fic: could have been the willie nelson, could have been the wine (Sam/Andy/Gail/Luke), Part 1/2
Title: could have been the willie nelson, could have been the wine (1/2)
Authors: threeguesses and lowriseflare
Fandom/ Pairing: Rookie Blue, Andy/Sam/Gail/Luke (aaand basically every possible combination therein)
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 14,400+
Summary: The one with the foursome. Alternately, the one with the mass defriending.
A/N: OH, WE TOLD YOU IT WAS COMING. An AU of the Surprisingly Cohesive Comment!fic Universe (tm). Because variety is the spice of life.
"Did you have sex with Gail?" Andy asks, calling out from the next room like she's asking if they can go out for pancakes in the morning. Sam's brushing his teeth in the bathroom; she's finishing a carton of lo mein in his bed. They're due back at work in two days.
Sam puts down his toothbrush, comes to stand at the bedroom door. "McNally," he says, stalling a bit (he wants to tell her, is the problem, wants to tell her basically everything; what he doesn't want to do is fuck this up) but she's looking at him all earnestly, like she honestly just wants to know. She's got the sheet tucked up under her arms. "Would that bother you?"
McNally gnaws the end of her chopstick, like she's thinking. "Should it?" she asks.
Sam looks at her for a second, tan shoulders and bedhead, faint bruise on her collarbone from earlier today. This morning it snowed again, wet and heavy; Andy made peanut butter sandwiches and told him how she used to steal her dad's uniform shirts to outfit the snowmen she built on the sidewalk in front of her house.
"Nope," he says slowly, serious as a gun to the head. "It really, really shouldn't."
(That’s how it starts.)
*
Callaghan and Peck are a thing when they come back; an "everyone knows, back-alley-of-the-Penny and Callaghan perpetually in last night's suit" kind of thing. Sam finds out from Barber, who seems way too happy to see him, every topic under the sun covered and then some in the first five minutes of the reunion. Oliver slaps him on the back of the head when he lets that particular gem slip, gives Sam a look like, "eh, we need him for the poker games".
(They really do; Jerry's the only who ever brings homemade dip.)
He doesn't mention it to McNally until after shift, back at his place by unspoken agreement and her draped across his chest, languid.
"Oh, yeah," she says absently after he's finished. "Traci told me weeks ago."
Sam, who was expecting something--well, something not that (he doesn't know, tries not to spend a lot of time thinking about Callaghan and the ring he put on her finger), sits up and takes her with him. "Do you--" He isn't even sure what he wants to ask here, only that he saw them together, Peck and Callaghan, down by the offices, and it was weird, Peck wearing the same bored face she always does. "Does it--?"
"Eh," Andy shrugs. "At least this way there's some mutually assured awkwardness."
Sam lies back down, smiling. "All right then."
*
But like: then Peck starts heckling him.
("So," she says conversationally, riding shotgun on patrol one sunny morning in February. "I've been thinking about having sex with your girlfriend."
Hand to god, Sam almost crashes the fucking cruiser. "Is that right?" He concentrates as hard as he can on keeping his voice even, if she doesn't get a reaction she'll cut it out and all that. "Well. Probably you should talk to my girlfriend about that."
Gail smiles benignly. She's got a giant to-go cup of orange soda or something, all corn syrup and artificial colour. It's making her mouth very bright. "What makes you think I haven't?")
*
"Relax," Andy says, when he asks her about it. She's standing at the counter peeling potatoes to boil, bizarrely meticulous about getting all the skin. "Gail comes on to me all the time now. Since that thing at New Year's. It's like, a joke."
Sam rolls his eyes, pulls a couple of steaks out of the fridge. "Hilarious."
"She's kidding," Andy insists. The potatoes hit the water with a series of sloppy plunks. "I think. Although apparently she had a girlfriend all through high school, so. Maybe she's not." She eyes him shrewdly, grins a little. "Why, you wanna watch?"
And that--there is really no reason why that question should fluster him as much as it does. "Wha--no," Sam tells her, more forcefully than is perhaps called for. "Jesus, Andy."
Andy throws her head back and cackles. "You do!" she crows, sounding delighted (and they've done a lot of shit at this point, him and McNally, but there's no way--). "You totally want to watch me get it on with Gail."
Sam grits his teeth, digs in the cupboard for a grill pan: watch me get it on with Gail, jesus christ. "Make sure that doesn't boil over," is all he says.
*
(Although, okay, that thing at New Year's--
He's seen her fool around with Nash like that on the dance floor before, sure, suggestive below the waist and their faces lit-up and laughing, friendly. He's even seen her with Diaz and Epstein, come to think of it, the New Year's she was with Callaghan--just the way kids dance these days, apparently. We were born in the wrong decade, brother, Oliver keeps telling him, which: whatever, the music is shit now.
Still, the thing with Peck was--well. One second he looks over and they're circle dancing, Epstein's gawky elbows; the next Peck's pressed against McNally's side whispering something in her ear, Andy giggling and glancing over her shoulder at him, biting her lip. And then-- yeah. Sam ended up sharing some truly awkward eye-contact with Callaghan for a few seconds, pure shock mostly.
Later, twin bar stools and McNally leaning up between his legs in a way she was probably going to be embarrassed about tomorrow: "We decided to ignore the patriarchy and be friends." She announced it grandly, a drunken little wave of her wrist.
Sam snorted. "You looked pretty friendly, yeah." He cupped her elbow, mostly because he could (she'd been skittish in front of their coworkers so far, room for the holy ghost, but the alcohol was making her loose and easy).
Andy grinned. "Okay, it's possible we also decided to fuck with you."
What Sam remembers, though: Peck's face, the way she made eye-contact with him over Andy's shoulder a few times.
How her expression never once looked particularly chaste.)
*
So. Sam lets it go, for the most part, watches without comment when Gail takes Andy's hand on the way to the bathroom at the Penny, when she shows up in one of Andy's halter tops for a UC at a porn shop across town. The girls wear each other's clothes all the time, it seems like. There's no reason for Sam to even notice.
(He, uh. He notices.)
"Something you need, Officer Swarek?" Peck asks, when she sees that he's looking--this smug expression on her face, almost sly.
Sam rolls his eyes. "You ready to go?"
(It only happened the once, him and Peck--a stupid decision on his part, probably, ways to get back at people for shit they don't even know they're doing. Her makeup left dark smudges on his pillows. Sam found her in the locker room the next morning, hand on her arm and a quiet we good? Gail actually laughed.)
Problem is, it's not just him Peck's screwing around with. He looks over one day to see her standing behind McNally at the computers, some license plate look-up and her arms bracketing Andy's shoulders, palms flat on the desk. Their faces are so close McNally’s ponytail is brushing against her cheek. Peck isn’t looking at the screen, though, or even at Sam; he follows her gaze until he runs straight into Callaghan's, staring good and hard. Peck's wearing a Cheshire smile.
Something tells Sam that Callaghan's not quite as nonchalant about this thing as he is (well, fine: as he is trying to be).
