, you see, Sam here sorta sucks at gettin’ outta the way, and had gotten it into his head that he was gonna talk to this bitch who was absolutely possessed,” Dean glared at his brother in a way that made Bobby think that argument had been going on for days, “And she grabbed a freaking kitchen knife and decided she was gonna skewer Sammy here, so I had to shoot her, which means the demon got the hell outta there. But the broad he possessed,” Sam was staring pointedly toward the house and gritting his teeth, “musta had shit taste in cutlery because the damn knife tip broke off. And none of this woulda happened if Sam had just – ”

“We can talk about how the two of you managed to screw up a basic exorcism later,” Bobby interrupted, “Why the hell didn’t you take Sam to a hospital, ya damn fool?”

“You were closer.”

Bobby let go of Sam a moment to hold the front door open.

“And I’m supposed to do what?” Bobby asked after they lowered Sam into a recliner.

“Fix him?” Dean tried, for the first time realizing that Bobby, though omniscient about all things that bump in the night, might not have a medical degree.

“Yer an idiot,” Bobby ambled to the foot of a staircase. “A damn lucky idiot,” he looked back at Dean and rested a hand on the knob at the end of the rail, “But an idiot all the same.”

“I can deal with that,” Dean took a step toward the older man. “Why’m I lucky?”

Bobby didn’t answer. “Delia!” he hollered up the stairs.

Dean’s eyes widened in surprise. “She’s still here?”

“Well, yeah. What’d’ja expect? It’s not like I was gonna kick her out. Ya coulda warned me though. The first full moon week she was here she broke the goddamn kitchen table in two.” He turned to look back up the stairs. “Delia!” he shouted again, “Wake your ass up!”

“Uhm, how’s she doing?”

“Well… she sucks at ghost hunting, makes just great vampire bait, tends to have chats with demons before she exorcises them, by the way she wanted to know why we were making them work out the first time, but she’s trying to learn how to cook, still can’t clean – Delia, I swear to God I’m gonna haul you down here by your foot! – but she’s picked up some first aid skills in the last couple weeks. Hold on just one second.” Bobby stomped up just the first three stairs.

A disheveled figure with tousled hair wearing only an overly large sweatshirt stumbled to the top of the stairs and leaned on the railing. Delia rubbed her eyes and made a groaning noise that was loud enough to be heard a floor away before mumbling, “Jesus Christ, Bobby, whaddyou want?” When she finished rubbing her eyes, she noticed Dean.

In a manner which belied her sleepy state, she bounded down the stairs, skipping the last four and flung her arms around Dean’s neck. Her sweatshirt rode up, revealing to Dean the entirety of her lace panty clad behind. He stiffened, managed to gingerly pat Delia on the back, and stared up at the ceiling.

Bobby cleared his throat. Delia released Dean and pulled her sweatshirt back down. “Maybe you should go put some clothes on.”

Hands on hips, Delia glowered at Bobby. “Like hell; you were in such a hurry to drag me down here, whatever you have to say must be so important it can’t wait.” Though she did tug at the sweatshirt again before addressing Dean, “Where’s Sam?”

“In the living room with a hole in his stomach,” Bobby bit out. “If you would listen for a whole two sec…”

Delia was already gone.

Dean smirked. “You like having her around. She can’t hunt for crap but you still like having her around. You’ve spoiled her rotten, and what I can’t figure out is why, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure you’re not gettin’ any of that cute little ass.”

“Dean Winchester, you talk about Delia’s ass like that again I will personally beat the smartass outta you.”

Knowing Bobby very well could, Dean threw his hands up in surrender and started after Delia. Bobby caught his arm, “Nope, leave her to her work,” and tugged him the opposite direction toward his study.

vWv

Sam was slumped, hand all but glued to his t-shirt by drying blood, dozing in the lounge chair when fingers pushed his hair back from his face. He had to consciously will his eyes to open, and then it took them a moment to focus on the concerned face leaning over him. “Hey, Sam,” Delia said softly, corners of her mouth turning up in a warm smile, “How’re you feeling?”

