High Speed (Sam/Cameron) ADULT
So,I finished my ficathon fic, and what did I do to celebrate? I wrote fic.
My first Sam/Cam fic. Based on this LJ convo about a vaguely spoilery picture of Cam. ADULT! Not beta'd. Do you mind?
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High Speed
By Jennghis
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Pairing: Sam/Cam
Category: Humor/smut
Rating: Adult
Spoilers: None
Blame: lyssie, tarimanveri, ahkna.
Summary: A bike and beer and they are SO not dating.
++
"What the hell did you do to this?" Sam poked at the taillight bracket of the bike with one finger. It tilted up and then fell back against the fender.
Cam paced on the other side of the cycle, glaring at her. "Nothing! I mean... besides side-swiping that post office mail box."
Sam cast him a wry look and then sighed. "Get my toolbox."
He stopped pacing and snorted. "I can fix it myself."
"This needs to be welded, Cam. Not rigged with duct tape and then hammered into place."
He stared at her, hands planted on his hips. "You have no respect for my skills."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fix it yourself. I've got better things to do with my Friday night."
She stood up, grabbing a rag to wipe her hands.
"Whoa, whoa!" Cam held his hands up, placating. "I didn't say I didn't want your help. I just... I do know my way around machines."
"You just have a little problem with mailboxes."
He shot her a quick, sarcastic smile. "Funny."
She grinned. "It's my new thing."
He shook his head but couldn't control the smile breaking through. "Yeah, great. Just what this team needs, another comedian."
"Are we fixing this or not?"
Cam shrugged his leather jacket off, placing it gently over the seat of her own bike, parked against the wall of her garage. He turned toward her and clapped his hands together. "Okay! Now, we need to start with the most important tool."
Sam eyed him suspiciously. "If you start unzipping your fly, I'm so out of here."
He flashed the sarcastic smile. "Funny. Again. But no." He glanced around. "You have beer, right? Can't wield tools or watch sports without it."
Sam sighed. "You are such a male."
He stared at her.
She sighed again. "In the kitchen."
++
"Are you sure it's even?" Sam brought the torch close to the bracket and glanced up at Cam.
He took a swallow of beer and tilted his head, peering at the bracket. "Yes."
She gave a nod and flipped the facemask of the welding helmet down over her face. She touched the torch to the metal.
"Wait!"
She jerked the torch away, snapping her gaze up to where Cam stood. "What?"
He squinted at the bracket. "It's not even."
"Mitchell!"
He winced at the use of his last name and held his hands up, looking at the bracket over the horizontal line of his first fingers. "No, no... it's fine. Go ahead."
She glared at him through the mask but bent back down over the bracket. She touched the torch to the metal and glanced quickly at Cam. He held a hand up in apology and swallowed more beer.
She welded the bracket.
++
"How can you ride this thing, all bent over like this?" She leaned forward on the bike, holding the handlebars and bracing it with one foot on the floor while she tried out the other on the gearshift.
"It's fast, Sam. That's how I ride it. It's faster than your cruiser." He motioned at her Indian.
Sam frowned. "That bike is a work of art. This... is just eye-candy."
"Sam," he admonished. "That is not a nice thing to say about a man's motorcycle."
"You ride a crotch-rocket."
He lifted a brow.
She smiled a bit and and leaned back, sitting comfortably on the seat. "Your bike is fixed. Now bring me a beer."
His brows went higher, but he picked a bottle of beer up off her workbench and twisted the cap off. He handed it to her with an amused glint in his eyes. "You're a lot bossier than people think."
She watched him over the top of her bottle as she took a long drink. The beer was smooth and cold and went straight to her head. She lowered the bottle, wiping at her mouth with the side of her wrist. "Only with you, Camshaft."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
She shook her head. "Oh, no. No."
He nodded, resigned to his fate, and folded his arms over his chest. Sam tried not to stare at the bulge of his biceps. His eyes moved over her, taking in the picture of her on the bike. "You didn't have a hot date tonight, did you? Something I interrupted?"
She snorted and sipped from the bottle. "Oh yeah, it's all parties and hot men around here."
He smiled. "Well..." he drawled slowly, blue eyes clear in the harsh light of the garage. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that."
She hesitated with the bottle halfway to her mouth and stared at him.
He motioned at the bike. "For the bike's sake and all."
She studied him for a moment and took another sip. "Right."
