FIC: the sea would have left its shores [rookie blue, sam/andy]
Title: the sea would have left its shores
Authors: lowriseflare and threeguesses
Fandom/Pairing: Rookie Blue, Sam/Andy
Rating: Haaaaaard R
Kinks/Warnings: Anal
Word Count: ~8,000
Summary: The one where Andy has a sexy dream?
A/N: I don't know, you guys. We debated for two days about how to make the prompt "Andy cums in her sleep" work, and this was the answer we settled on? ONE HUNDRED PERCENT MORE INAPPROPRIATE THAN THE ORIGINAL CONCEPT, OBVIOUSLY, BECAUSE THAT'S HOW WE ROLL. Next up: we tackle the one with the lactation kink? (FALSE, WE WILL NOT DO THAT. Please don't ask us.)
It isn’t a big deal, honestly.
They’ve just gotten back together--like, just just--and Andy’s hormones are basically jacked up to eleven all the time anyway, asleep or not. Not to mention she isn’t used to going to bed undressed anymore, no thick sweatpants to act as a barrier, and these things happen, okay? She barely even remembers the details of the dream. It jolts her awake though, that’s for damn sure, her thighs still glued together from last night and Sam watching from the other side of the bed, something on his face that looks momentarily like shock.
"What?" she demands, way more shrilly than she means to. Her heart is pounding, the last of the feeling still pumping through her veins. "What?"
"Nothing." Sam shakes his head, stares another minute. His face is sleepy, but totally alert. "But. Did you just--?"
God. Andy feels herself flush violently, in a way she hasn't since middle school, when Carli Wong pantsed her in front of the entire fricking gym class. "No," she says automatically. Then: "Did what?" Then: "Ugh, fine. Yes." She covers her face with both hands, then peeks. "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything," Sam grins. He rolls over, one hand sneaking up her bare thighs. "Good?"
Andy shivers at the contact, how his palm stutters a little along her sticky skin. Both of them are still pretty naked from last night, that is a fact. "Wasn't terrible."
"Mm." Sam's hand creeps higher, knuckles just barely brushing the hair. "Whatcha dreaming about over there?"
Andy groans. "Nothing." Then: "None of your business."
Sam raises his eyebrows, thumb brushing lightly over the damp curls. "Secret?" he asks, just quietly, and ugh, it shouldn't matter, but they just got back together and--
"Well, no." Andy shrugs against the sheets. "I mean--" She waves a hand at him, sort of spastically. "Duh."
"Duh." Sam's still grinning that same curly grin, like he really, really does not hate the idea that even her subconscious is--jeez. "Don't want to get any more specific than that, huh?" He opens her up a little then, slides one finger along the whole length of her so he can feel just how wet she really is.
Andy's legs fall open like a reflex, her not really meaning to make it so easy for him and not being able to help it. "Not particularly."
"Hm." Sam dips just the very tip of his finger inside her, then pulls back entirely. "Too bad."
"Ugh," Andy groans, throwing an arm up over her face. "I don't even remember, okay?" Not strictly true, actually--there were um, some specific appendages involved--but close enough. She wiggles her hips a bit, hoping to get the show on the road. Sam Swarek, she has learned from experience: definitely a morning sex person. "Let's just settle for the real thing," she says, trying to brazen it out. He still makes her shy about the weirdest things. "Maybe it'll jog my memory."
Sam traces quick fingers over her stomach, fussing with her hip bones. His grin is going nowhere fast. "I dunno, McNally. You seem pretty impatient for a person whose body just took care of itself."
"Shut up," Andy repeats, whining as he runs those knuckles up her rib cage and over the curve of her breast--which, yes, good, nice, but not exactly what she's after here. She lowers her arm and peeks at him through her eyelashes. "Anyway, I can go more than once."
That gets his attention: Sam's smile fades, replaced by something significantly less smug but no less predatory. "I know you can," he says, a little roughly. He flips his hand and plucks at her nipple, watches as it stiffens under his touch. "Gotta tell me first, though."
Andy rolls her eyes and takes charge, propping up on one elbow and reaching down underneath the sheets to grab him. Sam catches her wrist right before she does.
"Really?" she asks skeptically, nodding down to where he's tenting up the blankets a bit. "You wanna play it that way? Cause I could always just leave you hanging." She wouldn't, actually--getting there in her sleep is always a tease, this sharp directionless pinch between her legs that leaves her frustrated more than anything--but Sam doesn't have to know that.
Looking at his face, though, he might be calling her bluff. "Oh yeah?" He twists her nipple hard with his free hand, then runs his fingers down her belly to shove two inside. Andy's entire body curls. "I doubt it. Now tell me what it was about."
He leaves his fingers in place, just pressing; Andy resists working herself on them like a sex-starved maniac. "Was about you," she pants. "You and me." She reaches for him again, the other hand this time.
Sam's not buying, though--he pulls his fingers out to capture this wrist too. "What were we doing?" he asks, collecting her hands together up over her head.
Andy whines. "Reading the newspaper," she says as snottily as she can muster, Sam swinging one leg over her body so she's trapped underneath him, his knees on either side of hers. His cock bumps up against his belly, leaking a little, but he's got this expression like he'll wait her out all day. He might, too: neither one of them have to work until tonight. "Was really scandalous stuff."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Cute," he says, transferring both her wrists to one hand and snaking his free one down in between them again. His fingers feel rough and thick and purposeful. He smells like sleep and like himself.
Andy raises hers back, remembering more than she wants to tell him. She struggles a little, just to see what he'll do.
"Don't get fresh," Sam tells her mildly, grinding her wrists into the pillow, words and deeds not matching up at all. Andy shivers. "Was it something like this?" He works a third finger inside, palm bumping up against her clit.
It was not, as a matter of fact. But it feels so good Andy seriously considers lying, making up a story about how he fingered her at their desks or something, just embarrassing enough that he'll believe her. She hesitates too long, though, and Sam backs off.
"No?" he asks, watching her face for clues like she's a perp he's questioning. "Something more involved, maybe?"
Andy whimpers, frustrated. There's no reason she couldn't just tell him, she guesses--it's over the line, sure, but not really kinkier than anything else they've done--but she finds she kind of wants to keep it to herself or at least make him work for it, to clutch it like a stone in her sweaty hand until she's sure it's worth giving up. She thinks like that a lot more since they got back together, Andy's finding, like she's holding a little piece of herself back. She doesn't know if it means she's more grown-up now, or just gun-shy.
Sam's not making a distinction, meanwhile, biting at her neck in a way that might or might not be friendly. "'Nally, sweetheart," he says, down by her ear; he's dropped low enough that he's pressed against her stomach, hot and hard. They slept at his apartment last night, morning light winking across the floor. "Wanna know."
Andy breathes out, chest moving against his. His cock is sticky, leftover from last night or still leaking, Andy's not sure which--he can never wait, in the mornings. She takes another breath. "Make it worth my while," she announces bossily, nudging her head at his. Nudging his head down, actually; she almost isn't sure what she means until she does it.
Sam figures it out real quick. "Oh, so it's like that?" He backs off her wrists slowly, trailing his hand down her arms. He looks, just maybe, like he can't quite believe her.
Andy gets both hands on his head and pushes. "It's exactly like that, yeah."
Sam nips at her stomach. "Bossy." She is, too, Andy knows it; that's another thing since they started back up again, not in bed so much, that was never really a problem, but more like if she wants to go out like a normal couple they are sure as shit going out like a normal couple, enough of his weird let's stay in and fuck like rabbits for a full weekend without seeing anyone crap. Not that they haven't been fucking like rabbits, exactly, but. There's a time and a place, Andy thinks.
Like right now for instance, maybe: Sam's spreading her open with two clever thumbs and licking thoroughly, one arm wrapped around her thigh to keep her still. Andy whines.
He gets her there real quick, how wound up she is from the dream and how well he knows her body. He might, if Andy is not mistaken, even be hurrying; he sucks at her clit with a single-minded intent, two fingers crooked inside like it's a formula, How To Get McNally Off. It works, of course--it actually works really, really well--but when Sam pops his head back up, looking hugely pleased with himself, Andy finds herself narrowing her eyes.
"Again," she tells him. Sam's eyebrows hit his hairline, and she shrugs airily. "Was some dream, is all I'm saying. But if you don't wanna hear--"
Sam growls, flipping her onto her stomach.
Which: crap, he means business. Andy pillows her forehead on one arm and tangles one fist in her hair as she opens her legs to accommodate him, shivering as the cool air hits everywhere she's most sensitive. It's not enough for him, though: Sam claps her on the back of her thigh with the flat of his palm, not gently. "Up," he orders.
Andy breathes in. "Now who's bossy?" she mutters; she shifts up onto her knees anyway, though, knowing he likes having her open to him like this, being able to see every private part of her. Sam bites sharply at the curve of her ass.
"You're gonna tell me eventually," he warns, sucking messily, lips and teeth and curling, clever tongue. He's got one arm wrapped around her thigh and the other hand on her ass, fingers digging in hard enough to leave a mark. Andy wiggles a bit, just to feel him double the pressure.
"It was like this," she murmurs into the back of her arm, holding still as he licks up up up. "Or, not like this, not doing this, but like--from behind."
"From behind, huh?" Sam sounds interested, but not particularly shocked or anything: there's no reason for him to be, duh, they've been doing it like that since the cover apartment, how she let him bend her over the counter in his sorry excuse for a kitchen, her up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and his fingers sneaking down between her legs. His mouth is so stupidly, incredibly warm. "We can probably make that happen. Where were we, hm? Gonna tell me that part?"
