Humidity
Title: Humidity
WC: 332
Characters: Toby/Sam
Rating: PG
Summary: It was too hot to fuck and just cool enough to sleep
Notes: prompt was Sam touching Toby in just the right spot which kinda got flipped around. But oh well.
It was too hot to fuck and just cool enough to sleep. It was DC in the middle of the summertime and the humidity had reached lethal temperatures.
Toby moved Sam's hand off him, "Sam, too hot."
Sam didn't protest, just snuggled under the sheet (and HOW, Toby wondered, could the man sleep under that?), and drifted back to sleep. Toby's fingers drifted up and down the sheet, dipping into the curves of Sam's body. Sam shifted occasionally into the touch and Toby responded by pulling his fingers away, placing them somewhere else, and trying again.
He told stories as his fingers danced, of growing up in Brooklyn, of sticking to everything, the thin sheen of sweat that covered everyone. He told stories of lovemaking in his bedroom, listening carefully for his mother or Jules to wake up. But it was always just cool enough to sleep and too hot to fuck, but man alive he did it anyway, hormones raging too loud to let something like the heat stop them.
Sam responded by flipping over, his face pressed tightly into the pillow. Toby took the opportunity to trace down Sam's back, stopping at the small of it as he told the story of the first time he slept with another guy. It had been a night quite unlike this one, the cold crackling around them. It had been New York in the middle of January and Toby was 21 years old, on break from his final year of school.
Sam reacted when Toby's fingers started to dance again, tracing down. He whimpered lightly, and Toby told no more stories. He whimpered again when Toby's fingers danced out a rhythm on each each cheek, then through the sheet that he had snuggled with, touched into the crack.
Toby smiled softly as Sam nearly jumped. Sam still had the sheet on him and Toby did not move it, his fingers tapping, waiting for Sam to tell him he didn't care about the heat.
WC: 332
Characters: Toby/Sam
Rating: PG
Summary: It was too hot to fuck and just cool enough to sleep
Notes: prompt was Sam touching Toby in just the right spot which kinda got flipped around. But oh well.
It was too hot to fuck and just cool enough to sleep. It was DC in the middle of the summertime and the humidity had reached lethal temperatures.
Toby moved Sam's hand off him, "Sam, too hot."
Sam didn't protest, just snuggled under the sheet (and HOW, Toby wondered, could the man sleep under that?), and drifted back to sleep. Toby's fingers drifted up and down the sheet, dipping into the curves of Sam's body. Sam shifted occasionally into the touch and Toby responded by pulling his fingers away, placing them somewhere else, and trying again.
He told stories as his fingers danced, of growing up in Brooklyn, of sticking to everything, the thin sheen of sweat that covered everyone. He told stories of lovemaking in his bedroom, listening carefully for his mother or Jules to wake up. But it was always just cool enough to sleep and too hot to fuck, but man alive he did it anyway, hormones raging too loud to let something like the heat stop them.
Sam responded by flipping over, his face pressed tightly into the pillow. Toby took the opportunity to trace down Sam's back, stopping at the small of it as he told the story of the first time he slept with another guy. It had been a night quite unlike this one, the cold crackling around them. It had been New York in the middle of January and Toby was 21 years old, on break from his final year of school.
Sam reacted when Toby's fingers started to dance again, tracing down. He whimpered lightly, and Toby told no more stories. He whimpered again when Toby's fingers danced out a rhythm on each each cheek, then through the sheet that he had snuggled with, touched into the crack.
Toby smiled softly as Sam nearly jumped. Sam still had the sheet on him and Toby did not move it, his fingers tapping, waiting for Sam to tell him he didn't care about the heat.