Sadie/Sam porn: "this extra rib" - Rated NC17
Wow, so I neglected to eat lunch because I was thinking about this. And I suppose that if I decided to post it to communities I might need to change the cut-tag, but I figure if y'all read this journal you can handle it. :P
Title: this extra rib
Pairing/Characters: Sam/OFC (Sadie).
Rating: NC17.
Summary: Um, so, this is Sam and Sadie from [ this verse] and it really *is* them, but if you have no idea who they are and want to read some contextless “queer het” porn, this could also be that.
Author’s Note: Title from the Jeffrey Foucault song "Secretariat:" [lyrics] [download].
Word Count: 870.
*
Sadie wakes up slowly, head foggy, with her hair sweaty against her neck. As usual since he’s come back for good, she pats the bedspace next to her blindly, sighing with relief when her fingers meet skin, solid and warm. Sam’s still here.
He’s curled up into himself, big limbs a pretzel. In her bed.
“Morning, baby,” he mumbles, rolling over so his face fits into the crook of her neck. He places his hand on the inside of her thigh and she remembers. She flushes and laughs.
“I had this dream,” she starts.
“Yeah?” He’s still not awake. Not really.
“About you and me,” she continues.
“I like it already,” Sam answers groggily, nose bumping into her ear as his kisses miss her skin and float into her hair.
“Yeah, wait until you hear it.” She pauses, giggles again. “I had a cock-I guess that means I was a man or whatever. You were a woman. And you were...you were really hot.”
He stops nuzzling and looks at her. Grins and shakes his head, hardly pretending to be surprised.
“Did you take advantage of me?”
“No! Of course not.” For a half-awake moment Sadie actually feels affronted, then she looks at Sam and realizes that he’s joking. Of course he’s joking. They’re chatting about her crazy dream. Like couples do. Like people who wake up with each other. She lowers her voice. “You...you wanted it.”
“I imagine I did,” he says wryly, then turns oddly serious. “Did I tell you?”
“You always do.”
Sadie feels it then, his cock hard against her leg. It feels serious. She touches it tentatively.
“You told me you wanted me to fuck you,” she says, peering into his eyes, and Sam gasps.
Somehow, she ends up between his legs, her panty-clad hips stretching his naked thighs wide. Instinctively Sadie thrusts-a tentative hump-as she grips the dick they’re both pretending isn’t there in her hand. She thumbs the head absently and leans down to kiss his mouth, feeling exhilarated. What are they doing?
She jumps a bit when Sam speaks again. “Was I wet for you?” he asks, his deep voice incongruous with the fantasy, boiling her blood.
Sadie thrusts into him again, harder this time, and closes her eyes. “You were,” she whispers. “I wanted you so much.” (I want you so much.)
Sam groans and his head falls back against the pillow, revealing the long, thick column of his throat. For a second Sadie thinks about how it’s really time to wash the sheets; she can’t remember if it’s his turn or hers to do laundry. It doesn’t matter though. Not now.
She looks down at their bodies-at the moles and scars scattered on his golden-brown skin, at the paisley-pink of her cotton underwear-and her brain shorts out. She remembers what it felt like, in the dream, entering him.
She looks back up at his face again. “Sometimes when we’re fucking, I wonder what it’s like for you, what it would be like...”
Sam places a finger to her lips, opens himself up for her even more.
It’s always different when they’re in bed-the size of him is different. Inconsequential. Except when she wants it: when she wants him to cover her with his bulk, push her arms down and hold her there like he’s never leaving again.
She grabs his wrists. It’s a stretch to get them above his head, a symbolic gesture. But Sam keeps his arms where she placed them. Obedient.
“I want you to fuck me,” he instructs.
“I am,” Sadie chokes out. “I’m fucking you.” Her hips find a rythmn. Long minutes like that, moving together. Not needing to say anything else.
It’s awkward-but only physically-and it doesn’t really make sense, but she licks her fingers, watching him watch her, and reaches around to find his hole.
Sam likes this, she knows. He’s never been the type of guy to question his existence when she slips a finger up there while she sucks him. But this is different. They have an understanding. She can tell by the way he licks his lips, breathing heavily as she slowly moves in and out, her other hand stroking his appropriated dick, still pounding the inside of his hips with the outside of hers.
It’s a balancing act. An improvisation.
When he comes, explosive and sticky on her fingers, Sam tells her that he loves her and Sadie remembers where they are.
In her bed.
Sadie’s shaking. She doesn’t even need to get off herself, at least not in that “rub my clit x amount of times and say abracadabra” kind of way. Not yet anyhow.
She takes her place in his armpit, strong musk and silky brown hair in her face, the muscles in his bicep twitching against her cheek. It’s comforting, but she feels kind of overwrought. Tender and exhausted.
Sadie can hardly find the voice to say, “I used to do that a lot while you were gone-dream about you.”
