Sam is big.

Big enough that it’s the first thing people notice about him. Even in Stanford, when he used to pull his shoulders in and hunch to make himself appear smaller, he towered over most people.

Now that his frame has filled out — courtesy of the job, he guesses — it’s almost impossible not to be imposing.

(There was one time, that he absolutely begged you not to share with Dean, where he’d heard you shout and came running into the kitchen full-speed, head slamming off the top of the frame. All you had done was spill some milk, and he had suffered permanent brain damage for it.)

Despite its shortcomings — the constant comments, and glances, and stupid height related nicknames — his build comes with its perks.

Most of them are inherently connected to you.

Sam absolutely loves how big he feels in comparison to you. Loves how ridiculously big his clothes look on your frame, or the way his hand dwarfs yours each time he holds it. He’s able to completely wrap you up when you want a hug, body blanketing yours with such an ease that it feels as if you were made to be held by him.

Most of all, he really loves the expression you get when his hands are on you.

Sam is perceptive — he’s very aware you have a fondness for his size, particularly his hands.

And, because Sam really can’t help himself when it comes to you, he’s taken to touching you a whole lot more since he’s noticed.

A casual hand on your hip or back as he shifts by you has become a regular occurrence. Or the way he’ll grab your chin with one hand, fingers long enough to squish your cheeks together before he pulls back with a laugh. His kisses have become an excuse for him to see how much surface his hands can cover — whether it’s your arms, face, waist or the back of your neck.

Even now, curled up with you on a couch that’s far too small for him, Sam is perfectly content. He’s all crunched up trying to lay down on it, his head propped up on one armrest with his legs dangling haphazardly off of the other. He wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Don’t fall asleep.” Sam whispers, one big hand moving to cradle the back of your head, big enough to engulf it completely as he cradles you to his chest. His other arm remains firmly wrapped around your back, hand squeezing at your waist. “I haven’t seen you all week. Give me an hour with you lucid, at least.”