FIC: gathered love's adjectives into a suitcase [rookie blue, sam/andy, 2 of 2]
Title: gathered love's adjectives into a suitcase, 2 of 2
Authors: lowriseflare and threeguesses
See Part 1 for summary and warnings.
Sam brings coffee and Timbits, as it turns out, plus a breakfast sandwich each. Andy lets him in and he sets the bags on her kitchen table, grease already soaking through the paper. It's the exact same combo he used to get when they were dating. Just like magic the apartment travels back a year in time, fried sugar smells instead of dust and garbage.
"Didn't know if you were hungry too," Sam says, quiet.
She is, actually; she used the time between when they hung up and when he got here (twenty minutes, max; he must have sped) to wash her face and change into clean pajamas, and she feels enough like a human that food sounds like a really, really good plan. Andy nods and curls herself onto one of the stools. "Thanks."
(It's possible she deliberated a bit about the pajamas, sweatpants or a cuter cotton pair with little tie ups at the bottom that turn them into capris. Eventually she went with option B; good to know that six months on a dangerous UC op hasn't made her one ounce less ridiculous. She's still not entirely sure what she's trying to accomplish with him here.)
Sam's leaning against her kitchen sink, grey hoodie zipped halfway down. He smiles at her faintly over his styrofoam cup. "You're fine," he says.
"Sorry it's totally gross in here," she continues, oddly compelled to fill the silence now that she called him over in the middle of the night. She flung a trash bag that was basically biohazard down the chute in the hallway just before he turned up, for all the good it did. Her counters are covered with a sticky layer of dust. "'F'I'd known you were serious about taking out my garbage, I would have had you come do it before I left."
Sam just watches her, dark eyebrows barely arced. Andy knows she sounds nervous. The coffee is hot and bitter and strong.
"It couldn't be the same as it was last time," she says finally, brushing some of the powdered sugar off a Timbit with the tip of one finger so she doesn't have to look at him. "I have no idea if we could even--but if we tried. It couldn't be the same."
She catches some movement out of the corner of her eye then, thinks it might be him nodding. She wants to go over and press her face against his chest in the worst way. "I know," he says, steady and low.
Andy looks up at him then, finds him staring back and feels it physical as getting tackled in an alley. "You'd have to talk to me," she says.
"I know." He's standing up now, she notices, not leaning. The coffee and breakfast sandwich are set aside on the counter, like possibly this is something that's going to require his full undivided attention. "I would, I'd talk to you. You could tell me too, whenever you thought I wasn't being--you could tell me. And I'd do it different." Both his hands are curled inside the pouch of his hoodie, this weirdly vulnerable gesture Andy's never seen on him before. "You wanted to know something, anything, you just ask. And I'll tell you."
(Andy notices the auxiliary switch there too, from could to will. She sits up straighter on her stool.)
"Andy. Listen." Sam's voice is serious as Moses counting off the commandments. "Does this mean you want to try?"
There it is. Andy pushes away the Timbit box, suddenly nauseous. "I don't know." Only that's a lie, because she does, she wants. She wants so bad and so hard it hurts. But the answer is bigger than wanting. "You quit on me," she gasps finally. It's difficult to even get her mouth around the words, how heavy and awful they sound coming out--that particular bruise is still as fresh as the day he made it, apparently. Andy takes a deep breath and doesn't cry. "And I can't, Sam, okay? I really can't if you're going to do it again."
He's across the room in two steps. "I'm not," he promises, just a hair past desperate. It looks like he was going to touch her and then thought better of it, settled for crowding her knees instead. "Andy, please. Give me a chance."
"How do I know that, though?" Andy looks up at him, back straight; this close she can feel the heat radiating off him, his solid body fever-warm. If she moved half an inch they'd make contact. "How do I know that next time something bad happens--because other bad stuff is gonna happen, Sam--you won't just, like..." She holds her hands out like, poof.
"I--you don't, I guess." Sam shrugs a bit, helpless, chest moving with the force of his breathing. His fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You gotta trust me."
And that--god. God. Andy thinks back to when they hardly knew each other, fresh paint and him looking at her more often than not like she was the most annoying human ever to walk the face of the earth, that weird instinctual certainty that he'd always keep her safe. That whatever happened, everything would turn out mostly okay in the end as long as he was around--like he was magic or something, like the usual rules didn't apply to him. That was the feeling that had her running to his house the night of the blackout and sent her back to the Alpine Inn, that had her blurting an I love you out of the clear blue sky without worrying at all what might come after. Andy misses that feeling more than anything. Doesn't know how she'd ever get it back.
"I'm sorry," she says. It comes out like a whisper. She called him here in the middle of the night, she wants so badly to make it happen, but-- "I don't think I can."
Sam sags then, his posture caving in on itself like he lost a world war while he was lacing his boots up. Just for a second, he closes his eyes. "Okay, sweetheart," he tells her slowly. "I--that's fair." He swallows, tucks his hands back into his pockets. "Try and get some sleep, okay?"
Andy nods. "Okay," she manages. It feels like a canyon's opened up inside her chest. "I'll try."
He stands there for another minute, like he's thinking about kissing her goodbye or something. She really, really needs him to go so she can cry. In the end he doesn't lean in for it though, just looks at her for one more beat and heads across the living room toward her front door. He's got his hand on the knob before she breaks.
"Sam." It sounds like a sob; Andy's off the stool and in front of him so fast she hardly even knows she's doing it. Grabs his arm with a graceless yank. "I want to try," she says, loud and panicky. "I didn't mean it, I want to try."
"Thank god." It sounds like he's talking to himself almost, quiet like an exhale or a prayer. Then, right away and urgent: "Are you sure? Andy, are you sure?" He gets both hands on her face, this electric contact that feels a fuckton more significant after months and months of not touching. "Because if you're not, or you change your mind in the morning--"
Oh god, she feels stupid, she was all geared up to--but no, fuck, she absolutely didn't mean it, she can't. Can't quit, can't let him go, and definitely can't wake up and do it all come tomorrow morning. "I'm sure," Andy gasps, cupping her hands over his and making him hold on harder. She wants to crawl inside his skin and stay.
"--I couldn't, okay? You gotta tell me now." Sam looks about ready to fly apart too, even as his thumbs start rubbing up and down her cheeks soothingly. It takes Andy a second to realize she's crying again, just a little; she squeezes his hands and tries her best to nod.
"I love you," Sam murmurs, just quiet. And god, Andy really hasn't been second-guessing his sincerity (she did at first, holding the grenade; it was part of the reason she left, actually, how it felt awful to hear instead of wonderful) but right now it's written all over his face with such ridiculous clarity she barely even needs the words.
And she can't. It's been an endlessly long night, and she's so tired and she missed him so much. She might not know if she can trust him the way she used to, but she wants to try. She does. "I love you too," she gasps, and it feels so scary and wonderful she says it again almost immediately. "I love you, I do, I'm sorry if I made you think--" She blinks away tears, checks her voice so she's still understandable. "Sam, you gotta know, okay? I never stopped."
He kisses her before she finishes.
Andy falls into him like an instinct, the warm coffee taste of his mouth and her arms winding tight around his neck, clutching. Sam keeps his hands on her face. It's a good kiss, deep and desperate, his familiar face wet with her tears. Andy never ever wants to let go. When he boosts her up, though, lifting underneath her thighs and her legs around his waist just like always:
"Sam," she murmurs softly, right up against his mouth. "Sam. You have a girlfriend."
"Yeah." Sam sighs low and quiet. He isn't moving anywhere, now that he's holding her; it's more like he wanted to get as close as possible and thought this might be the fastest way. "I want you."
Well. That is...definitely not something she hates hearing. Andy feels her whole body warm with pleasure. But like--okay, clearly her record on cheating isn't the best, but still she's not about to--to--
(It's Sam, though. It's Sam, and even though Andy knows it's wrong it just feels like he's hers first and always by default, or something. Even before they got together the first time she felt that way: like she ran him down before they ever even knew each other, so she had a claim.)
Sam's not finished, though: "Can I--can I just take you to bed?" he asks, and Andy's eyes widen. "Not to--" He shakes his head, frustrated. "We don't need to--McNally. Just let me take you to bed."
Oh god, Andy wants to. Her sheets are probably gross and musty, sure, but these pyjamas are nice and clean. Plus Sam smells so familiar, deodorant and coffee and the warm brown smell of his leather jacket, and it's possible all Andy wants to do is curl up with him in a mess of cotton and sleep for a year.
But.
"Sam." She pushes her face at his, not even really a kiss. "If we lie down together, do you really think we can just...?" She trails off, feeling stupid. It's a point, though--she and Sam have always fixed things with sex, way more than they probably should. As soon as an argument wound down (or, like--before it did, sometimes) they were always all over each other, barely any time to talk it out. He's very, very warm between her thighs.
Sam grins. It's a quicksilver thing, but it's still the first break in what feels like years. Andy's stomach swoops. "Yeah, McNally, I think we can probably 'just'." He leans her against the wall a bit, freeing up one hand to rub over her face. "You're exhausted, sweetheart. And in a couple of hours it'll be morning. I'll get up, and go over and--" He hesitates, as if trying to find the right phrasing. "--see her. Come back with coffee. You won't even know I'm gone."
Andy arches in his touch like a cat; everything he's doing feels stupidly good--too good, really, if this 'sleeping' plan is going to work. She selfishly doesn't want to hear another word about his girlfriend, even if it's to hear about how he's going to dump her in less than three hours. "Okay."
Sam smiles, nudges his nose against hers. "Okay."
He carries her into the bedroom, tipping her to one side once they're in there so she can reach down and flip on the bedside lamp. The room's a disaster, basically: clothes piled on the chaise and the linens all tangled, tissues on the dresser from a runny nose she had six months ago. "Sorry," she mumbles again. She wants to keep apologizing, weirdly, for the mess and the undercover and for walking away from him to begin with, for not believing that he loved her when he told her the first time.
"Shh." Sam sets her down on the mattress way more gently than he ever has before, like he's worried he's going to break her. Smoothes out the sheets a little bit. He unzips the hoodie but leaves his jeans and t-shirt on, punches the pillows a couple of times to plump them up. When he climbs into bed beside her Andy scoots towards him like a magnet. "Come here," he murmurs anyway, both arms curling around her as she settles herself against his chest. It is really, really ridiculous how good this feels. Sam cards his hand through her hair.
"Had you really never said it before?" she mumbles. She can hear his heart beating away against her cheek. "Like the psychic said?"