“Miserable,” he mumbled. The fingers that had been caressing his cheek wrapped around his wrist to tug his hand away from his side, while Delia’s other hand lifted his jacket. She hissed out through her teeth.

“I’ma need you to lean forward,” she explained, already holding his shoulders to pull him toward her, “So we can get this coat off.” She slid her hands under the green corduroy and eased it down Sam’s arms, leaving it bunched behind him in the recliner. “How many shirts you got stuck in that puncture, hmm?”

Sam tried to think back to that morning when he got dressed, but when he felt Delia slip a finger into his collar to count layers of fabric he realized he didn’t need to formulate an answer. “This shouldn’t be a problem.” She grabbed the hem of the grey t-shirt and started to lift it up Sam’s chest, helping Sam out of the garment one arm at a time. “This, however, is stuck in there rather nicely.” She prodded softly around the puncture, examining just how much of Sam’s undershirt was tucked into it, then took a pair of scissors from the coffee table behind her and cut away the material that wasn’t stuck to him.

When all but that swatch of fabric was stripped from Sam’s torso, Delia sat back on her heals, struggling to maintain objectivity in the face of rippling abs and defined biceps still glistening with a little sweat. Despite her rapidly increasing heart rate and her dilating eyes making her vision blur for a moment, she bit her lip and forced herself back to work. “I need you to relocate to the couch, Sam, and lay down so your middle’s not all scrunched up.”

“Right,” Sam grunted, braced his hands on the armrests, and pushed himself to his feet so he could stumble the few steps to the couch and collapse onto it, wincing upon sudden contact with the not-as-soft-as-expected cushions.

“Sorry,” Delia risked extending a hand to squeeze Sam’s shoulder, “Couch is a bit of a rock. Bobby won’t replace it. Shoulda warned you.”

Sam managed an ‘apology accepted’ grimace.

“I’ll be right back.” Delia strode toward the kitchen, accidently giving Sam a perfect view of black and yellow plaid panties with a trim of black lace, not to mention more than a little cheek. Sam groaned and slung an arm over his eyes, causing Delia to quirk up a confused eyebrow when she returned with an armful of cloths and a pot of steaming water. “What?” she asked, squatting beside him and dabbing at the stab wound.

“You’re not wearing pants,” Sam deadpanned.

If he’d’ve looked, Sam would’ve seen the blush dusting Delia’s nose and cheeks. “No… and I’m not sure what everyone’s problem with it is today. I always sleep in just a sweatshirt, eash.”

“You should wear pants.” He nodded as emphatically as his blood loss addled body was able.

“What? Does being able to see my underwear bother you?” When he didn’t immediately answer, Delia paused in her cleaning to lift Sam’s arm off his face and look down at him. “I thought I looked like a twelve year old, Mr. Winchester.”

For a moment, Sam held his eyes shut. Then Delia shook his arm, clearly wanting a response, and when he opened them, he saw that not only was Delia wearing just a sweatshirt, she was wearing his Stanford sweatshirt, the one he’d given her more than a year ago when he and Dean had first rescued her. The realization only made him more uncomfortable, and he tossed his arm back over his eyes, and opted not to answer.

Delia’s eyebrows knit together over her nose. Unsure what to make of that reaction, she continued to saturate the injury with water until the dried blood was all wiped away and the strip of cloth could be easily removed.

“There’s a – ” Sam’s voice cut off and became an inarticulate pained sound because Delia poured antiseptic over the puncture.

“Sorry, that sting?” she asked, and Sam thought he heard traces of irritation in the tone.

“Yeah, little bit,” he gritted out. Delia wasn’t slowing the flow of medicine. He waited until she finished and the burning had subsided a little to tell her, “There’s a knife tip stuck in there.”

Delia stopped mid-motion of threading her needle. “Then I guess I can’t sew you up just yet, huh?” No, Sam was definitely not imagining the edge of frustration in her voice, and he wondered what he had to do to get back the affectionate warmth that greeted him. He certainly didn’t want a pissy Delia digging around in him for a sharp object, nor did he want her poking at him with a needle.