"You know, I'm really resisting the urge to say something about having a fast machine between your legs."
Sam's eyes widened. She glanced down to where she straddled the bike and then back up at him. "You did not just say that."
He looked suddenly confused. "I think I've had too much beer because even I can't believe that came out of my mouth."
"Please tell me women don't actually fall for that line."
Cam grinned. "Maybe Teal'c can pull that off, but not me."
She huffed out a laugh before taking the last pull on the bottle. She leaned over to hand the empty to him. He took it, eyes meeting hers and holding. She allowed it. One beat, then another, then one too long. He wasn't shying away, and it sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were so light blue and his gaze was so intense...
"Another one?" He held up her empty and waggled it.
"Trying to get me drunk?"
He smiled, finally glancing away from her. "I would love to get you drunk, Sam." He met her eyes again. "Peel away all those defensive layers in your brain and find out what's beneath."
She licked her lips nervously. "I'm a woman, Cam, not an onion."
He set her empty down on the workbench and leaned back against it, smiling down at the floor. "Women are like onions. Lots of layers and the power to make you cry."
"You read that on a bumper sticker, didn't you?"
He laughed and looked up at her from beneath lowered lashes. "Does it matter? It's still true."
She shrugged. "Women aren't the only ones with that power."
He gave a nod of agreement and eyed her speculatively. "Wanna tell me about your onion?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "Not especially."
"Wanna just make-out for a while then?"
She jerked her head up and stared at him. He looked serious, blue eyes glittering at her, mouth set in a wry line. She gave him an odd look. "You wish."
"Actually..." he said, pushing himself from the workbench and stepping toward her. "I do."
She stood her ground as he approached. He carefully didn't touch her, but he slid a leg over the bike, suddenly settling his weight onto the seat in front of her, facing her. She slid back, making room, torn between wanting to run for her life and sticking this out to see what happened. His legs were longer than hers and he planted his feet, taking the weight of the bike and propping it up straight beneath them. She grabbed the mini-sissy bar behind her to keep from sliding forward into him.
He was looking very serious now.
"Cam..." she raised one eyebrow, giving him a dry look. "Don't be ridiculous."
He kissed her.
She was too surprised to do anything but let him. Or at least, that's what she told herself as she watched him coming toward her. His lips were soft and slow and light, and he smelled like soap. Clean.
She slid a hand into the short hair at his nape, and his hands settled on her thighs. He pressed his mouth more firmly to hers, parted his lips a bit and slid his tongue against hers. Her knuckles loosened on the sissy bar and she slid forward a notch. His hands tightened on her legs, slid up to her hips and pulled. She slid forward, knees riding up over his thighs until she was close enough to feel his body heat.
"Not ridiculous," he murmured, mouth sliding to her neck, and she had to agree. Not ridiculous at all.
"Don't stop," she ordered him, a little surprised by how breathless her voice sounded. "Or I'll strip that pretty new clutch of yours."
His laugh rumbled against her skin. "Ouch."
"I mean it."
"Bossy," he stated, his mouth closing over hers again. His hands yanked her closer, pulled her thighs up and over his hips. She slid her hands up under his T-shirt. His back was warm and smooth, solid with muscle. His hands were already under her shirt, curving around her ribs, thumbs brushing across her bra. He was more aggressive than any of the men she'd dated in the last past few years. Not... that they were dating now...
God, Landry would love that, she thought sarcastically.
"Stop thinking so much," Cam mumbled against her lips, and she realized her hands had stilled on his back.
"Can't help it," she grumbled back.
"Then I'm not doing my job," he insisted, and his mouth dropped to her neck again. He nuzzled up under her chin, sucking slowly at the skin there.
Her breath caught. "I don't remember hiring you."
"Consider this my application."
Oh, for God's sake. Now this was getting ridiculous. "Stop talking," she said.
His hands slipped around, releasing her bra and pushing it up. His fingers found her nipples, and she moaned. The bike shifted a bit. He made a sound, something deep and rough in his throat, and then leaned back, pulling his shirt up and off. His hands fumbled on her shirt, trying to slide it up, and she helped him, peeling it, and her loosened bra, up and off and tossing them onto the workbench.
It went faster then, with his skin warm on hers and his breath hard in her ear. He was a focused man, with enough intensity to overshadow all of SG-1 put together. It's what had drawn them to him to begin with. That determination and focused intensity. And maybe a little of it was those blue eyes that could go from mild amusement to hard steel to broken, all in the same day.