The other problem: literally no one else seems to be noticing. Not Ollie or Barber or anyone, absolutely none of the rookies. Even McNally sometimes, her easy grin when Peck compliments her hair or her earrings, when Peck pulls the elastic out of her ponytail in the surveillance van, rebraiding it for her and tucking the ends under. She just reacts, McNally, like it's nothing out of the ordinary. It's not flirting, not like Sam's seen her flirt with men--not like he's seen her flirt with him--and certainly nothing as overt as what Peck's doing, but there's this quality to her smile, like she's pleased with the attention. (Which--god knows Sam's aware of how she likes praise.
Peck, uh. Seems to have figured that out too.)
*
So: Gail throws a party.
"It's a housewarming," McNally reports when she tells him about it (after sex, late, which Sam figured out pretty quickly is when she tells him anything she thinks might potentially piss him off). "For her new place. You know, now that she's not living with the boys."
"Oh yeah?" Sam hums a bit, concentrates on not sounding paranoid. "You gonna go?"
"Well, everybody is." She wriggles closer, drags her nose across his shoulder. "I thought we could go together."
Sam hesitates (and he is, he's being crazy; Peck's the snotty rookie heir to a copper dynasty, not Single White Female. Still, between her and Callaghan, it's just--it's unsettling, is what it is. He can't figure out how he feels about any of it). "I don't know, Andy."
"Oh, come on." McNally huffs a bit, a kid who expected to get her way no problem and hasn't. "Why, because you think Gail is sexually harassing you?"
(Not me, Sam almost says. Doesn't.)
"We're friends, Sam," Andy tells him easily. She reaches up, traces a finger across his brow. "I like having girlfriends, you know? Chicks always hated me in high school."
Sam looks at her for a minute, warm and naked, those small high breasts and the smooth curve of her mouth. "Yeah," he says slowly--and he's smiling at her, he can't help it. He's never really been able to say no. "I bet they did."
Andy grins back, rolls over and reaches for the lamp on the nightstand. "Besides," she says, laughing a little. "I always kind of wanted to fool around with a girl. It's on my bucket list right next to skydiving."
"I'll take you skydiving," Sam tells her automatically.
(Still, it takes him a long time to fall asleep.)
*
They walk in the door, and right away Sam thinks: bad idea.
It's a cheap flat, one of those old buildings that gets rented out to students every year, sixteen layers of paint on the walls. Peck's got fairy lights strung around the entryway and almost everything else still in boxes, a girl after McNally's own heart; from the doorway it looks like the only furniture set up is the tv and a table being used for honest-to-god beer pong. Not for the first time, Sam feels way the fuck too old for Andy's friends.
That's not why it's a bad idea, though.
It's a bad idea because Peck bounces up to greet them, this giant pitcher of something red and mixed in her hand, and the first thing she does is kiss McNally hello.
On the mouth.
"Coats in the bedroom, yeah?" she tells them, pulling back. She's got a beer in her other hand, which she hands to Andy. "Guard that with your life," she whispers. "There's only, like, ten of them. The boys brought wine--" she rolls her eyes "--and Traci brought tequila, so come find me if you want another." McNally's smiling and laughing, like this is all completely normal, like she gets pecked on the mouth by her friends all the time.
"Swarek," Gail says as they pass by her to drop off their coats. Sam grits his teeth.
"Andy," he starts when they're alone. McNally turns to look at him, blinking; Peck's bedroom is dark. Sam tries not to look at the bed, unmade under the heap of coats. There's a bra hanging over the back of the doorknob. "Seriously?"
Andy doesn't bother playing dumb this time, just grins at him a little wickedly in the sliver of light seeping in from the hallway. "You jealous?" she asks, in this voice like it's uncalled for but maybe she wouldn't totally hate it if he was. She pops up on her toes, kisses him warm and messy; her beer bottle is cold and wet against the back of his neck. Sam grumbles against her lips in reply. He pulls back after a moment--the door isn't even all the way closed--but Andy muscles him deeper into the darkness, slips one purposeful leg between his thighs.
(And he's not, is the thing--jealous, that is.
Exactly.)
Finally they make it back into the living room, Diaz arguing over pizza toppings with Epstein's girlfriend and Nash flipping through the music stations on cable. He and Jerry do a beer run ("Who are these kids that they have a party and don't buy booze?" Jerry demands crankily, which--homemade dip or not, he's got a point) and when they get back Andy and Gail are up against Diaz and Epstein at the beer pong table, apparently taking no prisoners. Their giggles are noisy and bright. Sam watches for a second, cautious; the strap of Andy's tank top drifts down one shoulder and Gail pushes it up, then leaves her hand there, nails scratching lightly at Andy's upper back.
(Callaghan's watching, too.)
"Tequila," Traci orders, coming out of the kitchen with an extra shot glass in her hand. Sam smiles and downs it, follows Jerry onto the back porch to stick the beer in the snow.
(He's...something, though. Jealous isn't the right word. But he's definitely...something.)
It is, uh. Possible he gets a little drunker than he intends.
Eventually everyone gets tired of losing to Peck and Andy, so Diaz hooks a game console up to the tv--one he and Epstein apparently brought with them; Jerry shoots Sam a look--and suddenly half the party's sitting on the floor of Gail's empty living room, controllers in hand. "I'm just warning you," Sam hears Nash say. "I have an eight-year-old boy."
"You guys are all pussies," Peck calls. She and Andy are still by the beer pong table, Gail's arms draped around Andy's shoulders from behind; she sees Sam looking and grins. "Make your boyfriend play, McNally," she continues, dropping her voice--and Sam can see Andy flush at that, boyfriend. It's why when she saunters over to him, a push from Gail to get her going, he only lets her beg for a minute before saying yes.
(Why he even considers saying yes at all: he is drunk.)
"Cool," Peck says brightly, standing beside the table with her hand in Callaghan's (which: shit). "You two--" She lets go of Callaghan, nudging him towards Sam. "--against us two." She tosses her hair, this cat-ate-the-canary smile and a finger in Andy's belt loops, tugging.
So.
Turns out Callaghan's even drunker than he is (probably a good thing, actually; Sam's pretty sure this is the most they've spoken to one another in the last, oh, six months), which is how the girls end up taking them to school twice in a row, the second time a routing that's got Callaghan accusing Peck of foul play. "You're distracting me," he tells her, although in actuality he doesn't sound particularly upset about it.
"Oh yeah?" Gail's unzipped her hoodie and dropped it on a stack of boxes, this tiny little tank top underneath. Her bra straps are lime green. "How exactly am I doing that?"
(Callaghan doesn't specify. Sam gets himself another beer.)
"We're clearing out," Traci announces finally; Jerry's got her coat slung over his arm. "Gotta pick Leo up early." She glances at Sam, then back at Andy: "Be good," she instructs, a little warily Sam thinks (well, that makes two of them). Diaz and Epstein take off not long after that.
"You ready?" Sam asks her, once he and Callaghan make something of a comeback in round three (McNally's switched to whatever the hell jungle juice Gail had mixed up in that pitcher, is why). Her skin's a rosy pink from her face all down her chest. He...probably shouldn't drive, to be completely honest, but he'll find them a cab or otherwise they can hoof it, Sam doesn't really care (okay, fine, they can't hoof it, the cold plus the heels McNally's wearing, but. Semantics. They really need to go.) "You wanna head out?"
"Oh, come on," Gail wheedles, frowning. She's picking the abandoned crusts out of one of the pizza boxes, a human garbage disposal. "Don't go yet."