Delia disappeared again, this time without warning, and reappeared with a pair of tweezers. She got the tool’s tip just pressed into Sam’s side before he jerked away with a yelp, head thrown back, throat taught and bared making the tremble of his adam’s apple apparent. His teeth clenched, and he tried to suck in breaths through them. It wasn’t an act. The cold metal, wider than the initial knife, pushing against the sensitized flesh inside the wound stung worse than any attempt to remove bullets ever had.

Momentarily startled by his outburst, Delia scrambled back. She sat on her heels with her hands on her thighs, intently watching the rapid rise and fall of Sam’s chest, then steeled herself for what she needed to do. She got up on the balls of her feet, leaned forward over the still dazed Sam and rested her face against his cheek. A new sheen of sweat had broken over his skin, but Delia kissed his cheek softly anyway before whispering, “Shh, Sam, I need’ya to relax, easy now,” she rested a shaking hand on his stomach and rubbed in soothing circles, “shh, there you go. That’s better. You’re gonna be alright.” She pulled back, against her better judgment leaving the hand on his abdomen, fingertips badly wanting to drag over the ridges instead of slowly rub in circles, and eased the tweezers into the wound again.

Sam keened, and Delia could feel in his quivering stomach muscles how badly he wanted to twist away. She chewed her lip, maintained the steady pressure of her hand on his belly, and continued to search the puncture for the sliver of metal. The ordeal, which was in reality maybe twenty minutes, felt like hours, and both Sam and Delia were breathing hard when it was finished.

Delia dropped her forehead onto Sam’s chest, an absolutely awful move because it filled her nostrils with the definitive male scent of him, a heady mixture of faded deodorant spray and sweat. She choked on a gasp before sitting up and managing to force a smile. “Now all’s left to do is stitch you up.”

The hot wash of Delia’s breath on his skin wasn’t lost on Sam. He could only nod tightly his agreement.

It wasn’t it as though Sam had never had an injury hand stitched shut before, nor was it Delia’s first time hand stitching, so Sam wondered just who was trembling and why.

vWv

Delia acted as a crutch so Sam could make it upstairs to her bedroom (Bobby’s room smelled funny ‘cuz he hadn’t washed his sheets in a little while, and the guest room was all musty, and besides, she had the best mattress), then helped him into bed. She started to pull the blankets up his body, but stopped suddenly at his waist band and let him finish. She started to reach and touch his cheek, but checked the gesture in mid awkward air, planted the same hand on the mattress and began to lean over him such that Sam half expected a good night kiss, then righted herself and stuffed a handful of painkillers in his face instead. She murmured, “Hope you feel better when you wake up,” before hastily ducking out to join Dean and Bobby in the kitchen.

Dean had his mouth full of sandwich when Delia plopped into the chair across from him. She recognized the egg salad leaking between the crusts and asked, “You like it?”

“Most definitely,” Dean answered, then swallowed.

“That’s good.” Delia leaned her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her palms, working the headache from her skull with the pads of her fingers.

“Y’okay?” Bobby asked, going to the fridge and fetching for himself a beer, a wine cooler for Delia.

“You don’t drink beer anymore?” Dean asked around another bite. Delia grimaced at the site of half chewed food and twisted the cap off her drink before answering:

“Nope, shit’s nasty.” She waved a hand in Bobby’s direction to indicate she was talking to him, and said, “’M fine.”

“And how’s Sam?”

“Sans knife shard, stitched closed, and sleeping. A few hours of minimal movement and he’ll be good as new.”

“So, I’m gonna ask again, are you alright?”

Delia looked at him, a bit startled by the repetition of the question, “I’m fine, really, just a little bit tired.” She chuckled, “And Sam’s got my bed.”

“You should just go join him,” Dean suggested, “I mean, it’s not like you haven’t thought about it.”

