fic: this absurd fraction (Rookie Blue, Sam/Andy)
Title: this absurd fraction
Authors: threeguesses and lowriseflare
Fandom/ Pairing: Rookie Blue, Andy/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 7500+
Summary: The one with the first time.
What’s most surprising, besides everything: how serious she is.
(He kind of figured she'd be-- he doesn't even know. She talks, McNally, she's a talker; Sam spent two years having his ear chatted off about the shifting flavour of ketchup chips and the light fixtures in her bathroom. So when she goes silent, it's a little--it’s odd, is all.)
He finally gets her down on the bed, flat on her back on J.D.’s shitty sheets, goes to work on the button of her jeans (and just--his hands are actually shaking a bit, it's ridiculous). When he thought about this (and he did, of course he did) he always kept it vague, mostly out of self-preservation, but it's not-- god, it is not staying that way. She still has her bra on and he wants to take it off, wants her naked and simultaneously wants to wait, take his time, be gentle.
He wants--he wants a lot of things.
He tugs her pants down, cautious (she's not gonna spook at this point, he's almost positive, but it's just--they've been down this road before, is the thing here, and Sam wants to be absolutely sure). McNally lifts her hips to help him out. Her panties are this bright blue animal print, cheetah or something, neon lace at the trim--Sam just looks for a second, flat stomach and the jut of her rib cage, all that smooth tan skin. It occurs to him to wonder if this is what she runs around in all the time, underneath her uniform.
(And that--well. Sam looks some more.)
"What?" Andy asks suddenly, voice pitched up just a shred like she thinks something's wrong, like maybe he's seeing something he doesn't-- "What?"
Which--that's actually the first thing she's said in a while.
Sam takes a second to wonder about that, if she's maybe--huh. Not spooking, not exactly, but like. Spooked. (And he is definitely--yeah. Somewhere in the neighbourhood himself, seeing her at the pool table earlier, wide eyes and that schoolgirl hairclip; if you're not doing anything in the next couple hours.) He wants to steady her out, the way he'd do on patrol, but he honestly doesn't think he'd be able to manage it right now, every bone in his body set to vibrate.
Still: he tries on a grin anyways, swipes a thumb over her hipbone. "Nice underwear, McNally."
"Oh." She huffs out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Well, I didn't exactly, um. Plan ahead here." God, he's pretty sure she's actually blushing, and that's just--that is way more endearing than it should be.
Sam kisses a line from her navel up her body--center of her rib cage and in between her breasts, the slightly salty curve where her throat meets her pointy chin (and him paying attention to her neck--he's pretty sure that's a thing she likes.
It's a thing Sam likes, too).
McNally gets a hand on either side of his face, hips opening up to make space for him and one leg coming up to wrap around his. She kisses like he remembers, eager and a little messy. Her dark hair's spread out all across the pillows on his bed. Sam rubs a hand up and down her side, soothing--he can feel her heart tapping away inside her skin--and kisses a bit further into her mouth, harder until her hips come up off the mattress, this begging arch.
So, okay. Definitely not spooking, but--
(god, she's quiet.)
He lifts her up a bit, slides his hands underneath to work the clasp of her bra (and his hands are definitely-- it takes him longer than it normally would. Then again, it's been a while--possibly he's just out of practice.
Still, Sam's, uh. Pretty sure it's the first thing.)
McNally doesn't even tease him about it, weight back on her palms to help, eyes wide and watching. She's got a foot tucked against the back of his knee. The way they've paused has her pressed against him, the heat bleeding straight through his jeans; Sam wants to roll his hips something awful (the night of the blackout and the rasp of denim on denim, how she kept gasping against his mouth). But. Slow is the watchword here.
When he finally gets the clasp open Andy shrugs her shoulders forward, pulls her arms out of the straps one by one. Then the bra’s in her lap and she's leaning back on her hands again and--
Well. Sam's apparently going to spend a good portion of the night just looking.
He’s about to nudge her backwards into the pillows, see how she likes to be touched, but Andy picks that moment to flip them, using her whole wiry-strong body to muscle him onto his back. Sam oofs a little, then grins, her hair coming down like a curtain and the discount-strawberry smell of her shampoo (she's got pretty hair, McNally, thick and shiny--she's smacked him in the face with her ponytail more than once, whipping her head around fast to answer a question or look where he said. It stings more than you'd think, not that Sam's ever really minded). For a second she gets real close to a smile--this flash of bossy goofiness, is that what you want?. Then she blinks and it's gone.
"Hey," Sam says softly, petting up her stomach and palming one small taut breast (she's a kid, he used to tell himself, over and over like a litany; kept waiting for the day that might possibly start to matter). She's got her face buried in his shoulder, like all of a sudden she's shy. "You with me?"
"Yeah." Andy nods into the crook of his neck, lifts her head enough to swipe her mouth along his jaw. "Yeah, I'm with you."
"Good." Sam thumbs a bit at her nipple, experimental. Andy's eyes go wide. Her hips come down fast and hard, like a reflex; in the same second he watches her bite her lip against a sound.
(She's behaving herself, Sam realizes, or trying to. That's...that's what it is.)
He looks her over slowly, pink cheeks and that lip turning red, all those hours in the patrol car and how she never held back then, we don't have time to wait for back-up, Sam. (And jesus christ, the last time they did this she was still calling him "sir" every other breath, Sam can't-- and even then she wasn't being so--
Okay. He can handle this.)
"C'mere," he says quietly, shifting up against the headboard until he can get his mouth over the tip of one breast (girl breasts, high and tight; she's got these slightly puffy nipples Sam really wants to-- yeah.
A kid, fuck, not to mention his frickin' rookie-- but no, still not helping).
He goes easy at first. Doesn't know what she likes so he sticks to the basics; wet tongue and a little bit of friction, cupping her other breast in his palm. The problem is McNally seems to like everything, or at least squirms like she does, canted thighs and her hips looking for friction in his lap. But she's still not making a peep, and she's not really grinding so much as rocking down and then flinching back, and just--
Sam knocks her thighs apart a bit farther, pulls her onto him until everything's lined up, and thrusts.
Well. That gets a sound out of her, all right--this sharp quiet whine and her back just arching, mouth pressed right up against his temple. Sam feels it echo in his skull.
(Fuck, he always figured she'd be noisy. That part wasn't vague at all.)
She's back to bashful a second later, arms tight around his neck, but once Sam gets her to do it all he wants is to get her to do it again--to strip her down and lick all over 'til she's begging, to bury himself inside her 'til she moans. He wants her to be so loud his fake neighbors have to turn up their TVs, wants it so much that the force of the wanting knocks him back a little, even after all this time.
Slow, he reminds himself, stroking a thumb along the underside of her breast, gentle enough to steady them both out. Easy.
Still: a second later he's tugging at the elastic on her panties, so.
She lifts off him so he can pull them down her thighs, then leans back on her hands so he can tug them the rest of the way, feet braced on his knees (and fuck if that doesn't give him a view). She's climbing back into his lap almost immediately though, quick fingers at the button on his jeans. The zipper's down before Sam can collect her hands, place them on his shoulders.
"Just--wait a sec," he tells her, palming her stomach. All this time-- he'll be damned if he's gonna let her jump-start him now.
Andy hides her face in his neck again, groaning. "Okay, but like, remember-- I did not plan this." Every word emphasized, like a warning; Sam's pretty sure that's a blush heating up his skin right now. He has a guess about why, the slightly grown-out edges of her bikini line (and jesus he wants to look, spread her out across the mattress and just--) but he doesn't really have the presence of mind to reassure her, because a second later he's opening her up a bit and--
Fuck. Fuck, she is wet.
She gives him a little noise at that, too--a gasp as he slides his middle finger down the whole length of her, feels her out. Sam tries to keep his breath as even as he can. He finds her clit and rubs, just gently; nudges her backwards 'til she's flat on the bed.
Now he does look--as best he can, anyway, in the weak-coffee light from the overhead on the other side of the apartment, this weird cold space ("Thought I just got out of the penn," he said uneasily, glancing around the first night Boyd brought him here; Don only shrugged). McNally watches him back. She's something else, this girl, tan lines and three good-sized beauty marks on her hipbone, all in a row like Orion's belt; there's a scar at her navel like a piercing grown over (and a bellybutton ring, what the hell even, she really is so ridiculously fucking young). He's still working a hand between her legs, slow and slippery; Andy's got one foot planted flat on the mattress, toes flexing like she's trying real hard not to move.
(Move, he almost tells her. Just to see.)