“I did too,” Sam says softly, and kisses her forehead. “But as usual, you definitely outdid me with the creativity.”
She can feel his smile against her skin.
*
Title: this extra rib
Pairing/Characters: Sam/OFC (Sadie).
Rating: NC17.
Summary: Um, so, this is Sam and Sadie from [ this verse] and it really *is* them, but if you have no idea who they are and want to read some contextless “queer het” porn, this could also be that.
Author’s Note: Title from the Jeffrey Foucault song "Secretariat:" [lyrics] [download].
Word Count: 870.
*
Sadie wakes up slowly, head foggy, with her hair sweaty against her neck. As usual since he’s come back for good, she pats the bedspace next to her blindly, sighing with relief when her fingers meet skin, solid and warm. Sam’s still here.
He’s curled up into himself, big limbs a pretzel. In her bed.
“Morning, baby,” he mumbles, rolling over so his face fits into the crook of her neck. He places his hand on the inside of her thigh and she remembers. She flushes and laughs.
“I had this dream,” she starts.
“Yeah?” He’s still not awake. Not really.
“About you and me,” she continues.
“I like it already,” Sam answers groggily, nose bumping into her ear as his kisses miss her skin and float into her hair.
“Yeah, wait until you hear it.” She pauses, giggles again. “I had a cock-I guess that means I was a man or whatever. You were a woman. And you were...you were really hot.”
He stops nuzzling and looks at her. Grins and shakes his head, hardly pretending to be surprised.
“Did you take advantage of me?”
“No! Of course not.” For a half-awake moment Sadie actually feels affronted, then she looks at Sam and realizes that he’s joking. Of course he’s joking. They’re chatting about her crazy dream. Like couples do. Like people who wake up with each other. She lowers her voice. “You...you wanted it.”
“I imagine I did,” he says wryly, then turns oddly serious. “Did I tell you?”
“You always do.”
Sadie feels it then, his cock hard against her leg. It feels serious. She touches it tentatively.
“You told me you wanted me to fuck you,” she says, peering into his eyes, and Sam gasps.
Somehow, she ends up between his legs, her panty-clad hips stretching his naked thighs wide. Instinctively Sadie thrusts-a tentative hump-as she grips the dick they’re both pretending isn’t there in her hand. She thumbs the head absently and leans down to kiss his mouth, feeling exhilarated. What are they doing?
She jumps a bit when Sam speaks again. “Was I wet for you?” he asks, his deep voice incongruous with the fantasy, boiling her blood.
Sadie thrusts into him again, harder this time, and closes her eyes. “You were,” she whispers. “I wanted you so much.” (I want you so much.)
Sam groans and his head falls back against the pillow, revealing the long, thick column of his throat. For a second Sadie thinks about how it’s really time to wash the sheets; she can’t remember if it’s his turn or hers to do laundry. It doesn’t matter though. Not now.
She looks down at their bodies-at the moles and scars scattered on his golden-brown skin, at the paisley-pink of her cotton underwear-and her brain shorts out. She remembers what it felt like, in the dream, entering him.
She looks back up at his face again. “Sometimes when we’re fucking, I wonder what it’s like for you, what it would be like...”
Sam places a finger to her lips, opens himself up for her even more.
It’s always different when they’re in bed-the size of him is different. Inconsequential. Except when she wants it: when she wants him to cover her with his bulk, push her arms down and hold her there like he’s never leaving again.
She grabs his wrists. It’s a stretch to get them above his head, a symbolic gesture. But Sam keeps his arms where she placed them. Obedient.
“I want you to fuck me,” he instructs.
“I am,” Sadie chokes out. “I’m fucking you.” Her hips find a rythmn. Long minutes like that, moving together. Not needing to say anything else.
It’s awkward-but only physically-and it doesn’t really make sense, but she licks her fingers, watching him watch her, and reaches around to find his hole.
Sam likes this, she knows. He’s never been the type of guy to question his existence when she slips a finger up there while she sucks him. But this is different. They have an understanding. She can tell by the way he licks his lips, breathing heavily as she slowly moves in and out, her other hand stroking his appropriated dick, still pounding the inside of his hips with the outside of hers.
It’s a balancing act. An improvisation.
When he comes, explosive and sticky on her fingers, Sam tells her that he loves her and Sadie remembers where they are.
In her bed.
Sadie’s shaking. She doesn’t even need to get off herself, at least not in that “rub my clit x amount of times and say abracadabra” kind of way. Not yet anyhow.
She takes her place in his armpit, strong musk and silky brown hair in her face, the muscles in his bicep twitching against her cheek. It’s comforting, but she feels kind of overwrought. Tender and exhausted.
Sadie can hardly find the voice to say, “I used to do that a lot while you were gone-dream about you.”
“I did too,” Sam says softly, and kisses her forehead. “But as usual, you definitely outdid me with the creativity.”
She can feel his smile against her skin.
*