I don't own Sam or Dean or the Impala!
This is just a little one-shot about Sam finally getting some love and tenderness. It is a little sexy – not Wincest and not slash! No real rude words either!!
A Helping Hand
"Can I help you?" the girl behind the desk looked bored and she snapped on the gum she was chewing, studying Sam like a shark with some eating issues. Sam swallowed, wondering why he had decided to come here. Dean had told him that he'd do the deed, but somehow Sam didn't trust him and therefore had turned to the professionals. Now, however, he was regretting it.
"Haircut is it?" the girl smirked, heavily mascara'd eyes blinking "Carrie can do it – she's not so busy today"
"Yeah – ok" Sam found himself growing hot across his cheekbones. Dean had told him for weeks that it was time he had a trim but he'd ignored him. When you are fighting vampires, killer clowns and zombies, a haircut is the least of your worries "Yeah"
"Carrie" the girl yelled, sitting back in the chair "You free?"
A woman, older than Sam, maybe in her early thirties came out of the back room smiling. She looked Sam up and down and nodded "Sure" she gestured to Sam "Come on" she said "Lets get you sorted".
The shop was small, intimate, the only one in this tiny, one horse, one bar, one motel town. Sam would have preferred a barber shop but 'The Salon' was the only place he could find. He felt foolish, letting the fact that a woman was going to cut his hair embarrass him, but he couldn't help it.
The last person to touch his hair had been Jess. She had been good at that sort of thing and had cut it regularly. Those moments, when he had been sitting on the floor between her legs, his wet hair dripping down his back, her gentle fingers on his nape, had been intimate and sensual and had often led to lovemaking. Sam had taken the scissors to his own locks a few times since, but now his unruly mop was out of even his control and he knew he needed the help of someone who knew what they were doing.
He let himself be settled in a leather chair, head back over a low basin. The water was just right, warm and soothing, and he felt Carrie's fingers in his scalp, massaging. He sighed, closing his eyes, as her hands moved softly across his neck and shoulders, lifting the hair and letting it fall again. He heard her humming softly and he opened his eyes to look at her.
She was nothing like Jess. She was older, more knowing, her skin brown and sun-kissed, her hair wild and curly. Deep blue eyes watched him and she grinned down at him, rubbing shampoo into her hands "Just relax" she said "You sure are tense"
"Sorry" he mumbled, wondering why he was apologising and closed his eyes again, letting her fingers do their magic. God it felt good, the gentle touching, the soft massage, the warmth of skin on skin. He felt his shoulders go lax and his whole body relaxed, the tension slipping away as if by magic.
He had been still for almost five minutes when he felt it and he found his cheeks burning as he fidgeted a little, to try and ease his discomfort. He didn't know if it was the feel of soft fingers on him or the memory of what used to be, but he was growing hard and he drew his legs together, trying to think unsexy thoughts 'Dean eating, the Easter bunny, the Dentist'. God it was so long since he had felt any human contact, a hug, a touch, a gentle hand on his arm. He sighed and twitched in the seat, hoping Carrie didn't notice his discomfort.
"All done" she wrapped a towel around his head and pushed his shoulders gently "Lets go over to the mirror now and get cutting" her voice was soft and Sam found himself responding, trying to get up without her realising why he was so stiff, both physically and metaphorically. However his awkward gait gave him instantly away and he stumbled, face glowing, his eyes downcast "Hey" she spoke quietly "Hey are you alright?"
He wasn't alright, not really. He was hard, hard and uncomfortable, but it was more than that; he was tired, he wanted to lie down, close his eyes and let it all slip away. He wanted Jess, he wanted his life back. Foolish tears prickled his lashes and he swiped an angry hand across his face, unable to put his feelings into words – typical of a Winchester – he mused.
"Sit down" she lowered him gently into another leather chair and tilted it back. It was dark in this part of the shop and quiet, there were no other customers, no other staff "Close your eyes"
He did as he were told, swallowing hard. He felt her hands on his shoulders, then his arms, even his hands and fingers. She was massaging softly, humming as she did so "I took massage in college as well as hair and beauty" she crooned in his ear "It comes in useful – in situations like this". Her hands moved to his calves and then his thighs. He drew in a sharp intake of breath as he felt fingers on his belt but he made no move to stop her. He wondered for a moment why she was doing this and then all rational thought went out of his head, as talented fingers found the right spot and sparks of pleasure shot through his body taking him far away from all his problems.
It had been too long and it was over too quickly. When he came to his senses he was all zipped up and, if it hadn't been for the lax, boneless feeling that permutated his whole body, he would have thought he had imagined it.
He met her eyes in the mirror and she grinned, long fingers working their way through his hair, trimming his bangs and cutting gently round his ears. She was business like again and, soon, he was finished and staring at his own reflection, satisfied with what he saw.
His hair wasn't much shorter, but neater and no longer in his eyes. He looked better too, red splattered across his high boned cheeks and his skin glowed. He smiled at her and she smiled back, brushing the stray hairs from his shoulders and neck.
"There" she said, smoothly "All better"
He paid the gum-chewing receptionist and left a more than generous tip. As he strolled back to the motel, his mind wandered and whirled, unable to actually comprehend what had happened. All he really knew is that he felt better than he had in a long time and he felt ready for the long road that lay ahead of him.
"You took your time" Dean was on the bed, cleaning his gun, green eyes instantly alert as Sam entered "Did you bring the beer and chips?"
"Nah – I forgot" he looked at his brother apologetically and Dean rolled his eyes, shaking his head
"Your hair doesn't look that much shorter Sam – I could have done a better job at it myself"
Sam stared at his brother for a moment and felt hysterical laughter bubble up into his stomach; unable to keep his voice steady, he flopped on the bed and closed his eyes "I don't think so Dean" was all he said….