“Yeah," Callaghan chimes in--and Sam wheels around to stare at him but he's gathering a bunch of beer bottles off the table, not facing them. "Stick around."
Sam hesitates. Technically there's no reason for him to feel like he's trapped in the first third of some cheesy French art house movie, and yet. "Andy--"
But Andy's plopped on the couch with her party cup, like she's got nowhere in particular to be. "We can hang out for a bit," she says, smiling at him fit to light up the whole damn GTA. "Right?"
(Half his problem: she's a ridiculously endearing drunk, is what she is, goofy and sweetly flushed. He hasn't seen it often, on account of her dad probably, it runs in the family, Sam. Just a couple of times back when they barely knew each other, New Year’s. He drove her home once, still her TO and her bare feet up on his dashboard, Toronto's hottest summer on record; she laughed at nearly everything he said. In the end he didn't walk her to her door, even though she could've used the help--that laugh hit him way too nicely, loose and easy all down his spine.)
"Yeah," Sam tells her finally, rubbing at his neck. "For a bit." He seriously considers going around back and fishing another beer out of the snow, but A) he's pretty sure he doesn't need it, and B) he's--well. Kind of afraid to leave Andy alone with them, all told. Because yeah, not Single White Female, or even that one movie with Scarlett Johansson, Peck's eerily similar colouring aside--Sam wonders, briefly, what a guy like Callaghan is doing with her; figures she's on top most of the time and shuts that thought down quick--but it's still weird. Like. A disproportionately high number of people in this room have seen each other naked; it should be awkward. Right?
(His other problem: "I just want to try it drunk," she told him, back at the beginning of their suspension, shot glasses lined up along his kitchen island. She was wearing a pair of his boxers shorts. Sam asked if she'd ever done it like that before and she laughed, amended: "I want to try it with you." He'd laid her out on the table after she'd done four of them, peeled her clothes off to get a better look at that flush; she'd gotten giggly that time too.
But also-- also other things.)
"Want some?" Peck asks, leaning over the back of the couch to catch Andy's eye. When Andy nods, smiling, Gail pops a piece of pizza crust right into her mouth (and Sam's alcohol-soaked brain immediately takes a hit, danger Will Robinson; he deliberately doesn't look at Callaghan). "You're pretty," Gail announces while Andy chews, this slight slur to her words like maybe she doesn't know what she's doing. Only then she looks up, straight at Sam, and yeah: she knows. "Isn't she pretty, Swarek?"
Sam doesn't answer. He's almost positive he's having an out-of-body experience.
"Yeah," Gail sighs. "Definitely pretty." Then she's working a finger under Andy's chin, tilting her head back (and Andy doesn't know what she's after even if Sam does, barely swallows her pizza crust in time) and--
And.
It's actually bizarrely chaste, all things considered: just the soft press of Peck's mouth on McNally's like she's worried McNally's gonna spook. It's longer than the kiss hello, for sure, but not actually all that different. Andy's giggling before it's even over.
"Whoops," she says, looking guiltily at Sam. She's still smiling, though; her eyes are very bright. "Sorry."
"Sam's not mad." That's Peck, only straightening up about halfway, arms braced over McNally on the couch and the neck of her tank top gapping wide open. Sam really, really doesn't know where to look. "Are you?"
And fuck-- he's drunk, is what he is here; his head's not working right. He doesn't know what the hell is going on exactly, if he's supposed to be into this or if he even could be--
(He, uh. Yeah. He could be.)
In any case, McNally seems into it (has seemed into it the whole time, there’s no other way to read her at this point) and...well. Peck's right.
"Nope," he hears himself tell her (and jesus christ on a crutch what's he even thinking, this is a terrible idea, he should grab her and get the hell out). "Not mad."
"See?" Gail says softly, tips her face down at Andy's one more time. "I told you."
It's uh. Not so harmless this go-round.
Peck kisses her long and open-mouthed, blond hair coming down and the long swan line of Andy's neck when she lifts her chin up. Andy sighs. (She likes to be kissed, McNally, will make out like a teenager for an hour if she's in the right mood.) Sam just watches it happen. He's still not looking at Callaghan, is only vaguely aware of him leaning against the wall on the other side of the room; not to mention the fact that he, uh. Physically can't take his eyes off McNally.
(Crap, it's warm in here. Sam thinks it's possible he's blushing himself.)
"Yeah?" Peck asks as she pulls away, just quietly, just to Andy (and that's weird too, Peck being nice, but it's not--yeah. Not really Sam's focus right now). Andy nods, eyes still closed and head back against the couch, like she maybe wants to opt-out on the responsibility front. Which-- fine. Sam's pretty much the one who got them into this, considering he's the proud owner of the lowest blood-alcohol levels in the room (and fuck, he should be putting a stop to it, he really should, but just--she nodded). He watches as Peck circles the couch slowly, all the way around until her arms are bracketing Andy's head again.
(Well, okay: he's actually 90% sure Peck is the only one of them in control here.
So. That's going to be his excuse.)
"Hey Swarek." Peck's fussing with Andy's hair now, pulling it off her neck and smoothing it over the back of the couch. "Where does she like to be kissed?"
McNally's eyes snap open at that, find Sam's immediately; checking. And just--for a minute she's looking at him like it's the best secret ever, some great trick they're pulling off, the UC apartment and them against the world. She bites her lip and Sam makes a decision.
"Her neck." It comes out way too low, like he's lost the ability to modulate his voice. He clears his throat. "She, uh. Likes it best there."
(Behind him, he hears Callaghan make a noise, which--yeah. He probably knows exactly what happens when you kiss McNally on her neck. Sam tries not to think about it.)
Peck grins once, sharp and bright. "Take a picture boys, it'll last longer." Then she's tipping Andy's chin back, one hand in her hair and tugging gently. Planting a gentle line of kisses along her throat. Andy's eyes slip shut again almost right away, tilting her head to give Peck some room (and like--she's responding, is a thing Sam's noticing here, breath getting quicker and skinny fingers sifting through Peck's yellow hair). Gail gets her knees up onto the couch, legs spread one on either side of Andy's. Sits back so her ass is resting on Andy's thighs.
Callaghan clears his throat and pushes off the wall, leaves his empty beer bottle on the windowsill. Sam tenses, thinking--he doesn't know what, actually, has no fucking clue what he suspects might or might not be about to occur--but in the end Callaghan keeps his distance, makes himself comfortable on a stack of boxes next to the TV. Gets one foot up on the coffee table to watch.
(He's not looking at Sam, either.)
Gail's making a show of ignoring them both, inching herself forward and sucking Andy's bottom lip into her mouth, a little sloppy. Andy's collarbone is wet and slick. "Arms up, Cupcake," she instructs softly, tugging at the hem of Andy's tank top. Sam holds his breath.
Andy opens her eyes and smiles, damn near beatific. Her lips are smudgy and pink. "You first," she says.
Well.
Peck gets a kick out of that, no question, sharp face breaking open into maybe the first genuine grin Sam's seen out of her all night. She pulls her top off in one smooth motion and flings it in Callaghan's general direction, not bothering to glance behind her and see if she hit her mark (she did.) Her back is smooth and freckly, winter pale. There's a birthmark the size of a kidney bean on the side of her rib cage, something Sam remembers noticing but had forgotten; Andy reaches up with one finger, traces the scalloped edge of Peck's bra.