"No, like." Andy squeezes her eyes shut even though he can't see her, rolling her hot forehead back and forth across her arm. "Behind."
For an entire beat, Sam goes completely, heartbreakingly still. "Fuck, Andy." He's got his face right there, right where she means, and he licks her hard and focused and so so dirty. "Sweetheart, I--" He actually sounds at a loss for words.
Andy hmms, curling her arm to hide her entire face. "Was just a dream," she mumbles into her own skin, even as she's completely pushing back against him, looking for more of it.
"Do you want--?" Sam curls his fingers down between her legs, sliding them up inside her slippery body and pulling them out completely soaked. He draws them up and around, curious. "We could. But we'd need, um."
Andy beats her forehead off her arm. "Lube," she finishes, a blush everyone on her not covered by hair. "Yep."
Sam hums his agreement into her skin, circling with one gentle finger. He pushes inside, just a little, and Andy gasps. "Have lotion," he mutters, pulling back like he's afraid he's going to hurt her. "Could give it a shot."
"Can you use lotion?" Andy turns her head so he can hear her better. "Like, is that going to--?" She hides her face again, embarrassed, heart pounding a bit at the idea of trying it--like, teasing him is one thing, but jesus. "Ugh, sorry, this is not a sexy conversation."
"Andy." Sam huffs a desperate-sounding laugh, climbs back up her body so his mouth is right against the back of her neck. "Are you kidding me, sweetheart, you're the sexiest thing I've ever--"
"Have you ever?" she asks, interrupting. He wouldn't talk much about his past the first time they were together. Andy isn't sure if she wants to know or not. "I mean."
Sam bites lightly, teeth into the sensitive skin of her nape. "No," he huffs, warm warm breath through her hair. "I mean, not all--fingers, but not." He swallows, and Andy feels it through her whole body. "Not."
Not. Andy reaches back for him, cupping the base of his skull even as she keeps pressing her own face into the bed. He's hard as anything against the back of her thigh, poker hot. "So, um. We could--" She shifts her hips against the mattress, feeling feverish and impatient. "Please, Sam, just. Something."
"Okay." He kisses her neck and unwinds her fingers from his hair, holding her hand as he sits up to rummage through the bedside table. "You can use this," he tells her, dangling the bottle in her field of vision. "I use it to--so." He laughs, just this side of ragged.
That makes Andy turns her head, grinning a little. "Oh yeah?" His bedside table and a bottle of lotion, of course, just like teenage boys all over the world.
"Yeah." Sam grins back, a little sheepish. He kisses his way down her body one more time, Andy's face pressed into the pillows and her knees digging into the bed; she listens as he clicks the top of the bottle open, tugging restlessly at the hair at her crown. The lotion feels very, very cold. "I got you," Sam promises quietly, rubbing in circles she feels absolutely everywhere. "You're okay."
Andy nods into her elbow, whimpering as he works one finger in deep and easy, stretching her out as slow as he can before he adds another. Andy's hands make two fists in the sheets. It feels insane and a little scary, not painful exactly but more like she's teetering on the edge of something, like she's out of control and could spin out any second with nothing to catch her. She's tried real hard to avoid this feeling, actually, ever since they got back together. She's not entirely sure about it now.
(It's good, though. Sam twists his fingers a little inside her, so slow and so gentle, and fuck. It's really, really good.)
"Please," she tells him, lifting up a bit so he can get his other hand underneath her, rubbing at her clit gentle and familiar and so so slow. It's good enough to make her clench--which does hurt, actually, just a little. Andy freezes up, then bears down again deliberately, testing out the edges of the feeling.
"Okay?" Sam breathes, mouth just ghosting across her skin. His fingers twist again, careful. "What do you need?"
Andy tries rocking herself back for a second, controlling the penetration, but she doesn't have the leverage. She's literally too tight, Sam has to do all the moving. "I--" Christ, that's scary; Andy breathes. "Okay. Try another." They're going to need a condom, she realizes. If they're seriously going to--they're going to need a condom.
He re-ups on the lotion before he does it, the entire lower half of Andy's body feeling enormously slippery and unfamiliar, like possibly she belongs in the ocean. Sam presses a kiss against her spine. "You're amazing," he promises as he works a third finger inside her, this burn that's got her shifting against the mattress for a minute, trying to get comfortable. His fingers are steady and rough against her clit. “You're doing so good, Andy, jesus."
Andy whines in reply, liking the praise in spite of herself, how low and private his voice is. She spreads her legs as wide as she possibly can. "Sam," she manages after a moment, swallowing audibly. "I just--let's--we probably need--" Andy takes a breath. "Right?"
Sam nods against her skin, right there with the gist. "Yeah, um. I think I still have--" He plants a series of wet kisses along her spine and ass as he extracts his fingers, like maybe he can somehow distract her that way, all pay no attention to the man behind the curtain; Andy feels every inch just the same. "There you go," Sam murmurs when they're separate again, one last kiss where his fingers just were. "Perfect."
Andy shivers, feeling stretched out and underwater-foreign. She moves her forehead to a fresh patch of pillow while he rummages around in the bedside table again. Unclenches her fingers from the sheets. Tries to breathe. There is a long, quiet pause.
Finally: "Sam?"
"Yeah." He rubs both hands up her legs, warm. "Right here, I have one, I just--I don't want to hurt you."
The answer makes Andy's heart do a funny swooping thing, although she guesses I don't want to hurt you is a pretty low bar for romance; still, it always knocks her off her feet a little when Sam sounds unsure about anything where she's concerned. Just thinking about his voice the first night they got back together is enough to make her squeeze her eyes shut one more time. "You're not gonna hurt me," she promises, never mind that in reality she has no idea if that's true. It's not like she's ever done this before, either. "If you hurt me we'll stop," she amends.
"Okay." Sam seems happy enough to take her lead on things for the time being, digging the bottle of lotion out of the bedsheets. He rubs it into her thighs and ass for a long time before he does anything else, enough that Andy's heart is about to pound out of her chest with anticipation when she feels him shift his weight to line them up.
"Tell me," he says again, a lot closer than he was a second ago. "'Bout what it was like in your dream."
"I--" It was unrealistic, is what it was, them having standard tab A, slot B sex and then Andy begging him to switch. That was enough, in the dream--Andy was done so fast she doesn't even remember what her subconscious thought it felt like, just that she woke up throbbing. Basically, though, all of that pretty much adds up to: "It made me come," she tells Sam, rocking back a bit to feel him bump up against her. Everything is so, so slippery.
"'Nally." His mouth is right by her ear, these great desperate breaths. "All right. Slow, okay?" He's got one arm braced near hers, the other down between them; Andy feels him slide two fingers inside, checking, then the blunt head of his cock. "Talk to me," he says, pressing forward just barely.
"O-okay," Andy stutters. She's trying to relax, but it's hard. She slides a hand underneath to touch herself, more for reassurance than anything else. "Um." It's slow slow slow but it's definitely working, inch by weird, full inch; it hurts. "You talk to me," she tells Sam, breathing through the feeling. It's not a bad hurt, necessarily.
"You all right?" he asks her anyway--the way all her muscles are tensed up underneath him is making him tense too, she can tell, like he's taking all his cues from her. Andy counts to three before she exhales. The whole entire front of him is warm warm warm against her back. "Andy."
Andy nods. "Mm-hmm," she promises. "S'just scary." She opens her mouth again before he can get any ideas: "Don't stop."
"Won't stop," Sam murmurs into her shoulder. He presses in another inch like he's looking to prove it, Andy rubbing her clit a little harder to offset the burn. Not a bad hurt, no; it's not quite pleasure either though, like her whole nervous system is confused, a bunch of dragonflies banging around inside a jar. He feels enormous like this, it's crazy. He feels huge. "Don't be scared, though," he says quietly. "S'just me." Then, like he's remembering what she asked him all of a sudden: "Always wanted to try this with you," he confesses, so quiet she almost isn't even sure she heard him correctly. "Just you."
Andy whines, she can't help it, bucking into her own touch fretfully then backing up into him. "What's it feel like?" she gasps. Another inch now, getting down to where his cock is thicker; Andy reaches back to feel how much is left, fingers bumping over the slippery ring of latex. "Sam Sam Sam, tell me what it's like."
Sam groans. He's got his mouth on her shoulder and neck, biting like he does when he's trying to control himself, soft-toothed. "Tight," he says. "Fuck, Andy, you're so tight, I can't--" He breaks off, running his hands all over her body, rubbing her back like she's a little kid with a fever. "What about you?"
Andy doesn't really know how to answer that so she slides her fingers back down between her legs instead, crooking two up inside. "I can feel you here," she tells him, the scary thin wall of skin and how he's right there on the other side, pushing. "Can you--?" She moves her hand, fucking herself. "Sam. Does it--?"
"Oh, my god." Sam bites down hard on the meat of her shoulder, enough that there's probably going to be a mark there once they're through. He doesn't say anything for a second after that, like he's focusing, like he really needs to concentrate if he's not going to come before he's even all the way inside. Andy does it again, her fingers deep and slippery, and he growls. "You gotta stop that," he warns her, and now he's the one whose whole entire body has gone piano-string taut. "Fuck, you gotta stop, Andy, or--"
Andy hums into the pillows, pleased--she likes that she's not the only person who's like, a hair's breadth away from completely losing it here. It's distracting as all hell, too, or maybe she's just finally getting used to what this feels like, because the last couple of inches aren't nearly as intense as she's thinking they're going to be. She strokes against that thin thin skin inside her one more time, taking a chance--she's invested in this now, actually, wants to see it through until the end-- but Sam only inhales sharply. She pulls all the way out to rub some more. "Is that--" she asks when his hips are pressed flush against her, breaking off a little breathlessly. It's definitely more like pleasure now, if she had to choose, but he's also holding totally still, so. "I mean, are you all the way--"
"Yeah." Sam swallows. "That's it, I'm--fuck, Andy, you're so good."