Sam leans down to mouth at her stomach a bit, getting to know the soap-salt taste of her--underneath her rib cage, the soft hollow of her belly. Then lower, just lightly, right along the line of hair.
That gets her attention; he feels her abs tighten underneath his palm. "Sam," she says, popping up onto her elbows to peer at him, voice pitched just a bit like she's nervous. "Seriously?"
(Yeah. Seriously.)
Sam tugs at her ankle in answer, works his shoulder underneath. Andy lets him, hooking her leg up and over; the back of her knee is very hot and very smooth. But then she doesn't give him any of her weight, foot barely skating across his lower back.
(This girl.)
Sam sucks at her hipbone, has the pleasure of hearing her breathing speed up. "Andy..." He wants to say Relax but that feels a little presumptuous, his hands still shaking like a rookie on retrain. He opens her up a bit more instead, just to look; she's swollen, almost shockingly dark against her winter-pale thighs. God, suddenly Sam wants-- he doesn't know. (Sometime in the last few minutes he went from halfway-hard to aching, hips pressed against the mattress--the smell of her, probably. Already he wants it all over him.) "Andy," he says, just quiet. "Let me, okay?"
McNally huffs out a breath, silent. Her hips cant open though, just a bit, and that's enough of a go-ahead that Sam slips a finger inside. Leans down to mouth at her clit.
Andy's hips come flying up then, this sharp electric reflex like a live wire and her pushing herself at his tongue for the barest fraction of a second. Her heel digs into the muscle of his back. "Shit," she mutters, forcibly relaxing, eyes squeezed shut and one hand white-knuckled in the sheet. "Sorry."
(Sam really, really doesn't want her to apologize.)
"Don't be sorry," he says, gives her another finger (and jesus, she's--she is tight; Sam shifts around on the bed trying to get comfortable). Her hips come up again, more cautious this time. "That okay?"
"Um." She's squirming a bit on the mattress, these little gasps and the warm wet grip of her body. "Yeah."
"Yeah?" (He wants her to talk to him, is the thing; has been privy to her uncensored opinions on everything from Jerry's facial hair to how The Office just isn't funny anymore and could just really, definitely stand to know--) "You sure?"
The way she's moving, though: still pressing back against his mouth and her free hand wandering down to sift through his hair--
Sam thinks he's maybe doing something right.
He opens his mouth against her in a messy kiss, down where she's the wettest. Gets his fingers moving in and out. He still wants to know, though, so: "McNa-lly." It comes out muffled, caught up in her skin, and the vibration must feel-- Well, either way, she bucks against him again. Just a bit.
(God. He really wants her to-- god.)
"I'm--" She pulls in a shaky breath, this edge like maybe she's frustrated he's making her articulate it, or embarrassed, or-- "Yes. Like, Sam..." Her chilly fingers are rubbing at the back of his neck, just the lightest prick of nails. "Yes."
Which: okay, that wasn't exactly talking to him, but-- He kept going, is the thing, all the way through, and by the end those yeses were, um. Sort of breathy. Like she maybe wasn't answering a specific question, exactly, but more just--
Jesus. Sam's head swims.
He works her for another minute, sloppy tongue and curling his fingers up inside her; the hand on the back of Sam's neck tightens, then lets go. "That's it," he tells her, free arm wrapped around her leg to keep her close and the stubble on his face scraping the soft inside of her thigh. Andy breathes in once, hard and sharp. "Come on, sweetheart."
McNally doesn't answer, eyes shut and concentrating. Sam pushes up against her clit. He feels it happen more than he hears it--the rhythmic clench of her body, her so quiet he's only seventy-five percent sure it actually happened at all. "McNally," he says, when she relaxes again a minute later (and fuck, she's a beautiful girl, he doesn't--) "Was that--?"
"Mm-hmm." Only then she's yanking him up on top of her, that strong skinny body and one hand slipping down inside his boxers, and Sam--yeah. Sam makes a sound. "Yeah it was."
(God, he wants her to do it again. Already, he wants her to do it again.)
He leverages himself up a bit, arms braced on either side of her head. Lets her feel him out. After a minute she works his boxers off with her toes, long legs wrapping around. Sam drops his head down a little, just to watch; her hand moving on him is a mindfuck, something you have to see to believe. He pushes out a breath through his teeth. "McNally..."
(Jesus, he actually called her 'sweetheart' back there and meant it, he doesn't even know--)
"Mmm?" She swipes her thumb over the head, looks up at him through her eyelashes. "This okay?"
Sam almost laughs (would laugh, if he wasn't already concentrating on--well. He is worked up, is the situation here; wants to call her 'sweetheart' all night long). "Yeah." He balances his weight on one arm, uses his thumb to drag her bottom lip down, kiss his way inside her mouth. "Yeah, McNally, that's--that's okay."
He thinks it maybe calmed her down a little, that first orgasm--she's half-smiling at him now, a shred less serious, free hand petting through his hair (and he's pushing into it, can't help himself; Andy McNally spread out naked in his bed). She tightens her grip, experimental: Sam growls. Andy shifts a bit, hips tilting--only then she feints and rolls out from underneath him, pushes him onto his back and tucks her hair behind her ear.
"Fair's fair, Swarek," she tells him, this tone in her voice that's not quite teasing, and--
jesus christ.
She kisses her way down his stomach, opened-mouthed and wet. Sam shifts up on his elbows to watch her, can't stop watching (hasn't even seen her from this angle yet, god, the bony curve of her spine and the way her hips round out). She messes around at his hipbones for a minute, bites along his abdomen, the tip of his cock bumping up against her pointy chin. Sam's breath hitches. McNally looks up at him then, holds the eye contact as she scoots herself down the last half-inch or so. Opens her mouth a bit and--
"Andy." He makes a fist in the sheets so he doesn't fill his palms with that thick pretty hair, dragging across his thigh like silk. (He imagined this, he did, is sort of ashamed to admit it, but--god.) She hums at him again, a hand wrapping around the base and all this sloppy suction. It feels like the vibration travels all the way up his spine.
Sam groans again, just softly, how impossibly warm her mouth is and the slightly clumsy way she's working her tongue (he keeps looking, tries not to think about how young she is, thinks about it anyway). She glances up at him every couple of seconds, like she's checking in.
"Andy," he says again, mostly just to say it but also because he wants to tell her all this other shit, how glad he is that she came back and how far gone he is already (how stupid this is, how colosally stupid, and the way he just honestly doesn’t care). Sam drops his head back for a second, tries hard not to shove with his hips.
Andy makes a quiet sound into his skin, then reaches up with her free hand and pries his out of the sheet, laces their fingers together. Sam squeezes. (And shit, he is--his heart is spiraling out here, a little; he needs to get himself under control.) She's got him right on the edge at this point, but Andy sneaks one more look at him and takes him deeper-- the hand holding his tightening as she concentrates, and--
fuck.
He just barely manages not to, christ, her inexperienced mouth and the way she closes her eyes as she does it, like she has to focus. "Okay," he half-laughs, half-groans when he gets his breath back, twining his free hand in her hair and tugging. McNally pulls off with a plop that seriously almost does it for him, he's that close. "That's, uh." He clears his throat. "Enough of that."
"Not doing it for you?" She's grinning at him now, just a bit, letting him muscle her up his body (they're still holding hands, jesus, Sam has no idea how he's supposed to stay in deep cover after this).
"You're hilarious." He keeps tugging until her hips clear his cock, coming to rest warm and messy against his stomach (he just--he needs a second). Only then that doesn't really help at all, how wet she still is, the way she grinds a bit, smearing it. "Andy."
And yeah, she likes that, Sam's pretty sure--hearing her name. At the very least she kisses like she does, bossier than she has all night, which--that's what he has to do to get her to calm down? Lose his fucking mind? (Yes, apparently: he almost laughs when she starts shoving her hips down and back, that half-tease from when she walked into the apartment all over her face; make me.) "Okay, okay," he mutters, keeping her in his lap as he sits up, reaches for the bedside table. "Hold your horses."
"Holding, holding," she says, except she's actually not at all--is squirming around impatiently, knobby elbows and knees. Andy nods a bit at the condoms, skeptical copper look on her face. "J.D. been having a lot of company?" she asks, this voice like maybe she's kidding and maybe she's not, which--whatever, Sam's pretty sure this girl's spent the last two years turning him down both implicitly and outright, so in theory there's no reason for the idea of her thinking he's seeing other women to bother him.
(It, uh.
Bothers him.)
"Nope," Sam says, biting a bit at the sharp cliff of her jaw, and it comes out a lot quieter than he means. "Just you."