Sam's hand pauses. "I-- no, I mean." His breath puffs off the top of her head as he tilts his face down, looking for eye contact. Andy cranes her neck around sleepily. "I have. Not a--not a lot, but I have." He pauses, rubbing along the top of one of her ears. "Before you, I hadn't said it for a very long time."
Andy scritches at his chest a little, considering. He's definitely thinner, something she's investigating in detail the second it no longer counts as cheating. "I want us to work," she says finally. "Because when I say it to you, I--" She stops, fussing with the stitching on his t-shirt. Telling him it feels different with him seems a bit unfair to everyone else she's been with (not to mention it's hugely, stupidly revealing), but it's true. Gross or not, it's definitely true. "I want us to work," she finishes lamely, hiding her face in his shoulder.
Sam cups the back of her head to tuck her closer. "I want us to work too."
"Everyone gets one breakup," Andy murmurs, which is something Gail said to her once that always stuck.
"That so?" Sam asks. He's got his face tipped down toward hers, warm and close. It's taking basically all Andy's willpower not to slide her palm inside his shirt. "Well," he says quietly, planting a kiss against her temple. "Guess we can't break up again, then."
Andy smiles. "Guess not." Now that she's lying down like this she's so tired, jesus, can feel the last twenty-four hours hitting her like so many tons of bricks. She pulls the stale blankets up a little higher, covers them both. There's a part of her that doesn't want to sleep, though, that's weirdly afraid she'll wake up and he'll be gone again. That none of this is actually real. She wants to roll onto her back and pull him on top of her in the worst way. "Can you just talk to me some more?" she asks instead, reaching down and threading her fingers through his. Hand-holding's okay, she figures. Hand-holding is totally PG. "Just like, for a few minutes."
Sam squeezes. "Sure, sweetheart," he tells her easily, reaching over and flicking the light off, everything going blurry in the dark. "What do you want to hear?"
Andy rubs at his knuckle for a second, polishing up a worry stone. She can't see his face anymore, and it's making her strangely reckless. "I-- what's the first thing you're going to do? When you get back here in the morning, I mean."
Sam laughs, vibrating through her whole body. "You want to hear about that, huh?" he asks, tracing a whirl over her upper back. It sounds, just a little, like the answer isn't entirely PG.
And Andy--yeah, she definitely does. She missed his voice in the dark kind of a lot. "Tell me," she demands, fighting down a spasm of guilt. If they don't actually do anything, then it should be fine, right? She thinks that it's probably fine. Still, just as a preemptive measure, she scoots her hips back an inch.
Sam blows out a breath. "Sweetheart--" His hands are on her lower back now, rubbing along the curve. Andy wants to arch for him in the worst way. "I think you know what I'm gonna do." His voice has definitely dropped, more feeling than noise.
"Maybe." Andy smiles into the warm cotton of his t-shirt. She does know, actually, or she's got an idea at least; she feels sleepy and relieved and turned on in equal parts, like at any second she might open her mouth and start to purr. "Wanna hear you say it anyway."
"Oh yeah?" Sam's still rubbing at the small of her back, steady. He gets her bare skin for a moment, where her shirt's riding up. Smoothes it down again. "I'm gonna let you sleep, first of all."
Andy nudges him with her knee. "Sleep's boring," she tells him playfully. It feels weird and good to flirt with him again, even if it does make her kind of guilty. They're not doing anything, though. They're not. "Try again."
She can feel the curve of his grin against her temple. "I'm gonna get you out of those pajamas," he allows after a moment, thumbing along the elastic of her pants. Andy holds her breath, hoping he'll palm down lower as much as she's hoping he won't. "Show you how much I missed you."
He doesn't, in the end; Andy exhales as he moves his hand back up her spine, tries not to feel disappointed about that. "How much, exactly?" she asks instead.
Sam shifts his hips a bit, this telltale wiggle that has Andy biting her lip in guilty satisfaction. She likes knowing that it's getting to him too. "A lot," he tells her after a minute, swallowing softly. Just like that it doesn't totally sound like they're still talking about sex (and god, what is wrong with her--it is possible Andy only wants to jump his bones more). Sam smooths a hand up to the safety of her upper back, plays with her hair a little. "You really want a play by play?" he asks finally. "We're supposed to be sleeping."
"Sleep is boring," Andy repeats, shifting on the bed. Then, hiding her face: "Tell me one thing." She knows he wants her, she does, but. Some reassurance is always nice. Flirting with him is nice.
Sam exhales. "Gonna put you on your back," he says slowly, like he's picturing it. "Bring your knees up. Get you to make some noise for me." Andy whimpers quietly, and he rubs her neck soothingly. "Want to make you feel so good, sweetheart." His voice is like gravel.
Ooh-kay, yep. That about does it. Andy shifts on the bed again, pressing her hot cheek against his t-shirt. "Can't wait," she says after a beat, laughing a little sheepishly. It comes out choked.
"Me either." Sam lets out a deep, careful breath. "Close your eyes, okay? I'm right here."
He's right. She knows he's right. Andy flattens her palm over his steady heartbeat, tries to settle down enough to do the whole REM thing. After all, the sooner she falls asleep the sooner it'll be morning, and he'll go and come back and then they can just--well. Then they can just, she guesses. Andy remembers her parents trying to talk her into going to bed that way when she was a little kid, the night before Christmas or her birthday and her bouncing all over the place in her bedroom in the house they lived in when she was real small, the one with the flowered wallpaper from the people that had lived there before them. She remembers closing her eyes and having them pop right back open, like no matter how tired she felt her body was a high speed train that wouldn't stop.
Sam is hugely warm, though, and his hands feel so good on her neck and in her hair; she made Nick scritch at her scalp sometimes while they were watching TV, if she was feeling particularly sorry for herself, but that--yeah. That wasn't like this. Andy chances scooting closer and then a little closer after that, molding herself against his side until it feel like she might be able to melt into him altogether. Keeps her eyes shut tight.
"You could tell me, too," Sam says then, so quietly she thinks she might have dreamed it. "What you want me to do to you."
Andy breathes. When she answers she pretends she really is asleep, that the conversation isn't actually happening. "Hold me down. Want it hard." Sam makes a sound then, a word or a quiet exclamation, but Andy just shuts her eyes tighter. "Want you to be just mine."
She's pretty sure, right before she passes out for real, Sam tells her that he is. That that's all he's always been.
*
Andy wakes up to the smell of coffee and someone quietly rustling through the newspaper next to her. It takes her a moment to remember what the huge, delighted bubble in her stomach is, how it feels like a holiday and winning the lottery all rolled into one.
(Only you, he'd said in her ear. No one else.)
She opens her eyes and finds a Second Cup bag staring down at her from the dresser, sun filtering through the giant toilet-factory windows. The newspaper rattles again, a little louder; it does not, particularly, sound like the rattle of a person who has been waiting patiently for her to wake up.
"Morning," she grins, staying still and prone on the pillow. For no reason at all, she wants him to come to her.
Sam drops the paper into his lap, looking down at her. The smile on his face is--yeah. It's a pretty good smile. "Hey, McNally," he says, and just like that it feels like she's home for real now, like Dorothy waking up from her dream. "How'd you sleep?"
Andy shrugs into the pillows, feeling warm and giddy and hugely shy. Gathers a fistful of blanket inside her hand. "Hard." She keeps smiling back, she can't help it, and then they're just lying in bed grinning at each other, and she's legit dying to ask him if he broke up with his girlfriend and she doesn't have the first clue how.
"I did it," Sam says quietly, like he's reading her mind and wants to make it easy on her. "This morning. It's all done."
"Oh yeah?" Andy forces herself not to fist-pump. She does actually feel a tiny bit bad about it, now that it's done. Not a lot or anything, but. A tiny bit. "How'd it go?"
"It went." Sam scoots down in bed so he's facing her, tucks his arm underneath the pillow and gets his forehead right close to hers. The newspaper slips to the floor with a whispery swish. "Andy. It wasn't anything like this, you get that? We can talk about it as much or as little as you want to, but I want to make sure you know--" He blinks a little, those long long eyelashes. "It wasn't anything like this."
Andy looks at him in the yellow light from the window. He's got a day's worth of beard on his face. He's wearing the same t-shirt from last night, which makes sense obviously, but. It's almost like he never even left.
"I don't want to talk about it," she says.
Sam finds his smile again, slower. "Oh yeah?" He rubs a hand down her side, blunted enough by the puffy comforter that it stays friendly and PG. "What do you want to do instead?" It sounds like he's really asking, like he's trying just as hard as she is not to assume. There's enough direct light streaming in that his eyes are lit up, this amber quality in the brown you have to be at the right angle to see.
Andy bites her lip. Underneath the blankets she doesn't feel friendly or PG at all, wiggly and damp enough that she's pretty sure she must have dreamed about him at least once. But she's still shy, hugely conscious of how keyed-up she is: "Dunno." She blushes as she says it, scooting her face in closer on the pillow.
Close enough to kiss; Sam obliges, close-mouthed. "Can we do that?" he asks quietly, tugging at her bottom lip. When she nods he works a hand between her cheek and the pillow, licking his way inside. Andy sucks on his tongue and tries not to want everything at once.
Sam breaks away after a second, nudging his nose at hers. "Hi."
Andy grins big enough to feel the stretch. "Hi."
They make out like that for a while, until Andy's mouth is swollen and her whole entire self is humming with it, that high-school kind of feeling of anticipation building to a critical mass in her core. Sam keeps one big hand on her face. The other one wanders, though, under the covers but over her t-shirt, rubbing at the curve of her ribs and waist and hipbone like he wants to relearn the shape of her body as quickly as possible. By the time he pulls back next, she's breathing hard.
"Missed kissing you," she confesses. It sounds really stupid out loud but it's true, god, she missed his tongue and his taste and the scrape of beard along her chin, the way he bites at her mouth like he's staking a claim. Andy threads her fingers through his hair. "Like. A lot."
"Oh yeah?" Sam grins and kisses her some more, down along her jaw and neck and collarbone, sucking a bit in a way that makes her whimper. She wants him do it harder, to mark her up all over the freaking place. "What else did you miss?"
"S'top secret." Andy presses closer under the covers, opening her hips up and hooking her leg around his. Sam makes a sound deep in his throat. He's hard; she can feel him hot and thick right through both layers of fabric. Has to take a minute to remind herself they've got time. "What happened here?" she asks him quietly, mapping her hands up and down his warm, unfamiliar chest. "You feel different."