"You're pretty, too," she says.
(She is pretty, Peck. Sam's always thought so. He doesn't love her, could never--the way he--
but. She's very pretty.)
Gail rolls her eyes a little, drags her mouth along the line of Andy's jaw. "A deal's a deal," is all she says. She pulls Andy's tank up over her head, hair going a little staticky. Her bra's this neon pink number, little rhinestones on the straps: Sam doesn't recognize it, wonders if she bought it new (if she bought it for--).
"Swarek," Gail says, in this voice like he's the rookie and she's the TO. Her eyes are still on McNally's. "Come help me out."
Which--
Okay. Ok-ay. Sam didn't necessarily think that was how this was going to--but then again, he's never actually--never even imagined--so. What does he know, basically.
The walk to the couch seems very long. Andy's watching him over Peck's shoulder, heavily lidded; her eyes keep slipping closed as Gail works over her neck. It's weird to see from the outside, voyeurism or something, like looking through a funhouse mirror--he's used to seeing that expression out of the corner of his eye, right in front of him as he pushes in. "Budge over, Peck," he says when he's close enough. His legs feel shaky around the knees, adrenaline or alcohol fizzing up his spine, some combination of the two. Probably it'll be a relief to sit down.
"Bossy," Gail huffs, but she slides off McNally. Only then she's standing, grabbing him by the wrists and strong-arming him onto the couch, so. She's one to talk. (Although, okay, it's--it is possible Sam doesn't mind being told what to do right now.)
"Hi," Andy says, leg swinging up and over both of his immediately. Suddenly Sam's got a lapful of girl, warm familiar weight and the smell of her sugar perfume; if he closes his eyes, this could almost be normal. (Only then when he opens them again he can just see Callaghan, head-on from this angle, so. Not so much.)
Peck's standing behind Andy, thumbs flicking over her bra-straps. "Ugg, chill your hormones," she says. "You two making out, that's like. Just your average Saturday night."
"One sec," McNally murmurs, breath hot against Sam's ear. Her consonants are soft and slushy. She brings her arms up around his neck, forehead pressing against his and her hair like a curtain; Peck smiles indulgently over her shoulder, this face like she knows exactly what's going on.
Andy ignores her. "Okay?" she mouths, close and private. She's got a stare Sam recognizes, you and me and no one else.
Part of him wants to say no, actually, to get her home and into bed and remind her of all the shit they can do just the two of them; to tie her up and bend her over and get her off a dozen times in a row.
The other part (the thrill junkie, maybe, or the guy that couldn't turn her down even when it literally meant both of them could get killed; the fucked-up secret part of him that's wondering if Peck going down on his girlfriend isn't really, really a thing he'd like to watch)--
that part wants to play this out.
You and me and no one else, Sam promises silently, pets through Andy's hair a little. Bumps his nose at hers to tell her yes. "Peck," he says, as calmly as humanly possible at this particular moment, pulling his gaze away from Andy's and feeling like it's possible he just signed the order for his own execution. "Something you needed?"
Peck shoots him this look like there's no way she's buying what he's selling, then braces her arms on the back of the couch and leans right over McNally's shoulder to kiss him, sure and aggressive. It takes Sam a second to kiss her back. (McNally's right there, one hand on his shoulder and the other braced flat on his chest; he can feel her breath as she's watching, his heart tapping away against her palm.) When Gail pulls back Andy's looking at him with this mixture of jealousy and interest Sam can really, really relate to.
He doesn't have time to tease it out, though, because Peck's back at McNally's neck, is stroking down her spine and flicking open the hooks on her bra so it gaps just a bit in the front, shiny fabric going slack under Sam's hands. He strokes a cautious thumb over the satin, feels how her nipple's pebbled up. Scrapes lightly with the edge of his nail until she gasps.
"Detective Callaghan," Peck calls, sounding bored or annoyed (and fuck, leave it to Peck to sound bored and annoyed in the middle of a--a--in the middle of whatever the hell this is). "Are you waiting for an engraved invitation, or what?"
Which--okay, it's possible Sam thumbs Andy's nipple a little harder at that. Not much--not how he'd work her over if they were alone--but enough that she's leaning into him some more. (And it's possessive, sure, Sam's a big boy who can admit that to himself, but, uh. He's pretty sure that isn't what's got her responding:
One time on suspension, the parking lot of a Best Buy in broad-fucking-daylight, because apparently finally having Andy McNally meant he couldn't keep his hands off of her: "Crap, Sam, is she seriously looking at us right now?"
Sam checked and yep, that woman was taking way too long to unlock her car door. He reviewed the finer points of public indecency, figured a hand down McNally's sweatpants probably wasn't going to get them arrested. Put on a soothing voice. "I think so, yeah, but sweetheart--"
He didn't have time to say anything else before Andy's back snapped up into an arch.
So.)
"Not an engraved invitation, no." That's Callaghan now, standing behind Peck. Watching. "Just making sure: everyone's good with this?"
(And that's--pretty decent of him to ask, actually. Sam would've, but he, uh. Doesn't care so much about everyone.)
"Geez, Homicide." Gail's got a hand tucked down the side of Andy's jeans, the other creeping over the top of Sam's. She makes him cup harder, forces him to squeeze; Andy hisses. "Way to be a buzzkill. Swarek and McNally already had their little telepathy session or whatever, so unless you want to have a tea party and talk about our feelings--"
"I'm good," Callaghan cuts in over an eye-roll, stepping up and tugging her back against him a bit. "Although, not that I have any experience here, but--I'm pretty sure we're going to need a bed."
Gail cocks her head to the side, like, fair enough. "I knew I liked you for a reason," she concedes, reaching up and mussing through Callaghan's already-mussed hair. His collar's all wrinkled and askew. "You're a thinker." She pushes back against him for a minute, his hands stroking up and down her rib cage and curling around the jut of her hips. Then she leans forward again. "What do you say, McNally?" she asks softly, nudging the shiny straps of Andy's bra down off her broad, bony shoulders. "You wanna go lie down?"
Andy looks up over her shoulder and gets her hand behind Peck's neck, tugs her down for a kiss (and she's definitely starting to shift around in his lap a bit, McNally, like she does when she's looking to grind. Her can feel the heat of her right through his jeans). It's a mindfuck, watching her with a girl like this; she's kissing softer than usual, whole body warm and pliant, the wet muscle of her tongue. She opens her eyes and looks at Sam for a beat before she pulls back. "Yeah," she says slowly, biting a little at Peck's bottom lip. "Let's do that."
Peck smiles again, pleased--her hands skate across the pale, downy plane of Andy's belly, slip up beneath the underwire of the bra. Sam's basically holding it up at this point; when he lets go it slides soundlessly down into his lap. Sam swallows. Gail's got her mouth at the crook of Andy's shoulder, is rolling Andy's nipples gently between her fingers and thumbs--Andy whimpers, quiet. Sam plants a kiss on her temple to steady them both out.
Callaghan's still right up behind Peck, hands busy; Sam hears a faint snick as the hooks on her bra come loose and a second later--well. It's one hundred percent more half-naked rookies than Sam's ever been with at once, is what it is, and it's just--it's a lot.
(It's a lot.)
Peck straightens all the way up, takes a step toward the bedroom. "Come on, sweetheart," Sam says softly, just in McNally's ear. "Let's go."