Andy hums at a him a little, really more of a purr. It feels like an accomplishment now that he's there, a magic trick for the playground, look at what my body can do. Andy has a double-jointed thumb she used to show-off at recess; this feels a bit like that. "How good?" she asks playfully, rounding her back and then arching it, feeling the shift inside. "Hmm? Tell me."
"So good," Sam repeats, brushing through her hair. His hands are sticky with lotion, but it feels so wonderful Andy doesn't care. "You're perfect, god." He moves a bit, just gently; Andy would bet it isn't even intentional, but oh, it feels. "Fuck," Sam hisses, feeling too. "The best, sweetheart, I love you so much."
That's nice, hearing that, but it's maybe not necessarily the praise Andy is after? She rubs her clit hard, wiggling back at him again. And god, that's--there is friction there. "Am I good girl?" she asks, so quiet it's more breath than words.
"Andy." Sam says her name loud and clear and thrusts--not hard, even, but sudden, enough that Andy lets out a startled, animal gasp. Right away he gets an arm around her and holds. "Fuck," he hisses, mouth at her neck and her shoulder and her ear, wet and desperate. He's still got one messy hand in her hair. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry, do you want--."
"S'okay." Andy breathes for a second, assessing. It's a shock, absolutely, the burn and stretch of it surprising--but not, all told, too painful to feel good. Like...kind of the opposite, actually. "Do that again," she instructs him after a minute, moving her fingers cautiously; it's kind of hot, how much he likes how much she likes to hear it. They've been at this a long time already. She thinks he must be starting to ache by now. "Like, a little slower."
"Yeah?" Sam waits for her nod before he does it, the drag of him completely unreal as he pulls maybe halfway out and then goes about fitting himself back inside her. She feels weirdly tiny, and incredibly full. "Good girl," he tells her once he bottoms out, low and secret; for the first time since they started, Andy's more confident than not that she's going to be able to get off like this.
"Again," she tells him, working herself over harder. She could make it happen just like this, she's almost sure, how well she knows her own clit enough to block everything else out, but it's not exactly the way she wants to-- "Do it for real, though," she adds. "Like the way you do it when we're--when it's normal."
Not exactly eloquent, but Sam gets the message anyway, arm around her middle and his mouth fused to her neck. "Yeah," he tells her, pulling out properly and thrusting back in, their standard rhythm slowed down to quarter-speed. He does it again, then again, Andy prompting him every time, and on the third go-round when he pushes back inside she fits two fingers into herself in the same motion, the heel of her hand grinding against her clit.
Sam stops, rigid-still again. "Is that--did you just--?" He can't see, Andy realizes, but he's definitely able to feel.
"Yeah," she confesses. "Just two, um. Two fingers."
Sam hisses, then bites her neck. And then: "Try three."
"Um. Okay. Yeah." Andy does what he tells her, holding them close together as she works them inside, actually forgetting to breathe for a minute. When she finally exhales it's all in a rush. "S'it feel tighter?" she whispers curiously. God knows it does for her, crap, between her fingers and his cock there's noplace for her to go at all, how she gets shoved forward every time he thrusts. "Sam--"
"Yeah." Sam sounds choked; the hand around her middle finds her nipple, his fingers still lotion-slick. "S'tighter."
Jesus. "Keep moving," she orders gently; bossy, sure, but she can feel it building now, this sharp edgy feeling that's way different than normal, down so low and deep in her tissue. "Crap, Sam, it feels really good now."
"Are you--" Sam cups her breast fully, rolling the nipple back and forth just how she likes. His hips are going slow and steady now, regular pulses. "God, Andy. You seriously gonna?" He's shocked, she can tell, probably not sure he'd get her there any more than she was.
She almost doesn't want to jinx it, how good and deep it's building, but. "Uh-huh." Then, after a particularly good thrust: "Oh, yeah. Definitely."
Sam groans, the fingers in Andy's hair tightening almost to the point of pain. She whimpers, but he doesn't let up. "Look at me," he says, head down next to hers and nudging. "Please, McNally. Need you to look." And the need, that gets to her a little: Andy looks. His eyes are so fucking dark, this heartbreakingly serious face on him and the thready tap of his heart against the flat of her back. She loves him, too. She always has. "You're perfect," Sam says again, still moving inside her; Andy makes a wordless sound, hangs on. "Come on, sweetheart. Want to feel you come like this."
Another few seconds and she gives him what he's after, the orgasm hitting like a goddamn earthquake, like nothing she's ever felt before in her life. Sam fucks her all the way through it. He talks to her, too, tells her over and over what a good girl she is--although she isn't, she can't be, not when she likes this so criminally much, how deep he's buried in her--jesus. She's loud enough to wake the neighbors, if they aren't up already. Works herself on her fingers and his cock until she's totally, completely done.
"Andy," Sam says, this voice like she's wrecked him. He pets up her side a little bit, soothing. Andy's whole body jumps.
"Fuck," she mutters, turning her face back to press against the mattress. Her neck hurts now, the angle she was holding it at to see him, but everything else is like boiled spaghetti. "Sam. Fuck." She can feel him deep inside, completely still again like he's worried it'll be too much. Andy wiggles her fingers, rubbing through the thin layer of skin, and he hisses.
"That feels really good," he confesses, this very low, private voice. He's still got one arm curved around the front of her body, hot and possessive. "You feel amazing." He's kissing her like he can't stop, her ear and the side of her face, sucking at the point of her jaw. Andy makes a decision, leaving her fingers where they are, all three of them.
"How tight was it?" she asks, genuinely curious. "When I--how tight was it?"
Sam exhales. Andy can feel how tense he is behind her, trying not to move, all this packed muscle from his shoulders down to his thighs. "Tight, sweetheart," he admits quietly. He shifts his weight a little, humming as she curls her fingers up inside herself; he tries thrusting again, just gently, slow and tentative like he was before. "You want me to--"
"No," she says, no hesitation at all; pull out is what he's going to offer, and that's the last thing Andy wants. She shoves herself back against him, hard and rough enough that they both gasp. "Stay. Wanna feel you come like this, too."
Sam groans. "Tell me if it's too much," he warns her, palming down her body and curling two big hands around her hipbones. "Andy. You gotta tell me, okay?"
His voice is soft and rough all at once, stalling out around her name like it's something precious. Andy wants to wrap herself in sound.
"Not gonna be too much," she promises, shoving up on her hands and knees and taking Sam with her, both of them fused from shoulder to thigh. Andy locks her elbows. "Just like this," she instructs. Sam groans, already moving with his head pressed against her back, desperate, but Andy wants him to go faster. Wants it to be as good as hers was. "Come on," she whispers, covering the hand he's still got wrapped around her hipbone. "Come on, Sam, fuck me."
And--yeah. Sam does.
It does hurt some this time, just a little, how swollen and sensitive everything is by now. Andy pulls in a ragged breath. It's nothing she can't handle though, on top of which it's basically cancelled out by how much she wants to feel this happen, how private and close it feels for him to have her this way. His mouth is warm and wet against her back.
"Just yours," Andy mutters, wanting to help him along a little. Since she got back from the undercover and they got back together that kind of talk works for him even more than it used to, and he doesn't even get weird and tetchy about it afterwards anymore. It's basically one of Andy's favorite tricks. "You're the only one, Sam, okay, the only one I'd ever, ever let do this to me. Only you, just--"
Yup. Andy thought that might work.
"Fuck," he gasps, fingers intertwining with hers as his thrusts go fast and jerky, pressing both their hands into her hipbone so hard it hurts. Andy doesn't care, though, because the noise that tears out of his throat is so after-dark private it makes her blush, heat shooting down her spine like someone took it out and dunked the bones in something molten. Andy is--yeah. Andy is probably going to want to do this again.
"That's it," she tells him now, feeling the heat straight through the condom. He's panting against her skin, these great shaky breaths that make his rib cage flare out against her back. "Love you so much." He always liked that, even before, but now he likes it enough to tug her head around for a messy kiss.
"You mine, huh?" he asks, just quiet. Andy almost doesn't hear, the kiss and how breathless he is.
"Yeah," she says when it registers, with a nod that might or might not translate, how close together their faces are. She drops down on her elbows and Sam follows, the weight of him crushing her a little in the best possible way. Her whole body feels dishrag-limp. "M'yours. You mine?"
(She never used to ask it back, when they were dating the first time. She didn't think he'd say no, exactly. She was just never entirely sure what he would say.)
But: "Pretty much, McNally," he tells her now, pushing her hair behind her ear so he can bump his nose against the side of her face. Then, shifting a bit like he's going to try and pull out as gently as humanly possible: "You ready?"
"Oh." Andy tenses back up a bit, she can't help it, the expectation of pain. "Yeah, um. Go ahead."
"You're okay," Sam tells her, kissing her jaw and her neck, way more tender than he normally is, like he's afraid she's going to break. He gets his mouth at her nape and worries it until she's relaxed again, then starts backing his hips up slow slow slow. It burns, no question--and not a good burn either, not anymore--but the way Sam's petting through her hair almost makes it all worth it. As soon as they're separate he tugs her up and around, rolling her onto her back so he can press his forehead against hers. "Andy," he whispers, touching his nose to hers.
