chorus of a workaday life, Rookie Blue, Andy/Sam, releasepoeelektraAugust 2 2011, 01:59:09 UTC
He went straight for the button of her slacks, hands knowing, even in the darkness, and already her fingers were clawing at scratchy fabric, at a barrier that wouldn't be removed.
As he felt his way through her layers, he could smell industrial bleach and dust mixing with Andy, all shower and fresh and starch, with a tangy undercurrent of arousal.
She insinuated herself against his searching fingers, against his hip, just subtle shifts until he felt her breathing change, then her hands dropped from their grip on his shoulders to scrabble at his belt. There was a frustrated noise from her throat when she realized the obstacles keeping her from her goal: thigh holster, gun, no time for the mess.
"Shhh," was the whispered appeasement against her neck; a bite to her earlobe, then the hand at the small of her back made a minor adjustment at her hips, and he was easing his fingers in, and it was nothing but fast and wet, restricted movements.
"Sam."
She gripped his biceps now in a rhythmic clenching and unclenching, moved her hips in voluntary concert with the hands manipulating her. Her breath was hot on his mouth, accelerating, kisses getting messier until she jerked her face away and bit in to the side of his neck, force of her orgasm transmitted through her teeth and marking his skin. It stung; he had to fight not to be dragged along with her.
Andy rested her head on his sternum. He could feel her struggle to even out her breathing and let his fingers draw a minute sketch up her belly before leaving her briefs with a snap and going for the bandana in his pocket. When she traced the imprint she’d made, one finger gingerly verifying its presence in his flesh, Sam shivered and his hips bucked in to her, restless and instant reflex.
"Sorry."
She was composing herself, and even without the benefit of sight, Sam could feel her tucking in her shirt with care, smoothing any possible stray hairs down. He mentally tried to smooth down some of his own fraying edges.
"Don't be. I'll get mine later."
He fixed his mouth on hers for one last kiss, hot and dirty. With a final scrape along his jaw and squeeze of his fingers, Andy slipped out the door of the supply closet and off to parade.
When he thought his body wouldn't betray him, Sam exited quietly himself, headed for the showers to wash off the accumulated grime of a ten-hour shift. He wasn't vain enough to check the mirror, but the mark on his neck smarted when he gave it a rough pass with the bar of soap. The hint of pain brought heat, and a secret smile.
It stayed with him after he'd donned his leather jacket-collar obscuring the incriminating evidence-and as he made his way to the exit at a lazy stroll, tossing off a salute to the coppers in the squad room as he passed. Sam paused for a moment outside the doors of the 15 to feel the warmth on his face, and smiled his secret in to the sun.
As he felt his way through her layers, he could smell industrial bleach and dust mixing with Andy, all shower and fresh and starch, with a tangy undercurrent of arousal.
She insinuated herself against his searching fingers, against his hip, just subtle shifts until he felt her breathing change, then her hands dropped from their grip on his shoulders to scrabble at his belt. There was a frustrated noise from her throat when she realized the obstacles keeping her from her goal: thigh holster, gun, no time for the mess.
"Shhh," was the whispered appeasement against her neck; a bite to her earlobe, then the hand at the small of her back made a minor adjustment at her hips, and he was easing his fingers in, and it was nothing but fast and wet, restricted movements.
"Sam."
She gripped his biceps now in a rhythmic clenching and unclenching, moved her hips in voluntary concert with the hands manipulating her. Her breath was hot on his mouth, accelerating, kisses getting messier until she jerked her face away and bit in to the side of his neck, force of her orgasm transmitted through her teeth and marking his skin. It stung; he had to fight not to be dragged along with her.
Andy rested her head on his sternum. He could feel her struggle to even out her breathing and let his fingers draw a minute sketch up her belly before leaving her briefs with a snap and going for the bandana in his pocket. When she traced the imprint she’d made, one finger gingerly verifying its presence in his flesh, Sam shivered and his hips bucked in to her, restless and instant reflex.
"Sorry."
She was composing herself, and even without the benefit of sight, Sam could feel her tucking in her shirt with care, smoothing any possible stray hairs down. He mentally tried to smooth down some of his own fraying edges.
"Don't be. I'll get mine later."
He fixed his mouth on hers for one last kiss, hot and dirty. With a final scrape along his jaw and squeeze of his fingers, Andy slipped out the door of the supply closet and off to parade.
When he thought his body wouldn't betray him, Sam exited quietly himself, headed for the showers to wash off the accumulated grime of a ten-hour shift. He wasn't vain enough to check the mirror, but the mark on his neck smarted when he gave it a rough pass with the bar of soap. The hint of pain brought heat, and a secret smile.
It stayed with him after he'd donned his leather jacket-collar obscuring the incriminating evidence-and as he made his way to the exit at a lazy stroll, tossing off a salute to the coppers in the squad room as he passed. Sam paused for a moment outside the doors of the 15 to feel the warmth on his face, and smiled his secret in to the sun.
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