Sam smiles. "Lost some weight, McNally." He's easing onto his back slowly, gripping tight to her hips to take her with him. Andy winds up sprawled on top of him with her legs half-open, gravity pushing their pubic bones together way harder than before. Sam tugs gently behind both knees until she opens all the way back up. "Stress, maybe," he continues when she's straddling him fully. Both of them are breathing pretty heavy. "Wasn't eating so good for a while there."
"No?" Andy's curious enough to keep from pressing forward mindlessly. "Was it because of..." Only then that feels hugely presumptuous. Just because she wasn't eating (or sleeping, or feeling) well without him, it doesn't necessarily follow that--
But Sam's nodding. "Yeah. It probably was." He catches her gaze and holds it seriously, hot palm cupping her face again. "I didn't do so great, alone."
"You weren't alone," Andy points out. She feels hugely touched anyway, hands counting up and down the ribs she used to not be able to feel.
Sam rubs through her hair. "Wasn't with you."
Well. She likes hearing that way more than she should (she wondered, is all, back when they first broke up and how the absolute worst part was how cold-blooded he seemed about the whole thing, like he'd decided not to care about her anymore so now he didn't. She doesn't know if it would have made her feel better at the time to know that he was struggling too, but. It doesn't hurt to know it now). Andy smudges a kiss along the side of his jaw before she sits up.
"Take this off," she murmurs, reaching down and curling her fingers in the hem of his t-shirt. Sam lifts his arms obediently and Andy pulls it over his head, flattens her palms over his chest and looks down at him curiously. She runs her hands along his torso, makes herself go slow as she traces the lines of muscle and scrapes her nails lightly over the hair. "That tickle?" she asks, when his abs jump under her touch.
Sam shakes his head, watches Andy watching him. "Nah," he says after a moment, trailing his fingers up her arm. She can feel how tense his thighs are underneath her, knows he's trying not to buck; it makes her feel powerful in a way she's only ever felt with Sam. She wants to drag this out as long as they can. "S'good."
Andy nods and scoots a little lower, shifting her weight to her knees on either side so she can mouth her way from his sternum down to his navel, warm rough skin and the slightly soapy taste of him. "What about that?" she asks, glancing up.
Sam swallows audibly, thumbing at the vein inside her elbow. "Andy."
Andy smiles and kisses her way back up (slow, god, so so slow), brushing her chin along the line of whispery hair. She pauses to rest her cheek against the flat plane of his sternum for a second, closing her eyes, then detours around to one flat nipple. Sam's fingers circle her arm as she sucks, ribcage flaring out with each shaky breath.
"Okay," he says finally, stroking the thin skin on the underside of her wrist. "Come here." Andy sits up obediently and Sam follows her, propping himself on an elbow to reach for the hem of her tank top.
"Yeah," she says thickly, nodding in answer to his silent question. "Yeah, I want--" They're being so careful with each other, unnaturally polite like it's the first time all over again. Andy feels almost drugged, some combination of love and hormones. Between her legs she's slick as a river.
Sam rolls the shirt up inch by torturous inch, slow enough that Andy lowers her raised arms and makes fists in her hair, tugging. All her nerve endings feel raw. It's got a built-in shelf bra, the top--when he finally finishes peeling it off she's desperate, bare to the waist with her nipples standing up absurdly hard. It's not even cold in here.
"What do you want?" Sam asks, reaching out to run just the tip of his finger over her. "Hmm? Tell me."
"I want--" Andy loses the rest of it in a whimper and arches into him, her breasts feeling hot and heavy and tight. Her whole entire body aches from wanting. "Sam."
"Easy, sweetheart." Sam reaches up and pushes her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear, Andy turning her head to bite at his thumb as he skates it down along her jawline. She falls forward a bit as he cups her with both hands. "Talk to me," he says again, almost pleading. His eyes are flicking back and forth between her face and her swollen nipples; he squeezes once, just gently, and Andy whines. "Good?"
Andy nods, feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. She can't decide what she wants more, his hands on her breasts or him spread out on top of her, the weight of him pressing her down 'til she can barely breathe. "Come here," she manages finally, sliding off him and rolling onto her back, her legs getting tangled up in the blankets. She's wet right through the crotch of her pajama pants. "Just--"
"Yeah." Sam's settling himself between her thighs in half a second, tugging her arms up over her head on the pillow and ducking down to suck a nipple into his mouth. When he looks up there's an expression on his face that breaks her heart.
"Love you," she says in a rush, rocking her hips into him helplessly. They said slow, she's trying for slow, but just-- "God, Sam. Love you so so much."
Sam surprises her by lunging back up to get at her mouth, both hands pressing down heavy on her wrists as he bites her lower lip clumsily, all his careful control gone. "Love you," he murmurs. It takes Andy a minute to realize what he's saying, quiet and slurred between kisses, but when she does she pushes herself at him harder. They both lose themselves for a while then, her tissue-paper pyjama pants and the scrape of his zipper, how good it feels to fit everything together. Andy moans against his mouth until their lips are buzzing.
"Okay." Sam finally tears himself away to rest his forehead against hers. "That's not--" He laughs raggedly, blinking a few times like he's trying to situate himself. "Missed you," he tells her, those pretty eyelashes practically brushing Andy's own. "Missed this." He noses into the crook of her neck for a second, sucking gently. "And we have all day."
Andy rocks up against him again, restless; she was close before he stopped. "I know." She tucks both feet behind his knees, curling her toes against the denim. Sam is kissing his way back across her chest, soft like he's trying to slow them both down. It only makes her ache worse. "Keep doing that," she instructs as he bites lightly, sinking his teeth into the curve of one breast. All of a sudden, Andy wants marks.
"Yeah?" Sam glances up, then bites harder, this sharp lick of pain that turns to pleasure almost before she even registers the sensation. Andy pushes herself against his mouth. As a reward he sucks hard enough to break blood vessels, then catches her nipple between his teeth and tugs, stretching the tip out with an electric jolt that's got her hips flying up off the mattress. "That what you want?"
"Mm-hmm." Andy nods frantically, not enough breath left in her body for actual language. He feels so good, jesus; she wants him to keep doing exactly what he's doing forever at the same time as she wants him to quit fucking around and bury himself inside. Her fingers clench and unclench in the pillows. "Sam--" she starts, struggling against his grip to try and reach for him, but his hold tightens around her forearms to keep her exactly where she is.
"You gonna let me have you?" he murmurs softly, the words hot and damp against her prickling skin. Andy almost doesn't hear him over the noise of her own whimpers. He's rocking himself into her again, slow and steady; she grips him with her knees and hangs on tight as he drags himself back and forth against her clit. "Should I keep going so you know you're just mine?"
Which--god. "Please," Andy says, more like a sob than an actual word; it's been so long and so lonely, is the truth of it, and she's falling apart a little bit here. The scruff on his cheeks feels like sandpaper as he mouths along her ribs. Andy thinks of how she's going to look when he's finished with her, breasts and neck and stomach all covered with red-purple bruises, and--
Yup. She is totally going to come before he even gets her pants off.
"Sam," she gasps, hovering right on the edge of it where the scrape of him is not quite enough. It feels so good though, oh god, so so good and Andy just wants-- "Gonna," she warns him, bucking under his hold again. Sam tightens his fingers and comes back up to watch, biting at one nipple with his eyes glued to her face.
"That's it," he whispers, turning the bite into a powerful suck. It hurts, fuck, it hurts but it's so good. "Let go." His pupils are completely blown, almost no irises left at all.
Only then Andy just doesn't for what feels like the longest time, wriggling helplessly, stuck in a limbo that's too much to stand. "Please," she begs, almost nonsensical. The drag of him through the cotton is wonderful and awful all at once. "Oh my god, please, you have to make me."
Sam lets go of one forearm, sliding his hand between her ass and the bed and lifting her up. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing them together tight and steady; Andy nearly sobs in relief, almost almost almost there. "I've got what you need." He picks up speed until he's basically fucking her through their clothes, nipping at her neck and chest and everywhere, sharp and punishing. Andy feels every drag of his mouth like a knife. "Mine," he tells her, panting into her neck. "Just mine, and now everyone's gonna know--"
Fuck, that does it. Andy tips back her head and keens, her entire lower body convulsing as Sam squeezes her ass rhythmically, dragging himself across her clit over and over and murmuring nonsense encouragement, how beautiful she is and how much he wants to fuck her. It seems like it goes on forever, wave after wave of relief. Andy gets the hiccups when she's done, shaky and overwhelmed.
"Sweetheart," Sam says quietly, lifting off and touching the soaked crotch of her pyjamas. It sounds like he's shocked.
Andy flinches hard--she doesn't mean to, shit, it's just so much at once, her whole body shorting out like a power grid in the middle of summer. Sam backs the hell off right away.
"No." God, that's the absolute last thing she wants, for him to stop touching her for even a second. She wants to climb inside him and stay. "Come back, come back, I just--"
"Okay, but--" Sam lets her wrestle him back down on top of her, cupping her face in his hand and kissing her purposefully slow. She's still hiccuping a bit against his mouth. It's like she can't get enough air in, or something: she's never, ever felt like this during sex before. "Take it easy, sweetheart."
"You take it easy." Andy doesn't even really know what she means by that, exactly, but Sam holds her there another minute until she stops shaking quite so embarrassingly much. She calms down eventually, though, enough to realize how hard he still is against her hipbone; she nudges until he's lying on his back, working his zipper with two unsteady hands. Andy pulls at his waistband, wraps her first around his warm, familiar cock--God, it's probably really tacky how much she missed this part of him specifically, but. Whatever. She totally did.
Now it's Sam's turn to go restless, hips shifting under her touch: "Andy," he says raggedly, sitting up a bit and reaching far enough to catch the waistband of her pajamas as she's ducking her head to lick along the warm, smooth underside. "Come up here."
"Uh-uh." Andy shakes her head stubbornly. She's fine now, really, she just wants to-- "Let me."
"I'll let you, sweetheart." Sam keeps tugging though, hand curving around her thigh like he's aiming to spin her clockwise toward the foot of the bed. For a second Andy can't figure out what he-- "Turn around."
Oh. Oh.
He wants to, like--to her, Andy realizes belatedly. At the same time.