"Yeah." She giggles a little bit then, nerves or relief or something, how she can't totally believe they just did that. That she wanted to do it in the first place. Sam's looking at her like he can't believe it either, dark eyes and that weirdly handsome face; Andy can feel how sloppy they are down in between them, the lotion plus how wet he got her, a sheen of sweat she hadn't even realized was covering her skin. "That was intense, right?"
"Mm-hmm." Sam huffs a laugh of his own, crow's feet crinkling up on either side of his face. "You okay? You need anything?"
She could use some water, actually. Wants him to stay right where he is.
"No, um." She threads both fingers up through his hair, sliding her legs along his. "Let's just hang out for a sec, okay? I want--" She wants to be held, pretty much. Wants Sam to cover her up, anchor her to the earth. "Don't move."
"Sure," Sam agrees, but he does anyway, rolling them over so she's sprawled out on his chest like a rug. He never gives her his weight for very long afterwards, prefers to pillow her on top and stroke her bare back; Andy guesses he likes her weight, too. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises. He hasn't even dealt with the condom yet.
"Mmm," Andy tells his shoulder. She could fall back to sleep like this, maybe. She could.
"So," Sam says, tracing down her spine. "Was it like your dream?"
Andy hesitates. It was better, actually, the hot slow stretch of it and the bone-deep pleasure, how powerful it made her feel to undo him like that. Still: there are limits. No way is she about to tell Sam he literally outpaced her wildest dreams. "Some," she admits finally, rubbing her nose along his collarbone and feeling shy. "Little different."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Good different?" he asks.
"Ugh, stop fishing." Andy jabs him in the ribs with one bony elbow. She smiles anyway, though; he really isn't going anywhere, none of that anxious, restless energy radiating off him like she got used to the first time around. "Good different," she admits after a moment. "Yeah."
"Good." Sam combs through her hair, heavy and sticky with lotion from his earlier manhandling. "Sorry," he says now, lifting the tangled mess off her neck and flipping it across his chest, like maybe it's just so much laundry he can lay out to dry. "We could probably use a shower, huh?" It sounds a little like he doesn't want to move either.
Andy nods against his shoulder, drowsy and content. "Probably," she agrees. "Could maybe use some breakfast, too." She lifts her head to look at him, wrinkling her nose teasingly. "I mean, I'm just saying. You kind of owe me a hell of breakfast."
Sam laughs, real and startled, a white shining slice of teeth that lingers. "Kind of?" He touches up her spine for another minute, both of them quiet. Then: "Was better than I imagined."
That gets Andy's attention. "You thought about it?" she asks, popping her head up to peer at him. And like, obviously she thought about it--she dreamed about it, god--but. The idea of him thinking about it, of wanting it, makes her stomach do a weird flipping thing.
Sam makes a face at her: it's a relax, Rookie sort of look, the kind he used to shoot her all the time when he was her TO, except, like. Nicer. "Yeah, McNally." He slides his hand down the small of her back, grabs her ass and squeezes until she shivers. "I thought about it." His expression changes then, like possibly the thinking wasn't just a one time thing.
Andy shifts her hips, rubbing herself against his thigh, just lightly. She's not ready to go again, not yet, but she wants to get closer if she can. "How come you never said anything?" She's curious, actually; they've just--they've done a lot of stuff, is all.
Sam shrugs, this look like he might be a little--like he's definitely sort of sheepish. "Dunno," he says, pulling her harder against him, touching up the curve of her ass. He likes her there, Andy's always known, his hand finding its way into her back pocket practically every time they're out together. "Voicing the pitch always seemed sort of--" He breaks off, squeezing again. It makes her shiver, the memory of him deep inside. "You know," Sam finishes, pulling a face.
"Sort of seedy?" she supplies, giggling. She likes him shy, the once in a blue moon it appears. "I mean, sure." Her voice drops way down, imitating him. "'Sweetheart, let's experiment with other holes' is definitely kind of--"
Sam swats her, way lighter than he normally would, as if he's worried it'll hurt. "Shut up," he mutters, a stern expression that doesn't quite make it to his eyes. "Didn't know you'd like it too."
Andy grins, ducking her face into his neck again. "Well, it would seem that I like it," she reports, trying to do his voice some more but not really getting all the way there. It's just funny, that he'll tie her up and put her over his knee and let her lick him all over in a public bathroom while they're technically on the clock (once, that happened once, right when they got back together and both of them muttering this is is stupid this is so stupid the whole entire time) but he thought this was like, too far over the line even to mention. Andy doesn't know where her line is, honestly. It keeps moving on her the more time goes by. "So. Next time you wanna do something filthy and depraved to me, like. Raise your hand."
Sam snorts. "Raise my hand, huh?"
"Well, it's rude to call out," Andy says, tracing one thumb over his silky eyebrows. "Didn't you go to kindergarten?"
"Mmmhmm, twice even." Sam turns his head, kissing her wrist. "Got held back."
"Oh yeah?" Andy asks, trying not to let her whole body perk. He hardly ever talks about his childhood, even now. Andy will never know what made him want to tell her about the joke book that night all those years ago; her cut-up ankle, the moon, the alignment of Saturn. She's long since given up trying to recreate it. "Why?"
Sam grins against her arm, quicksilver. "Dumb cop." He opens his mouth, sucks a quick hickey; Andy lets him, liking the pull. Then: "I was a real shrimpy kid, late birthday. Was always kind of glad they did it, to be honest." He licks at the bruised place for a second, just soft. "Plus I missed a lot of it the first time, so."
So. Andy rests her chin on the back of her free hand, fingertips scritching gently through the hair on his chest. "Yeah?" is all she says, picturing him as a small, skinny five-year-old with a serious expression, wanting him to keep going. That's a thing they teach you at the Academy, that when you're trying to get information out of somebody the best thing to do is shut up and let them give it.
"Mm-hmm." Sam's tracing the veins in her forearm now, like there's something really important written there that needs his attention. "Moved a lot."
"Ah," Andy says, watching his finger draw looping patterns. After a second she makes a fist, trying to pop her veins like a teenage boy; it doesn't work but Sam smiles anyway, face still bent over her arm. His eyelashes are long long long. "That sucks," she tells him finally.
"Pretty much." Sam unclenches her fist finger by finger, tracing each one. "Always hated it, being introduced to the class in the middle of the year as the new kid. Got in a lot of fights."
"You were a scrapper, huh?" Andy can picture that just fine, actually, a kind of desperate, wiry strength to him as a teenager. But Sam shakes his head.
"Only when I was little," he says, looking up at her finally. "I stopped around grade five, grade six, maybe. I learned to stop."
"Yeah." Andy nods slowly, thinking about it. Takes a chance. "And this was with your family, or...?"
Sam startles a bit, shaking his head like he's honestly surprised. "System kid, McNally," he tells her, no hesitation at all. Then, still looking: "You knew that, didn't you?"
Andy feels her heart starts to pound a little, trying to calm it down before Sam feels it pounding, too. She did know that, she guesses, as much as you can know something that nobody's ever said to you before. As much as you can know something you don't even really want to imagine. "I mean," she says, feeling so, so careful. "You never told me for sure."
"Mmm." Sam thinks that over, feeling up and down her rib cage like she's a dog at the Westminster and he's checking for faults. "Guess I didn't," he concedes, rubbing the curve where her breasts pillow out against his chest. He must be able to feel her heart now, his hands and her thudding stomach right against his. It feels like it's beating all over Andy's body, like she's one giant ventricle. "I'm sorry I didn't."
Andy shrugs inside his grasp, trying to be easy and light. "S'okay. I--" She pauses, swallowing. "I guessed." The word drops out of her mouth like it's made of lead.
But Sam just nods at her, calm. "Yeah, I figured. Anyway, it was Sarah and I both. They tried to keep us together at first, but eventually--" He shrugs too, running his searching hands up to her face and drawing two lines across her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I guess it wasn't worth the effort. Sarah needed so much special attention."
"That sucks," Andy replies quietly, for lack of anything better. Her thoughts are skittering all over the place, how many follow-up questions she wants to ask him and how badly she doesn't want to say the wrong thing. She's so unused to him volunteering personal information about himself that now that he finally is, she doesn't totally know how to handle it. Supportive listing has never really been her strong suit.
Sam smiles faintly, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Yeah, McNally," he tells her. "Pretty much."
"I'm sorry." She touches back, rubbing up and down both his arms, the hard curve of muscle down to the knot of bone at his wrists. "Thanks, um. Thanks for telling me." She pushes up to look at him properly, lidded eyes and those Maybelline-black eyelashes nearly hiding his expression. He doesn't look like a person experiencing a watershed moment, but. "Not that you have to tell me anything," she adds in a rush. "Just--I don't know. Thanks." She cringes at the sound of her own voice, keyed up and pitchy. Probably this is the last sharing and caring session they'll have for a while.
But Sam smiles again, a little wider this time. "Got to keep the conversation moving somehow," is all he says.
That makes Andy laugh. "Now that you've gotten what you wanted out of me, you mean?" She drops back down to nip at his chin as he chuckles and just like that they're normal again, although maybe it's a new kind of normal now, Andy isn't sure. It feels like both of them are unfolding a little, or something. Whatever it is, she doesn't hate it. "You hungry?" she asks around a yawn.
She's thinking about scrambled eggs and bacon, holds my hand and brings me juice in bed, but Sam shakes his head and tightens his grip. "Stay for another minute," he tells her softly, and Andy does.
