Swesson Love Week (Sam Wesson/Dean Smith, Sam/Dean, G - NC-17) 2 of 2

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Did You Turn It On and Off Again?

Dean was having a shit day, the coffee was bitter and cold, his car had been covered in bird crap, his suit pants had ripped and now his computer wasn’t working. The person he’d gotten on the phone in IT wasn’t much help, but he’d done the whole can-I-speak-to-your-manager thing so now someone was on the way.

Good thing it had been over the phone, because he couldn’t pull off that dominance thing in person very well. Curse of being an omega in an alpha business world. He held his own in teleconferences and email negotiations just fine, but the interpersonal stuff was always fraught. He never knew if this was the time he was going to be found out and maybe pushed out of the company. The suppressors and scent-neutralizers he religiously took every morning seemed to cover the biology he couldn’t change, but he had to work hard to copy what he assumed the usual alpha interactions would be like. It was exhausting, and unfair, but he’d chosen to try and make himself fit into this kind of work environment.

Someone knocked at the door and entered his office without waiting. It was the tall IT guy that Dean had been seeing a lot of lately, in the elevator where the guy had tried to make small talk with him, in the lunch room. He was hard to miss, he was huge, even for an alpha, and god he smelled good, Dean had to tear himself away every time they rode the elevator together, wanting to follow him wherever he was going. “Hey, Mr. Smith, I hear you’re having problems? I’m Sam Wesson, nice to meet you.”

Dean blinked a few times, realizing the enormous hand in front of him was meant for him to shake. He felt his small hand engulfed in Wesson’s, safe and warm and he didn’t want to let go, oh god this was going to get bad really fast here. “Yeah, thanks for coming so quickly. It’s just stuck on the boot-up menu, and before you ask, yes I’ve turned it on and off a couple times.”

“Everyone always gets so mad at us when we ask, but it really does solve eighty percent of stuff, silly as it may be,” Wesson said, still holding Dean’s hand.

Corralling all of his strength Dean managed to pull his hand out of Wesson’s and clenched it with his other hand so that he wouldn’t be tempted to reach out and touch him. He looked sculpted, formed out of the most perfect arrangement of skin and bones and power and oh, his eyes they were so damn many colors. Dean didn’t care about his computer then, or his job at Sandover or anything else but—

“Mr. Smith?” Wesson was asking, a half-smile on his face, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

Dean shook his head to clear his mind and break the hold Sam’s eyes had trapped him with. He stepped around his desk so Sam could check out his computer but as their bodies brushed together, Dean felt himself falter, his control slipped and he leaned up against Sam’s chest, lips brushing at the skin at the neck of his polo shirt. He breathed in deeply, relishing that alpha scent,  but unlike any other he’d ever been attracted to so far. It was much richer somehow, like there was a whole symphony of emotions packed into Wesson’s aroma.

“God, you smell good, Mr. Smith,” Wesson said, interrupting Dean’s train of thought. He’d taken them this morning, right? All the pills lined up in the organizer, pink, blue, purple, all washed down with his smoothie, right?

“I thought all you execs were alphas though,” Wesson said, sniffing at Dean’s skin, brushing at it gently, teasing with his lips.

Dean cleared his throat and forced himself to step away, not answering the question. But Wesson followed him, which meant Dean was backed up against his bookcase. All of it, every last pill he’d taken, every lie he’d told, every time he’d held back from bending over for any alpha, it was all inconsequential. Because this man wasn’t just an alpha here in front of him, taking over his mind, all his senses, his air, he was everything.

“Breathe for me, baby, c’mon,” Wesson was saying, holding Dean in his arms and rubbing his back in small comforting circles.

“What happened? Wesson?” Dean asked.

“Call me, Sam, or alpha,” Sam said, pulling Dean up onto his tiptoes to kiss him with such force that Dean stumbled even closer, their bodies pressed together.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck and held on, kissed his way along Sam’s beautiful neck and jaw, nipping and biting. “How about I call you mate?” he asked near Sam’s ear.

Sam growled, low in his throat, threatening and powerful, he forced Dean away from him so that Dean fell back against the edge of his desk. “You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t mean them, Mr. Smith.”

“Dean, it’s just Dean, please. I did mean it. I swear I’m not making this up, Sam, but I’ve never done anything like this or ever felt this before, that’s why I said mate. But if you don’t feel it too, then—“

“No! I do, fuck, of course I do, because you’re, oh god, you’re so perfect, Dean but you’re right, you do smell so differently than all the others, and I haven't ever felt like this with someone.”

“Sam, what do we do?” Dean asked, perched on the edge of his desk, he could feel the rip in his pants giving way even more, but he didn’t care, all he cared about now was his alpha, no his mate, there in front of him.

“Need to mate you, Dean. All of them will be able to smell you, now that your mating call has been released.”

Dean swallowed nervously, “Right here?”

“Right now,” Sam answered, stepping between Dean’s legs.

“I’ve never done this, Sam,” Dean said, running his hands up Sam’s torso, feeling all the muscles tensing with excitement and restrained power.

“It’s okay, Dean, I gotcha, I’ll make it good,” Sam promised, eyes going darker as Dean’s legs wrapped around Sam’s hips. Sam picked Dean up then, hands under his ass and walked him over to the leather couch near the window wall that looked out into the rest of the office floor. He laid Dean down gently, and took Dean’s clothes off piece by piece, throwing them over the chair. He laughed at the split seat of Dean’s trousers. “You were ready for me today, see?”

Dean went red with embarrassment but laughed anyway, because it was like his clothes had known before him or something, that today was The Day. Certainly not the one he’d expected, but the one he’d always secretly hoped would happen.

“You’re adorable when you blush like that,” Sam said, the growl back in his voice. Dean stared up at him naked and helplessly turned on, not able to do anything but watch in amazement as Sam pulled his yellow polo shirt off. He felt something deep in his body change when Sam undid his khakis and pulled them off, standing there proudly naked. Dean felt the slickness he knew his body was supposed to produce begin to trickle out onto the leather couch, he spread his legs and moaned, overwhelmed with need.

Dean tried to stay present and aware and even conscious during the next half hour or so, but it was too much, overwhelming to feel all of this after so long denying it to himself. Sam was a force of nature, swamping all his senses, blowing away all his hesitation and completely transforming the landscape of his body. He felt open and empty, then full beyond capacity. And there was this inevitability to it that swept his reservations away as if they’d never been there. He was made for Sam, just as Sam was made for him.

He came back to himself as Sam was biting the nape of his neck, just below his hairline, in the permanent mark of mating, this was even more binding than a signature on a marriage contract. His body accepted it for him, letting loose a noise of joy and pleasure that he didn’t know he was capable of making. Sam laughed then and collapsed over his back, pushing him into the leather couch. “I’m so glad your computer stopped working today.”

Dean laughed too, because he couldn’t care less now about that stupid thing, Sam still deep inside him fixed everything that was broken or wrong with this day. He was perfect now—no, they were perfect.