"Good." But McNally's smiling, holding her hand out for the packet, still fidgeting around in his lap. "Give it," she says; then, at his raised eyebrows: "What? I can do it. I'm modern."
Sam snorts. "You're something," he mutters, but he hands it over, watches her rip it open with her teeth (and he missed her, is a thing he's realizing now that he's half-gotten over the shock of just seeing her here (now that she's starting to seem more like herself): her goofy grin and the vanilla-sugar smell of her, those dark trusting eyes).
Andy rolls the condom onto him, pushes until he's lying on his back. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asks, straddling his hips and her tongue swiping wetly over the pulse point in his neck. "It's possible I've wanted to do this for like. A while."
Sam checks his grin (but jesus christ and all his saints, this girl). "Oh yeah?" he asks casually, like maybe he's after her health, what night shifts she's been working lately. "How long?"
"Not as long as you." All teeth and sass, bossy hands shoving at his shoulders--Sam's glad for the condom now, actually, the way she's right up against him but dulled. It gives him a chance to get a hold of himself. "You totally had a thing for me," Andy continues, sliding along his length. "For, like. Forever." She's teasing, Candice's brassy undercover voice, but uh. She's also not wrong.
"I did, huh." Sam doesn't make a question out of it, but he also doesn't change her past-tense. He just-- he kind of wants to walk out of this without her knowing everything (or at least, he feels like he should want that. It's, uh. Possible he actually wants the opposite). "What gave me away?"
"Shut-up." She lifts herself up a bit, gets him right there and-- "I have a thing for you too, I mean." She looks flustered, and Sam honestly can't tell if it's from the confession or the fact that she just sat down on his cock. "I mean--" She gestures between them helplessly. "Duh."
And that-- not to mention the fact that she's actually blushing, like she maybe didn't mean to say it (present-tense, jesus, as in a current-and-ongoing thing; Sam seriously needs to stop smiling), plus how he's now inside her, christ, actually inside Andy McNally-- it's a lot.
"Well, sweetheart." He rolls her over onto her back, can't help it, wants her underneath him like he wants to breathe (and he can't help the 'sweetheart' either, fuck, he likes her way too much). "I guess it's a good thing we ran into each other then."
Andy's knees come up right away, feet planted on the mattress and thighs butterflied open to give him room. Her skin's a little slick, this rosy glow. "Um," she breathes, gasping a bit as he bottoms out (and okay, it's possible Sam gasps a bit himself, how ridiculously warm and tight she is inside). "I guess it is."
He goes slow at first, not totally sure how she likes it (still afraid she's going to end him way too quick). Sam runs his palms up both sides of her body, drags her arms up over her head and laces his fingers through hers one more time. Andy smiles. She arches up a bit, chest pushed out and riding him from underneath; Sam's got his weight on his elbows, mostly, but Andy pushes with the side of her knee until he gets what she's after, Sam dropping down a bit more so they're close.
"Hi," she says once they're totally flush against each other, rolling her hips up hard and dirty, pulling her knees up even more until he's deep as she can get him. Sam bites back a quiet groan.
"Hi," he echos when he trusts his voice again; Andy smiles wider. But she's still-- she really isn't making much noise at all. Sam lets go of one of her hands, lifts up a bit so he can palm down her belly. Gets two fingers on her clit, slow circles.
"Oh, um." All of a sudden McNally's biting her lip, pink cheeks going pinker. "I can normally only, like. Once, you know?" She drops her voice down to a stage-whisper on the 'Once', like maybe Sam's neighbours are listening. (Which--how quiet this whole affair has been, they'd have to be listening real close.)
"I--" Sam honestly doesn't know what to say for a second, rhythm stalling out for half a beat. Finally he settles on, "That so?"
"Um," she says again, fidgeting underneath him, this voice like she's trying to spare not only his feelings but both of them the frustration of a futile attempt to get her off (like maybe this is a conversation she's had before and she's found it's best to be clear and direct, sir I need you to step out of the car). "Yeah." She screws up her face a bit, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Sam says easily, recovering enough to fake it (he would have made it better, is the thing, if he'd known it was going to be her only one-- would have kept her on the edge until she couldn't take it, would have figured out a way to make her loud). He slides his hand back up the slope of her body, learning her like a relief map. "Relax."
"Okay," she says, but then definitely doesn't--one foot sliding down the back of his calf and then coming right up again, over and over like she can't decide what to do with it. "Don't like--don't stop, though, okay?"
"McNally." Sam leans down to kiss her, bitten lips and those pretty freckles on the side of her mouth. "Not stopping."
They find the pace again a minute later, fingers laced together and Andy's hips rolling underneath him; Sam reaches down and pulls that leg up once and for all. And clearly it's his first time to this rodeo; McNally's a grownup, she knows how her own body works, Sam's not some overconfident macho ass. Still, the way she gasps when he thrusts deep and stays there, grip tightening on the hand holding his--
(It just, it doesn't totally sound like the gasp of somebody who's not going to be able to come a second time.)
Sam keeps himself there for a minute, testing. If she asks, he's going to say he needs the break, tell her that she's too tight and too slick and every time he looks down at her body he gets vertigo. Tell her he wasn't expecting her tan lines or her dark pretty nipples or to miss her quite this much, and it's ending him a bit (although honestly, Sam half-wants to tell her all those things either way; it's not like they aren't true).
McNally doesn't ask.
What she does do: tip her chin up towards the ceiling, back bowing and this shallow arch like she wants to grind again but isn't letting herself. What she does say: "Sa-am..."
Sam doesn't answer, just rolls his hips and gives her the friction she's after: Andy whimpers (and fuck, fuck, he wants to ask her if it's a can't or a not normally, wants to ask if when she's alone it--). Her grip on his hand is tight, and her heart's going rabbit-fast underneath him, and altogether it really looks like-- well. It doesn't look like she's done.
"I can still make you feel good, right?" he murmurs, up against her ear. "Even if you don't--"
Andy's off and nodding before he finishes, hips starting to go again, eager little pulses. But even as she does it she's biting her lip, like maybe she's still trying to behave herself. "Only if you-- I mean, uh. S'your turn."
God, no way is she this polite all the time. Sam knows her; she steals his coffee and tilts all the air vents in the cruiser towards herself, leaves him freezing in the driver's seat. He thinks, come on, sweetheart, be greedy, and rolls his hips again.
It works--he gets another sound out of her, little louder this time. Sam smiles once against her neck. "I'll get my turn," he promises, which--yeah, that is not so much a thing he's worried about here, all that smooth smooth skin and the coarseness of the hair between her legs, bottom lip clamped firmly in her teeth; Sam hitches her even closer, palming the soft warm curve where her thigh meets her ass. "Jesus, Andy," he says when she keens a bit into his neck, all breath and urgency. "Like to hear you."
Andy whines at full volume then, hips definitely working--this stuttering rhythm like maybe she can't really help it, like maybe there's something she's decided she wants. Sam keeps her close and lets her grind. "Had a thing for you," he mutters, picking up the thread of their conversation from earlier, whispering right in her ear. "Have a thing for you now."
And that--well. That's a thing she likes, apparently.
McNally lets go of his hand and winds her arms around his neck, presses her face against his collarbone to gasp. Sam lets her hide there, cups the back of her head and tucks her closer. She's muscled herself tight against him, slick all down her thighs; it feels serious all of a sudden, this thing between them. Which-- that's something Sam expected from himself, maybe (god knows how long he's--), but. Not from her.
"Thought about this," he says as she whimpers, feeling lightheaded. "Wanted you."
And well-- so much for walking out of this without her knowing everything. Still, it seems to be working for her, jesus, nonsense in her ear and his hand in her hair, the way she's just beginning to clench. Sam takes a chance and starts to thrust again. Just careful, just easy, keeping himself deep.
And fuck, the noise she makes then--
Oh god, this is actually-- Sam's 90% sure he's going to get her there.
"There you go, sweetheart," he tells her a minute later, her bringing that long lithe body up to meet him stroke for stroke. It's taking basically everything he's got just to keep himself from flying apart at his joints. "Just like that. You feel amazing, you know you're--"
"Sam," she says suddenly--and yeah, she is definitely not the only one who likes hearing her name like that. Her arms go animal-tight around his neck. "Sam Sam Sam--"
Andy makes some noise then--makes a lot of noise, actually, this incredible keen that echoes in his big empty apartment, loud and hungry. There you are Sam thinks like a reflex, fist tightening in all that messy dark hair. He pulls her up a bit, so he can see her better; he can't stop looking at her face.