Her fingers worked the buttons on his jeans and slipped down inside, cupping the hard warmth. He pulled her up against him to push her jeans down. Then he leaned her back in order to take them completely off. She felt starkly naked in the harsh white garage light, and supremely glad she'd bought shades for the garage windows, figuring she'd stay up late to work on the Indian from time to time.
He bent down over her before she could sit up again, his mouth finding one breast, his hand the other. She tangled her hands in his short, bristle-stiff hair and bit her lip as his tongue did wonderful things to her sensitive skin. She was giving a sharp gasp a minute later as his hand slid between her legs, fingers sliding slickly and moving steadily.
"Sam…" he huffed against her breast, his voice sounding a little desperate, a little tortured.
She pushed him up, hands tugging at his jeans. He stood, hands sliding behind him to grab the gas tank and hold the bike upright as she pulled his jeans and his boxer briefs down over his hips. He exhaled slowly as he settled back down again, legs taking the weight of the bike, Sam's hands wrapping around his cock and holding him lightly. He dug in the pocket of the jeans and pulled out a condom. She smiled briefly at him as she took it from him.
"Always prepared? You were a boy scout, weren't you?"
"Sam..." he groaned.
She tore open the small package and moved the condom between her fingers. She glanced up at him. He was staring at her with hooded eyes and a tensed jaw.
"Last chance to get out of it," she whispered.
"No way," he answered, his voice rough and deep.
She lowered the condom, and he leaned back onto the gas tank to give her room. He was hard and more than ready. She grabbed him gently and settled the condom over him. She glanced up, finding his gaze locked onto her hands, his chest rising with deep breaths. She slowly and carefully rolled the condom down over his shaft. He blew a long breath out between his lips. "Christ..."
He lifted her against him again, sliding one hand up to hold her head as he kissed her. His mouth was hard now, aggressive, all business. When he lowered her, she sank down on top of him. He caught her, slowed her descent, until he was sliding inside of her with ease.
She moved against him, a little awkwardly, until her feet found the foot pegs on the bike. He curled his fingers into the flesh on her hips, his hands helping her move. He buried his face in her neck, his groans warm and fast and hard against her skin.
It was amazing. Maybe it was the beer or the bike or maybe she'd just wanted him more than she was willing to admit to herself, but he felt good, and this felt good, and she lost herself a bit in the motion. Her body reached that tight plateau, just on the edge, in record time. She gave a muffled moan into Cam's shoulder. His hands urged her on.
She tightened her arms around him and rode him hard, drawing a grunt from him and another moan from herself. She thought the bike might be rocking a bit too much, but it didn't matter. She was coming, and it was so. damn. good.
Cam grabbed her hips, pulled her down hard and held her there as he came, his groans echoing in the empty garage.
She rested against him afterward, mind already racing. This wasn't the best decision she'd ever made. Although... in her personal spectrum of bad decisions, this one wasn't necessarily bad. It wasn't like a whole planet had exploded and millions of people had died. Not even one person had died, actually.
Cam's hands ran up her back, raising gooseflesh. "I really want this job."
She snorted out a laugh against his shoulder. "You might be over-qualified. I like to have a project to work on."
He drew back, lifting a hand to push the hair from her eyes. He looked hot and sweaty and very satisfied. She smirked.
He sighed. "You just need to dig deeper. I've got a whole, huge project inside of me."
"I just need to peel the layers away? Like an onion?"
He grinned. "Something like that. I'm just not as obvious as those other guys."
"Well, my tastes have matured."
"Are we moving to cooking euphemisms?"
She lifted herself off of him. He made a soft, sexy sound. She sat back, bracing herself on his thighs. "I need a shower."
He reached out suddenly and drew a finger along her collarbone. He held it up, and she saw dark grease on it. He smirked and drew a line down his face with it. "I'll join you."
She eyed him. "You think you're staying the night?"
He eyed her right back. "I know I am. We're getting up early, you're making me breakfast, and we're going out for a nice, long ride."
She considered him carefully. "Alright, but you're making me breakfast and then we'll go for a ride."
He smiled, all white teeth and laughing blue eyes. "Deal."
She shook her head. Ohhh, yes. Such a bad, bad, very good idea.
~end~
Someone needs to write a sequel.
As much as I love Sam, that ficathon piece was really stopping up the works. Glad it's done.