"Sam," she says, this low, shocked squeak she one hundred percent can't help (because they've never--she's never--god). She does it though, lifting her hips to shuck off her pyjama pants with newly-shaky hands, swinging one leg over to straddle him backwards. She watches over her shoulder as she does it, ass hovering somewhere near the neighbourhood of his chest, weirdly shy. The feeling doesn't last long: christ, the look on Sam's face, like this is going to end him immediately. Like it's going to be the best thing ever.
"God, Andy." He curls both hands around her thighs, thumbs rubbing up under the curve of her ass. "Come here."
Andy wiggles back the last few inches inelegantly, dropping down to her elbows hard enough to jar the bed. But it completely doesn't matter because Sam's mouth is on her and--"Oh my god," she gasps, the feeling of his tongue licking across her clit, hard and messy. "Oh my--" She wraps her fingers around his cock like a reflex, the head bumping up against her chin. Sam groans against her and it's almost too much, how wound-up she still is, but Andy takes a deep breath and when she doesn't hiccup or come or die, she gets her mouth on him and starts sucking.
No way are they gonna last. Sam can't keep his hips still, rolling them underneath her in fits and starts; Andy taps his hip until he starts fucking her mouth a little, shallow pulses, then pulls off to rub at the leaking tip while he works a finger inside. He tastes just like she remembers, achingly familiar. Andy feels a surge of possessiveness, imagining his girlfriend. Wants to suck hard and long until he forgets anyone else ever did.
"You're gonna come," she tells him, resting her overheated forehead against his hipbone. "Just like this. You're gonna let me, and you're gonna come."
"Andy." Her name is like she's never heard it before, this low quiet beg deep in his throat. She likes the sound of it way too much. "Andy. I want to--"
"I know," she says. She wants it too, god, wants to feel him fill her up and cover her, but-- "After." She feels bossy now, has the sudden and distinct impression she's in charge here and wants to keep it that way for a while. She drops her jaw and takes him as deep as she can.
"Jesus." Sam groans like she's out to destroy him; Andy hums a little and closes her eyes to concentrate as his cock bumps the back of her throat. Sam's grip tightens. The way he's working her over with his mouth feels insane, the stretch when he pushes another finger inside her. It's--god. It's been a while. Andy breathes.
(She didn't want anybody else, is what happened. She was working a lot and there was Traci to think about, and then the undercover, but mostly: if she couldn't have Sam, she didn't want anybody else.)
"Come on," she urges now, pulling off long enough to get the words out; she remembers the way his body goes tight when he's on the edge of it, and he's close. "Wanna feel you, okay? Sam." Andy scrapes her nails along the skin of his inner thigh, gentle. "S'just me." She barely has time to get her mouth back on him before it happens.
"Fuck," Sam starts, clutching at her helplessly. "Please, sweetheart, I--" He muffles the rest against her body, coming in long, messy pulses that fill Andy's mouth and throat too fast to swallow. She stays with him all the way through it, though, choking herself a bit in the process. Finally pulls off to lick him clean.
"Missed this," she murmurs, rubbing up and down the packed muscle of his thighs. "God, Sam. Missed you so bad." He's relaxing by degrees now, stomach rising and falling underneath Andy's breasts and his face still buried between her legs; he pulled his fingers out so he could grab at her with both hands, so now it's just his lips and chin and tongue and--oh god--his teeth. Andy puts her head down on his lower belly and groans.
"Let me hear," Sam demands, pulling back to drag his scruff across the crease of her thigh roughly. Fuck, everywhere, seriously, he's just going to mark her up-- "Have to hear you." His voice is completely shot, as bad as if they'd been working a concert for hours and hours, this note in it that's strangely close to begging. Andy watches his spent cock twitch beside her cheek, fretful.
"Yes," she says, leveraging herself up on her elbows a bit. "Yes, anything, I promise, just--" Sam grabs her ass, bringing her down to his mouth again, and she loses the rest in a sharp whine.
The orgasm's not as violent this time, just this delicious roll of pleasure all down her spine and outward all the way to her fingers and toes. Andy squeezes her eyes shut against his skin. She works herself on his tongue while it's happening, too far gone to be self-conscious; Sam doesn't seem to mind, anyway, his fingertips digging into her hips and pulling her close. He sucks her clit obligingly until she's through.
"Sam," she gasps once she can talk again, this truly fantastic afterglow kicking its way though her veins. She tries to leverage herself up on her arms and stalls out halfway through, winds up sprawled out inelegantly across the mattress. "God."
Sam huffs a quiet laugh, a little breathless."Wanted to do that to you," he murmurs as she finally turns around and crawls back up his body, settling into his open arms and tilting her face up for a a kiss. He smells like her, the bottom half of his face damp and slick with it. Andy sucks at his chin, liking the taste. "Jesus, McNally. For months, I wanted to do that to you."
Andy hums against his mouth, pleased; it's barely mid-morning, the light all warm and golden where it's pooling on the sheets. "That so?" she asks, arching her back and stretching so her breasts press up against his side. "Because, like. I hadn't thought about it at all."
(He is, like. At least half-hard again already, is the thing.)
"Not at all, huh?" Sam nudges his sticky-wet nose at hers, smiling. He didn't even both trying to clean up at all, god, not even a cursory wipe at his mouth. Andy wants to smear herself all over him. "Who'd you think about instead?"
"Best," Andy says right away, getting a swat across the ass for her troubles. (That was also something she thought about when they were broken up, incidentally, how much she likes it and whether or not it was just with Sam, some of the other stuff they got up to, too. It freaked her out, having him responsible for so many of her likes and dislikes.) "Also Oliver." She gets a fist around Sam and holds, rubbing a thumb across the slippery head.
"Fuck." Sam pushes himself into her grip, cock twitching anxiously. The skin along the underside is ridiculously soft.
"Too much?" She'd back off but for the way he's working himself into it, intent like he's trying to get all the way erect as soon as possible. Still: "We have all day." He came hard, first time around. Andy tries not to feel smug about that and fails.
"No," Sam laughs, covering her hand with his and making her jack harder. "S'good. Too good, christ."
He's almost there already, god; Andy's grip expands as he stiffens. "That's it," she tells him, sucking at his messy jaw. "Want you inside, Sam." Her entire body is still humming ridiculously, as if someone opened up the top of her head and poured bucket fulls of endorphins inside. It feels like she could just slip onto him and come, like it would honestly take no more than that.
But Andy wants something different: "Have to hold me down," she murmurs into his mouth, just quiet. "Like you said. S'so I know--" Sam is rock hard now, clutching at her with suddenly desperate hands. "S'so I know I'm yours," Andy finishes, whimpering a little as she rubs herself against his thigh impatiently. There isn't a polite bone left in her body, all of her manners washed away by lust. "Wanna be just--"
"Mine." Sam's on top of her before she can even get the rest of the words out, all of him at once and so fast it hurts a little, the burn and stretch of him inside (again: it has been a while). It occurs to her belatedly that they probably ought to use a condom--he's been with somebody else, on top of which she has definitely not been as careful with the pill as she was back when she had a reason to be--but it's Sam, it's Sam it's Sam it's Sam, and when she opens her eyes and looks at him she can tell he's thinking the same exact thing.
"I don't care," she gasps as he pulls almost all the way out and then sinks back in again, these deep purposeful thrusts Andy feels absolutely everywhere. She pulls her knees up to give him a little more room, his hipbones grinding into hers every time he bottoms out. "I don't--do you care?"
Sam doesn't answer her right away, just grabs her wrists and slams them down against the mattress on either side of her head, all his weight and these sharp-toothed kisses along her jaw. Andy whines. He feels so ridiculously good inside her, thick and hot and filling, how much she likes it when he holds her down; back before they broke up she'd play at fighting it when he did this, more like wrestling than sex, but right now--possibly right now she just wants to lie here and take it. "I don't care," Sam mutters, and she realizes it just took him that long to put a coherent response together. "Don't care, want you just like this, I--"
"Please," Andy whimpers, pulling her knees back even further. "Just--" She doesn't even know what she's begging for, just that she wants everything at once. Him to come inside her, messy and everywhere, but also her own orgasm and him fucking her all the way through it, again and again until she's done. She turns her head and bites back, not nicely.
"Andy." Sam's hips stutter, spine snapping straight to bury himself, so deep it actually hurts. "I can't, I'm not gonna be able to--" It sounds like he's completely out of his mind.
Oh wow. Sam almost never loses it like this when he's on top and controlling the pace, razor sharp concentration that lasts and lasts. And after he's already come once and-- "Go," Andy whines, fighting his grip for the first time all night. "Go, go, go, please, ohmygod." She's gonna come. The second he does, she's going to too.
It happens almost even before she's had time to articulate the thought, both of them careening right over the edge of it like an out-of-control freight train, him shoving her down and her arching off the bed and both of them clutching, jesus christ, like neither one of them has any real say in what's happening anymore. Andy doesn't even know if it feels good at first. It feels, though, that's for sure--like getting caught up in a riptide and flung around in the ocean. Like taking a bullet in the vest. It lasts and lasts and lasts until she's shaking. She's hardly even sure when she's done.
Neither of them say anything for a long time afterward, Sam making no move whatsoever to roll off her, the feel of his heart echoing deep and hard inside her body. Andy lies underneath him, memorizing his weight. His hands come back online before the rest of him, thumbs stroking along her wrists like he's worried he actually bruised her; it takes another minute before she recovers enough to thread their fingers together.
"So like," she says, swallowing thickly. Her throat feels scratchy and hoarse. "I guess that part still works okay."
Sam huffs a quiet laugh into her temple. "Yeah, sweetheart," he tells her, squeezing her hand. She can feel him slipping out of her a little, the mess beginning to slide down her thighs. "I guess so."
Andy rubs her chin along his shoulder slowly. Her legs are loose and rubberized, heels slipping uselessly down the backs of his knees even though she wants to keep holding him place for--god, forever. "Um. Here's hoping the rest still works too?"
Now Sam pulls back a bit, up on his elbows with their hands still tangled together. "It will," he insists, nudging his nose against hers. "I'm playing for keeps." We can get a dog, yeah, only this time Andy believes him. And god, there's nothing to guarantee they're fixed for good, they still have to talk through a lot of crap, but just like that she's on the edge of dumb, hysterical tears of relief.
"Good," she chews out, gasping around a sob. For some stupid reason, she's still trying to play it cool. "I, uh. Love you."
Sam's face does a really nice thing then, not a smile but better. "I love you too," he says.
(So. That's not such a bad place to start over from, anyway.)
He stays exactly where he is for a while, the two of them breathing. Andy sifts her fingers through his hair.