So. They go.
on to part 2
Authors: threeguesses and lowriseflare
Fandom/ Pairing: Rookie Blue, Andy/Sam/Gail/Luke (aaand basically every possible combination therein)
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 14,400+
Summary: The one with the foursome. Alternately, the one with the mass defriending.
A/N: OH, WE TOLD YOU IT WAS COMING. An AU of the Surprisingly Cohesive Comment!fic Universe (tm). Because variety is the spice of life.
"Did you have sex with Gail?" Andy asks, calling out from the next room like she's asking if they can go out for pancakes in the morning. Sam's brushing his teeth in the bathroom; she's finishing a carton of lo mein in his bed. They're due back at work in two days.
Sam puts down his toothbrush, comes to stand at the bedroom door. "McNally," he says, stalling a bit (he wants to tell her, is the problem, wants to tell her basically everything; what he doesn't want to do is fuck this up) but she's looking at him all earnestly, like she honestly just wants to know. She's got the sheet tucked up under her arms. "Would that bother you?"
McNally gnaws the end of her chopstick, like she's thinking. "Should it?" she asks.
Sam looks at her for a second, tan shoulders and bedhead, faint bruise on her collarbone from earlier today. This morning it snowed again, wet and heavy; Andy made peanut butter sandwiches and told him how she used to steal her dad's uniform shirts to outfit the snowmen she built on the sidewalk in front of her house.
"Nope," he says slowly, serious as a gun to the head. "It really, really shouldn't."
(That’s how it starts.)
*
Callaghan and Peck are a thing when they come back; an "everyone knows, back-alley-of-the-Penny and Callaghan perpetually in last night's suit" kind of thing. Sam finds out from Barber, who seems way too happy to see him, every topic under the sun covered and then some in the first five minutes of the reunion. Oliver slaps him on the back of the head when he lets that particular gem slip, gives Sam a look like, "eh, we need him for the poker games".
(They really do; Jerry's the only who ever brings homemade dip.)
He doesn't mention it to McNally until after shift, back at his place by unspoken agreement and her draped across his chest, languid.
"Oh, yeah," she says absently after he's finished. "Traci told me weeks ago."
Sam, who was expecting something--well, something not that (he doesn't know, tries not to spend a lot of time thinking about Callaghan and the ring he put on her finger), sits up and takes her with him. "Do you--" He isn't even sure what he wants to ask here, only that he saw them together, Peck and Callaghan, down by the offices, and it was weird, Peck wearing the same bored face she always does. "Does it--?"
"Eh," Andy shrugs. "At least this way there's some mutually assured awkwardness."
Sam lies back down, smiling. "All right then."
*
But like: then Peck starts heckling him.
("So," she says conversationally, riding shotgun on patrol one sunny morning in February. "I've been thinking about having sex with your girlfriend."
Hand to god, Sam almost crashes the fucking cruiser. "Is that right?" He concentrates as hard as he can on keeping his voice even, if she doesn't get a reaction she'll cut it out and all that. "Well. Probably you should talk to my girlfriend about that."
Gail smiles benignly. She's got a giant to-go cup of orange soda or something, all corn syrup and artificial colour. It's making her mouth very bright. "What makes you think I haven't?")
*
"Relax," Andy says, when he asks her about it. She's standing at the counter peeling potatoes to boil, bizarrely meticulous about getting all the skin. "Gail comes on to me all the time now. Since that thing at New Year's. It's like, a joke."
Sam rolls his eyes, pulls a couple of steaks out of the fridge. "Hilarious."
"She's kidding," Andy insists. The potatoes hit the water with a series of sloppy plunks. "I think. Although apparently she had a girlfriend all through high school, so. Maybe she's not." She eyes him shrewdly, grins a little. "Why, you wanna watch?"
And that--there is really no reason why that question should fluster him as much as it does. "Wha--no," Sam tells her, more forcefully than is perhaps called for. "Jesus, Andy."
Andy throws her head back and cackles. "You do!" she crows, sounding delighted (and they've done a lot of shit at this point, him and McNally, but there's no way--). "You totally want to watch me get it on with Gail."
Sam grits his teeth, digs in the cupboard for a grill pan: watch me get it on with Gail, jesus christ. "Make sure that doesn't boil over," is all he says.
*
(Although, okay, that thing at New Year's--
He's seen her fool around with Nash like that on the dance floor before, sure, suggestive below the waist and their faces lit-up and laughing, friendly. He's even seen her with Diaz and Epstein, come to think of it, the New Year's she was with Callaghan--just the way kids dance these days, apparently. We were born in the wrong decade, brother, Oliver keeps telling him, which: whatever, the music is shit now.
Still, the thing with Peck was--well. One second he looks over and they're circle dancing, Epstein's gawky elbows; the next Peck's pressed against McNally's side whispering something in her ear, Andy giggling and glancing over her shoulder at him, biting her lip. And then-- yeah. Sam ended up sharing some truly awkward eye-contact with Callaghan for a few seconds, pure shock mostly.
Later, twin bar stools and McNally leaning up between his legs in a way she was probably going to be embarrassed about tomorrow: "We decided to ignore the patriarchy and be friends." She announced it grandly, a drunken little wave of her wrist.
Sam snorted. "You looked pretty friendly, yeah." He cupped her elbow, mostly because he could (she'd been skittish in front of their coworkers so far, room for the holy ghost, but the alcohol was making her loose and easy).
Andy grinned. "Okay, it's possible we also decided to fuck with you."
What Sam remembers, though: Peck's face, the way she made eye-contact with him over Andy's shoulder a few times.
How her expression never once looked particularly chaste.)
*
So. Sam lets it go, for the most part, watches without comment when Gail takes Andy's hand on the way to the bathroom at the Penny, when she shows up in one of Andy's halter tops for a UC at a porn shop across town. The girls wear each other's clothes all the time, it seems like. There's no reason for Sam to even notice.
(He, uh. He notices.)
"Something you need, Officer Swarek?" Peck asks, when she sees that he's looking--this smug expression on her face, almost sly.
Sam rolls his eyes. "You ready to go?"
(It only happened the once, him and Peck--a stupid decision on his part, probably, ways to get back at people for shit they don't even know they're doing. Her makeup left dark smudges on his pillows. Sam found her in the locker room the next morning, hand on her arm and a quiet we good? Gail actually laughed.)
Problem is, it's not just him Peck's screwing around with. He looks over one day to see her standing behind McNally at the computers, some license plate look-up and her arms bracketing Andy's shoulders, palms flat on the desk. Their faces are so close McNally’s ponytail is brushing against her cheek. Peck isn’t looking at the screen, though, or even at Sam; he follows her gaze until he runs straight into Callaghan's, staring good and hard. Peck's wearing a Cheshire smile.
Something tells Sam that Callaghan's not quite as nonchalant about this thing as he is (well, fine: as he is trying to be).
The other problem: literally no one else seems to be noticing. Not Ollie or Barber or anyone, absolutely none of the rookies. Even McNally sometimes, her easy grin when Peck compliments her hair or her earrings, when Peck pulls the elastic out of her ponytail in the surveillance van, rebraiding it for her and tucking the ends under. She just reacts, McNally, like it's nothing out of the ordinary. It's not flirting, not like Sam's seen her flirt with men--not like he's seen her flirt with him--and certainly nothing as overt as what Peck's doing, but there's this quality to her smile, like she's pleased with the attention. (Which--god knows Sam's aware of how she likes praise.
