Fic: Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon
Title: Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon
Rating: R
A/N: Yeah, this isn't anything like what I normally write. You've been warned.
Written for Porn Battle XIII
“McNally, I’m not really sure about this,” Sam calls into the room, tugging reflexively on his wrists. Of course she was a girl guide as a kid - they’re tied tight, absolutely no give whatsoever.
Andy’s laughter rings out from somewhere close and he thinks that maybe she’s over by his dresser. Or maybe by the bathroom, he can’t be sure. “Too bad Swarek, a bet’s a bet.” Her voice gets closer and the mattress dips as she climbs onto the end. “You wouldn’t have let me out of it if I’d lost.”
(Three queens, ace high - that was his hand. Never, ever would he have gone along with the bet if he thought there was a chance in hell he was gonna lose.)
He can feel her kind of hovering over him - this weird, warm presence that’s just… unnerving. Goosebumps prickle his body under her gaze and he swallows hard, testing the restraints once again.
(She laid down three eights with a disappointed sigh. Sam’s grin was so wide he thought his cheeks were going to crack - then she slapped down a pair of fives.)
When her fingers dance lightly over his calf the contact is so sudden and so unexpected that he nearly jumps right out of his skin. Andy laughs softly and circles her palm over his knee, muttering, “Would you relax? It’s not like I’m gonna hurt you.”
Relax. Right. When he’s stark naked, blindfolded and bound to the fucking bed -
“Sorry,” he mumbles unapologetically, shifting around to try and get comfortable, “It’s just, you know… the last time I was tied up fifteen’s finest had to come and rescue me.”
It’s meant to be a joke.
Apparently, based on Andy’s reaction, it’s still a little too soon for that.
He hears her draw in a sharp breath and for a second she freezes, her cold hand stilling against his thigh and her fingers digging into the muscle there. Then, in a flurry of activity, she flies up the bed to land right on his stomach, nearly knocking the air out of him while she’s at it, and yanks the blindfold up and off his head.
(She actually clapped her hands together as she sprang up from the bed and bounced over to his closet, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning - “Do you even own a tie?”)
Sam blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the light. When he can finally focus on her face she’s wearing this truly horrified expression, like maybe she thinks she’s already caused some kind of permanent psychological damage.
“God, Sam,” she says, up on her knees and reaching for his wrists, “I didn’t even think…” she sounds angry with herself, shaking her head as she fumbles with the knots, “I’m sorry, I just… shit.”
On one hand, he’s got a excuse to get out of this now - if he lets her keep going he can get his arms back and then get them around her, roll her over and spend the rest of their suspension having perfectly normal, vanilla sex… which is good - who’s he kidding? It’s incredible, he could have vanilla sex with her the rest of his life and be totally and completely satisfied…
But on the other hand, if he lets her keep going she’s going to be jumpy and cautious and worrying about his fragile mental state which is just --
It’s unacceptable, is what that is. He can’t have her freaking out and treating him like a delicate fucking flower from here on out. “Andy,” he bucks his hips to jostle her a little and get her attention. “Come on. It was just a joke.”
A bad joke, but whatever. They’re gonna have to start laughing about it at some point, because he seriously cannot, cannot handle the kid gloves anymore.
Not that it wasn’t nice for the first couple of days - her rubbing his back, applying this strange homemade peppermint ointment to his ribs, being gentle like he’s never known her to be a day in her life. It was nice to be like, nurtured for a while - but now he’d like the real McNally back.
Andy won’t look at him as she concentrates on untying him, tongue caught between her teeth. He decides to try a different tactic and lowers his voice. “Hey, stop.” She continues ignoring him for a moment but then finally glances down, brown eyes wide and unsure. He holds her gaze and tells her - “I’m serious. Cut it out.”
She still looks uncertain - eyeing him with this vaguely skeptical look as if she’s wondering if maybe he’s lying to her, just trying to be a tough guy. “Are you sure?” she asks.
“A bet’s a bet,” he repeats her words back to her. “Come on. I wouldn’t let you out of it.” He wouldn’t either - already he’s imagining it, her squirming around in his sheets, a little helpless.
He’s not totally against this, is the thing - as much as he would like for her to think otherwise.
(“Have you ever been tied up?” she inquired, right after he posed the same question late one night, lying on their sides and facing one another. When he shook his head she practically beamed at him but quickly decided, “Yeah, I’m not surprised. You’re a total control freak.”)