Authors: lowriseflare and threeguesses
See Part 1 for summary and warnings.
Sam brings coffee and Timbits, as it turns out, plus a breakfast sandwich each. Andy lets him in and he sets the bags on her kitchen table, grease already soaking through the paper. It's the exact same combo he used to get when they were dating. Just like magic the apartment travels back a year in time, fried sugar smells instead of dust and garbage.
"Didn't know if you were hungry too," Sam says, quiet.
She is, actually; she used the time between when they hung up and when he got here (twenty minutes, max; he must have sped) to wash her face and change into clean pajamas, and she feels enough like a human that food sounds like a really, really good plan. Andy nods and curls herself onto one of the stools. "Thanks."
(It's possible she deliberated a bit about the pajamas, sweatpants or a cuter cotton pair with little tie ups at the bottom that turn them into capris. Eventually she went with option B; good to know that six months on a dangerous UC op hasn't made her one ounce less ridiculous. She's still not entirely sure what she's trying to accomplish with him here.)
Sam's leaning against her kitchen sink, grey hoodie zipped halfway down. He smiles at her faintly over his styrofoam cup. "You're fine," he says.
"Sorry it's totally gross in here," she continues, oddly compelled to fill the silence now that she called him over in the middle of the night. She flung a trash bag that was basically biohazard down the chute in the hallway just before he turned up, for all the good it did. Her counters are covered with a sticky layer of dust. "'F'I'd known you were serious about taking out my garbage, I would have had you come do it before I left."
Sam just watches her, dark eyebrows barely arced. Andy knows she sounds nervous. The coffee is hot and bitter and strong.
"It couldn't be the same as it was last time," she says finally, brushing some of the powdered sugar off a Timbit with the tip of one finger so she doesn't have to look at him. "I have no idea if we could even--but if we tried. It couldn't be the same."
She catches some movement out of the corner of her eye then, thinks it might be him nodding. She wants to go over and press her face against his chest in the worst way. "I know," he says, steady and low.
Andy looks up at him then, finds him staring back and feels it physical as getting tackled in an alley. "You'd have to talk to me," she says.
"I know." He's standing up now, she notices, not leaning. The coffee and breakfast sandwich are set aside on the counter, like possibly this is something that's going to require his full undivided attention. "I would, I'd talk to you. You could tell me too, whenever you thought I wasn't being--you could tell me. And I'd do it different." Both his hands are curled inside the pouch of his hoodie, this weirdly vulnerable gesture Andy's never seen on him before. "You wanted to know something, anything, you just ask. And I'll tell you."
(Andy notices the auxiliary switch there too, from could to will. She sits up straighter on her stool.)
"Andy. Listen." Sam's voice is serious as Moses counting off the commandments. "Does this mean you want to try?"
There it is. Andy pushes away the Timbit box, suddenly nauseous. "I don't know." Only that's a lie, because she does, she wants. She wants so bad and so hard it hurts. But the answer is bigger than wanting. "You quit on me," she gasps finally. It's difficult to even get her mouth around the words, how heavy and awful they sound coming out--that particular bruise is still as fresh as the day he made it, apparently. Andy takes a deep breath and doesn't cry. "And I can't, Sam, okay? I really can't if you're going to do it again."
He's across the room in two steps. "I'm not," he promises, just a hair past desperate. It looks like he was going to touch her and then thought better of it, settled for crowding her knees instead. "Andy, please. Give me a chance."
"How do I know that, though?" Andy looks up at him, back straight; this close she can feel the heat radiating off him, his solid body fever-warm. If she moved half an inch they'd make contact. "How do I know that next time something bad happens--because other bad stuff is gonna happen, Sam--you won't just, like..." She holds her hands out like, poof.
"I--you don't, I guess." Sam shrugs a bit, helpless, chest moving with the force of his breathing. His fists are clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You gotta trust me."
And that--god. God. Andy thinks back to when they hardly knew each other, fresh paint and him looking at her more often than not like she was the most annoying human ever to walk the face of the earth, that weird instinctual certainty that he'd always keep her safe. That whatever happened, everything would turn out mostly okay in the end as long as he was around--like he was magic or something, like the usual rules didn't apply to him. That was the feeling that had her running to his house the night of the blackout and sent her back to the Alpine Inn, that had her blurting an I love you out of the clear blue sky without worrying at all what might come after. Andy misses that feeling more than anything. Doesn't know how she'd ever get it back.
"I'm sorry," she says. It comes out like a whisper. She called him here in the middle of the night, she wants so badly to make it happen, but-- "I don't think I can."
Sam sags then, his posture caving in on itself like he lost a world war while he was lacing his boots up. Just for a second, he closes his eyes. "Okay, sweetheart," he tells her slowly. "I--that's fair." He swallows, tucks his hands back into his pockets. "Try and get some sleep, okay?"
Andy nods. "Okay," she manages. It feels like a canyon's opened up inside her chest. "I'll try."
He stands there for another minute, like he's thinking about kissing her goodbye or something. She really, really needs him to go so she can cry. In the end he doesn't lean in for it though, just looks at her for one more beat and heads across the living room toward her front door. He's got his hand on the knob before she breaks.
"Sam." It sounds like a sob; Andy's off the stool and in front of him so fast she hardly even knows she's doing it. Grabs his arm with a graceless yank. "I want to try," she says, loud and panicky. "I didn't mean it, I want to try."
"Thank god." It sounds like he's talking to himself almost, quiet like an exhale or a prayer. Then, right away and urgent: "Are you sure? Andy, are you sure?" He gets both hands on her face, this electric contact that feels a fuckton more significant after months and months of not touching. "Because if you're not, or you change your mind in the morning--"
Oh god, she feels stupid, she was all geared up to--but no, fuck, she absolutely didn't mean it, she can't. Can't quit, can't let him go, and definitely can't wake up and do it all come tomorrow morning. "I'm sure," Andy gasps, cupping her hands over his and making him hold on harder. She wants to crawl inside his skin and stay.
"--I couldn't, okay? You gotta tell me now." Sam looks about ready to fly apart too, even as his thumbs start rubbing up and down her cheeks soothingly. It takes Andy a second to realize she's crying again, just a little; she squeezes his hands and tries her best to nod.
"I love you," Sam murmurs, just quiet. And god, Andy really hasn't been second-guessing his sincerity (she did at first, holding the grenade; it was part of the reason she left, actually, how it felt awful to hear instead of wonderful) but right now it's written all over his face with such ridiculous clarity she barely even needs the words.
And she can't. It's been an endlessly long night, and she's so tired and she missed him so much. She might not know if she can trust him the way she used to, but she wants to try. She does. "I love you too," she gasps, and it feels so scary and wonderful she says it again almost immediately. "I love you, I do, I'm sorry if I made you think--" She blinks away tears, checks her voice so she's still understandable. "Sam, you gotta know, okay? I never stopped."
He kisses her before she finishes.
Andy falls into him like an instinct, the warm coffee taste of his mouth and her arms winding tight around his neck, clutching. Sam keeps his hands on her face. It's a good kiss, deep and desperate, his familiar face wet with her tears. Andy never ever wants to let go. When he boosts her up, though, lifting underneath her thighs and her legs around his waist just like always:
"Sam," she murmurs softly, right up against his mouth. "Sam. You have a girlfriend."
"Yeah." Sam sighs low and quiet. He isn't moving anywhere, now that he's holding her; it's more like he wanted to get as close as possible and thought this might be the fastest way. "I want you."
Well. That is...definitely not something she hates hearing. Andy feels her whole body warm with pleasure. But like--okay, clearly her record on cheating isn't the best, but still she's not about to--to--
(It's Sam, though. It's Sam, and even though Andy knows it's wrong it just feels like he's hers first and always by default, or something. Even before they got together the first time she felt that way: like she ran him down before they ever even knew each other, so she had a claim.)
Sam's not finished, though: "Can I--can I just take you to bed?" he asks, and Andy's eyes widen. "Not to--" He shakes his head, frustrated. "We don't need to--McNally. Just let me take you to bed."
Oh god, Andy wants to. Her sheets are probably gross and musty, sure, but these pyjamas are nice and clean. Plus Sam smells so familiar, deodorant and coffee and the warm brown smell of his leather jacket, and it's possible all Andy wants to do is curl up with him in a mess of cotton and sleep for a year.
But.
"Sam." She pushes her face at his, not even really a kiss. "If we lie down together, do you really think we can just...?" She trails off, feeling stupid. It's a point, though--she and Sam have always fixed things with sex, way more than they probably should. As soon as an argument wound down (or, like--before it did, sometimes) they were always all over each other, barely any time to talk it out. He's very, very warm between her thighs.
Sam grins. It's a quicksilver thing, but it's still the first break in what feels like years. Andy's stomach swoops. "Yeah, McNally, I think we can probably 'just'." He leans her against the wall a bit, freeing up one hand to rub over her face. "You're exhausted, sweetheart. And in a couple of hours it'll be morning. I'll get up, and go over and--" He hesitates, as if trying to find the right phrasing. "--see her. Come back with coffee. You won't even know I'm gone."
Andy arches in his touch like a cat; everything he's doing feels stupidly good--too good, really, if this 'sleeping' plan is going to work. She selfishly doesn't want to hear another word about his girlfriend, even if it's to hear about how he's going to dump her in less than three hours. "Okay."
Sam smiles, nudges his nose against hers. "Okay."
He carries her into the bedroom, tipping her to one side once they're in there so she can reach down and flip on the bedside lamp. The room's a disaster, basically: clothes piled on the chaise and the linens all tangled, tissues on the dresser from a runny nose she had six months ago. "Sorry," she mumbles again. She wants to keep apologizing, weirdly, for the mess and the undercover and for walking away from him to begin with, for not believing that he loved her when he told her the first time.
"Shh." Sam sets her down on the mattress way more gently than he ever has before, like he's worried he's going to break her. Smoothes out the sheets a little bit. He unzips the hoodie but leaves his jeans and t-shirt on, punches the pillows a couple of times to plump them up. When he climbs into bed beside her Andy scoots towards him like a magnet. "Come here," he murmurs anyway, both arms curling around her as she settles herself against his chest. It is really, really ridiculous how good this feels. Sam cards his hand through her hair.
"Had you really never said it before?" she mumbles. She can hear his heart beating away against her cheek. "Like the psychic said?"