Peck, uh. Seems to have figured that out too.)
*
So: Gail throws a party.
"It's a housewarming," McNally reports when she tells him about it (after sex, late, which Sam figured out pretty quickly is when she tells him anything she thinks might potentially piss him off). "For her new place. You know, now that she's not living with the boys."
"Oh yeah?" Sam hums a bit, concentrates on not sounding paranoid. "You gonna go?"
"Well, everybody is." She wriggles closer, drags her nose across his shoulder. "I thought we could go together."
Sam hesitates (and he is, he's being crazy; Peck's the snotty rookie heir to a copper dynasty, not Single White Female. Still, between her and Callaghan, it's just--it's unsettling, is what it is. He can't figure out how he feels about any of it). "I don't know, Andy."
"Oh, come on." McNally huffs a bit, a kid who expected to get her way no problem and hasn't. "Why, because you think Gail is sexually harassing you?"
(Not me, Sam almost says. Doesn't.)
"We're friends, Sam," Andy tells him easily. She reaches up, traces a finger across his brow. "I like having girlfriends, you know? Chicks always hated me in high school."
Sam looks at her for a minute, warm and naked, those small high breasts and the smooth curve of her mouth. "Yeah," he says slowly--and he's smiling at her, he can't help it. He's never really been able to say no. "I bet they did."
Andy grins back, rolls over and reaches for the lamp on the nightstand. "Besides," she says, laughing a little. "I always kind of wanted to fool around with a girl. It's on my bucket list right next to skydiving."
"I'll take you skydiving," Sam tells her automatically.
(Still, it takes him a long time to fall asleep.)
*
They walk in the door, and right away Sam thinks: bad idea.
It's a cheap flat, one of those old buildings that gets rented out to students every year, sixteen layers of paint on the walls. Peck's got fairy lights strung around the entryway and almost everything else still in boxes, a girl after McNally's own heart; from the doorway it looks like the only furniture set up is the tv and a table being used for honest-to-god beer pong. Not for the first time, Sam feels way the fuck too old for Andy's friends.
That's not why it's a bad idea, though.
It's a bad idea because Peck bounces up to greet them, this giant pitcher of something red and mixed in her hand, and the first thing she does is kiss McNally hello.
On the mouth.
"Coats in the bedroom, yeah?" she tells them, pulling back. She's got a beer in her other hand, which she hands to Andy. "Guard that with your life," she whispers. "There's only, like, ten of them. The boys brought wine--" she rolls her eyes "--and Traci brought tequila, so come find me if you want another." McNally's smiling and laughing, like this is all completely normal, like she gets pecked on the mouth by her friends all the time.
"Swarek," Gail says as they pass by her to drop off their coats. Sam grits his teeth.
"Andy," he starts when they're alone. McNally turns to look at him, blinking; Peck's bedroom is dark. Sam tries not to look at the bed, unmade under the heap of coats. There's a bra hanging over the back of the doorknob. "Seriously?"
Andy doesn't bother playing dumb this time, just grins at him a little wickedly in the sliver of light seeping in from the hallway. "You jealous?" she asks, in this voice like it's uncalled for but maybe she wouldn't totally hate it if he was. She pops up on her toes, kisses him warm and messy; her beer bottle is cold and wet against the back of his neck. Sam grumbles against her lips in reply. He pulls back after a moment--the door isn't even all the way closed--but Andy muscles him deeper into the darkness, slips one purposeful leg between his thighs.
(And he's not, is the thing--jealous, that is.
Exactly.)
Finally they make it back into the living room, Diaz arguing over pizza toppings with Epstein's girlfriend and Nash flipping through the music stations on cable. He and Jerry do a beer run ("Who are these kids that they have a party and don't buy booze?" Jerry demands crankily, which--homemade dip or not, he's got a point) and when they get back Andy and Gail are up against Diaz and Epstein at the beer pong table, apparently taking no prisoners. Their giggles are noisy and bright. Sam watches for a second, cautious; the strap of Andy's tank top drifts down one shoulder and Gail pushes it up, then leaves her hand there, nails scratching lightly at Andy's upper back.
(Callaghan's watching, too.)
"Tequila," Traci orders, coming out of the kitchen with an extra shot glass in her hand. Sam smiles and downs it, follows Jerry onto the back porch to stick the beer in the snow.
(He's...something, though. Jealous isn't the right word. But he's definitely...something.)
It is, uh. Possible he gets a little drunker than he intends.
Eventually everyone gets tired of losing to Peck and Andy, so Diaz hooks a game console up to the tv--one he and Epstein apparently brought with them; Jerry shoots Sam a look--and suddenly half the party's sitting on the floor of Gail's empty living room, controllers in hand. "I'm just warning you," Sam hears Nash say. "I have an eight-year-old boy."
"You guys are all pussies," Peck calls. She and Andy are still by the beer pong table, Gail's arms draped around Andy's shoulders from behind; she sees Sam looking and grins. "Make your boyfriend play, McNally," she continues, dropping her voice--and Sam can see Andy flush at that, boyfriend. It's why when she saunters over to him, a push from Gail to get her going, he only lets her beg for a minute before saying yes.
(Why he even considers saying yes at all: he is drunk.)
"Cool," Peck says brightly, standing beside the table with her hand in Callaghan's (which: shit). "You two--" She lets go of Callaghan, nudging him towards Sam. "--against us two." She tosses her hair, this cat-ate-the-canary smile and a finger in Andy's belt loops, tugging.
So.
Turns out Callaghan's even drunker than he is (probably a good thing, actually; Sam's pretty sure this is the most they've spoken to one another in the last, oh, six months), which is how the girls end up taking them to school twice in a row, the second time a routing that's got Callaghan accusing Peck of foul play. "You're distracting me," he tells her, although in actuality he doesn't sound particularly upset about it.
"Oh yeah?" Gail's unzipped her hoodie and dropped it on a stack of boxes, this tiny little tank top underneath. Her bra straps are lime green. "How exactly am I doing that?"
(Callaghan doesn't specify. Sam gets himself another beer.)
"We're clearing out," Traci announces finally; Jerry's got her coat slung over his arm. "Gotta pick Leo up early." She glances at Sam, then back at Andy: "Be good," she instructs, a little warily Sam thinks (well, that makes two of them). Diaz and Epstein take off not long after that.
"You ready?" Sam asks her, once he and Callaghan make something of a comeback in round three (McNally's switched to whatever the hell jungle juice Gail had mixed up in that pitcher, is why). Her skin's a rosy pink from her face all down her chest. He...probably shouldn't drive, to be completely honest, but he'll find them a cab or otherwise they can hoof it, Sam doesn't really care (okay, fine, they can't hoof it, the cold plus the heels McNally's wearing, but. Semantics. They really need to go.) "You wanna head out?"
"Oh, come on," Gail wheedles, frowning. She's picking the abandoned crusts out of one of the pizza boxes, a human garbage disposal. "Don't go yet."
“Yeah," Callaghan chimes in--and Sam wheels around to stare at him but he's gathering a bunch of beer bottles off the table, not facing them. "Stick around."