She keeps him real close the whole time it's happening, one hand splayed at his lower back and pulling like she wants him even deeper; he uses his hips to push her down into the mattress a bit, wrings the rest of it out of her nice and slow, and God.
God.
Andy doesn't say anything for a second when she's finished, fingers twitching at the back of his neck. Eventually he hears her swallow. "Um." She's shaking underneath him, her whole body is. "Yeah."
Sam kisses the sharp curve of her cheekbone, rubs his palms up and down her sides soothingly. (And he wants to give her a break, he does, but--jesus.) He hums a bit in her ear, tries to resist hitching her up against him, tries not to move his hips. She's shaking so damn much.
"Okay," she says finally, this voice like she's trying to pull it together. "I-- you're totally going to be smug about this, aren't you?"
This girl. "Sweetheart," Sam starts, and god, she's looking right at him as he says it, no heat-of-the-moment excuses here. He doesn't know how to tell her she could end him right now if she wanted to, that he's not--
"Oh." She drops her arms from his neck as the realization dawns, stretches them up towards the headboard indulgently (beautiful girl with her breasts pulled tight and rosy, the bloom of satisfaction all across her cheeks). Her mouth curls into a smile. "Your turn now, huh?"
Sam closes his eyes, just for a second. McNally rolls her hips up one more time. "Andy," he says, a little helpless--he's been on the edge for a while at this point, never totally recovered from her mouth and her hands and the taste of her body (from the shock of her turning up at all). He needs it to happen like he needs to breathe air but he also wants to keep her here forever just like this, to hide out in bed in the half-dark until Brennan and Boyd forget either one of them ever existed.
(Already he never wants her to leave.)
But McNally's grinning and pulling her knees up, this side of her he's only seeing now. "Come on, Swarek," she teases, ankles hooked and her teeth at his shoulder-- this voice like she's trying to convince him to run down one more lead before they head back to the barn, you'll see, it'll be an adventure. "Show me what you like."
He almost comes back with You, that's how wrecked he is, barely manages to catch himself in time. (It's true too, jesus, everything about her is working for him, the candyfloss smell of her body lotion and her skin underneath it, salt-sharp tang of her arousal.) "Now who's smug," Sam bites off. Andy just smirks, rubbing her cheek against his like a cat. The sleek line of her jaw is cool to the touch.
"Show me," she demands, right in his ear. And Sam-- he knows a losing battle when he sees one.
(Wants to lose it. Wants to so bad.)
He starts moving again slowly, dragging it out a bit, forearms bracketing her head so he can watch her watch him, curious. Andy plants her chilly feet on his hipbones, butterflies her legs out. After a minute she starts clenching deliberately, grip grip grip all along his length, and Mary mother of god. "Andy, sweetheart--"
Sam's brain damn near whites out when it happens, two sloppy rhythmless thrusts and his spine snapping straight, pressing her into the mattress (and christ, he just wants to cover her, he can't--). McNally keeps gripping him the whole time, wrapped tight around like muscle on bone; when Sam finally comes back to himself her hands are in his hair, fussing quietly.
Neither of them say anything for a while, like maybe they've shocked each other--just the sound of their breathing and her pulse beating under her skin. Sam waits on his heartbeat, tries to put a thought together. Andy sighs.
(And this part--yeah. He likes this part, too.)
"So, um," she starts after a minute, palming down the back of his neck, nails whisper light all along the length of his spine. Every time she touches him his whole body shudders, a car getting a jump. "Why'd you take this undercover again?"
Sam huffs a laugh into her skin, wry, but it's --it is possible he's wondering the same thing himself. "S'a dirty job, McNally," he mutters.
"Right," she says, clenching one last time; then, whining a bit as he pulls out: "Sta-ay."
(And god, he would, but--) "Hang on a sec." He pushes up on one arm, gets rid of the condom. The air feels ridiculously, impossibly cold.
He has to roll to the opposite edge of the bed to throw the thing out, garbage can tucked away under the nightstand. As soon as he's back in range McNally's muscling him down again, this half-tackle that ends with her on top (and that-- yeah, she's acting like herself now). Her pointy chin digs into his sternum. "I don't suppose J.D. keeps drugs in his apartment?"
"Hmm?" Sam gets his arms around her immediately, the velvet-smooth skin of her back. She's still got her watch on, oh-three-hundred and counting. "What, is that how you like to wind down after? A little MDMA?" Andy smiles at him, bright and sharp.
(And okay, if Sam's being honest, the real reason he took this UC? He thought he was shit out of luck. Was pretty much convinced, actually.
Case in point: even after all McNally's quiet double-talk at the Alpine Inn, insurance and a little lonely, he still wasn't sure-- she surprised him, is all he's saying, coming back like that. For a whole lot of reasons.)
"The scavenger hunt." Andy's voice is still sex-thick, scratchy; Sam thinks about making her whine, feels a blood rush that's halfway uncomfortable for how soon it is. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose," she continues, oblivious. "Like, really really badly."
"Probably," he agrees. He lost too, his year; Noelle took it with a fistful of twenties she won playing trivia at a yuppie bar downtown. "That's why you came here, huh? To shake me down for cash and illegal substances?"
Andy bites a bit at the plane of his chest, friendly. All things considered, she doesn't really look too depressed about giving up the win. "Yup." Then, pushing down at him with her stomach (so, not oblivious then, not totally): "Also to get a look at your goods."
"Smartass." Sam gets his fingertips at her ribs, tickles a bit (actually tickles her, what even, he can't--). Andy squeals loud enough that the neighbors probably could hear, if they're paying attention, her wriggling like a raccoon in a pillowcase. Then she tickles him back.
"Okay, okay," he says a minute later--this playground wrestling, her wrists pinned to the mattress on either side of her head. At some point he's really gonna need to wipe the grin off his face.
Andy grins back, arching a little to nip at his bottom lip. It's quick--she can’t hold the kiss for more than a second, arms pinned down and her stomach muscles working--but it startles Sam into silence anyway. Everything about this is just so stupidly new. When she flops back down to the mattress, chin tilting up and that satisfied smile, he follows her. Her mouth tastes like it looks, pink and wet.
"Is the check-in for this thing still at six?" he asks when they pull away. Already her lips have that smudged look from too much kissing, like someone coloured outside the lines. Sam hopes no one notices back at the Barn.
"Why?" She squirms underneath him a bit, laughing. "You wanna go again?"
(God yes.)
"Want to know when I should call you a cab," he says instead. "I mean, since I've got no coke on me. It's the least I can do."
And that--that's the wrong thing to say, definitely, Andy blinking for a second like she's not totally sure what he's getting at. "Uh," she says-- up a bit on her elbows, raking through the tangles in all that soft pretty hair. "Whenever is fine. Soon. I can clear out now, if you've got, like--things to do."
If he's got things to-- jesus christ, this girl. Sam nudges her back down onto the mattress. "Andy," he mutters, rubs a hand up the side of her body. "Come on."
"What?" she asks, pouting a bit--but there's a smile hiding back there, too, like now that she's thinking about it for a second she knows that's not what he meant (knows all kinds of things, probably). "You're a criminal or something, I don't know. You could conceivably have, like. Commitments."
"Commitments," he repeats, tugging until she's lying on her belly, body tucked into the crook of his arm (and shit, there's no way they can fall asleep here but he can feel himself starting to want it, to want all the things that go along with--). "Right."
McNally grins for real then, settling against him. "I mean seriously, what kind of con are you, ditching your boss over some girl?" Her smile is three parts cocky, one part sheepish-- embarrassed for coming back and corrupting a UC op, maybe, pleased that he followed her lead.
Sam strokes up her back, messes with her hair a little (and she likes that, definitely, head dropping down on her bent arm and her eyelashes just fluttering-- god, they can't, they can't fall asleep here). "The kind that has a thing for insurance," he tells her, easy.
Well. She likes that too. "That's a legitimate reason," she murmurs, watching him with a tiny smile.
"Mm." Sam pets through her hair a while longer, tries to get his head back in the game. In two hours she needs to show up in full uniform; an hour after that he's got to get up and be J.D. again, get his brain right, block out every stray distraction except what's right in front of him. And that's what he used to like about UC work--what he still likes, jesus, not as if one night's going to change how he feels about shit he's been doing twenty years now--but.
(But.)
"Do you think the universe has a plan?" she asks, out of noplace but also like she's been thinking about it, trying to puzzle it out in her mind. Her heart beats engine-steady under his palm. "For us?"
Sam breathes in the warm-sugar smell of her, kind of hopes it does.