Delia blanched, only realizing she had tacitly admitted Dean was right when he shot her a cocksure smirk across the table. He felt Bobby inch closer to him, but continued anyway.

“Really, it’s just not healthy. I know Sam hasn’t gotten any in a while, and you’re in the middle of nowhere with this geezer, so unless your tastes run a lot stranger than I imagined, you haven’t been getting any either.”

Delia wasn’t sure it was possible to get any paler, but Dean didn’t know the half of just how long it had been since she’d ‘gotten any.’

“Dean Winchester,” Bobby’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, “I strongly suggest you shut the hell up.”

Dean shrugged. “I’m just sayin’.”

Delia forced herself up from the table and left the room.

“Dammit, Dean, look what you did.” Bobby went to follow her, but Dean grabbed his wrist.

“I wouldn’t, Bobby, I know that look. That,” he paused for effect, “is the look of a determined horny woman.”

Bobby gave into the urge to smack Dean upside the head.

vWv

Sam woke to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, pushing it back from his face and rubbing his temples. Delia was sitting beside him in a wood desk chair, one foot tucked under the opposite leg, the hand not stroking his hair clasping her ankle. “Hey,” she whispered, “You feelin’ better?”

Sam moaned, arched his body, and sat up, causing Delia’s hand to fall away, slowly down his shoulder and arm. Her touch made Sam shiver (his sound made Delia shiver). “Yeah, I think so.”

“That’s good.” She withdrew her hand, and Sam watched it move to join the other holding her ankle. She was still only wearing the sweatshirt. Sam wanted to groan and turn entirely away, but instead steadfastly held Delia’s gaze. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, but didn’t look away.

“You’re still not wearing pants,” he told her, trying and failing to put on a disapproving frown.

“I know.” It came out a nervous squeak instead of a seductive purr.

“You should really really put sweats on or something.”

“I, uhm…” And Delia looked away from him, staring holes into the floor and chewing harder on her bottom lip, “I thought you liked the view.” She peeked sidelong at him.

Sam sat stone still, face frozen in a surprised expression.

Past the point of no return, Delia plowed onward, “I mean, I never really thanked you properly for saving me from the werewolves… from myself…”

“Delia…” Sam sighed. Pretty as the babbling little creature sitting in front of him was, he wasn’t going to let her have any kind of guilt sex with him.

“No!” Abruptly, she managed to look him in the face. “That’s not what I want, err, meant, err, I want to do… I mean, you… you’re a great guy, saved my life a time or two, stood up for me when your brother picked on me more than once, you’re just really sweet, and… and… you’re…” Every inch of Delia’s face had taken on an embarrassed shade of pink, yet the way she scanned him from the top of his head to his blanket covered toes, could only be described as hungry. “You’re plenty attractive, and I was just saying that the idea of… well… it’s not unapp – ”

Sam took Delia’s face in his palm, tugged her close enough that he could brush his lips against hers, just a soft, chaste kiss, but when he pulled away, she chased after, making Sam chuckle and ask, “That something like what you were thinking?”

Delia nodded, her blush darkening to cherry red across her nose and cheeks, so Sam leaned in again, this time opening his mouth to suck and nibble at Delia’s bottom lip. She made a little noise of approval, mouth opening just wide enough for Sam to press his tongue past her lips. Sam let his other hand rest on Delia’s bare thigh, while Delia’s hands maintained a white knuckled grip on her ankle.

Sam withdrew entirely, his mouth and both hands, making Delia whine and lean toward him, almost tipping out of her seat.

“Delia?” Sam whispered. “What do you want?” She was an adult, absolutely capable of making her own decisions, but he had to be certain.

Delia swallowed hard, blinked twice, and finally squeaked, “You?”

And that shattered whatever remained of Sam’s self control. He extended an arm, hooked it around her waist, and dragged her flush against his chest in order to kiss her proper. Delia toppled from her chair, entirely unbalanced, knees colliding with the edge of the mattress, hands grasping Sam’s shoulders for stability, fingers tightening and relaxing alternately, anxiously. Sam smiled into the kiss and wrapped his other arm around Delia’s thighs to haul her atop him, flopping them both back onto the bed.