Sam's hand pauses. "I-- no, I mean." His breath puffs off the top of her head as he tilts his face down, looking for eye contact. Andy cranes her neck around sleepily. "I have. Not a--not a lot, but I have." He pauses, rubbing along the top of one of her ears. "Before you, I hadn't said it for a very long time."
Andy scritches at his chest a little, considering. He's definitely thinner, something she's investigating in detail the second it no longer counts as cheating. "I want us to work," she says finally. "Because when I say it to you, I--" She stops, fussing with the stitching on his t-shirt. Telling him it feels different with him seems a bit unfair to everyone else she's been with (not to mention it's hugely, stupidly revealing), but it's true. Gross or not, it's definitely true. "I want us to work," she finishes lamely, hiding her face in his shoulder.
Sam cups the back of her head to tuck her closer. "I want us to work too."
"Everyone gets one breakup," Andy murmurs, which is something Gail said to her once that always stuck.
"That so?" Sam asks. He's got his face tipped down toward hers, warm and close. It's taking basically all Andy's willpower not to slide her palm inside his shirt. "Well," he says quietly, planting a kiss against her temple. "Guess we can't break up again, then."
Andy smiles. "Guess not." Now that she's lying down like this she's so tired, jesus, can feel the last twenty-four hours hitting her like so many tons of bricks. She pulls the stale blankets up a little higher, covers them both. There's a part of her that doesn't want to sleep, though, that's weirdly afraid she'll wake up and he'll be gone again. That none of this is actually real. She wants to roll onto her back and pull him on top of her in the worst way. "Can you just talk to me some more?" she asks instead, reaching down and threading her fingers through his. Hand-holding's okay, she figures. Hand-holding is totally PG. "Just like, for a few minutes."
Sam squeezes. "Sure, sweetheart," he tells her easily, reaching over and flicking the light off, everything going blurry in the dark. "What do you want to hear?"
Andy rubs at his knuckle for a second, polishing up a worry stone. She can't see his face anymore, and it's making her strangely reckless. "I-- what's the first thing you're going to do? When you get back here in the morning, I mean."
Sam laughs, vibrating through her whole body. "You want to hear about that, huh?" he asks, tracing a whirl over her upper back. It sounds, just a little, like the answer isn't entirely PG.
And Andy--yeah, she definitely does. She missed his voice in the dark kind of a lot. "Tell me," she demands, fighting down a spasm of guilt. If they don't actually do anything, then it should be fine, right? She thinks that it's probably fine. Still, just as a preemptive measure, she scoots her hips back an inch.
Sam blows out a breath. "Sweetheart--" His hands are on her lower back now, rubbing along the curve. Andy wants to arch for him in the worst way. "I think you know what I'm gonna do." His voice has definitely dropped, more feeling than noise.
"Maybe." Andy smiles into the warm cotton of his t-shirt. She does know, actually, or she's got an idea at least; she feels sleepy and relieved and turned on in equal parts, like at any second she might open her mouth and start to purr. "Wanna hear you say it anyway."
"Oh yeah?" Sam's still rubbing at the small of her back, steady. He gets her bare skin for a moment, where her shirt's riding up. Smoothes it down again. "I'm gonna let you sleep, first of all."
Andy nudges him with her knee. "Sleep's boring," she tells him playfully. It feels weird and good to flirt with him again, even if it does make her kind of guilty. They're not doing anything, though. They're not. "Try again."
She can feel the curve of his grin against her temple. "I'm gonna get you out of those pajamas," he allows after a moment, thumbing along the elastic of her pants. Andy holds her breath, hoping he'll palm down lower as much as she's hoping he won't. "Show you how much I missed you."
He doesn't, in the end; Andy exhales as he moves his hand back up her spine, tries not to feel disappointed about that. "How much, exactly?" she asks instead.
Sam shifts his hips a bit, this telltale wiggle that has Andy biting her lip in guilty satisfaction. She likes knowing that it's getting to him too. "A lot," he tells her after a minute, swallowing softly. Just like that it doesn't totally sound like they're still talking about sex (and god, what is wrong with her--it is possible Andy only wants to jump his bones more). Sam smooths a hand up to the safety of her upper back, plays with her hair a little. "You really want a play by play?" he asks finally. "We're supposed to be sleeping."
"Sleep is boring," Andy repeats, shifting on the bed. Then, hiding her face: "Tell me one thing." She knows he wants her, she does, but. Some reassurance is always nice. Flirting with him is nice.
Sam exhales. "Gonna put you on your back," he says slowly, like he's picturing it. "Bring your knees up. Get you to make some noise for me." Andy whimpers quietly, and he rubs her neck soothingly. "Want to make you feel so good, sweetheart." His voice is like gravel.
Ooh-kay, yep. That about does it. Andy shifts on the bed again, pressing her hot cheek against his t-shirt. "Can't wait," she says after a beat, laughing a little sheepishly. It comes out choked.
"Me either." Sam lets out a deep, careful breath. "Close your eyes, okay? I'm right here."
He's right. She knows he's right. Andy flattens her palm over his steady heartbeat, tries to settle down enough to do the whole REM thing. After all, the sooner she falls asleep the sooner it'll be morning, and he'll go and come back and then they can just--well. Then they can just, she guesses. Andy remembers her parents trying to talk her into going to bed that way when she was a little kid, the night before Christmas or her birthday and her bouncing all over the place in her bedroom in the house they lived in when she was real small, the one with the flowered wallpaper from the people that had lived there before them. She remembers closing her eyes and having them pop right back open, like no matter how tired she felt her body was a high speed train that wouldn't stop.
Sam is hugely warm, though, and his hands feel so good on her neck and in her hair; she made Nick scritch at her scalp sometimes while they were watching TV, if she was feeling particularly sorry for herself, but that--yeah. That wasn't like this. Andy chances scooting closer and then a little closer after that, molding herself against his side until it feel like she might be able to melt into him altogether. Keeps her eyes shut tight.
"You could tell me, too," Sam says then, so quietly she thinks she might have dreamed it. "What you want me to do to you."
Andy breathes. When she answers she pretends she really is asleep, that the conversation isn't actually happening. "Hold me down. Want it hard." Sam makes a sound then, a word or a quiet exclamation, but Andy just shuts her eyes tighter. "Want you to be just mine."
She's pretty sure, right before she passes out for real, Sam tells her that he is. That that's all he's always been.
*
Andy wakes up to the smell of coffee and someone quietly rustling through the newspaper next to her. It takes her a moment to remember what the huge, delighted bubble in her stomach is, how it feels like a holiday and winning the lottery all rolled into one.
(Only you, he'd said in her ear. No one else.)
She opens her eyes and finds a Second Cup bag staring down at her from the dresser, sun filtering through the giant toilet-factory windows. The newspaper rattles again, a little louder; it does not, particularly, sound like the rattle of a person who has been waiting patiently for her to wake up.
"Morning," she grins, staying still and prone on the pillow. For no reason at all, she wants him to come to her.
Sam drops the paper into his lap, looking down at her. The smile on his face is--yeah. It's a pretty good smile. "Hey, McNally," he says, and just like that it feels like she's home for real now, like Dorothy waking up from her dream. "How'd you sleep?"
Andy shrugs into the pillows, feeling warm and giddy and hugely shy. Gathers a fistful of blanket inside her hand. "Hard." She keeps smiling back, she can't help it, and then they're just lying in bed grinning at each other, and she's legit dying to ask him if he broke up with his girlfriend and she doesn't have the first clue how.
"I did it," Sam says quietly, like he's reading her mind and wants to make it easy on her. "This morning. It's all done."
"Oh yeah?" Andy forces herself not to fist-pump. She does actually feel a tiny bit bad about it, now that it's done. Not a lot or anything, but. A tiny bit. "How'd it go?"
"It went." Sam scoots down in bed so he's facing her, tucks his arm underneath the pillow and gets his forehead right close to hers. The newspaper slips to the floor with a whispery swish. "Andy. It wasn't anything like this, you get that? We can talk about it as much or as little as you want to, but I want to make sure you know--" He blinks a little, those long long eyelashes. "It wasn't anything like this."
Andy looks at him in the yellow light from the window. He's got a day's worth of beard on his face. He's wearing the same t-shirt from last night, which makes sense obviously, but. It's almost like he never even left.
"I don't want to talk about it," she says.
Sam finds his smile again, slower. "Oh yeah?" He rubs a hand down her side, blunted enough by the puffy comforter that it stays friendly and PG. "What do you want to do instead?" It sounds like he's really asking, like he's trying just as hard as she is not to assume. There's enough direct light streaming in that his eyes are lit up, this amber quality in the brown you have to be at the right angle to see.
Andy bites her lip. Underneath the blankets she doesn't feel friendly or PG at all, wiggly and damp enough that she's pretty sure she must have dreamed about him at least once. But she's still shy, hugely conscious of how keyed-up she is: "Dunno." She blushes as she says it, scooting her face in closer on the pillow.
Close enough to kiss; Sam obliges, close-mouthed. "Can we do that?" he asks quietly, tugging at her bottom lip. When she nods he works a hand between her cheek and the pillow, licking his way inside. Andy sucks on his tongue and tries not to want everything at once.
Sam breaks away after a second, nudging his nose at hers. "Hi."
Andy grins big enough to feel the stretch. "Hi."
They make out like that for a while, until Andy's mouth is swollen and her whole entire self is humming with it, that high-school kind of feeling of anticipation building to a critical mass in her core. Sam keeps one big hand on her face. The other one wanders, though, under the covers but over her t-shirt, rubbing at the curve of her ribs and waist and hipbone like he wants to relearn the shape of her body as quickly as possible. By the time he pulls back next, she's breathing hard.
"Missed kissing you," she confesses. It sounds really stupid out loud but it's true, god, she missed his tongue and his taste and the scrape of beard along her chin, the way he bites at her mouth like he's staking a claim. Andy threads her fingers through his hair. "Like. A lot."
"Oh yeah?" Sam grins and kisses her some more, down along her jaw and neck and collarbone, sucking a bit in a way that makes her whimper. She wants him do it harder, to mark her up all over the freaking place. "What else did you miss?"
"S'top secret." Andy presses closer under the covers, opening her hips up and hooking her leg around his. Sam makes a sound deep in his throat. He's hard; she can feel him hot and thick right through both layers of fabric. Has to take a minute to remind herself they've got time. "What happened here?" she asks him quietly, mapping her hands up and down his warm, unfamiliar chest. "You feel different."