Authors: lowriseflare and threeguesses
Fandom/Pairing: Rookie Blue, Sam/Andy
Rating: Haaaaaard R
Kinks/Warnings: Anal
Word Count: ~8,000
Summary: The one where Andy has a sexy dream?
A/N: I don't know, you guys. We debated for two days about how to make the prompt "Andy cums in her sleep" work, and this was the answer we settled on? ONE HUNDRED PERCENT MORE INAPPROPRIATE THAN THE ORIGINAL CONCEPT, OBVIOUSLY, BECAUSE THAT'S HOW WE ROLL. Next up: we tackle the one with the lactation kink? (FALSE, WE WILL NOT DO THAT. Please don't ask us.)
It isn’t a big deal, honestly.
They’ve just gotten back together--like, just just--and Andy’s hormones are basically jacked up to eleven all the time anyway, asleep or not. Not to mention she isn’t used to going to bed undressed anymore, no thick sweatpants to act as a barrier, and these things happen, okay? She barely even remembers the details of the dream. It jolts her awake though, that’s for damn sure, her thighs still glued together from last night and Sam watching from the other side of the bed, something on his face that looks momentarily like shock.
"What?" she demands, way more shrilly than she means to. Her heart is pounding, the last of the feeling still pumping through her veins. "What?"
"Nothing." Sam shakes his head, stares another minute. His face is sleepy, but totally alert. "But. Did you just--?"
God. Andy feels herself flush violently, in a way she hasn't since middle school, when Carli Wong pantsed her in front of the entire fricking gym class. "No," she says automatically. Then: "Did what?" Then: "Ugh, fine. Yes." She covers her face with both hands, then peeks. "Shut up."
"I didn't say anything," Sam grins. He rolls over, one hand sneaking up her bare thighs. "Good?"
Andy shivers at the contact, how his palm stutters a little along her sticky skin. Both of them are still pretty naked from last night, that is a fact. "Wasn't terrible."
"Mm." Sam's hand creeps higher, knuckles just barely brushing the hair. "Whatcha dreaming about over there?"
Andy groans. "Nothing." Then: "None of your business."
Sam raises his eyebrows, thumb brushing lightly over the damp curls. "Secret?" he asks, just quietly, and ugh, it shouldn't matter, but they just got back together and--
"Well, no." Andy shrugs against the sheets. "I mean--" She waves a hand at him, sort of spastically. "Duh."
"Duh." Sam's still grinning that same curly grin, like he really, really does not hate the idea that even her subconscious is--jeez. "Don't want to get any more specific than that, huh?" He opens her up a little then, slides one finger along the whole length of her so he can feel just how wet she really is.
Andy's legs fall open like a reflex, her not really meaning to make it so easy for him and not being able to help it. "Not particularly."
"Hm." Sam dips just the very tip of his finger inside her, then pulls back entirely. "Too bad."
"Ugh," Andy groans, throwing an arm up over her face. "I don't even remember, okay?" Not strictly true, actually--there were um, some specific appendages involved--but close enough. She wiggles her hips a bit, hoping to get the show on the road. Sam Swarek, she has learned from experience: definitely a morning sex person. "Let's just settle for the real thing," she says, trying to brazen it out. He still makes her shy about the weirdest things. "Maybe it'll jog my memory."
Sam traces quick fingers over her stomach, fussing with her hip bones. His grin is going nowhere fast. "I dunno, McNally. You seem pretty impatient for a person whose body just took care of itself."
"Shut up," Andy repeats, whining as he runs those knuckles up her rib cage and over the curve of her breast--which, yes, good, nice, but not exactly what she's after here. She lowers her arm and peeks at him through her eyelashes. "Anyway, I can go more than once."
That gets his attention: Sam's smile fades, replaced by something significantly less smug but no less predatory. "I know you can," he says, a little roughly. He flips his hand and plucks at her nipple, watches as it stiffens under his touch. "Gotta tell me first, though."
Andy rolls her eyes and takes charge, propping up on one elbow and reaching down underneath the sheets to grab him. Sam catches her wrist right before she does.
"Really?" she asks skeptically, nodding down to where he's tenting up the blankets a bit. "You wanna play it that way? Cause I could always just leave you hanging." She wouldn't, actually--getting there in her sleep is always a tease, this sharp directionless pinch between her legs that leaves her frustrated more than anything--but Sam doesn't have to know that.
Looking at his face, though, he might be calling her bluff. "Oh yeah?" He twists her nipple hard with his free hand, then runs his fingers down her belly to shove two inside. Andy's entire body curls. "I doubt it. Now tell me what it was about."
He leaves his fingers in place, just pressing; Andy resists working herself on them like a sex-starved maniac. "Was about you," she pants. "You and me." She reaches for him again, the other hand this time.
Sam's not buying, though--he pulls his fingers out to capture this wrist too. "What were we doing?" he asks, collecting her hands together up over her head.
Andy whines. "Reading the newspaper," she says as snottily as she can muster, Sam swinging one leg over her body so she's trapped underneath him, his knees on either side of hers. His cock bumps up against his belly, leaking a little, but he's got this expression like he'll wait her out all day. He might, too: neither one of them have to work until tonight. "Was really scandalous stuff."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Cute," he says, transferring both her wrists to one hand and snaking his free one down in between them again. His fingers feel rough and thick and purposeful. He smells like sleep and like himself.
Andy raises hers back, remembering more than she wants to tell him. She struggles a little, just to see what he'll do.
"Don't get fresh," Sam tells her mildly, grinding her wrists into the pillow, words and deeds not matching up at all. Andy shivers. "Was it something like this?" He works a third finger inside, palm bumping up against her clit.
It was not, as a matter of fact. But it feels so good Andy seriously considers lying, making up a story about how he fingered her at their desks or something, just embarrassing enough that he'll believe her. She hesitates too long, though, and Sam backs off.
"No?" he asks, watching her face for clues like she's a perp he's questioning. "Something more involved, maybe?"
Andy whimpers, frustrated. There's no reason she couldn't just tell him, she guesses--it's over the line, sure, but not really kinkier than anything else they've done--but she finds she kind of wants to keep it to herself or at least make him work for it, to clutch it like a stone in her sweaty hand until she's sure it's worth giving up. She thinks like that a lot more since they got back together, Andy's finding, like she's holding a little piece of herself back. She doesn't know if it means she's more grown-up now, or just gun-shy.
Sam's not making a distinction, meanwhile, biting at her neck in a way that might or might not be friendly. "'Nally, sweetheart," he says, down by her ear; he's dropped low enough that he's pressed against her stomach, hot and hard. They slept at his apartment last night, morning light winking across the floor. "Wanna know."
Andy breathes out, chest moving against his. His cock is sticky, leftover from last night or still leaking, Andy's not sure which--he can never wait, in the mornings. She takes another breath. "Make it worth my while," she announces bossily, nudging her head at his. Nudging his head down, actually; she almost isn't sure what she means until she does it.
Sam figures it out real quick. "Oh, so it's like that?" He backs off her wrists slowly, trailing his hand down her arms. He looks, just maybe, like he can't quite believe her.
Andy gets both hands on his head and pushes. "It's exactly like that, yeah."
Sam nips at her stomach. "Bossy." She is, too, Andy knows it; that's another thing since they started back up again, not in bed so much, that was never really a problem, but more like if she wants to go out like a normal couple they are sure as shit going out like a normal couple, enough of his weird let's stay in and fuck like rabbits for a full weekend without seeing anyone crap. Not that they haven't been fucking like rabbits, exactly, but. There's a time and a place, Andy thinks.
Like right now for instance, maybe: Sam's spreading her open with two clever thumbs and licking thoroughly, one arm wrapped around her thigh to keep her still. Andy whines.
He gets her there real quick, how wound up she is from the dream and how well he knows her body. He might, if Andy is not mistaken, even be hurrying; he sucks at her clit with a single-minded intent, two fingers crooked inside like it's a formula, How To Get McNally Off. It works, of course--it actually works really, really well--but when Sam pops his head back up, looking hugely pleased with himself, Andy finds herself narrowing her eyes.
"Again," she tells him. Sam's eyebrows hit his hairline, and she shrugs airily. "Was some dream, is all I'm saying. But if you don't wanna hear--"
Sam growls, flipping her onto her stomach.
Which: crap, he means business. Andy pillows her forehead on one arm and tangles one fist in her hair as she opens her legs to accommodate him, shivering as the cool air hits everywhere she's most sensitive. It's not enough for him, though: Sam claps her on the back of her thigh with the flat of his palm, not gently. "Up," he orders.
Andy breathes in. "Now who's bossy?" she mutters; she shifts up onto her knees anyway, though, knowing he likes having her open to him like this, being able to see every private part of her. Sam bites sharply at the curve of her ass.
"You're gonna tell me eventually," he warns, sucking messily, lips and teeth and curling, clever tongue. He's got one arm wrapped around her thigh and the other hand on her ass, fingers digging in hard enough to leave a mark. Andy wiggles a bit, just to feel him double the pressure.
"It was like this," she murmurs into the back of her arm, holding still as he licks up up up. "Or, not like this, not doing this, but like--from behind."
"From behind, huh?" Sam sounds interested, but not particularly shocked or anything: there's no reason for him to be, duh, they've been doing it like that since the cover apartment, how she let him bend her over the counter in his sorry excuse for a kitchen, her up in the middle of the night for a glass of water and his fingers sneaking down between her legs. His mouth is so stupidly, incredibly warm. "We can probably make that happen. Where were we, hm? Gonna tell me that part?"