Authors: threeguesses and lowriseflare
Fandom/ Pairing: Rookie Blue, Andy/Sam
Rating: R
Word Count: 7500+
Summary: The one with the first time.
What’s most surprising, besides everything: how serious she is.
(He kind of figured she'd be-- he doesn't even know. She talks, McNally, she's a talker; Sam spent two years having his ear chatted off about the shifting flavour of ketchup chips and the light fixtures in her bathroom. So when she goes silent, it's a little--it’s odd, is all.)
He finally gets her down on the bed, flat on her back on J.D.’s shitty sheets, goes to work on the button of her jeans (and just--his hands are actually shaking a bit, it's ridiculous). When he thought about this (and he did, of course he did) he always kept it vague, mostly out of self-preservation, but it's not-- god, it is not staying that way. She still has her bra on and he wants to take it off, wants her naked and simultaneously wants to wait, take his time, be gentle.
He wants--he wants a lot of things.
He tugs her pants down, cautious (she's not gonna spook at this point, he's almost positive, but it's just--they've been down this road before, is the thing here, and Sam wants to be absolutely sure). McNally lifts her hips to help him out. Her panties are this bright blue animal print, cheetah or something, neon lace at the trim--Sam just looks for a second, flat stomach and the jut of her rib cage, all that smooth tan skin. It occurs to him to wonder if this is what she runs around in all the time, underneath her uniform.
(And that--well. Sam looks some more.)
"What?" Andy asks suddenly, voice pitched up just a shred like she thinks something's wrong, like maybe he's seeing something he doesn't-- "What?"
Which--that's actually the first thing she's said in a while.
Sam takes a second to wonder about that, if she's maybe--huh. Not spooking, not exactly, but like. Spooked. (And he is definitely--yeah. Somewhere in the neighbourhood himself, seeing her at the pool table earlier, wide eyes and that schoolgirl hairclip; if you're not doing anything in the next couple hours.) He wants to steady her out, the way he'd do on patrol, but he honestly doesn't think he'd be able to manage it right now, every bone in his body set to vibrate.
Still: he tries on a grin anyways, swipes a thumb over her hipbone. "Nice underwear, McNally."
"Oh." She huffs out a breath, blowing her bangs out of her face. "Well, I didn't exactly, um. Plan ahead here." God, he's pretty sure she's actually blushing, and that's just--that is way more endearing than it should be.
Sam kisses a line from her navel up her body--center of her rib cage and in between her breasts, the slightly salty curve where her throat meets her pointy chin (and him paying attention to her neck--he's pretty sure that's a thing she likes.
It's a thing Sam likes, too).
McNally gets a hand on either side of his face, hips opening up to make space for him and one leg coming up to wrap around his. She kisses like he remembers, eager and a little messy. Her dark hair's spread out all across the pillows on his bed. Sam rubs a hand up and down her side, soothing--he can feel her heart tapping away inside her skin--and kisses a bit further into her mouth, harder until her hips come up off the mattress, this begging arch.
So, okay. Definitely not spooking, but--
(god, she's quiet.)
He lifts her up a bit, slides his hands underneath to work the clasp of her bra (and his hands are definitely-- it takes him longer than it normally would. Then again, it's been a while--possibly he's just out of practice.
Still, Sam's, uh. Pretty sure it's the first thing.)
McNally doesn't even tease him about it, weight back on her palms to help, eyes wide and watching. She's got a foot tucked against the back of his knee. The way they've paused has her pressed against him, the heat bleeding straight through his jeans; Sam wants to roll his hips something awful (the night of the blackout and the rasp of denim on denim, how she kept gasping against his mouth). But. Slow is the watchword here.
When he finally gets the clasp open Andy shrugs her shoulders forward, pulls her arms out of the straps one by one. Then the bra’s in her lap and she's leaning back on her hands again and--
Well. Sam's apparently going to spend a good portion of the night just looking.
He’s about to nudge her backwards into the pillows, see how she likes to be touched, but Andy picks that moment to flip them, using her whole wiry-strong body to muscle him onto his back. Sam oofs a little, then grins, her hair coming down like a curtain and the discount-strawberry smell of her shampoo (she's got pretty hair, McNally, thick and shiny--she's smacked him in the face with her ponytail more than once, whipping her head around fast to answer a question or look where he said. It stings more than you'd think, not that Sam's ever really minded). For a second she gets real close to a smile--this flash of bossy goofiness, is that what you want?. Then she blinks and it's gone.
"Hey," Sam says softly, petting up her stomach and palming one small taut breast (she's a kid, he used to tell himself, over and over like a litany; kept waiting for the day that might possibly start to matter). She's got her face buried in his shoulder, like all of a sudden she's shy. "You with me?"
"Yeah." Andy nods into the crook of his neck, lifts her head enough to swipe her mouth along his jaw. "Yeah, I'm with you."
"Good." Sam thumbs a bit at her nipple, experimental. Andy's eyes go wide. Her hips come down fast and hard, like a reflex; in the same second he watches her bite her lip against a sound.
(She's behaving herself, Sam realizes, or trying to. That's...that's what it is.)
He looks her over slowly, pink cheeks and that lip turning red, all those hours in the patrol car and how she never held back then, we don't have time to wait for back-up, Sam. (And jesus christ, the last time they did this she was still calling him "sir" every other breath, Sam can't-- and even then she wasn't being so--
Okay. He can handle this.)
"C'mere," he says quietly, shifting up against the headboard until he can get his mouth over the tip of one breast (girl breasts, high and tight; she's got these slightly puffy nipples Sam really wants to-- yeah.
A kid, fuck, not to mention his frickin' rookie-- but no, still not helping).
He goes easy at first. Doesn't know what she likes so he sticks to the basics; wet tongue and a little bit of friction, cupping her other breast in his palm. The problem is McNally seems to like everything, or at least squirms like she does, canted thighs and her hips looking for friction in his lap. But she's still not making a peep, and she's not really grinding so much as rocking down and then flinching back, and just--
Sam knocks her thighs apart a bit farther, pulls her onto him until everything's lined up, and thrusts.
Well. That gets a sound out of her, all right--this sharp quiet whine and her back just arching, mouth pressed right up against his temple. Sam feels it echo in his skull.
(Fuck, he always figured she'd be noisy. That part wasn't vague at all.)
She's back to bashful a second later, arms tight around his neck, but once Sam gets her to do it all he wants is to get her to do it again--to strip her down and lick all over 'til she's begging, to bury himself inside her 'til she moans. He wants her to be so loud his fake neighbors have to turn up their TVs, wants it so much that the force of the wanting knocks him back a little, even after all this time.
Slow, he reminds himself, stroking a thumb along the underside of her breast, gentle enough to steady them both out. Easy.
Still: a second later he's tugging at the elastic on her panties, so.
She lifts off him so he can pull them down her thighs, then leans back on her hands so he can tug them the rest of the way, feet braced on his knees (and fuck if that doesn't give him a view). She's climbing back into his lap almost immediately though, quick fingers at the button on his jeans. The zipper's down before Sam can collect her hands, place them on his shoulders.
"Just--wait a sec," he tells her, palming her stomach. All this time-- he'll be damned if he's gonna let her jump-start him now.
Andy hides her face in his neck again, groaning. "Okay, but like, remember-- I did not plan this." Every word emphasized, like a warning; Sam's pretty sure that's a blush heating up his skin right now. He has a guess about why, the slightly grown-out edges of her bikini line (and jesus he wants to look, spread her out across the mattress and just--) but he doesn't really have the presence of mind to reassure her, because a second later he's opening her up a bit and--
Fuck. Fuck, she is wet.
She gives him a little noise at that, too--a gasp as he slides his middle finger down the whole length of her, feels her out. Sam tries to keep his breath as even as he can. He finds her clit and rubs, just gently; nudges her backwards 'til she's flat on the bed.
Now he does look--as best he can, anyway, in the weak-coffee light from the overhead on the other side of the apartment, this weird cold space ("Thought I just got out of the penn," he said uneasily, glancing around the first night Boyd brought him here; Don only shrugged). McNally watches him back. She's something else, this girl, tan lines and three good-sized beauty marks on her hipbone, all in a row like Orion's belt; there's a scar at her navel like a piercing grown over (and a bellybutton ring, what the hell even, she really is so ridiculously fucking young). He's still working a hand between her legs, slow and slippery; Andy's got one foot planted flat on the mattress, toes flexing like she's trying real hard not to move.
(Move, he almost tells her. Just to see.)