Sam smiles. "Lost some weight, McNally." He's easing onto his back slowly, gripping tight to her hips to take her with him. Andy winds up sprawled on top of him with her legs half-open, gravity pushing their pubic bones together way harder than before. Sam tugs gently behind both knees until she opens all the way back up. "Stress, maybe," he continues when she's straddling him fully. Both of them are breathing pretty heavy. "Wasn't eating so good for a while there."
"No?" Andy's curious enough to keep from pressing forward mindlessly. "Was it because of..." Only then that feels hugely presumptuous. Just because she wasn't eating (or sleeping, or feeling) well without him, it doesn't necessarily follow that--
But Sam's nodding. "Yeah. It probably was." He catches her gaze and holds it seriously, hot palm cupping her face again. "I didn't do so great, alone."
"You weren't alone," Andy points out. She feels hugely touched anyway, hands counting up and down the ribs she used to not be able to feel.
Sam rubs through her hair. "Wasn't with you."
Well. She likes hearing that way more than she should (she wondered, is all, back when they first broke up and how the absolute worst part was how cold-blooded he seemed about the whole thing, like he'd decided not to care about her anymore so now he didn't. She doesn't know if it would have made her feel better at the time to know that he was struggling too, but. It doesn't hurt to know it now). Andy smudges a kiss along the side of his jaw before she sits up.
"Take this off," she murmurs, reaching down and curling her fingers in the hem of his t-shirt. Sam lifts his arms obediently and Andy pulls it over his head, flattens her palms over his chest and looks down at him curiously. She runs her hands along his torso, makes herself go slow as she traces the lines of muscle and scrapes her nails lightly over the hair. "That tickle?" she asks, when his abs jump under her touch.
Sam shakes his head, watches Andy watching him. "Nah," he says after a moment, trailing his fingers up her arm. She can feel how tense his thighs are underneath her, knows he's trying not to buck; it makes her feel powerful in a way she's only ever felt with Sam. She wants to drag this out as long as they can. "S'good."
Andy nods and scoots a little lower, shifting her weight to her knees on either side so she can mouth her way from his sternum down to his navel, warm rough skin and the slightly soapy taste of him. "What about that?" she asks, glancing up.
Sam swallows audibly, thumbing at the vein inside her elbow. "Andy."
Andy smiles and kisses her way back up (slow, god, so so slow), brushing her chin along the line of whispery hair. She pauses to rest her cheek against the flat plane of his sternum for a second, closing her eyes, then detours around to one flat nipple. Sam's fingers circle her arm as she sucks, ribcage flaring out with each shaky breath.
"Okay," he says finally, stroking the thin skin on the underside of her wrist. "Come here." Andy sits up obediently and Sam follows her, propping himself on an elbow to reach for the hem of her tank top.
"Yeah," she says thickly, nodding in answer to his silent question. "Yeah, I want--" They're being so careful with each other, unnaturally polite like it's the first time all over again. Andy feels almost drugged, some combination of love and hormones. Between her legs she's slick as a river.
Sam rolls the shirt up inch by torturous inch, slow enough that Andy lowers her raised arms and makes fists in her hair, tugging. All her nerve endings feel raw. It's got a built-in shelf bra, the top--when he finally finishes peeling it off she's desperate, bare to the waist with her nipples standing up absurdly hard. It's not even cold in here.
"What do you want?" Sam asks, reaching out to run just the tip of his finger over her. "Hmm? Tell me."
"I want--" Andy loses the rest of it in a whimper and arches into him, her breasts feeling hot and heavy and tight. Her whole entire body aches from wanting. "Sam."
"Easy, sweetheart." Sam reaches up and pushes her sleep-mussed hair behind her ear, Andy turning her head to bite at his thumb as he skates it down along her jawline. She falls forward a bit as he cups her with both hands. "Talk to me," he says again, almost pleading. His eyes are flicking back and forth between her face and her swollen nipples; he squeezes once, just gently, and Andy whines. "Good?"
Andy nods, feeling overwhelmed and vulnerable. She can't decide what she wants more, his hands on her breasts or him spread out on top of her, the weight of him pressing her down 'til she can barely breathe. "Come here," she manages finally, sliding off him and rolling onto her back, her legs getting tangled up in the blankets. She's wet right through the crotch of her pajama pants. "Just--"
"Yeah." Sam's settling himself between her thighs in half a second, tugging her arms up over her head on the pillow and ducking down to suck a nipple into his mouth. When he looks up there's an expression on his face that breaks her heart.
"Love you," she says in a rush, rocking her hips into him helplessly. They said slow, she's trying for slow, but just-- "God, Sam. Love you so so much."
Sam surprises her by lunging back up to get at her mouth, both hands pressing down heavy on her wrists as he bites her lower lip clumsily, all his careful control gone. "Love you," he murmurs. It takes Andy a minute to realize what he's saying, quiet and slurred between kisses, but when she does she pushes herself at him harder. They both lose themselves for a while then, her tissue-paper pyjama pants and the scrape of his zipper, how good it feels to fit everything together. Andy moans against his mouth until their lips are buzzing.
"Okay." Sam finally tears himself away to rest his forehead against hers. "That's not--" He laughs raggedly, blinking a few times like he's trying to situate himself. "Missed you," he tells her, those pretty eyelashes practically brushing Andy's own. "Missed this." He noses into the crook of her neck for a second, sucking gently. "And we have all day."
Andy rocks up against him again, restless; she was close before he stopped. "I know." She tucks both feet behind his knees, curling her toes against the denim. Sam is kissing his way back across her chest, soft like he's trying to slow them both down. It only makes her ache worse. "Keep doing that," she instructs as he bites lightly, sinking his teeth into the curve of one breast. All of a sudden, Andy wants marks.
"Yeah?" Sam glances up, then bites harder, this sharp lick of pain that turns to pleasure almost before she even registers the sensation. Andy pushes herself against his mouth. As a reward he sucks hard enough to break blood vessels, then catches her nipple between his teeth and tugs, stretching the tip out with an electric jolt that's got her hips flying up off the mattress. "That what you want?"
"Mm-hmm." Andy nods frantically, not enough breath left in her body for actual language. He feels so good, jesus; she wants him to keep doing exactly what he's doing forever at the same time as she wants him to quit fucking around and bury himself inside. Her fingers clench and unclench in the pillows. "Sam--" she starts, struggling against his grip to try and reach for him, but his hold tightens around her forearms to keep her exactly where she is.
"You gonna let me have you?" he murmurs softly, the words hot and damp against her prickling skin. Andy almost doesn't hear him over the noise of her own whimpers. He's rocking himself into her again, slow and steady; she grips him with her knees and hangs on tight as he drags himself back and forth against her clit. "Should I keep going so you know you're just mine?"
Which--god. "Please," Andy says, more like a sob than an actual word; it's been so long and so lonely, is the truth of it, and she's falling apart a little bit here. The scruff on his cheeks feels like sandpaper as he mouths along her ribs. Andy thinks of how she's going to look when he's finished with her, breasts and neck and stomach all covered with red-purple bruises, and--
Yup. She is totally going to come before he even gets her pants off.
"Sam," she gasps, hovering right on the edge of it where the scrape of him is not quite enough. It feels so good though, oh god, so so good and Andy just wants-- "Gonna," she warns him, bucking under his hold again. Sam tightens his fingers and comes back up to watch, biting at one nipple with his eyes glued to her face.
"That's it," he whispers, turning the bite into a powerful suck. It hurts, fuck, it hurts but it's so good. "Let go." His pupils are completely blown, almost no irises left at all.
Only then Andy just doesn't for what feels like the longest time, wriggling helplessly, stuck in a limbo that's too much to stand. "Please," she begs, almost nonsensical. The drag of him through the cotton is wonderful and awful all at once. "Oh my god, please, you have to make me."
Sam lets go of one forearm, sliding his hand between her ass and the bed and lifting her up. "Shh," he murmurs, pressing them together tight and steady; Andy nearly sobs in relief, almost almost almost there. "I've got what you need." He picks up speed until he's basically fucking her through their clothes, nipping at her neck and chest and everywhere, sharp and punishing. Andy feels every drag of his mouth like a knife. "Mine," he tells her, panting into her neck. "Just mine, and now everyone's gonna know--"
Fuck, that does it. Andy tips back her head and keens, her entire lower body convulsing as Sam squeezes her ass rhythmically, dragging himself across her clit over and over and murmuring nonsense encouragement, how beautiful she is and how much he wants to fuck her. It seems like it goes on forever, wave after wave of relief. Andy gets the hiccups when she's done, shaky and overwhelmed.
"Sweetheart," Sam says quietly, lifting off and touching the soaked crotch of her pyjamas. It sounds like he's shocked.
Andy flinches hard--she doesn't mean to, shit, it's just so much at once, her whole body shorting out like a power grid in the middle of summer. Sam backs the hell off right away.
"No." God, that's the absolute last thing she wants, for him to stop touching her for even a second. She wants to climb inside him and stay. "Come back, come back, I just--"
"Okay, but--" Sam lets her wrestle him back down on top of her, cupping her face in his hand and kissing her purposefully slow. She's still hiccuping a bit against his mouth. It's like she can't get enough air in, or something: she's never, ever felt like this during sex before. "Take it easy, sweetheart."
"You take it easy." Andy doesn't even really know what she means by that, exactly, but Sam holds her there another minute until she stops shaking quite so embarrassingly much. She calms down eventually, though, enough to realize how hard he still is against her hipbone; she nudges until he's lying on his back, working his zipper with two unsteady hands. Andy pulls at his waistband, wraps her first around his warm, familiar cock--God, it's probably really tacky how much she missed this part of him specifically, but. Whatever. She totally did.
Now it's Sam's turn to go restless, hips shifting under her touch: "Andy," he says raggedly, sitting up a bit and reaching far enough to catch the waistband of her pajamas as she's ducking her head to lick along the warm, smooth underside. "Come up here."
"Uh-uh." Andy shakes her head stubbornly. She's fine now, really, she just wants to-- "Let me."
"I'll let you, sweetheart." Sam keeps tugging though, hand curving around her thigh like he's aiming to spin her clockwise toward the foot of the bed. For a second Andy can't figure out what he-- "Turn around."
Oh. Oh.
He wants to, like--to her, Andy realizes belatedly. At the same time.