"No, like." Andy squeezes her eyes shut even though he can't see her, rolling her hot forehead back and forth across her arm. "Behind."
For an entire beat, Sam goes completely, heartbreakingly still. "Fuck, Andy." He's got his face right there, right where she means, and he licks her hard and focused and so so dirty. "Sweetheart, I--" He actually sounds at a loss for words.
Andy hmms, curling her arm to hide her entire face. "Was just a dream," she mumbles into her own skin, even as she's completely pushing back against him, looking for more of it.
"Do you want--?" Sam curls his fingers down between her legs, sliding them up inside her slippery body and pulling them out completely soaked. He draws them up and around, curious. "We could. But we'd need, um."
Andy beats her forehead off her arm. "Lube," she finishes, a blush everyone on her not covered by hair. "Yep."
Sam hums his agreement into her skin, circling with one gentle finger. He pushes inside, just a little, and Andy gasps. "Have lotion," he mutters, pulling back like he's afraid he's going to hurt her. "Could give it a shot."
"Can you use lotion?" Andy turns her head so he can hear her better. "Like, is that going to--?" She hides her face again, embarrassed, heart pounding a bit at the idea of trying it--like, teasing him is one thing, but jesus. "Ugh, sorry, this is not a sexy conversation."
"Andy." Sam huffs a desperate-sounding laugh, climbs back up her body so his mouth is right against the back of her neck. "Are you kidding me, sweetheart, you're the sexiest thing I've ever--"
"Have you ever?" she asks, interrupting. He wouldn't talk much about his past the first time they were together. Andy isn't sure if she wants to know or not. "I mean."
Sam bites lightly, teeth into the sensitive skin of her nape. "No," he huffs, warm warm breath through her hair. "I mean, not all--fingers, but not." He swallows, and Andy feels it through her whole body. "Not."
Not. Andy reaches back for him, cupping the base of his skull even as she keeps pressing her own face into the bed. He's hard as anything against the back of her thigh, poker hot. "So, um. We could--" She shifts her hips against the mattress, feeling feverish and impatient. "Please, Sam, just. Something."
"Okay." He kisses her neck and unwinds her fingers from his hair, holding her hand as he sits up to rummage through the bedside table. "You can use this," he tells her, dangling the bottle in her field of vision. "I use it to--so." He laughs, just this side of ragged.
That makes Andy turns her head, grinning a little. "Oh yeah?" His bedside table and a bottle of lotion, of course, just like teenage boys all over the world.
"Yeah." Sam grins back, a little sheepish. He kisses his way down her body one more time, Andy's face pressed into the pillows and her knees digging into the bed; she listens as he clicks the top of the bottle open, tugging restlessly at the hair at her crown. The lotion feels very, very cold. "I got you," Sam promises quietly, rubbing in circles she feels absolutely everywhere. "You're okay."
Andy nods into her elbow, whimpering as he works one finger in deep and easy, stretching her out as slow as he can before he adds another. Andy's hands make two fists in the sheets. It feels insane and a little scary, not painful exactly but more like she's teetering on the edge of something, like she's out of control and could spin out any second with nothing to catch her. She's tried real hard to avoid this feeling, actually, ever since they got back together. She's not entirely sure about it now.
(It's good, though. Sam twists his fingers a little inside her, so slow and so gentle, and fuck. It's really, really good.)
"Please," she tells him, lifting up a bit so he can get his other hand underneath her, rubbing at her clit gentle and familiar and so so slow. It's good enough to make her clench--which does hurt, actually, just a little. Andy freezes up, then bears down again deliberately, testing out the edges of the feeling.
"Okay?" Sam breathes, mouth just ghosting across her skin. His fingers twist again, careful. "What do you need?"
Andy tries rocking herself back for a second, controlling the penetration, but she doesn't have the leverage. She's literally too tight, Sam has to do all the moving. "I--" Christ, that's scary; Andy breathes. "Okay. Try another." They're going to need a condom, she realizes. If they're seriously going to--they're going to need a condom.
He re-ups on the lotion before he does it, the entire lower half of Andy's body feeling enormously slippery and unfamiliar, like possibly she belongs in the ocean. Sam presses a kiss against her spine. "You're amazing," he promises as he works a third finger inside her, this burn that's got her shifting against the mattress for a minute, trying to get comfortable. His fingers are steady and rough against her clit. “You're doing so good, Andy, jesus."
Andy whines in reply, liking the praise in spite of herself, how low and private his voice is. She spreads her legs as wide as she possibly can. "Sam," she manages after a moment, swallowing audibly. "I just--let's--we probably need--" Andy takes a breath. "Right?"
Sam nods against her skin, right there with the gist. "Yeah, um. I think I still have--" He plants a series of wet kisses along her spine and ass as he extracts his fingers, like maybe he can somehow distract her that way, all pay no attention to the man behind the curtain; Andy feels every inch just the same. "There you go," Sam murmurs when they're separate again, one last kiss where his fingers just were. "Perfect."
Andy shivers, feeling stretched out and underwater-foreign. She moves her forehead to a fresh patch of pillow while he rummages around in the bedside table again. Unclenches her fingers from the sheets. Tries to breathe. There is a long, quiet pause.
Finally: "Sam?"
"Yeah." He rubs both hands up her legs, warm. "Right here, I have one, I just--I don't want to hurt you."
The answer makes Andy's heart do a funny swooping thing, although she guesses I don't want to hurt you is a pretty low bar for romance; still, it always knocks her off her feet a little when Sam sounds unsure about anything where she's concerned. Just thinking about his voice the first night they got back together is enough to make her squeeze her eyes shut one more time. "You're not gonna hurt me," she promises, never mind that in reality she has no idea if that's true. It's not like she's ever done this before, either. "If you hurt me we'll stop," she amends.
"Okay." Sam seems happy enough to take her lead on things for the time being, digging the bottle of lotion out of the bedsheets. He rubs it into her thighs and ass for a long time before he does anything else, enough that Andy's heart is about to pound out of her chest with anticipation when she feels him shift his weight to line them up.
"Tell me," he says again, a lot closer than he was a second ago. "'Bout what it was like in your dream."
"I--" It was unrealistic, is what it was, them having standard tab A, slot B sex and then Andy begging him to switch. That was enough, in the dream--Andy was done so fast she doesn't even remember what her subconscious thought it felt like, just that she woke up throbbing. Basically, though, all of that pretty much adds up to: "It made me come," she tells Sam, rocking back a bit to feel him bump up against her. Everything is so, so slippery.
"'Nally." His mouth is right by her ear, these great desperate breaths. "All right. Slow, okay?" He's got one arm braced near hers, the other down between them; Andy feels him slide two fingers inside, checking, then the blunt head of his cock. "Talk to me," he says, pressing forward just barely.
"O-okay," Andy stutters. She's trying to relax, but it's hard. She slides a hand underneath to touch herself, more for reassurance than anything else. "Um." It's slow slow slow but it's definitely working, inch by weird, full inch; it hurts. "You talk to me," she tells Sam, breathing through the feeling. It's not a bad hurt, necessarily.
"You all right?" he asks her anyway--the way all her muscles are tensed up underneath him is making him tense too, she can tell, like he's taking all his cues from her. Andy counts to three before she exhales. The whole entire front of him is warm warm warm against her back. "Andy."
Andy nods. "Mm-hmm," she promises. "S'just scary." She opens her mouth again before he can get any ideas: "Don't stop."
"Won't stop," Sam murmurs into her shoulder. He presses in another inch like he's looking to prove it, Andy rubbing her clit a little harder to offset the burn. Not a bad hurt, no; it's not quite pleasure either though, like her whole nervous system is confused, a bunch of dragonflies banging around inside a jar. He feels enormous like this, it's crazy. He feels huge. "Don't be scared, though," he says quietly. "S'just me." Then, like he's remembering what she asked him all of a sudden: "Always wanted to try this with you," he confesses, so quiet she almost isn't even sure she heard him correctly. "Just you."
Andy whines, she can't help it, bucking into her own touch fretfully then backing up into him. "What's it feel like?" she gasps. Another inch now, getting down to where his cock is thicker; Andy reaches back to feel how much is left, fingers bumping over the slippery ring of latex. "Sam Sam Sam, tell me what it's like."
Sam groans. He's got his mouth on her shoulder and neck, biting like he does when he's trying to control himself, soft-toothed. "Tight," he says. "Fuck, Andy, you're so tight, I can't--" He breaks off, running his hands all over her body, rubbing her back like she's a little kid with a fever. "What about you?"
Andy doesn't really know how to answer that so she slides her fingers back down between her legs instead, crooking two up inside. "I can feel you here," she tells him, the scary thin wall of skin and how he's right there on the other side, pushing. "Can you--?" She moves her hand, fucking herself. "Sam. Does it--?"
"Oh, my god." Sam bites down hard on the meat of her shoulder, enough that there's probably going to be a mark there once they're through. He doesn't say anything for a second after that, like he's focusing, like he really needs to concentrate if he's not going to come before he's even all the way inside. Andy does it again, her fingers deep and slippery, and he growls. "You gotta stop that," he warns her, and now he's the one whose whole entire body has gone piano-string taut. "Fuck, you gotta stop, Andy, or--"
Andy hums into the pillows, pleased--she likes that she's not the only person who's like, a hair's breadth away from completely losing it here. It's distracting as all hell, too, or maybe she's just finally getting used to what this feels like, because the last couple of inches aren't nearly as intense as she's thinking they're going to be. She strokes against that thin thin skin inside her one more time, taking a chance--she's invested in this now, actually, wants to see it through until the end-- but Sam only inhales sharply. She pulls all the way out to rub some more. "Is that--" she asks when his hips are pressed flush against her, breaking off a little breathlessly. It's definitely more like pleasure now, if she had to choose, but he's also holding totally still, so. "I mean, are you all the way--"
"Yeah." Sam swallows. "That's it, I'm--fuck, Andy, you're so good."