My first Sam/Cam fic. Based on this LJ convo about a vaguely spoilery picture of Cam. ADULT! Not beta'd. Do you mind?
+
+
High Speed
By Jennghis
++
Pairing: Sam/Cam
Category: Humor/smut
Rating: Adult
Spoilers: None
Blame: lyssie, tarimanveri, ahkna.
Summary: A bike and beer and they are SO not dating.
++
"What the hell did you do to this?" Sam poked at the taillight bracket of the bike with one finger. It tilted up and then fell back against the fender.
Cam paced on the other side of the cycle, glaring at her. "Nothing! I mean... besides side-swiping that post office mail box."
Sam cast him a wry look and then sighed. "Get my toolbox."
He stopped pacing and snorted. "I can fix it myself."
"This needs to be welded, Cam. Not rigged with duct tape and then hammered into place."
He stared at her, hands planted on his hips. "You have no respect for my skills."
She rolled her eyes. "Fine, fix it yourself. I've got better things to do with my Friday night."
She stood up, grabbing a rag to wipe her hands.
"Whoa, whoa!" Cam held his hands up, placating. "I didn't say I didn't want your help. I just... I do know my way around machines."
"You just have a little problem with mailboxes."
He shot her a quick, sarcastic smile. "Funny."
She grinned. "It's my new thing."
He shook his head but couldn't control the smile breaking through. "Yeah, great. Just what this team needs, another comedian."
"Are we fixing this or not?"
Cam shrugged his leather jacket off, placing it gently over the seat of her own bike, parked against the wall of her garage. He turned toward her and clapped his hands together. "Okay! Now, we need to start with the most important tool."
Sam eyed him suspiciously. "If you start unzipping your fly, I'm so out of here."
He flashed the sarcastic smile. "Funny. Again. But no." He glanced around. "You have beer, right? Can't wield tools or watch sports without it."
Sam sighed. "You are such a male."
He stared at her.
She sighed again. "In the kitchen."
++
"Are you sure it's even?" Sam brought the torch close to the bracket and glanced up at Cam.
He took a swallow of beer and tilted his head, peering at the bracket. "Yes."
She gave a nod and flipped the facemask of the welding helmet down over her face. She touched the torch to the metal.
"Wait!"
She jerked the torch away, snapping her gaze up to where Cam stood. "What?"
He squinted at the bracket. "It's not even."
"Mitchell!"
He winced at the use of his last name and held his hands up, looking at the bracket over the horizontal line of his first fingers. "No, no... it's fine. Go ahead."
She glared at him through the mask but bent back down over the bracket. She touched the torch to the metal and glanced quickly at Cam. He held a hand up in apology and swallowed more beer.
She welded the bracket.
++
"How can you ride this thing, all bent over like this?" She leaned forward on the bike, holding the handlebars and bracing it with one foot on the floor while she tried out the other on the gearshift.
"It's fast, Sam. That's how I ride it. It's faster than your cruiser." He motioned at her Indian.
Sam frowned. "That bike is a work of art. This... is just eye-candy."
"Sam," he admonished. "That is not a nice thing to say about a man's motorcycle."
"You ride a crotch-rocket."
He lifted a brow.
She smiled a bit and and leaned back, sitting comfortably on the seat. "Your bike is fixed. Now bring me a beer."
His brows went higher, but he picked a bottle of beer up off her workbench and twisted the cap off. He handed it to her with an amused glint in his eyes. "You're a lot bossier than people think."
She watched him over the top of her bottle as she took a long drink. The beer was smooth and cold and went straight to her head. She lowered the bottle, wiping at her mouth with the side of her wrist. "Only with you, Camshaft."
He rolled his eyes. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
She shook her head. "Oh, no. No."
He nodded, resigned to his fate, and folded his arms over his chest. Sam tried not to stare at the bulge of his biceps. His eyes moved over her, taking in the picture of her on the bike. "You didn't have a hot date tonight, did you? Something I interrupted?"
She snorted and sipped from the bottle. "Oh yeah, it's all parties and hot men around here."
He smiled. "Well..." he drawled slowly, blue eyes clear in the harsh light of the garage. "I can't say I'm sorry to hear that."
She hesitated with the bottle halfway to her mouth and stared at him.
He motioned at the bike. "For the bike's sake and all."
She studied him for a moment and took another sip. "Right."
"You know, I'm really resisting the urge to say something about having a fast machine between your legs."