Slowly, like she’s giving him a chance to change his mind, she begins to retie the knot, a little looser this time. “I just - I don’t want you to start having flashbacks or whatever.”
Yeah, he doesn’t really think that’s gonna be a problem, what with the simple fact that she’s naked and on top of him - warm and wet and wiggling, knees right up by his ribs. Two completely different scenarios here. “Yeah,” he replies, nodding in mock sincerity. “That’d probably kill the mood.”
Andy rolls her eyes - probably she’s annoyed he’s not taking this more seriously - but he sees her lips start to twitch with the faintest of smiles.
(He’s pretty sure she gets a little thrill out of that… being the only one to - yeah. “You were there” - he’s not the only one that likes to be trusted.)
“Total mood killer,” she concurs. Her eyes dart around but she’s definitely starting to smile now, sitting back and rocking from side to side on his abdomen, looking for friction. He wants to get a hold of her hips, push her back to where he needs her to be. “Do you, like… do you want a safe word or something?”
Sam wants to laugh - how gung ho she was about this before and how she’s being careful with him now - but he holds it in and just grins up at her. “Sure, McNally. What’s my safe word?”
She thinks for a second and then her pretty pink lips spread into a full, mischievous grin. “Black Penny,” she says, proud of herself for that one - like she knows he’ll never be able to cross the threshold without remembering this.
Not that, uh - not that there’s a chance he’s going to be forgetting anytime soon.
“Black Penny it is,” he agrees.
(After she grabbed a couple of ties from his closet she practically tackled him to the bed, spreading him out underneath her and kissing him thoroughly as she tried to discretely pull his wrists up to the headboard, as if he wouldn’t realize what was going on. Like she needed to distract him or something.)
The blindfold’s still in her hands and she twirls it between her fingers, watching as it gracefully slips through. When it clears, she looks up at him, arching an eyebrow. She’s back in now - he can tell by the set of her jaw and the glint in her eye. “Should I put this back on?” she asks, waving the material in the air.
Sam licks his lips, laughs a little hoarsely. “I think that’s up to you.”
“Hmm…” she pretends to consider it and then narrows her gaze. “Do you want me to?
(Once she got the blindfold on the first time, she trailed her hands down his sides, nails raking lightly over his ribs, before pausing for a long moment. The next thing he felt was her warm mouth placing hot, messy kisses along the line of skin right above his boxers, nipping a bit with her teeth. Five seconds later she was gone - his hips jerked upwards on their on accord, seeking her out.)
What he wants her to do is scoot backwards about two inches and then sit back down - she’s been bumping back against him for a while now, no real pressure or intent, and he’s starting to ache a little bit.
Maybe more than a little bit.
It’s getting painful, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.
He looks up the line of her body, still not completely familiar but getting there - her sharp hipbones, the curve of her waist and her flat belly… she’s leaning back a little and he can count every one of her ribs right up to the swell of her breasts - no. No, he does not want the blindfold.
If he can’t touch her he at least wants to see her.
Andy seems to have a different idea. When his gaze goes back to her face she’s smirking down at him, like she can read his mind - “What’s it gonna be?” she asks, pulling it tight between her hands so it snaps a couple of times.
He opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out - his throat is drier than a desert so he swallows hard, tries to get it together. “Off,” he manages, just barely. It comes out all scratchy and rough and her face brightens - she likes that, likes the affect she has on him.
“Off?” Her grin is wicked now, gone is any sort of worry or concern - which is what he wanted, he reminds himself. He watches as she slides down and tilts her hips back, bracing her hands on his chest as she lines them up and rolls slowly up and then slowly back down… not inside, just this unbearable slick heat - but then it’s gone, replaced by frigid… nothing. Air.
He actually pants, desperately in need of oxygen - not that any of it is going to his brain - and looks back up at her. She arches an eyebrow, just waiting. “Andy…” he’s not even entirely sure what he’s asking here.
“Sam?” her voice is completely calm and even, and if it wasn’t for how insanely dark her eyes are he’d think she was getting ready to ask him about his weekend or if he could grab her some sugar for her coffee. “You sure?” she lifts her hips and then sinks down on him, maybe an inch, not even that.
His knees come up and he pushes with his feet, trying to get deeper, but as soon as his hips leave the mattress she’s up and off of him, hovering just out of reach.
