Drabble. PWP. Samifer.

Prompt: "I've always been watching, waiting, listening."

Note: Forgive any OOC'ness.

He's standing outside the house.

Sam peeks through the blinds in the living room and holds his breath, beer still in hand. The figure's still there-he isn't imagining it-standing across the street, just in between the spheres of light shining from the lamp posts lining the sidewalk. Sam can tell it's a male from the shape of his hips and legs in his black pants, from the familiar broad shoulders underneath a dark blue hoodie, stretching the material each time he inhales.

This is the point where a normal person would be worrying, and he knows it; instead he takes a long draw from his beer, licks his lips, and watches.

Just to see what the guy does.

But the stranger doesn't do a damn thing, just stands there for a few more minutes then walks away down the street.

Sam's disappointed.

He watches a little longer to see if he comes back, but he doesn't.

The new guy's behind the counter at the local coffee shop today. Usually it's Sarah, with her cute smile and inviting conversation, though its never the conversation he wants, and she never gives him the answers he needs.

Sam tries not to stare at him, and fails miserably. It's not that he's anything special to look at-blonde, unkempt hair, pale blue eyes under a heavy brow, ordinary, easily forgettable face-but he just can't help himself.

When Sam gets to the counter, he stumbles through his order, feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. They go through the usual (give money, get change, get drink) and Sam sits at his usual table in the corner against the storefront window. He pulls out his laptop and opens up a few word documents, settles into a few hours of research and digging.

Every once in a while Sam glances up at the new guy, but always looks away before he notices.

He's there again.

Sam watches from his bedroom this time, sitting on his desk with his legs stretched out. He twitches the blinds aside every once in a while, catching glimpses of the man across the street.

Though his eyes are hidden in the shadow of his hood, Sam knows he sees him, knows when their gazes meet. He feels it in his bones, feels it crawl across his skin, so sweet.

"Same thing as yesterday?"

Sam smiles, fights down the blush trying to rise to his cheeks. He remembered him.

He glances at the man's chest, looks at his name on the name tag pinned to his apron before saying his name out loud.

"Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Luke."

The smile that blooms on Luke's face-just, wow. It's hard for Sam not to grin in response. Luke just looks so happy that Sam even knows his name.

He feels Luke's eyes on his back as he retreats to his table. Once he sits and situates himself, he turns his head and meets Luke's stare head on.

Sam feels it in his bones, feels it crawl across his skin.

So sweet.

Its midnight and there's someone at the door, testing the doorknob.

Sam stretches and rolls off the couch in the dark living room, uses the light from the Tv to see his way to the door. But when he gets there he doesn't open it. No, he leans against the door, presses his ear against the wood and listens. Sam can hear heavy breathing, hear shoes scraping against the concrete steps leading to his door as whoever's on the other side paces.

Seconds tick by, and Sam continues to listen, his heart pounding in his chest, blood racing in his veins. Sweat trickles down his chest; his bare toes curl into the carpet in anticipation.

The shuffling stops, the panting recedes.

After a minute Sam cracks the door open, peers into the darkness at his empty stoop, empty yard, at the empty street. He looks around a little longer before shutting the door and leans against it, slides down and feels the grain of the wood rub against his bare back.

So close.

"Can I join you?"

Sam looks up at Luke and smiles. "Sure." He shuts his laptop and cleans up the table a little, stacking his things neatly off to the side. Luke sits down-no, he perches on the edge of his chair, hands clasped in his lap. Sam can read him like a book by now, and it's painfully obvious he's nervous.

It's cute.

"Whats up?" Sam asks.

Luke shrugs and smiles. "You come in almost every day, I figured I'd take some time to get to know you."

And that sets off a long conversation, about Sam's life, about Dean and dad and mom and the house fire, about dad's business, about marrying Jess and losing her not six months later. About Sam going to Stanford against dad's wishes, about Dean running the family business on his own, about how long it's been since he's talked to any of his family.

And Sam learns about Luke's multitude of brothers and sisters, about his falling out with his family. He learns that Luke's name is short for Lucifer, that every kid in his family is named after an angel, that his dad's been out of the picture for a long, long time.

And Luke's eating up everything Sam's saying, taking in all the details, and Sam loves every minute of it, loves watching Luke follow his well-placed bread crumbs while he collects his own information on the man, filing it away for later.

They part ways amiably hours later, once they've run out of things to talk about.

Something tells Sam it's gonna be soon.


Water runs down Sam's body in rivulets as he washes soap from his skin, as he stands under the shower head and lets the water roll down his scalp, down his face, down his neck.

He left the front door open.

Someone's standing outside the bathroom door, he can sense it. The air's heavy with anticipation and he's already half-hard but he pretends nothing's going on, just keeps washing himself.

He's so close.

The door cracks open and Sam turns around in the shower stall, runs his hands through his hair and starts to hum under his breath. Even through the humming, through the sound of water spraying and splashing against the tile and glass, Sam can still hear his heavy breathing.

He waits, and waits.

And when the anticipation gets to be too much, Sam turns off the shower and lets his hands fall to his side.

"Hey, Luke."

Sam turns, opens up the shower stall door and meets Luke's wide eyes. The other man's mouth is slightly agape with disbelief and he takes a step back; there's a small knife in his hand but his grip is weak, and the blade dangles from his fingers limply. Sam takes a step closer while he holds Luke's stare, the faintest smirk curling his lips. Luke clearly didn't expect any opposition.

"Are you surprised? Did you think I wouldn't notice you watching me?" Luke bumps against the closed bathroom door-he's sure to be regretting that one-and Sam steps right into his space, takes the knife from his hand and sets it on the sink. "You've been watching me for weeks, standing outside my house all hours of the night, and you thought I wouldn't catch on?" Sam puts his palms flat on the door then his elbows, bracketing Luke's head in his arms. His erection nudges against the bulge in the other man's pants and Luke's breath catches in his chest just a little.

"I've been watching, waiting, listening this entire time, Luke." He leans forward and traces Luke's jaw with his tongue. "So easy to manipulate," Sam murmurs against the man's skin.

"What're you going to do?" Luke asks, and Sam knows he's not asking if he's gonna call 911 or turn him into the police

"Whatever I want."