Sam's eyes widened. She glanced down to where she straddled the bike and then back up at him. "You did not just say that."
He looked suddenly confused. "I think I've had too much beer because even I can't believe that came out of my mouth."
"Please tell me women don't actually fall for that line."
Cam grinned. "Maybe Teal'c can pull that off, but not me."
She huffed out a laugh before taking the last pull on the bottle. She leaned over to hand the empty to him. He took it, eyes meeting hers and holding. She allowed it. One beat, then another, then one too long. He wasn't shying away, and it sent a shiver down her spine. His eyes were so light blue and his gaze was so intense...
"Another one?" He held up her empty and waggled it.
"Trying to get me drunk?"
He smiled, finally glancing away from her. "I would love to get you drunk, Sam." He met her eyes again. "Peel away all those defensive layers in your brain and find out what's beneath."
She licked her lips nervously. "I'm a woman, Cam, not an onion."
He set her empty down on the workbench and leaned back against it, smiling down at the floor. "Women are like onions. Lots of layers and the power to make you cry."
"You read that on a bumper sticker, didn't you?"
He laughed and looked up at her from beneath lowered lashes. "Does it matter? It's still true."
She shrugged. "Women aren't the only ones with that power."
He gave a nod of agreement and eyed her speculatively. "Wanna tell me about your onion?"
She shifted uncomfortably. "Not especially."
"Wanna just make-out for a while then?"
She jerked her head up and stared at him. He looked serious, blue eyes glittering at her, mouth set in a wry line. She gave him an odd look. "You wish."
"Actually..." he said, pushing himself from the workbench and stepping toward her. "I do."
She stood her ground as he approached. He carefully didn't touch her, but he slid a leg over the bike, suddenly settling his weight onto the seat in front of her, facing her. She slid back, making room, torn between wanting to run for her life and sticking this out to see what happened. His legs were longer than hers and he planted his feet, taking the weight of the bike and propping it up straight beneath them. She grabbed the mini-sissy bar behind her to keep from sliding forward into him.
He was looking very serious now.
"Cam..." she raised one eyebrow, giving him a dry look. "Don't be ridiculous."
He kissed her.
She was too surprised to do anything but let him. Or at least, that's what she told herself as she watched him coming toward her. His lips were soft and slow and light, and he smelled like soap. Clean.
She slid a hand into the short hair at his nape, and his hands settled on her thighs. He pressed his mouth more firmly to hers, parted his lips a bit and slid his tongue against hers. Her knuckles loosened on the sissy bar and she slid forward a notch. His hands tightened on her legs, slid up to her hips and pulled. She slid forward, knees riding up over his thighs until she was close enough to feel his body heat.
"Not ridiculous," he murmured, mouth sliding to her neck, and she had to agree. Not ridiculous at all.
"Don't stop," she ordered him, a little surprised by how breathless her voice sounded. "Or I'll strip that pretty new clutch of yours."
His laugh rumbled against her skin. "Ouch."
"I mean it."
"Bossy," he stated, his mouth closing over hers again. His hands yanked her closer, pulled her thighs up and over his hips. She slid her hands up under his T-shirt. His back was warm and smooth, solid with muscle. His hands were already under her shirt, curving around her ribs, thumbs brushing across her bra. He was more aggressive than any of the men she'd dated in the last past few years. Not... that they were dating now...
God, Landry would love that, she thought sarcastically.
"Stop thinking so much," Cam mumbled against her lips, and she realized her hands had stilled on his back.
"Can't help it," she grumbled back.
"Then I'm not doing my job," he insisted, and his mouth dropped to her neck again. He nuzzled up under her chin, sucking slowly at the skin there.
Her breath caught. "I don't remember hiring you."
"Consider this my application."
Oh, for God's sake. Now this was getting ridiculous. "Stop talking," she said.
His hands slipped around, releasing her bra and pushing it up. His fingers found her nipples, and she moaned. The bike shifted a bit. He made a sound, something deep and rough in his throat, and then leaned back, pulling his shirt up and off. His hands fumbled on her shirt, trying to slide it up, and she helped him, peeling it, and her loosened bra, up and off and tossing them onto the workbench.
It went faster then, with his skin warm on hers and his breath hard in her ear. He was a focused man, with enough intensity to overshadow all of SG-1 put together. It's what had drawn them to him to begin with. That determination and focused intensity. And maybe a little of it was those blue eyes that could go from mild amusement to hard steel to broken, all in the same day.