"Sam," she says, this low, shocked squeak she one hundred percent can't help (because they've never--she's never--god). She does it though, lifting her hips to shuck off her pyjama pants with newly-shaky hands, swinging one leg over to straddle him backwards. She watches over her shoulder as she does it, ass hovering somewhere near the neighbourhood of his chest, weirdly shy. The feeling doesn't last long: christ, the look on Sam's face, like this is going to end him immediately. Like it's going to be the best thing ever.
"God, Andy." He curls both hands around her thighs, thumbs rubbing up under the curve of her ass. "Come here."
Andy wiggles back the last few inches inelegantly, dropping down to her elbows hard enough to jar the bed. But it completely doesn't matter because Sam's mouth is on her and--"Oh my god," she gasps, the feeling of his tongue licking across her clit, hard and messy. "Oh my--" She wraps her fingers around his cock like a reflex, the head bumping up against her chin. Sam groans against her and it's almost too much, how wound-up she still is, but Andy takes a deep breath and when she doesn't hiccup or come or die, she gets her mouth on him and starts sucking.
No way are they gonna last. Sam can't keep his hips still, rolling them underneath her in fits and starts; Andy taps his hip until he starts fucking her mouth a little, shallow pulses, then pulls off to rub at the leaking tip while he works a finger inside. He tastes just like she remembers, achingly familiar. Andy feels a surge of possessiveness, imagining his girlfriend. Wants to suck hard and long until he forgets anyone else ever did.
"You're gonna come," she tells him, resting her overheated forehead against his hipbone. "Just like this. You're gonna let me, and you're gonna come."
"Andy." Her name is like she's never heard it before, this low quiet beg deep in his throat. She likes the sound of it way too much. "Andy. I want to--"
"I know," she says. She wants it too, god, wants to feel him fill her up and cover her, but-- "After." She feels bossy now, has the sudden and distinct impression she's in charge here and wants to keep it that way for a while. She drops her jaw and takes him as deep as she can.
"Jesus." Sam groans like she's out to destroy him; Andy hums a little and closes her eyes to concentrate as his cock bumps the back of her throat. Sam's grip tightens. The way he's working her over with his mouth feels insane, the stretch when he pushes another finger inside her. It's--god. It's been a while. Andy breathes.
(She didn't want anybody else, is what happened. She was working a lot and there was Traci to think about, and then the undercover, but mostly: if she couldn't have Sam, she didn't want anybody else.)
"Come on," she urges now, pulling off long enough to get the words out; she remembers the way his body goes tight when he's on the edge of it, and he's close. "Wanna feel you, okay? Sam." Andy scrapes her nails along the skin of his inner thigh, gentle. "S'just me." She barely has time to get her mouth back on him before it happens.
"Fuck," Sam starts, clutching at her helplessly. "Please, sweetheart, I--" He muffles the rest against her body, coming in long, messy pulses that fill Andy's mouth and throat too fast to swallow. She stays with him all the way through it, though, choking herself a bit in the process. Finally pulls off to lick him clean.
"Missed this," she murmurs, rubbing up and down the packed muscle of his thighs. "God, Sam. Missed you so bad." He's relaxing by degrees now, stomach rising and falling underneath Andy's breasts and his face still buried between her legs; he pulled his fingers out so he could grab at her with both hands, so now it's just his lips and chin and tongue and--oh god--his teeth. Andy puts her head down on his lower belly and groans.
"Let me hear," Sam demands, pulling back to drag his scruff across the crease of her thigh roughly. Fuck, everywhere, seriously, he's just going to mark her up-- "Have to hear you." His voice is completely shot, as bad as if they'd been working a concert for hours and hours, this note in it that's strangely close to begging. Andy watches his spent cock twitch beside her cheek, fretful.
"Yes," she says, leveraging herself up on her elbows a bit. "Yes, anything, I promise, just--" Sam grabs her ass, bringing her down to his mouth again, and she loses the rest in a sharp whine.
The orgasm's not as violent this time, just this delicious roll of pleasure all down her spine and outward all the way to her fingers and toes. Andy squeezes her eyes shut against his skin. She works herself on his tongue while it's happening, too far gone to be self-conscious; Sam doesn't seem to mind, anyway, his fingertips digging into her hips and pulling her close. He sucks her clit obligingly until she's through.
"Sam," she gasps once she can talk again, this truly fantastic afterglow kicking its way though her veins. She tries to leverage herself up on her arms and stalls out halfway through, winds up sprawled out inelegantly across the mattress. "God."
Sam huffs a quiet laugh, a little breathless."Wanted to do that to you," he murmurs as she finally turns around and crawls back up his body, settling into his open arms and tilting her face up for a a kiss. He smells like her, the bottom half of his face damp and slick with it. Andy sucks at his chin, liking the taste. "Jesus, McNally. For months, I wanted to do that to you."
Andy hums against his mouth, pleased; it's barely mid-morning, the light all warm and golden where it's pooling on the sheets. "That so?" she asks, arching her back and stretching so her breasts press up against his side. "Because, like. I hadn't thought about it at all."
(He is, like. At least half-hard again already, is the thing.)
"Not at all, huh?" Sam nudges his sticky-wet nose at hers, smiling. He didn't even both trying to clean up at all, god, not even a cursory wipe at his mouth. Andy wants to smear herself all over him. "Who'd you think about instead?"
"Best," Andy says right away, getting a swat across the ass for her troubles. (That was also something she thought about when they were broken up, incidentally, how much she likes it and whether or not it was just with Sam, some of the other stuff they got up to, too. It freaked her out, having him responsible for so many of her likes and dislikes.) "Also Oliver." She gets a fist around Sam and holds, rubbing a thumb across the slippery head.
"Fuck." Sam pushes himself into her grip, cock twitching anxiously. The skin along the underside is ridiculously soft.
"Too much?" She'd back off but for the way he's working himself into it, intent like he's trying to get all the way erect as soon as possible. Still: "We have all day." He came hard, first time around. Andy tries not to feel smug about that and fails.
"No," Sam laughs, covering her hand with his and making her jack harder. "S'good. Too good, christ."
He's almost there already, god; Andy's grip expands as he stiffens. "That's it," she tells him, sucking at his messy jaw. "Want you inside, Sam." Her entire body is still humming ridiculously, as if someone opened up the top of her head and poured bucket fulls of endorphins inside. It feels like she could just slip onto him and come, like it would honestly take no more than that.
But Andy wants something different: "Have to hold me down," she murmurs into his mouth, just quiet. "Like you said. S'so I know--" Sam is rock hard now, clutching at her with suddenly desperate hands. "S'so I know I'm yours," Andy finishes, whimpering a little as she rubs herself against his thigh impatiently. There isn't a polite bone left in her body, all of her manners washed away by lust. "Wanna be just--"
"Mine." Sam's on top of her before she can even get the rest of the words out, all of him at once and so fast it hurts a little, the burn and stretch of him inside (again: it has been a while). It occurs to her belatedly that they probably ought to use a condom--he's been with somebody else, on top of which she has definitely not been as careful with the pill as she was back when she had a reason to be--but it's Sam, it's Sam it's Sam it's Sam, and when she opens her eyes and looks at him she can tell he's thinking the same exact thing.
"I don't care," she gasps as he pulls almost all the way out and then sinks back in again, these deep purposeful thrusts Andy feels absolutely everywhere. She pulls her knees up to give him a little more room, his hipbones grinding into hers every time he bottoms out. "I don't--do you care?"
Sam doesn't answer her right away, just grabs her wrists and slams them down against the mattress on either side of her head, all his weight and these sharp-toothed kisses along her jaw. Andy whines. He feels so ridiculously good inside her, thick and hot and filling, how much she likes it when he holds her down; back before they broke up she'd play at fighting it when he did this, more like wrestling than sex, but right now--possibly right now she just wants to lie here and take it. "I don't care," Sam mutters, and she realizes it just took him that long to put a coherent response together. "Don't care, want you just like this, I--"
"Please," Andy whimpers, pulling her knees back even further. "Just--" She doesn't even know what she's begging for, just that she wants everything at once. Him to come inside her, messy and everywhere, but also her own orgasm and him fucking her all the way through it, again and again until she's done. She turns her head and bites back, not nicely.
"Andy." Sam's hips stutter, spine snapping straight to bury himself, so deep it actually hurts. "I can't, I'm not gonna be able to--" It sounds like he's completely out of his mind.
Oh wow. Sam almost never loses it like this when he's on top and controlling the pace, razor sharp concentration that lasts and lasts. And after he's already come once and-- "Go," Andy whines, fighting his grip for the first time all night. "Go, go, go, please, ohmygod." She's gonna come. The second he does, she's going to too.
It happens almost even before she's had time to articulate the thought, both of them careening right over the edge of it like an out-of-control freight train, him shoving her down and her arching off the bed and both of them clutching, jesus christ, like neither one of them has any real say in what's happening anymore. Andy doesn't even know if it feels good at first. It feels, though, that's for sure--like getting caught up in a riptide and flung around in the ocean. Like taking a bullet in the vest. It lasts and lasts and lasts until she's shaking. She's hardly even sure when she's done.
Neither of them say anything for a long time afterward, Sam making no move whatsoever to roll off her, the feel of his heart echoing deep and hard inside her body. Andy lies underneath him, memorizing his weight. His hands come back online before the rest of him, thumbs stroking along her wrists like he's worried he actually bruised her; it takes another minute before she recovers enough to thread their fingers together.
"So like," she says, swallowing thickly. Her throat feels scratchy and hoarse. "I guess that part still works okay."
Sam huffs a quiet laugh into her temple. "Yeah, sweetheart," he tells her, squeezing her hand. She can feel him slipping out of her a little, the mess beginning to slide down her thighs. "I guess so."
Andy rubs her chin along his shoulder slowly. Her legs are loose and rubberized, heels slipping uselessly down the backs of his knees even though she wants to keep holding him place for--god, forever. "Um. Here's hoping the rest still works too?"
Now Sam pulls back a bit, up on his elbows with their hands still tangled together. "It will," he insists, nudging his nose against hers. "I'm playing for keeps." We can get a dog, yeah, only this time Andy believes him. And god, there's nothing to guarantee they're fixed for good, they still have to talk through a lot of crap, but just like that she's on the edge of dumb, hysterical tears of relief.
"Good," she chews out, gasping around a sob. For some stupid reason, she's still trying to play it cool. "I, uh. Love you."
Sam's face does a really nice thing then, not a smile but better. "I love you too," he says.
(So. That's not such a bad place to start over from, anyway.)
He stays exactly where he is for a while, the two of them breathing. Andy sifts her fingers through his hair.