When the tumbling finally ceased, Delia found herself settled between Sam’s legs, very aware of his denim encased hardness pressed against the thin layer of her plaid panties. It undid her. She ground down against him just once before whimpering and collapsing, trembling onto his chest.

She came to a few minutes later, sweaty, with one of Sam’s hands resting firmly on her lower back, the other rubbing between her shoulder blades, and his erection still tight against her over sensitized center. She made a little gasping noise and wriggled her hips, which in turn made Sam buck and hiss through his teeth, a noise which Delia promptly echoed. Realizing the potential for a frustrating, unending cycle, he scooched her up to straddle his stomach instead.

Delia sat up a little, hands bracing herself on Sam’s chest, and shook her hair out of her face, but an errant strand remained. Sam brushed it behind her ear, revealing eyes so dilated only a sliver of color remained. He shuddered. “You’re sexy,” he husked. “Really sexy,” he made himself repeat a little less suave, a little more genuine appreciative. “I never thought I be so turned on by someone wearing my clothes.”

Under other circumstances, Delia would have had some clever response to that, but given her current muddled state, all she managed was an impossibly darker blush. She glanced away, toward the pills on the nightstand, her false pretence for coming, her back up plan in case… this didn’t happen, then stared down at Sam, with his head tilted to one side, as though waiting for her to say something. She bent toward him. He met her half way, but let her initiate the slow kiss, first just a brush of noses, then Delia mouthing his top lip. Her hands slid from his chest to his shoulders, then her fingers linked behind his neck, then finally settled tangled in his hair.

Sam sat all the way upright, holding Delia around her middle and letting her kiss him until he felt dizzy. He worked his hands, fingers splayed, over her back and sides, then took hold of the hem of the sweatshirt and pulled it upward. Delia mewed unhappily when he broke their contact to tug garment over her head.

Through the haze of arousal, it took Delia a moment to realize her naked upper body (of course she hadn’t worn a bra under her sleep shirt), but when she did, she jerked away, covering herself with her arms and balling her hands into fists under her chin. Sam chuckled warmly, leaned in and nipped gently at the tip of Delia’s nose while taking hold of her hands, meeting resistance when he tried to move them. He rubbed the insides of her wrists with his thumb, kissed the corner of her mouth, and then her jaw, and then her throat, drawing a curvy path in kisses to Delia’s collar bones. She tilted her head back, and gradually the tension in her arms released until Sam could tug them away. He pressed more kisses to her cleavage and the swells of breasts, Delia not seeming to notice the extra exposed skin until he suckled a nipple. Her head immediately righted itself, and she let out a high pitched startled noise that Sam wasn’t sure was good or bad until her hands grabbed at his head and all but forced him closer. “Sam…” she rasped, voice so saturated with want and heat, he couldn’t help himself. He moaned, one hand coming up to cup her other breast, the other reaching under her butt to crush her lower body against him. She keened desperately, harsh panting washing over his ear, fingers in his hair kneading his skull. “Sam, please…”

Sam tucked his head under her chin, heart racing (Delia’s thudding equally fast under his ear), breathing irregular, eyes closed as he tried to regain some semblance of composure. Very carefully, he eased Delia off his lap and lay her on the bed beside him. She whined and rolled toward him, arms stretching after him, but he stood on quaking legs so he could strip off his jeans and boxers.

When he turned back to face her, her mouth was open in a surprised little ‘o’, and when she realized she was staring, she abruptly looked to the ceiling. Sam’s eyebrows knit themselves together, and he got back onto the bed, one leg at a time so he knelt over Delia, who was still studying the ceiling.

“You act like you’ve never seen a naked guy before.”

Delia swallowed hard, and maintained a steadfast stare at the ceiling, but said nothing.