Sam leans down to mouth at her stomach a bit, getting to know the soap-salt taste of her--underneath her rib cage, the soft hollow of her belly. Then lower, just lightly, right along the line of hair.
That gets her attention; he feels her abs tighten underneath his palm. "Sam," she says, popping up onto her elbows to peer at him, voice pitched just a bit like she's nervous. "Seriously?"
(Yeah. Seriously.)
Sam tugs at her ankle in answer, works his shoulder underneath. Andy lets him, hooking her leg up and over; the back of her knee is very hot and very smooth. But then she doesn't give him any of her weight, foot barely skating across his lower back.
(This girl.)
Sam sucks at her hipbone, has the pleasure of hearing her breathing speed up. "Andy..." He wants to say Relax but that feels a little presumptuous, his hands still shaking like a rookie on retrain. He opens her up a bit more instead, just to look; she's swollen, almost shockingly dark against her winter-pale thighs. God, suddenly Sam wants-- he doesn't know. (Sometime in the last few minutes he went from halfway-hard to aching, hips pressed against the mattress--the smell of her, probably. Already he wants it all over him.) "Andy," he says, just quiet. "Let me, okay?"
McNally huffs out a breath, silent. Her hips cant open though, just a bit, and that's enough of a go-ahead that Sam slips a finger inside. Leans down to mouth at her clit.
Andy's hips come flying up then, this sharp electric reflex like a live wire and her pushing herself at his tongue for the barest fraction of a second. Her heel digs into the muscle of his back. "Shit," she mutters, forcibly relaxing, eyes squeezed shut and one hand white-knuckled in the sheet. "Sorry."
(Sam really, really doesn't want her to apologize.)
"Don't be sorry," he says, gives her another finger (and jesus, she's--she is tight; Sam shifts around on the bed trying to get comfortable). Her hips come up again, more cautious this time. "That okay?"
"Um." She's squirming a bit on the mattress, these little gasps and the warm wet grip of her body. "Yeah."
"Yeah?" (He wants her to talk to him, is the thing; has been privy to her uncensored opinions on everything from Jerry's facial hair to how The Office just isn't funny anymore and could just really, definitely stand to know--) "You sure?"
The way she's moving, though: still pressing back against his mouth and her free hand wandering down to sift through his hair--
Sam thinks he's maybe doing something right.
He opens his mouth against her in a messy kiss, down where she's the wettest. Gets his fingers moving in and out. He still wants to know, though, so: "McNa-lly." It comes out muffled, caught up in her skin, and the vibration must feel-- Well, either way, she bucks against him again. Just a bit.
(God. He really wants her to-- god.)
"I'm--" She pulls in a shaky breath, this edge like maybe she's frustrated he's making her articulate it, or embarrassed, or-- "Yes. Like, Sam..." Her chilly fingers are rubbing at the back of his neck, just the lightest prick of nails. "Yes."
Which: okay, that wasn't exactly talking to him, but-- He kept going, is the thing, all the way through, and by the end those yeses were, um. Sort of breathy. Like she maybe wasn't answering a specific question, exactly, but more just--
Jesus. Sam's head swims.
He works her for another minute, sloppy tongue and curling his fingers up inside her; the hand on the back of Sam's neck tightens, then lets go. "That's it," he tells her, free arm wrapped around her leg to keep her close and the stubble on his face scraping the soft inside of her thigh. Andy breathes in once, hard and sharp. "Come on, sweetheart."
McNally doesn't answer, eyes shut and concentrating. Sam pushes up against her clit. He feels it happen more than he hears it--the rhythmic clench of her body, her so quiet he's only seventy-five percent sure it actually happened at all. "McNally," he says, when she relaxes again a minute later (and fuck, she's a beautiful girl, he doesn't--) "Was that--?"
"Mm-hmm." Only then she's yanking him up on top of her, that strong skinny body and one hand slipping down inside his boxers, and Sam--yeah. Sam makes a sound. "Yeah it was."
(God, he wants her to do it again. Already, he wants her to do it again.)
He leverages himself up a bit, arms braced on either side of her head. Lets her feel him out. After a minute she works his boxers off with her toes, long legs wrapping around. Sam drops his head down a little, just to watch; her hand moving on him is a mindfuck, something you have to see to believe. He pushes out a breath through his teeth. "McNally..."
(Jesus, he actually called her 'sweetheart' back there and meant it, he doesn't even know--)
"Mmm?" She swipes her thumb over the head, looks up at him through her eyelashes. "This okay?"
Sam almost laughs (would laugh, if he wasn't already concentrating on--well. He is worked up, is the situation here; wants to call her 'sweetheart' all night long). "Yeah." He balances his weight on one arm, uses his thumb to drag her bottom lip down, kiss his way inside her mouth. "Yeah, McNally, that's--that's okay."
He thinks it maybe calmed her down a little, that first orgasm--she's half-smiling at him now, a shred less serious, free hand petting through his hair (and he's pushing into it, can't help himself; Andy McNally spread out naked in his bed). She tightens her grip, experimental: Sam growls. Andy shifts a bit, hips tilting--only then she feints and rolls out from underneath him, pushes him onto his back and tucks her hair behind her ear.
"Fair's fair, Swarek," she tells him, this tone in her voice that's not quite teasing, and--
jesus christ.
She kisses her way down his stomach, opened-mouthed and wet. Sam shifts up on his elbows to watch her, can't stop watching (hasn't even seen her from this angle yet, god, the bony curve of her spine and the way her hips round out). She messes around at his hipbones for a minute, bites along his abdomen, the tip of his cock bumping up against her pointy chin. Sam's breath hitches. McNally looks up at him then, holds the eye contact as she scoots herself down the last half-inch or so. Opens her mouth a bit and--
"Andy." He makes a fist in the sheets so he doesn't fill his palms with that thick pretty hair, dragging across his thigh like silk. (He imagined this, he did, is sort of ashamed to admit it, but--god.) She hums at him again, a hand wrapping around the base and all this sloppy suction. It feels like the vibration travels all the way up his spine.
Sam groans again, just softly, how impossibly warm her mouth is and the slightly clumsy way she's working her tongue (he keeps looking, tries not to think about how young she is, thinks about it anyway). She glances up at him every couple of seconds, like she's checking in.
"Andy," he says again, mostly just to say it but also because he wants to tell her all this other shit, how glad he is that she came back and how far gone he is already (how stupid this is, how colosally stupid, and the way he just honestly doesn’t care). Sam drops his head back for a second, tries hard not to shove with his hips.
Andy makes a quiet sound into his skin, then reaches up with her free hand and pries his out of the sheet, laces their fingers together. Sam squeezes. (And shit, he is--his heart is spiraling out here, a little; he needs to get himself under control.) She's got him right on the edge at this point, but Andy sneaks one more look at him and takes him deeper-- the hand holding his tightening as she concentrates, and--
fuck.
He just barely manages not to, christ, her inexperienced mouth and the way she closes her eyes as she does it, like she has to focus. "Okay," he half-laughs, half-groans when he gets his breath back, twining his free hand in her hair and tugging. McNally pulls off with a plop that seriously almost does it for him, he's that close. "That's, uh." He clears his throat. "Enough of that."
"Not doing it for you?" She's grinning at him now, just a bit, letting him muscle her up his body (they're still holding hands, jesus, Sam has no idea how he's supposed to stay in deep cover after this).
"You're hilarious." He keeps tugging until her hips clear his cock, coming to rest warm and messy against his stomach (he just--he needs a second). Only then that doesn't really help at all, how wet she still is, the way she grinds a bit, smearing it. "Andy."
And yeah, she likes that, Sam's pretty sure--hearing her name. At the very least she kisses like she does, bossier than she has all night, which--that's what he has to do to get her to calm down? Lose his fucking mind? (Yes, apparently: he almost laughs when she starts shoving her hips down and back, that half-tease from when she walked into the apartment all over her face; make me.) "Okay, okay," he mutters, keeping her in his lap as he sits up, reaches for the bedside table. "Hold your horses."
"Holding, holding," she says, except she's actually not at all--is squirming around impatiently, knobby elbows and knees. Andy nods a bit at the condoms, skeptical copper look on her face. "J.D. been having a lot of company?" she asks, this voice like maybe she's kidding and maybe she's not, which--whatever, Sam's pretty sure this girl's spent the last two years turning him down both implicitly and outright, so in theory there's no reason for the idea of her thinking he's seeing other women to bother him.
(It, uh.
Bothers him.)
"Nope," Sam says, biting a bit at the sharp cliff of her jaw, and it comes out a lot quieter than he means. "Just you."