Sam hesitates. Technically there's no reason for him to feel like he's trapped in the first third of some cheesy French art house movie, and yet. "Andy--"
But Andy's plopped on the couch with her party cup, like she's got nowhere in particular to be. "We can hang out for a bit," she says, smiling at him fit to light up the whole damn GTA. "Right?"
(Half his problem: she's a ridiculously endearing drunk, is what she is, goofy and sweetly flushed. He hasn't seen it often, on account of her dad probably, it runs in the family, Sam. Just a couple of times back when they barely knew each other, New Year’s. He drove her home once, still her TO and her bare feet up on his dashboard, Toronto's hottest summer on record; she laughed at nearly everything he said. In the end he didn't walk her to her door, even though she could've used the help--that laugh hit him way too nicely, loose and easy all down his spine.)
"Yeah," Sam tells her finally, rubbing at his neck. "For a bit." He seriously considers going around back and fishing another beer out of the snow, but A) he's pretty sure he doesn't need it, and B) he's--well. Kind of afraid to leave Andy alone with them, all told. Because yeah, not Single White Female, or even that one movie with Scarlett Johansson, Peck's eerily similar colouring aside--Sam wonders, briefly, what a guy like Callaghan is doing with her; figures she's on top most of the time and shuts that thought down quick--but it's still weird. Like. A disproportionately high number of people in this room have seen each other naked; it should be awkward. Right?
(His other problem: "I just want to try it drunk," she told him, back at the beginning of their suspension, shot glasses lined up along his kitchen island. She was wearing a pair of his boxers shorts. Sam asked if she'd ever done it like that before and she laughed, amended: "I want to try it with you." He'd laid her out on the table after she'd done four of them, peeled her clothes off to get a better look at that flush; she'd gotten giggly that time too.
But also-- also other things.)
"Want some?" Peck asks, leaning over the back of the couch to catch Andy's eye. When Andy nods, smiling, Gail pops a piece of pizza crust right into her mouth (and Sam's alcohol-soaked brain immediately takes a hit, danger Will Robinson; he deliberately doesn't look at Callaghan). "You're pretty," Gail announces while Andy chews, this slight slur to her words like maybe she doesn't know what she's doing. Only then she looks up, straight at Sam, and yeah: she knows. "Isn't she pretty, Swarek?"
Sam doesn't answer. He's almost positive he's having an out-of-body experience.
"Yeah," Gail sighs. "Definitely pretty." Then she's working a finger under Andy's chin, tilting her head back (and Andy doesn't know what she's after even if Sam does, barely swallows her pizza crust in time) and--
And.
It's actually bizarrely chaste, all things considered: just the soft press of Peck's mouth on McNally's like she's worried McNally's gonna spook. It's longer than the kiss hello, for sure, but not actually all that different. Andy's giggling before it's even over.
"Whoops," she says, looking guiltily at Sam. She's still smiling, though; her eyes are very bright. "Sorry."
"Sam's not mad." That's Peck, only straightening up about halfway, arms braced over McNally on the couch and the neck of her tank top gapping wide open. Sam really, really doesn't know where to look. "Are you?"
And fuck-- he's drunk, is what he is here; his head's not working right. He doesn't know what the hell is going on exactly, if he's supposed to be into this or if he even could be--
(He, uh. Yeah. He could be.)
In any case, McNally seems into it (has seemed into it the whole time, there’s no other way to read her at this point) and...well. Peck's right.
"Nope," he hears himself tell her (and jesus christ on a crutch what's he even thinking, this is a terrible idea, he should grab her and get the hell out). "Not mad."
"See?" Gail says softly, tips her face down at Andy's one more time. "I told you."
It's uh. Not so harmless this go-round.
Peck kisses her long and open-mouthed, blond hair coming down and the long swan line of Andy's neck when she lifts her chin up. Andy sighs. (She likes to be kissed, McNally, will make out like a teenager for an hour if she's in the right mood.) Sam just watches it happen. He's still not looking at Callaghan, is only vaguely aware of him leaning against the wall on the other side of the room; not to mention the fact that he, uh. Physically can't take his eyes off McNally.
(Crap, it's warm in here. Sam thinks it's possible he's blushing himself.)
"Yeah?" Peck asks as she pulls away, just quietly, just to Andy (and that's weird too, Peck being nice, but it's not--yeah. Not really Sam's focus right now). Andy nods, eyes still closed and head back against the couch, like she maybe wants to opt-out on the responsibility front. Which-- fine. Sam's pretty much the one who got them into this, considering he's the proud owner of the lowest blood-alcohol levels in the room (and fuck, he should be putting a stop to it, he really should, but just--she nodded). He watches as Peck circles the couch slowly, all the way around until her arms are bracketing Andy's head again.
(Well, okay: he's actually 90% sure Peck is the only one of them in control here.
So. That's going to be his excuse.)
"Hey Swarek." Peck's fussing with Andy's hair now, pulling it off her neck and smoothing it over the back of the couch. "Where does she like to be kissed?"
McNally's eyes snap open at that, find Sam's immediately; checking. And just--for a minute she's looking at him like it's the best secret ever, some great trick they're pulling off, the UC apartment and them against the world. She bites her lip and Sam makes a decision.
"Her neck." It comes out way too low, like he's lost the ability to modulate his voice. He clears his throat. "She, uh. Likes it best there."
(Behind him, he hears Callaghan make a noise, which--yeah. He probably knows exactly what happens when you kiss McNally on her neck. Sam tries not to think about it.)
Peck grins once, sharp and bright. "Take a picture boys, it'll last longer." Then she's tipping Andy's chin back, one hand in her hair and tugging gently. Planting a gentle line of kisses along her throat. Andy's eyes slip shut again almost right away, tilting her head to give Peck some room (and like--she's responding, is a thing Sam's noticing here, breath getting quicker and skinny fingers sifting through Peck's yellow hair). Gail gets her knees up onto the couch, legs spread one on either side of Andy's. Sits back so her ass is resting on Andy's thighs.
Callaghan clears his throat and pushes off the wall, leaves his empty beer bottle on the windowsill. Sam tenses, thinking--he doesn't know what, actually, has no fucking clue what he suspects might or might not be about to occur--but in the end Callaghan keeps his distance, makes himself comfortable on a stack of boxes next to the TV. Gets one foot up on the coffee table to watch.
(He's not looking at Sam, either.)
Gail's making a show of ignoring them both, inching herself forward and sucking Andy's bottom lip into her mouth, a little sloppy. Andy's collarbone is wet and slick. "Arms up, Cupcake," she instructs softly, tugging at the hem of Andy's tank top. Sam holds his breath.
Andy opens her eyes and smiles, damn near beatific. Her lips are smudgy and pink. "You first," she says.
Well.
Peck gets a kick out of that, no question, sharp face breaking open into maybe the first genuine grin Sam's seen out of her all night. She pulls her top off in one smooth motion and flings it in Callaghan's general direction, not bothering to glance behind her and see if she hit her mark (she did.) Her back is smooth and freckly, winter pale. There's a birthmark the size of a kidney bean on the side of her rib cage, something Sam remembers noticing but had forgotten; Andy reaches up with one finger, traces the scalloped edge of Peck's bra.
"You're pretty, too," she says.