Andy hums at a him a little, really more of a purr. It feels like an accomplishment now that he's there, a magic trick for the playground, look at what my body can do. Andy has a double-jointed thumb she used to show-off at recess; this feels a bit like that. "How good?" she asks playfully, rounding her back and then arching it, feeling the shift inside. "Hmm? Tell me."
"So good," Sam repeats, brushing through her hair. His hands are sticky with lotion, but it feels so wonderful Andy doesn't care. "You're perfect, god." He moves a bit, just gently; Andy would bet it isn't even intentional, but oh, it feels. "Fuck," Sam hisses, feeling too. "The best, sweetheart, I love you so much."
That's nice, hearing that, but it's maybe not necessarily the praise Andy is after? She rubs her clit hard, wiggling back at him again. And god, that's--there is friction there. "Am I good girl?" she asks, so quiet it's more breath than words.
"Andy." Sam says her name loud and clear and thrusts--not hard, even, but sudden, enough that Andy lets out a startled, animal gasp. Right away he gets an arm around her and holds. "Fuck," he hisses, mouth at her neck and her shoulder and her ear, wet and desperate. He's still got one messy hand in her hair. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry, do you want--."
"S'okay." Andy breathes for a second, assessing. It's a shock, absolutely, the burn and stretch of it surprising--but not, all told, too painful to feel good. Like...kind of the opposite, actually. "Do that again," she instructs him after a minute, moving her fingers cautiously; it's kind of hot, how much he likes how much she likes to hear it. They've been at this a long time already. She thinks he must be starting to ache by now. "Like, a little slower."
"Yeah?" Sam waits for her nod before he does it, the drag of him completely unreal as he pulls maybe halfway out and then goes about fitting himself back inside her. She feels weirdly tiny, and incredibly full. "Good girl," he tells her once he bottoms out, low and secret; for the first time since they started, Andy's more confident than not that she's going to be able to get off like this.
"Again," she tells him, working herself over harder. She could make it happen just like this, she's almost sure, how well she knows her own clit enough to block everything else out, but it's not exactly the way she wants to-- "Do it for real, though," she adds. "Like the way you do it when we're--when it's normal."
Not exactly eloquent, but Sam gets the message anyway, arm around her middle and his mouth fused to her neck. "Yeah," he tells her, pulling out properly and thrusting back in, their standard rhythm slowed down to quarter-speed. He does it again, then again, Andy prompting him every time, and on the third go-round when he pushes back inside she fits two fingers into herself in the same motion, the heel of her hand grinding against her clit.
Sam stops, rigid-still again. "Is that--did you just--?" He can't see, Andy realizes, but he's definitely able to feel.
"Yeah," she confesses. "Just two, um. Two fingers."
Sam hisses, then bites her neck. And then: "Try three."
"Um. Okay. Yeah." Andy does what he tells her, holding them close together as she works them inside, actually forgetting to breathe for a minute. When she finally exhales it's all in a rush. "S'it feel tighter?" she whispers curiously. God knows it does for her, crap, between her fingers and his cock there's noplace for her to go at all, how she gets shoved forward every time he thrusts. "Sam--"
"Yeah." Sam sounds choked; the hand around her middle finds her nipple, his fingers still lotion-slick. "S'tighter."
Jesus. "Keep moving," she orders gently; bossy, sure, but she can feel it building now, this sharp edgy feeling that's way different than normal, down so low and deep in her tissue. "Crap, Sam, it feels really good now."
"Are you--" Sam cups her breast fully, rolling the nipple back and forth just how she likes. His hips are going slow and steady now, regular pulses. "God, Andy. You seriously gonna?" He's shocked, she can tell, probably not sure he'd get her there any more than she was.
She almost doesn't want to jinx it, how good and deep it's building, but. "Uh-huh." Then, after a particularly good thrust: "Oh, yeah. Definitely."
Sam groans, the fingers in Andy's hair tightening almost to the point of pain. She whimpers, but he doesn't let up. "Look at me," he says, head down next to hers and nudging. "Please, McNally. Need you to look." And the need, that gets to her a little: Andy looks. His eyes are so fucking dark, this heartbreakingly serious face on him and the thready tap of his heart against the flat of her back. She loves him, too. She always has. "You're perfect," Sam says again, still moving inside her; Andy makes a wordless sound, hangs on. "Come on, sweetheart. Want to feel you come like this."
Another few seconds and she gives him what he's after, the orgasm hitting like a goddamn earthquake, like nothing she's ever felt before in her life. Sam fucks her all the way through it. He talks to her, too, tells her over and over what a good girl she is--although she isn't, she can't be, not when she likes this so criminally much, how deep he's buried in her--jesus. She's loud enough to wake the neighbors, if they aren't up already. Works herself on her fingers and his cock until she's totally, completely done.
"Andy," Sam says, this voice like she's wrecked him. He pets up her side a little bit, soothing. Andy's whole body jumps.
"Fuck," she mutters, turning her face back to press against the mattress. Her neck hurts now, the angle she was holding it at to see him, but everything else is like boiled spaghetti. "Sam. Fuck." She can feel him deep inside, completely still again like he's worried it'll be too much. Andy wiggles her fingers, rubbing through the thin layer of skin, and he hisses.
"That feels really good," he confesses, this very low, private voice. He's still got one arm curved around the front of her body, hot and possessive. "You feel amazing." He's kissing her like he can't stop, her ear and the side of her face, sucking at the point of her jaw. Andy makes a decision, leaving her fingers where they are, all three of them.
"How tight was it?" she asks, genuinely curious. "When I--how tight was it?"
Sam exhales. Andy can feel how tense he is behind her, trying not to move, all this packed muscle from his shoulders down to his thighs. "Tight, sweetheart," he admits quietly. He shifts his weight a little, humming as she curls her fingers up inside herself; he tries thrusting again, just gently, slow and tentative like he was before. "You want me to--"
"No," she says, no hesitation at all; pull out is what he's going to offer, and that's the last thing Andy wants. She shoves herself back against him, hard and rough enough that they both gasp. "Stay. Wanna feel you come like this, too."
Sam groans. "Tell me if it's too much," he warns her, palming down her body and curling two big hands around her hipbones. "Andy. You gotta tell me, okay?"
His voice is soft and rough all at once, stalling out around her name like it's something precious. Andy wants to wrap herself in sound.
"Not gonna be too much," she promises, shoving up on her hands and knees and taking Sam with her, both of them fused from shoulder to thigh. Andy locks her elbows. "Just like this," she instructs. Sam groans, already moving with his head pressed against her back, desperate, but Andy wants him to go faster. Wants it to be as good as hers was. "Come on," she whispers, covering the hand he's still got wrapped around her hipbone. "Come on, Sam, fuck me."
And--yeah. Sam does.
It does hurt some this time, just a little, how swollen and sensitive everything is by now. Andy pulls in a ragged breath. It's nothing she can't handle though, on top of which it's basically cancelled out by how much she wants to feel this happen, how private and close it feels for him to have her this way. His mouth is warm and wet against her back.
"Just yours," Andy mutters, wanting to help him along a little. Since she got back from the undercover and they got back together that kind of talk works for him even more than it used to, and he doesn't even get weird and tetchy about it afterwards anymore. It's basically one of Andy's favorite tricks. "You're the only one, Sam, okay, the only one I'd ever, ever let do this to me. Only you, just--"
Yup. Andy thought that might work.
"Fuck," he gasps, fingers intertwining with hers as his thrusts go fast and jerky, pressing both their hands into her hipbone so hard it hurts. Andy doesn't care, though, because the noise that tears out of his throat is so after-dark private it makes her blush, heat shooting down her spine like someone took it out and dunked the bones in something molten. Andy is--yeah. Andy is probably going to want to do this again.
"That's it," she tells him now, feeling the heat straight through the condom. He's panting against her skin, these great shaky breaths that make his rib cage flare out against her back. "Love you so much." He always liked that, even before, but now he likes it enough to tug her head around for a messy kiss.
"You mine, huh?" he asks, just quiet. Andy almost doesn't hear, the kiss and how breathless he is.
"Yeah," she says when it registers, with a nod that might or might not translate, how close together their faces are. She drops down on her elbows and Sam follows, the weight of him crushing her a little in the best possible way. Her whole body feels dishrag-limp. "M'yours. You mine?"
(She never used to ask it back, when they were dating the first time. She didn't think he'd say no, exactly. She was just never entirely sure what he would say.)
But: "Pretty much, McNally," he tells her now, pushing her hair behind her ear so he can bump his nose against the side of her face. Then, shifting a bit like he's going to try and pull out as gently as humanly possible: "You ready?"
"Oh." Andy tenses back up a bit, she can't help it, the expectation of pain. "Yeah, um. Go ahead."
"You're okay," Sam tells her, kissing her jaw and her neck, way more tender than he normally is, like he's afraid she's going to break. He gets his mouth at her nape and worries it until she's relaxed again, then starts backing his hips up slow slow slow. It burns, no question--and not a good burn either, not anymore--but the way Sam's petting through her hair almost makes it all worth it. As soon as they're separate he tugs her up and around, rolling her onto her back so he can press his forehead against hers. "Andy," he whispers, touching his nose to hers.