"Good." But McNally's smiling, holding her hand out for the packet, still fidgeting around in his lap. "Give it," she says; then, at his raised eyebrows: "What? I can do it. I'm modern."
Sam snorts. "You're something," he mutters, but he hands it over, watches her rip it open with her teeth (and he missed her, is a thing he's realizing now that he's half-gotten over the shock of just seeing her here (now that she's starting to seem more like herself): her goofy grin and the vanilla-sugar smell of her, those dark trusting eyes).
Andy rolls the condom onto him, pushes until he's lying on his back. "Can I tell you a secret?" she asks, straddling his hips and her tongue swiping wetly over the pulse point in his neck. "It's possible I've wanted to do this for like. A while."
Sam checks his grin (but jesus christ and all his saints, this girl). "Oh yeah?" he asks casually, like maybe he's after her health, what night shifts she's been working lately. "How long?"
"Not as long as you." All teeth and sass, bossy hands shoving at his shoulders--Sam's glad for the condom now, actually, the way she's right up against him but dulled. It gives him a chance to get a hold of himself. "You totally had a thing for me," Andy continues, sliding along his length. "For, like. Forever." She's teasing, Candice's brassy undercover voice, but uh. She's also not wrong.
"I did, huh." Sam doesn't make a question out of it, but he also doesn't change her past-tense. He just-- he kind of wants to walk out of this without her knowing everything (or at least, he feels like he should want that. It's, uh. Possible he actually wants the opposite). "What gave me away?"
"Shut-up." She lifts herself up a bit, gets him right there and-- "I have a thing for you too, I mean." She looks flustered, and Sam honestly can't tell if it's from the confession or the fact that she just sat down on his cock. "I mean--" She gestures between them helplessly. "Duh."
And that-- not to mention the fact that she's actually blushing, like she maybe didn't mean to say it (present-tense, jesus, as in a current-and-ongoing thing; Sam seriously needs to stop smiling), plus how he's now inside her, christ, actually inside Andy McNally-- it's a lot.
"Well, sweetheart." He rolls her over onto her back, can't help it, wants her underneath him like he wants to breathe (and he can't help the 'sweetheart' either, fuck, he likes her way too much). "I guess it's a good thing we ran into each other then."
Andy's knees come up right away, feet planted on the mattress and thighs butterflied open to give him room. Her skin's a little slick, this rosy glow. "Um," she breathes, gasping a bit as he bottoms out (and okay, it's possible Sam gasps a bit himself, how ridiculously warm and tight she is inside). "I guess it is."
He goes slow at first, not totally sure how she likes it (still afraid she's going to end him way too quick). Sam runs his palms up both sides of her body, drags her arms up over her head and laces his fingers through hers one more time. Andy smiles. She arches up a bit, chest pushed out and riding him from underneath; Sam's got his weight on his elbows, mostly, but Andy pushes with the side of her knee until he gets what she's after, Sam dropping down a bit more so they're close.
"Hi," she says once they're totally flush against each other, rolling her hips up hard and dirty, pulling her knees up even more until he's deep as she can get him. Sam bites back a quiet groan.
"Hi," he echos when he trusts his voice again; Andy smiles wider. But she's still-- she really isn't making much noise at all. Sam lets go of one of her hands, lifts up a bit so he can palm down her belly. Gets two fingers on her clit, slow circles.
"Oh, um." All of a sudden McNally's biting her lip, pink cheeks going pinker. "I can normally only, like. Once, you know?" She drops her voice down to a stage-whisper on the 'Once', like maybe Sam's neighbours are listening. (Which--how quiet this whole affair has been, they'd have to be listening real close.)
"I--" Sam honestly doesn't know what to say for a second, rhythm stalling out for half a beat. Finally he settles on, "That so?"
"Um," she says again, fidgeting underneath him, this voice like she's trying to spare not only his feelings but both of them the frustration of a futile attempt to get her off (like maybe this is a conversation she's had before and she's found it's best to be clear and direct, sir I need you to step out of the car). "Yeah." She screws up her face a bit, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize," Sam says easily, recovering enough to fake it (he would have made it better, is the thing, if he'd known it was going to be her only one-- would have kept her on the edge until she couldn't take it, would have figured out a way to make her loud). He slides his hand back up the slope of her body, learning her like a relief map. "Relax."
"Okay," she says, but then definitely doesn't--one foot sliding down the back of his calf and then coming right up again, over and over like she can't decide what to do with it. "Don't like--don't stop, though, okay?"
"McNally." Sam leans down to kiss her, bitten lips and those pretty freckles on the side of her mouth. "Not stopping."
They find the pace again a minute later, fingers laced together and Andy's hips rolling underneath him; Sam reaches down and pulls that leg up once and for all. And clearly it's his first time to this rodeo; McNally's a grownup, she knows how her own body works, Sam's not some overconfident macho ass. Still, the way she gasps when he thrusts deep and stays there, grip tightening on the hand holding his--
(It just, it doesn't totally sound like the gasp of somebody who's not going to be able to come a second time.)
Sam keeps himself there for a minute, testing. If she asks, he's going to say he needs the break, tell her that she's too tight and too slick and every time he looks down at her body he gets vertigo. Tell her he wasn't expecting her tan lines or her dark pretty nipples or to miss her quite this much, and it's ending him a bit (although honestly, Sam half-wants to tell her all those things either way; it's not like they aren't true).
McNally doesn't ask.
What she does do: tip her chin up towards the ceiling, back bowing and this shallow arch like she wants to grind again but isn't letting herself. What she does say: "Sa-am..."
Sam doesn't answer, just rolls his hips and gives her the friction she's after: Andy whimpers (and fuck, fuck, he wants to ask her if it's a can't or a not normally, wants to ask if when she's alone it--). Her grip on his hand is tight, and her heart's going rabbit-fast underneath him, and altogether it really looks like-- well. It doesn't look like she's done.
"I can still make you feel good, right?" he murmurs, up against her ear. "Even if you don't--"
Andy's off and nodding before he finishes, hips starting to go again, eager little pulses. But even as she does it she's biting her lip, like maybe she's still trying to behave herself. "Only if you-- I mean, uh. S'your turn."
God, no way is she this polite all the time. Sam knows her; she steals his coffee and tilts all the air vents in the cruiser towards herself, leaves him freezing in the driver's seat. He thinks, come on, sweetheart, be greedy, and rolls his hips again.
It works--he gets another sound out of her, little louder this time. Sam smiles once against her neck. "I'll get my turn," he promises, which--yeah, that is not so much a thing he's worried about here, all that smooth smooth skin and the coarseness of the hair between her legs, bottom lip clamped firmly in her teeth; Sam hitches her even closer, palming the soft warm curve where her thigh meets her ass. "Jesus, Andy," he says when she keens a bit into his neck, all breath and urgency. "Like to hear you."
Andy whines at full volume then, hips definitely working--this stuttering rhythm like maybe she can't really help it, like maybe there's something she's decided she wants. Sam keeps her close and lets her grind. "Had a thing for you," he mutters, picking up the thread of their conversation from earlier, whispering right in her ear. "Have a thing for you now."
And that--well. That's a thing she likes, apparently.
McNally lets go of his hand and winds her arms around his neck, presses her face against his collarbone to gasp. Sam lets her hide there, cups the back of her head and tucks her closer. She's muscled herself tight against him, slick all down her thighs; it feels serious all of a sudden, this thing between them. Which-- that's something Sam expected from himself, maybe (god knows how long he's--), but. Not from her.
"Thought about this," he says as she whimpers, feeling lightheaded. "Wanted you."
And well-- so much for walking out of this without her knowing everything. Still, it seems to be working for her, jesus, nonsense in her ear and his hand in her hair, the way she's just beginning to clench. Sam takes a chance and starts to thrust again. Just careful, just easy, keeping himself deep.
And fuck, the noise she makes then--
Oh god, this is actually-- Sam's 90% sure he's going to get her there.
"There you go, sweetheart," he tells her a minute later, her bringing that long lithe body up to meet him stroke for stroke. It's taking basically everything he's got just to keep himself from flying apart at his joints. "Just like that. You feel amazing, you know you're--"
"Sam," she says suddenly--and yeah, she is definitely not the only one who likes hearing her name like that. Her arms go animal-tight around his neck. "Sam Sam Sam--"
Andy makes some noise then--makes a lot of noise, actually, this incredible keen that echoes in his big empty apartment, loud and hungry. There you are Sam thinks like a reflex, fist tightening in all that messy dark hair. He pulls her up a bit, so he can see her better; he can't stop looking at her face.