“You… you haven’t…” Sam choked trying to say it. “You’ve never…”

Her nose wrinkled, and she looked something between irritated and embarrassed. “Can you just spit it out already? Yes, this is my first time. I was one of those losers who went all of high school without a boyfriend, and it’s not like I had time this summer…” Her voice trailed away, her eyes fell to the lamp on the bedside table because the ceiling was too much effort.

Sam rested his forehead on hers, and breathed out a self depreciating laugh; after all, this did rather explain why she hadn’t taken the opportunity to remove the rest of her clothing. “You’re not a loser.” He brushed his lips against hers. “You’re beautiful.” He sucked lightly under her chin and her throat arched to allow him better access. “I’m sorry, it’s just… surprising.”

“Huh?”

He was sure she meant to say something more articulate and chuckled, “Don’t worry about it.” The next winding trail of kisses, licks, and love bites lead to Delia’s panties by way of her breasts and her softly defined stomach. She’d happily been reduced to nerve endings and wanton whimpering, but was immediately strung taught when Sam hooked his fingers into the waist band, so he drew himself to be eye level with her when he pulled them down, holding her stare, hoping to be reassuring.

He covered her nakedness with his body, wrapped an arm under her back to hold her close, and breathed in her ear, “Y’okay?” She trembled, but managed a nod. With his free hand, he reached between her thighs, pushing them apart so he could settle between. Her shaking intensified, and she chewed fiercely on her lip to hold in frightened sounds. “Relax, Delia, you gotta relax.” He just brushed his fingers over her.

“Ah, Sam…” She scrabbled for purchase on his shoulders and pressed her face into his neck.

“That’s better.” He placed a hand on her hip and started to ease himself into her; feeling her tense, he massaged that hip and squeezed the shoulder he could reach with the arm around her back. “Oh God, Delia, relax…” He could hear her ragged breathing, feel her nails clawing at his back, but pressed in a little more. It was almost too much, but he managed to keep whispering encouragements and pressing soothing kisses to her neck and shoulders until he was all the way into her.

“Alright,” Sam gasped, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or Delia, “Alright,” he forced a smile, “Hard part complete.”

Her hair was plastered to her face by sweat. Her chest heaved erratically. Her eyes said she didn’t feel that same relief. He withdrew slowly, pushed back even slower, and she groaned, back arching, though Sam was unsure if from pleasure or pain. He caressed down her cheek and taught throat, and repeated the motion. This time the response, a breathy gasp of his name, was more definitive. Out, in, one more time with the same barely maintained restraint.

“Sam…” She dragged out the ‘a’, and her body twisted and bowed. “Sam, please…” One leg came up, thigh pushing into his side, calf brushing his lower back.

He shuddered, and thrust a little harder the next time. And was rewarded by Delia pushing back, then again with more confidence. Sam’s control snapped, and a back corner of his brain was afraid he’d hurt her.

Delia hooked her ankles together behind Sam’s back. She tried to meet each thrust, awkward in her inexperience, struggling to find rhythm. It took a few moments, but fuck, when they found it they found it.

Delia screamed, oh God, lost it with the most beautiful howl Sam had ever heard. Her heel tapped an irregular beat on his spine as she shuddered over the edge, the entirety of her body clenching and dragging Sam over with her. His elbows gave out and he collapsed, pitching to one side so as not to land on Delia.

“Make for an okay first time?” he asked after his breathing had leveled a little.

Delia snuggled under his arm, pillowing her head on his chest. “Are you fishing for compliments?” she mumbled, fingers tracing nonsense patterns on his stomach, stopping at where she’d stitched up his side. “Shit!” she swore, hauling herself up to check the injury.

Sam groaned, “We didn’t reopen it, did we?” He could feel her fingers delicately prodding.

“No,” she finally said.

“That’s good.”

“Mhmm.”

“Helluva a way to kill the afterglow.”

“Meh.” Delia shrugged and made herself comfortable against him again.

vWv

Bobby and Dean had relocated to his porch. It wasn’t quite under Delia’s open bedroom window, but it was close enough.

Dean’s face split into an ear to ear ‘told you so’ smile.

Bobby just covered his ears.