"Yeah." She giggles a little bit then, nerves or relief or something, how she can't totally believe they just did that. That she wanted to do it in the first place. Sam's looking at her like he can't believe it either, dark eyes and that weirdly handsome face; Andy can feel how sloppy they are down in between them, the lotion plus how wet he got her, a sheen of sweat she hadn't even realized was covering her skin. "That was intense, right?"
"Mm-hmm." Sam huffs a laugh of his own, crow's feet crinkling up on either side of his face. "You okay? You need anything?"
She could use some water, actually. Wants him to stay right where he is.
"No, um." She threads both fingers up through his hair, sliding her legs along his. "Let's just hang out for a sec, okay? I want--" She wants to be held, pretty much. Wants Sam to cover her up, anchor her to the earth. "Don't move."
"Sure," Sam agrees, but he does anyway, rolling them over so she's sprawled out on his chest like a rug. He never gives her his weight for very long afterwards, prefers to pillow her on top and stroke her bare back; Andy guesses he likes her weight, too. "I'm not going anywhere," he promises. He hasn't even dealt with the condom yet.
"Mmm," Andy tells his shoulder. She could fall back to sleep like this, maybe. She could.
"So," Sam says, tracing down her spine. "Was it like your dream?"
Andy hesitates. It was better, actually, the hot slow stretch of it and the bone-deep pleasure, how powerful it made her feel to undo him like that. Still: there are limits. No way is she about to tell Sam he literally outpaced her wildest dreams. "Some," she admits finally, rubbing her nose along his collarbone and feeling shy. "Little different."
Sam raises his eyebrows. "Good different?" he asks.
"Ugh, stop fishing." Andy jabs him in the ribs with one bony elbow. She smiles anyway, though; he really isn't going anywhere, none of that anxious, restless energy radiating off him like she got used to the first time around. "Good different," she admits after a moment. "Yeah."
"Good." Sam combs through her hair, heavy and sticky with lotion from his earlier manhandling. "Sorry," he says now, lifting the tangled mess off her neck and flipping it across his chest, like maybe it's just so much laundry he can lay out to dry. "We could probably use a shower, huh?" It sounds a little like he doesn't want to move either.
Andy nods against his shoulder, drowsy and content. "Probably," she agrees. "Could maybe use some breakfast, too." She lifts her head to look at him, wrinkling her nose teasingly. "I mean, I'm just saying. You kind of owe me a hell of breakfast."
Sam laughs, real and startled, a white shining slice of teeth that lingers. "Kind of?" He touches up her spine for another minute, both of them quiet. Then: "Was better than I imagined."
That gets Andy's attention. "You thought about it?" she asks, popping her head up to peer at him. And like, obviously she thought about it--she dreamed about it, god--but. The idea of him thinking about it, of wanting it, makes her stomach do a weird flipping thing.
Sam makes a face at her: it's a relax, Rookie sort of look, the kind he used to shoot her all the time when he was her TO, except, like. Nicer. "Yeah, McNally." He slides his hand down the small of her back, grabs her ass and squeezes until she shivers. "I thought about it." His expression changes then, like possibly the thinking wasn't just a one time thing.
Andy shifts her hips, rubbing herself against his thigh, just lightly. She's not ready to go again, not yet, but she wants to get closer if she can. "How come you never said anything?" She's curious, actually; they've just--they've done a lot of stuff, is all.
Sam shrugs, this look like he might be a little--like he's definitely sort of sheepish. "Dunno," he says, pulling her harder against him, touching up the curve of her ass. He likes her there, Andy's always known, his hand finding its way into her back pocket practically every time they're out together. "Voicing the pitch always seemed sort of--" He breaks off, squeezing again. It makes her shiver, the memory of him deep inside. "You know," Sam finishes, pulling a face.
"Sort of seedy?" she supplies, giggling. She likes him shy, the once in a blue moon it appears. "I mean, sure." Her voice drops way down, imitating him. "'Sweetheart, let's experiment with other holes' is definitely kind of--"
Sam swats her, way lighter than he normally would, as if he's worried it'll hurt. "Shut up," he mutters, a stern expression that doesn't quite make it to his eyes. "Didn't know you'd like it too."
Andy grins, ducking her face into his neck again. "Well, it would seem that I like it," she reports, trying to do his voice some more but not really getting all the way there. It's just funny, that he'll tie her up and put her over his knee and let her lick him all over in a public bathroom while they're technically on the clock (once, that happened once, right when they got back together and both of them muttering this is is stupid this is so stupid the whole entire time) but he thought this was like, too far over the line even to mention. Andy doesn't know where her line is, honestly. It keeps moving on her the more time goes by. "So. Next time you wanna do something filthy and depraved to me, like. Raise your hand."
Sam snorts. "Raise my hand, huh?"
"Well, it's rude to call out," Andy says, tracing one thumb over his silky eyebrows. "Didn't you go to kindergarten?"
"Mmmhmm, twice even." Sam turns his head, kissing her wrist. "Got held back."
"Oh yeah?" Andy asks, trying not to let her whole body perk. He hardly ever talks about his childhood, even now. Andy will never know what made him want to tell her about the joke book that night all those years ago; her cut-up ankle, the moon, the alignment of Saturn. She's long since given up trying to recreate it. "Why?"
Sam grins against her arm, quicksilver. "Dumb cop." He opens his mouth, sucks a quick hickey; Andy lets him, liking the pull. Then: "I was a real shrimpy kid, late birthday. Was always kind of glad they did it, to be honest." He licks at the bruised place for a second, just soft. "Plus I missed a lot of it the first time, so."
So. Andy rests her chin on the back of her free hand, fingertips scritching gently through the hair on his chest. "Yeah?" is all she says, picturing him as a small, skinny five-year-old with a serious expression, wanting him to keep going. That's a thing they teach you at the Academy, that when you're trying to get information out of somebody the best thing to do is shut up and let them give it.
"Mm-hmm." Sam's tracing the veins in her forearm now, like there's something really important written there that needs his attention. "Moved a lot."
"Ah," Andy says, watching his finger draw looping patterns. After a second she makes a fist, trying to pop her veins like a teenage boy; it doesn't work but Sam smiles anyway, face still bent over her arm. His eyelashes are long long long. "That sucks," she tells him finally.
"Pretty much." Sam unclenches her fist finger by finger, tracing each one. "Always hated it, being introduced to the class in the middle of the year as the new kid. Got in a lot of fights."
"You were a scrapper, huh?" Andy can picture that just fine, actually, a kind of desperate, wiry strength to him as a teenager. But Sam shakes his head.
"Only when I was little," he says, looking up at her finally. "I stopped around grade five, grade six, maybe. I learned to stop."
"Yeah." Andy nods slowly, thinking about it. Takes a chance. "And this was with your family, or...?"
Sam startles a bit, shaking his head like he's honestly surprised. "System kid, McNally," he tells her, no hesitation at all. Then, still looking: "You knew that, didn't you?"
Andy feels her heart starts to pound a little, trying to calm it down before Sam feels it pounding, too. She did know that, she guesses, as much as you can know something that nobody's ever said to you before. As much as you can know something you don't even really want to imagine. "I mean," she says, feeling so, so careful. "You never told me for sure."
"Mmm." Sam thinks that over, feeling up and down her rib cage like she's a dog at the Westminster and he's checking for faults. "Guess I didn't," he concedes, rubbing the curve where her breasts pillow out against his chest. He must be able to feel her heart now, his hands and her thudding stomach right against his. It feels like it's beating all over Andy's body, like she's one giant ventricle. "I'm sorry I didn't."
Andy shrugs inside his grasp, trying to be easy and light. "S'okay. I--" She pauses, swallowing. "I guessed." The word drops out of her mouth like it's made of lead.
But Sam just nods at her, calm. "Yeah, I figured. Anyway, it was Sarah and I both. They tried to keep us together at first, but eventually--" He shrugs too, running his searching hands up to her face and drawing two lines across her cheekbones with his thumbs. "I guess it wasn't worth the effort. Sarah needed so much special attention."
"That sucks," Andy replies quietly, for lack of anything better. Her thoughts are skittering all over the place, how many follow-up questions she wants to ask him and how badly she doesn't want to say the wrong thing. She's so unused to him volunteering personal information about himself that now that he finally is, she doesn't totally know how to handle it. Supportive listing has never really been her strong suit.
Sam smiles faintly, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. "Yeah, McNally," he tells her. "Pretty much."
"I'm sorry." She touches back, rubbing up and down both his arms, the hard curve of muscle down to the knot of bone at his wrists. "Thanks, um. Thanks for telling me." She pushes up to look at him properly, lidded eyes and those Maybelline-black eyelashes nearly hiding his expression. He doesn't look like a person experiencing a watershed moment, but. "Not that you have to tell me anything," she adds in a rush. "Just--I don't know. Thanks." She cringes at the sound of her own voice, keyed up and pitchy. Probably this is the last sharing and caring session they'll have for a while.
But Sam smiles again, a little wider this time. "Got to keep the conversation moving somehow," is all he says.
That makes Andy laugh. "Now that you've gotten what you wanted out of me, you mean?" She drops back down to nip at his chin as he chuckles and just like that they're normal again, although maybe it's a new kind of normal now, Andy isn't sure. It feels like both of them are unfolding a little, or something. Whatever it is, she doesn't hate it. "You hungry?" she asks around a yawn.
She's thinking about scrambled eggs and bacon, holds my hand and brings me juice in bed, but Sam shakes his head and tightens his grip. "Stay for another minute," he tells her softly, and Andy does.