FIC: Do Not (Pass Go, Collect $200) [rookie blue, sam/andy]
Title: Do Not (Pass Go, Collect $200)
Rating: R-ish
Word Count: 600+
Summary: He isn't going to call her.
AN: The one that I totally didn't finish in time for the Porn Battle. OH WELL. Prompts: secret, new, again.
He isn’t going to call her.
Really.
He isn’t.
Never mind the fact that the whole damn week passes in a haze, walking around thinking about her mouth and her hair and the way her hands were a little chapped from never wearing gloves on shift- never mind all that, because Sam’s a professional. Always has been. This could be the biggest bust of his career, hand to god, and he’s gonna do the damn time. He’s gonna do the time, and make this case, and then when he gets back-
Well. Then he’ll be back.
(“Not gonna see you again for a bit,” she murmured the second go ‘round, stretched out on top of him full-length, that pointy nose nudging up against his. “So, you know.” She shoved her hips down demandingly. “Better make it worth my while.”
I can only go over once-sure McNally. Whatever you say. “I’d better, huh?” Sam worked a hand down between them, rubbing. Andy hissed.)
So. It’s not like they made any promises or anything, but, uh. It certainly sounded like she was maybe planning on a bit of a dry spell, while he’s away.
Sam thinks about that sometimes, at night.
(It’s possible it’s the thinking that trips him up.)
*
The wait between hanging up the pay phone and hearing McNally’s feet on the stairs: long. Like, inhumanly long. Sam has time to go back and forth on brushing his teeth about three times, ends up dithering so much he’s still got the damn foam in his mouth when she knocks.
(He just, he doesn’t want it to feel like he’s expecting something here.
Which- christ, Officer Swarek, this is a booty call.)
He buzzes her up, gives himself time to spit. His mouth has gone stupidly dry for no reason at all.
McNally certainly doesn’t seem to be having any similar qualms, is bounding up his stairs what sounds like two at a time, a herd of Clydesdales come to town. “What’s up?” she says when he comes out of the bathroom to greet her, right before she literally launches herself at him.
Like.
Launches.
Sam catches her under her thighs, surprised, the wet tread of her boots bleeding through the back of his jeans. The kiss that gets stamped across his mouth tastes like limes. “Hi,” she says against his jaw, grin as sharp and bright as a Crest commercial. Another ten seconds of her mouth and the frozen-sugar smell of her hair and then she’s dropping her legs again, backing away to peel off her mittens. “It’s really, really cold out there, ps. I took the bus because I figured, you know. Cabs-" She makes some sort of bizarre hand motion. "-Bad plan.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam’s lips are buzzing. It wasn’t even open-mouthed, that kiss, just the butt of her chilly jaw and the tight press of her body. Andy’s still chattering away, hanging up her coat and poking around his kitchenette looking for hot coco, coffee, anything warm, and Sam’s slowly figuring out that that was his hello.
(A week. And that’s his hello.)
Happy to see me, Officer McNally? Sam thinks and doesn’t say. It wouldn’t even be a tease, really: he’s honest-to-god a little surprised, never once expected her to be quite so- well. (And fuck, he’s in trouble, is going to be calling her back here every damn day if that’s how she’s going to-)
“The fireplace works,” he hears himself tell her, interrupting. Andy spins around to face him, eyebrows raised expectantly. The tips of her ears are pink where they poke out from the straight slide of her hair.
“Show me,” she demands. Sam tries to stop grinning, and can’t.
Rating: R-ish
Word Count: 600+
Summary: He isn't going to call her.
AN: The one that I totally didn't finish in time for the Porn Battle. OH WELL. Prompts: secret, new, again.
He isn’t going to call her.
Really.
He isn’t.
Never mind the fact that the whole damn week passes in a haze, walking around thinking about her mouth and her hair and the way her hands were a little chapped from never wearing gloves on shift- never mind all that, because Sam’s a professional. Always has been. This could be the biggest bust of his career, hand to god, and he’s gonna do the damn time. He’s gonna do the time, and make this case, and then when he gets back-
Well. Then he’ll be back.
(“Not gonna see you again for a bit,” she murmured the second go ‘round, stretched out on top of him full-length, that pointy nose nudging up against his. “So, you know.” She shoved her hips down demandingly. “Better make it worth my while.”
I can only go over once-sure McNally. Whatever you say. “I’d better, huh?” Sam worked a hand down between them, rubbing. Andy hissed.)
So. It’s not like they made any promises or anything, but, uh. It certainly sounded like she was maybe planning on a bit of a dry spell, while he’s away.
Sam thinks about that sometimes, at night.
(It’s possible it’s the thinking that trips him up.)
*
The wait between hanging up the pay phone and hearing McNally’s feet on the stairs: long. Like, inhumanly long. Sam has time to go back and forth on brushing his teeth about three times, ends up dithering so much he’s still got the damn foam in his mouth when she knocks.
(He just, he doesn’t want it to feel like he’s expecting something here.
Which- christ, Officer Swarek, this is a booty call.)
He buzzes her up, gives himself time to spit. His mouth has gone stupidly dry for no reason at all.
McNally certainly doesn’t seem to be having any similar qualms, is bounding up his stairs what sounds like two at a time, a herd of Clydesdales come to town. “What’s up?” she says when he comes out of the bathroom to greet her, right before she literally launches herself at him.
Like.
Launches.
Sam catches her under her thighs, surprised, the wet tread of her boots bleeding through the back of his jeans. The kiss that gets stamped across his mouth tastes like limes. “Hi,” she says against his jaw, grin as sharp and bright as a Crest commercial. Another ten seconds of her mouth and the frozen-sugar smell of her hair and then she’s dropping her legs again, backing away to peel off her mittens. “It’s really, really cold out there, ps. I took the bus because I figured, you know. Cabs-" She makes some sort of bizarre hand motion. "-Bad plan.”
“Uh-huh.” Sam’s lips are buzzing. It wasn’t even open-mouthed, that kiss, just the butt of her chilly jaw and the tight press of her body. Andy’s still chattering away, hanging up her coat and poking around his kitchenette looking for hot coco, coffee, anything warm, and Sam’s slowly figuring out that that was his hello.
(A week. And that’s his hello.)
Happy to see me, Officer McNally? Sam thinks and doesn’t say. It wouldn’t even be a tease, really: he’s honest-to-god a little surprised, never once expected her to be quite so- well. (And fuck, he’s in trouble, is going to be calling her back here every damn day if that’s how she’s going to-)
“The fireplace works,” he hears himself tell her, interrupting. Andy spins around to face him, eyebrows raised expectantly. The tips of her ears are pink where they poke out from the straight slide of her hair.
“Show me,” she demands. Sam tries to stop grinning, and can’t.