(She is pretty, Peck. Sam's always thought so. He doesn't love her, could never--the way he--
but. She's very pretty.)
Gail rolls her eyes a little, drags her mouth along the line of Andy's jaw. "A deal's a deal," is all she says. She pulls Andy's tank up over her head, hair going a little staticky. Her bra's this neon pink number, little rhinestones on the straps: Sam doesn't recognize it, wonders if she bought it new (if she bought it for--).
"Swarek," Gail says, in this voice like he's the rookie and she's the TO. Her eyes are still on McNally's. "Come help me out."
Which--
Okay. Ok-ay. Sam didn't necessarily think that was how this was going to--but then again, he's never actually--never even imagined--so. What does he know, basically.
The walk to the couch seems very long. Andy's watching him over Peck's shoulder, heavily lidded; her eyes keep slipping closed as Gail works over her neck. It's weird to see from the outside, voyeurism or something, like looking through a funhouse mirror--he's used to seeing that expression out of the corner of his eye, right in front of him as he pushes in. "Budge over, Peck," he says when he's close enough. His legs feel shaky around the knees, adrenaline or alcohol fizzing up his spine, some combination of the two. Probably it'll be a relief to sit down.
"Bossy," Gail huffs, but she slides off McNally. Only then she's standing, grabbing him by the wrists and strong-arming him onto the couch, so. She's one to talk. (Although, okay, it's--it is possible Sam doesn't mind being told what to do right now.)
"Hi," Andy says, leg swinging up and over both of his immediately. Suddenly Sam's got a lapful of girl, warm familiar weight and the smell of her sugar perfume; if he closes his eyes, this could almost be normal. (Only then when he opens them again he can just see Callaghan, head-on from this angle, so. Not so much.)
Peck's standing behind Andy, thumbs flicking over her bra-straps. "Ugg, chill your hormones," she says. "You two making out, that's like. Just your average Saturday night."
"One sec," McNally murmurs, breath hot against Sam's ear. Her consonants are soft and slushy. She brings her arms up around his neck, forehead pressing against his and her hair like a curtain; Peck smiles indulgently over her shoulder, this face like she knows exactly what's going on.
Andy ignores her. "Okay?" she mouths, close and private. She's got a stare Sam recognizes, you and me and no one else.
Part of him wants to say no, actually, to get her home and into bed and remind her of all the shit they can do just the two of them; to tie her up and bend her over and get her off a dozen times in a row.
The other part (the thrill junkie, maybe, or the guy that couldn't turn her down even when it literally meant both of them could get killed; the fucked-up secret part of him that's wondering if Peck going down on his girlfriend isn't really, really a thing he'd like to watch)--
that part wants to play this out.
You and me and no one else, Sam promises silently, pets through Andy's hair a little. Bumps his nose at hers to tell her yes. "Peck," he says, as calmly as humanly possible at this particular moment, pulling his gaze away from Andy's and feeling like it's possible he just signed the order for his own execution. "Something you needed?"
Peck shoots him this look like there's no way she's buying what he's selling, then braces her arms on the back of the couch and leans right over McNally's shoulder to kiss him, sure and aggressive. It takes Sam a second to kiss her back. (McNally's right there, one hand on his shoulder and the other braced flat on his chest; he can feel her breath as she's watching, his heart tapping away against her palm.) When Gail pulls back Andy's looking at him with this mixture of jealousy and interest Sam can really, really relate to.
He doesn't have time to tease it out, though, because Peck's back at McNally's neck, is stroking down her spine and flicking open the hooks on her bra so it gaps just a bit in the front, shiny fabric going slack under Sam's hands. He strokes a cautious thumb over the satin, feels how her nipple's pebbled up. Scrapes lightly with the edge of his nail until she gasps.
"Detective Callaghan," Peck calls, sounding bored or annoyed (and fuck, leave it to Peck to sound bored and annoyed in the middle of a--a--in the middle of whatever the hell this is). "Are you waiting for an engraved invitation, or what?"
Which--okay, it's possible Sam thumbs Andy's nipple a little harder at that. Not much--not how he'd work her over if they were alone--but enough that she's leaning into him some more. (And it's possessive, sure, Sam's a big boy who can admit that to himself, but, uh. He's pretty sure that isn't what's got her responding:
One time on suspension, the parking lot of a Best Buy in broad-fucking-daylight, because apparently finally having Andy McNally meant he couldn't keep his hands off of her: "Crap, Sam, is she seriously looking at us right now?"
Sam checked and yep, that woman was taking way too long to unlock her car door. He reviewed the finer points of public indecency, figured a hand down McNally's sweatpants probably wasn't going to get them arrested. Put on a soothing voice. "I think so, yeah, but sweetheart--"
He didn't have time to say anything else before Andy's back snapped up into an arch.
So.)
"Not an engraved invitation, no." That's Callaghan now, standing behind Peck. Watching. "Just making sure: everyone's good with this?"
(And that's--pretty decent of him to ask, actually. Sam would've, but he, uh. Doesn't care so much about everyone.)
"Geez, Homicide." Gail's got a hand tucked down the side of Andy's jeans, the other creeping over the top of Sam's. She makes him cup harder, forces him to squeeze; Andy hisses. "Way to be a buzzkill. Swarek and McNally already had their little telepathy session or whatever, so unless you want to have a tea party and talk about our feelings--"
"I'm good," Callaghan cuts in over an eye-roll, stepping up and tugging her back against him a bit. "Although, not that I have any experience here, but--I'm pretty sure we're going to need a bed."
Gail cocks her head to the side, like, fair enough. "I knew I liked you for a reason," she concedes, reaching up and mussing through Callaghan's already-mussed hair. His collar's all wrinkled and askew. "You're a thinker." She pushes back against him for a minute, his hands stroking up and down her rib cage and curling around the jut of her hips. Then she leans forward again. "What do you say, McNally?" she asks softly, nudging the shiny straps of Andy's bra down off her broad, bony shoulders. "You wanna go lie down?"
Andy looks up over her shoulder and gets her hand behind Peck's neck, tugs her down for a kiss (and she's definitely starting to shift around in his lap a bit, McNally, like she does when she's looking to grind. Her can feel the heat of her right through his jeans). It's a mindfuck, watching her with a girl like this; she's kissing softer than usual, whole body warm and pliant, the wet muscle of her tongue. She opens her eyes and looks at Sam for a beat before she pulls back. "Yeah," she says slowly, biting a little at Peck's bottom lip. "Let's do that."
Peck smiles again, pleased--her hands skate across the pale, downy plane of Andy's belly, slip up beneath the underwire of the bra. Sam's basically holding it up at this point; when he lets go it slides soundlessly down into his lap. Sam swallows. Gail's got her mouth at the crook of Andy's shoulder, is rolling Andy's nipples gently between her fingers and thumbs--Andy whimpers, quiet. Sam plants a kiss on her temple to steady them both out.
Callaghan's still right up behind Peck, hands busy; Sam hears a faint snick as the hooks on her bra come loose and a second later--well. It's one hundred percent more half-naked rookies than Sam's ever been with at once, is what it is, and it's just--it's a lot.
(It's a lot.)
Peck straightens all the way up, takes a step toward the bedroom. "Come on, sweetheart," Sam says softly, just in McNally's ear. "Let's go."
So. They go.
on to part 2