Her fingers worked the buttons on his jeans and slipped down inside, cupping the hard warmth. He pulled her up against him to push her jeans down. Then he leaned her back in order to take them completely off. She felt starkly naked in the harsh white garage light, and supremely glad she'd bought shades for the garage windows, figuring she'd stay up late to work on the Indian from time to time.
He bent down over her before she could sit up again, his mouth finding one breast, his hand the other. She tangled her hands in his short, bristle-stiff hair and bit her lip as his tongue did wonderful things to her sensitive skin. She was giving a sharp gasp a minute later as his hand slid between her legs, fingers sliding slickly and moving steadily.
"Sam…" he huffed against her breast, his voice sounding a little desperate, a little tortured.
She pushed him up, hands tugging at his jeans. He stood, hands sliding behind him to grab the gas tank and hold the bike upright as she pulled his jeans and his boxer briefs down over his hips. He exhaled slowly as he settled back down again, legs taking the weight of the bike, Sam's hands wrapping around his cock and holding him lightly. He dug in the pocket of the jeans and pulled out a condom. She smiled briefly at him as she took it from him.
"Always prepared? You were a boy scout, weren't you?"
"Sam..." he groaned.
She tore open the small package and moved the condom between her fingers. She glanced up at him. He was staring at her with hooded eyes and a tensed jaw.
"Last chance to get out of it," she whispered.
"No way," he answered, his voice rough and deep.
She lowered the condom, and he leaned back onto the gas tank to give her room. He was hard and more than ready. She grabbed him gently and settled the condom over him. She glanced up, finding his gaze locked onto her hands, his chest rising with deep breaths. She slowly and carefully rolled the condom down over his shaft. He blew a long breath out between his lips. "Christ..."
He lifted her against him again, sliding one hand up to hold her head as he kissed her. His mouth was hard now, aggressive, all business. When he lowered her, she sank down on top of him. He caught her, slowed her descent, until he was sliding inside of her with ease.
She moved against him, a little awkwardly, until her feet found the foot pegs on the bike. He curled his fingers into the flesh on her hips, his hands helping her move. He buried his face in her neck, his groans warm and fast and hard against her skin.
It was amazing. Maybe it was the beer or the bike or maybe she'd just wanted him more than she was willing to admit to herself, but he felt good, and this felt good, and she lost herself a bit in the motion. Her body reached that tight plateau, just on the edge, in record time. She gave a muffled moan into Cam's shoulder. His hands urged her on.
She tightened her arms around him and rode him hard, drawing a grunt from him and another moan from herself. She thought the bike might be rocking a bit too much, but it didn't matter. She was coming, and it was so. damn. good.
Cam grabbed her hips, pulled her down hard and held her there as he came, his groans echoing in the empty garage.
She rested against him afterward, mind already racing. This wasn't the best decision she'd ever made. Although... in her personal spectrum of bad decisions, this one wasn't necessarily bad. It wasn't like a whole planet had exploded and millions of people had died. Not even one person had died, actually.
Cam's hands ran up her back, raising gooseflesh. "I really want this job."
She snorted out a laugh against his shoulder. "You might be over-qualified. I like to have a project to work on."
He drew back, lifting a hand to push the hair from her eyes. He looked hot and sweaty and very satisfied. She smirked.
He sighed. "You just need to dig deeper. I've got a whole, huge project inside of me."
"I just need to peel the layers away? Like an onion?"
He grinned. "Something like that. I'm just not as obvious as those other guys."
"Well, my tastes have matured."
"Are we moving to cooking euphemisms?"
She lifted herself off of him. He made a soft, sexy sound. She sat back, bracing herself on his thighs. "I need a shower."
He reached out suddenly and drew a finger along her collarbone. He held it up, and she saw dark grease on it. He smirked and drew a line down his face with it. "I'll join you."
She eyed him. "You think you're staying the night?"
He eyed her right back. "I know I am. We're getting up early, you're making me breakfast, and we're going out for a nice, long ride."
She considered him carefully. "Alright, but you're making me breakfast and then we'll go for a ride."
He smiled, all white teeth and laughing blue eyes. "Deal."
She shook her head. Ohhh, yes. Such a bad, bad, very good idea.
~end~
Someone needs to write a sequel.
As much as I love Sam, that ficathon piece was really stopping up the works. Glad it's done.