She keeps him real close the whole time it's happening, one hand splayed at his lower back and pulling like she wants him even deeper; he uses his hips to push her down into the mattress a bit, wrings the rest of it out of her nice and slow, and God.
God.
Andy doesn't say anything for a second when she's finished, fingers twitching at the back of his neck. Eventually he hears her swallow. "Um." She's shaking underneath him, her whole body is. "Yeah."
Sam kisses the sharp curve of her cheekbone, rubs his palms up and down her sides soothingly. (And he wants to give her a break, he does, but--jesus.) He hums a bit in her ear, tries to resist hitching her up against him, tries not to move his hips. She's shaking so damn much.
"Okay," she says finally, this voice like she's trying to pull it together. "I-- you're totally going to be smug about this, aren't you?"
This girl. "Sweetheart," Sam starts, and god, she's looking right at him as he says it, no heat-of-the-moment excuses here. He doesn't know how to tell her she could end him right now if she wanted to, that he's not--
"Oh." She drops her arms from his neck as the realization dawns, stretches them up towards the headboard indulgently (beautiful girl with her breasts pulled tight and rosy, the bloom of satisfaction all across her cheeks). Her mouth curls into a smile. "Your turn now, huh?"
Sam closes his eyes, just for a second. McNally rolls her hips up one more time. "Andy," he says, a little helpless--he's been on the edge for a while at this point, never totally recovered from her mouth and her hands and the taste of her body (from the shock of her turning up at all). He needs it to happen like he needs to breathe air but he also wants to keep her here forever just like this, to hide out in bed in the half-dark until Brennan and Boyd forget either one of them ever existed.
(Already he never wants her to leave.)
But McNally's grinning and pulling her knees up, this side of her he's only seeing now. "Come on, Swarek," she teases, ankles hooked and her teeth at his shoulder-- this voice like she's trying to convince him to run down one more lead before they head back to the barn, you'll see, it'll be an adventure. "Show me what you like."
He almost comes back with You, that's how wrecked he is, barely manages to catch himself in time. (It's true too, jesus, everything about her is working for him, the candyfloss smell of her body lotion and her skin underneath it, salt-sharp tang of her arousal.) "Now who's smug," Sam bites off. Andy just smirks, rubbing her cheek against his like a cat. The sleek line of her jaw is cool to the touch.
"Show me," she demands, right in his ear. And Sam-- he knows a losing battle when he sees one.
(Wants to lose it. Wants to so bad.)
He starts moving again slowly, dragging it out a bit, forearms bracketing her head so he can watch her watch him, curious. Andy plants her chilly feet on his hipbones, butterflies her legs out. After a minute she starts clenching deliberately, grip grip grip all along his length, and Mary mother of god. "Andy, sweetheart--"
Sam's brain damn near whites out when it happens, two sloppy rhythmless thrusts and his spine snapping straight, pressing her into the mattress (and christ, he just wants to cover her, he can't--). McNally keeps gripping him the whole time, wrapped tight around like muscle on bone; when Sam finally comes back to himself her hands are in his hair, fussing quietly.
Neither of them say anything for a while, like maybe they've shocked each other--just the sound of their breathing and her pulse beating under her skin. Sam waits on his heartbeat, tries to put a thought together. Andy sighs.
(And this part--yeah. He likes this part, too.)
"So, um," she starts after a minute, palming down the back of his neck, nails whisper light all along the length of his spine. Every time she touches him his whole body shudders, a car getting a jump. "Why'd you take this undercover again?"
Sam huffs a laugh into her skin, wry, but it's --it is possible he's wondering the same thing himself. "S'a dirty job, McNally," he mutters.
"Right," she says, clenching one last time; then, whining a bit as he pulls out: "Sta-ay."
(And god, he would, but--) "Hang on a sec." He pushes up on one arm, gets rid of the condom. The air feels ridiculously, impossibly cold.
He has to roll to the opposite edge of the bed to throw the thing out, garbage can tucked away under the nightstand. As soon as he's back in range McNally's muscling him down again, this half-tackle that ends with her on top (and that-- yeah, she's acting like herself now). Her pointy chin digs into his sternum. "I don't suppose J.D. keeps drugs in his apartment?"
"Hmm?" Sam gets his arms around her immediately, the velvet-smooth skin of her back. She's still got her watch on, oh-three-hundred and counting. "What, is that how you like to wind down after? A little MDMA?" Andy smiles at him, bright and sharp.
(And okay, if Sam's being honest, the real reason he took this UC? He thought he was shit out of luck. Was pretty much convinced, actually.
Case in point: even after all McNally's quiet double-talk at the Alpine Inn, insurance and a little lonely, he still wasn't sure-- she surprised him, is all he's saying, coming back like that. For a whole lot of reasons.)
"The scavenger hunt." Andy's voice is still sex-thick, scratchy; Sam thinks about making her whine, feels a blood rush that's halfway uncomfortable for how soon it is. "I'm pretty sure I'm going to lose," she continues, oblivious. "Like, really really badly."
"Probably," he agrees. He lost too, his year; Noelle took it with a fistful of twenties she won playing trivia at a yuppie bar downtown. "That's why you came here, huh? To shake me down for cash and illegal substances?"
Andy bites a bit at the plane of his chest, friendly. All things considered, she doesn't really look too depressed about giving up the win. "Yup." Then, pushing down at him with her stomach (so, not oblivious then, not totally): "Also to get a look at your goods."
"Smartass." Sam gets his fingertips at her ribs, tickles a bit (actually tickles her, what even, he can't--). Andy squeals loud enough that the neighbors probably could hear, if they're paying attention, her wriggling like a raccoon in a pillowcase. Then she tickles him back.
"Okay, okay," he says a minute later--this playground wrestling, her wrists pinned to the mattress on either side of her head. At some point he's really gonna need to wipe the grin off his face.
Andy grins back, arching a little to nip at his bottom lip. It's quick--she can’t hold the kiss for more than a second, arms pinned down and her stomach muscles working--but it startles Sam into silence anyway. Everything about this is just so stupidly new. When she flops back down to the mattress, chin tilting up and that satisfied smile, he follows her. Her mouth tastes like it looks, pink and wet.
"Is the check-in for this thing still at six?" he asks when they pull away. Already her lips have that smudged look from too much kissing, like someone coloured outside the lines. Sam hopes no one notices back at the Barn.
"Why?" She squirms underneath him a bit, laughing. "You wanna go again?"
(God yes.)
"Want to know when I should call you a cab," he says instead. "I mean, since I've got no coke on me. It's the least I can do."
And that--that's the wrong thing to say, definitely, Andy blinking for a second like she's not totally sure what he's getting at. "Uh," she says-- up a bit on her elbows, raking through the tangles in all that soft pretty hair. "Whenever is fine. Soon. I can clear out now, if you've got, like--things to do."
If he's got things to-- jesus christ, this girl. Sam nudges her back down onto the mattress. "Andy," he mutters, rubs a hand up the side of her body. "Come on."
"What?" she asks, pouting a bit--but there's a smile hiding back there, too, like now that she's thinking about it for a second she knows that's not what he meant (knows all kinds of things, probably). "You're a criminal or something, I don't know. You could conceivably have, like. Commitments."
"Commitments," he repeats, tugging until she's lying on her belly, body tucked into the crook of his arm (and shit, there's no way they can fall asleep here but he can feel himself starting to want it, to want all the things that go along with--). "Right."
McNally grins for real then, settling against him. "I mean seriously, what kind of con are you, ditching your boss over some girl?" Her smile is three parts cocky, one part sheepish-- embarrassed for coming back and corrupting a UC op, maybe, pleased that he followed her lead.
Sam strokes up her back, messes with her hair a little (and she likes that, definitely, head dropping down on her bent arm and her eyelashes just fluttering-- god, they can't, they can't fall asleep here). "The kind that has a thing for insurance," he tells her, easy.
Well. She likes that too. "That's a legitimate reason," she murmurs, watching him with a tiny smile.
"Mm." Sam pets through her hair a while longer, tries to get his head back in the game. In two hours she needs to show up in full uniform; an hour after that he's got to get up and be J.D. again, get his brain right, block out every stray distraction except what's right in front of him. And that's what he used to like about UC work--what he still likes, jesus, not as if one night's going to change how he feels about shit he's been doing twenty years now--but.
(But.)
"Do you think the universe has a plan?" she asks, out of noplace but also like she's been thinking about it, trying to puzzle it out in her mind. Her heart beats engine-steady under his palm. "For us?"
Sam breathes in the warm-sugar smell of her, kind of hopes it does.