He chokes out a laugh, impatient, and it is really, in all seriousness, hurting now. His back bows up once more, gets nothing. “McNally… come on,” he’s not begging exactly, he’s not quite there yet but… she lowers herself down again, impossibly warm just at the head - and then she stays there, unmoving.
“You need something?” she asks, totally innocent save for her smug smirk. She lifts off of him again and his head flies back against the pillow, letting out a frustrated groan and squeezing his eyes closed. He can feel one of her hands trailing through the hair on his chest and then the prick of her nail at his nipple, flicking back and forth a couple of times. “Just tell me what you want.”
He really can’t figure out how in three minutes he’s gone from reassuring her that this whole thing was okay to absolutely needing her so badly he’s about to lose his fucking mind.
She’s on him again, a hair deeper this time, but still… not enough. Not nearly enough. His hips shove up all on their own but she’s gone again, her laugh echoing through the room. “Come on, Swarek,” she sing-songs, taunting him now likes she’s having fun with this.
He opens his eyes and watches as she just barely grazes him again - “Fine, fuck, okay…” pleading, he’s pleading and he doesn’t even care, just wants to be inside her more than anything. “The blindfold.”
“What about it?” she asks, dipping down again.
Sam gulps, neck working with effort, “On.”
“Oh?” she replies, eyes wide like a china doll as she holds it up, “You want me to put this on?” He nods but apparently that’s not good enough, she needs to hear him say it - “I don’t know what you want unless you tell me.”
She’s getting him back is what’s happening here - getting him back for all the times he yelled at her and all the times he’s told her what to do… some sick satisfaction in making him beg.
He hesitates for a second but just as she starts to move away… “Yes, put it on,” - desperate doesn’t even touch where he’s at right now, hips rocking up involuntarily, this pull of something on his spine. “Please.”
Andy grins and then slowly leans all the way over, soft breasts against his chest and hips rolled back into his. Sam thinks he might have actually whimpered, he can’t be sure. “Okay, since you asked,” she says softly, smoothing it over his eyes. He lifts his head to help her out and the knot settles at the base of his skull.
When the world goes black the first thing he feels are her lips on his, just briefly, like she’s making sure. She smiles against him and then her hands are at his shoulders and finally, finally, she gives him what he wants - sinks all the way down.
Rating: R
A/N: Yeah, this isn't anything like what I normally write. You've been warned.
Written for Porn Battle XIII
“McNally, I’m not really sure about this,” Sam calls into the room, tugging reflexively on his wrists. Of course she was a girl guide as a kid - they’re tied tight, absolutely no give whatsoever.
Andy’s laughter rings out from somewhere close and he thinks that maybe she’s over by his dresser. Or maybe by the bathroom, he can’t be sure. “Too bad Swarek, a bet’s a bet.” Her voice gets closer and the mattress dips as she climbs onto the end. “You wouldn’t have let me out of it if I’d lost.”
(Three queens, ace high - that was his hand. Never, ever would he have gone along with the bet if he thought there was a chance in hell he was gonna lose.)
He can feel her kind of hovering over him - this weird, warm presence that’s just… unnerving. Goosebumps prickle his body under her gaze and he swallows hard, testing the restraints once again.
(She laid down three eights with a disappointed sigh. Sam’s grin was so wide he thought his cheeks were going to crack - then she slapped down a pair of fives.)
When her fingers dance lightly over his calf the contact is so sudden and so unexpected that he nearly jumps right out of his skin. Andy laughs softly and circles her palm over his knee, muttering, “Would you relax? It’s not like I’m gonna hurt you.”
Relax. Right. When he’s stark naked, blindfolded and bound to the fucking bed -
“Sorry,” he mumbles unapologetically, shifting around to try and get comfortable, “It’s just, you know… the last time I was tied up fifteen’s finest had to come and rescue me.”
It’s meant to be a joke.
Apparently, based on Andy’s reaction, it’s still a little too soon for that.
He hears her draw in a sharp breath and for a second she freezes, her cold hand stilling against his thigh and her fingers digging into the muscle there. Then, in a flurry of activity, she flies up the bed to land right on his stomach, nearly knocking the air out of him while she’s at it, and yanks the blindfold up and off his head.
(She actually clapped her hands together as she sprang up from the bed and bounced over to his closet, giddy as a kid on Christmas morning - “Do you even own a tie?”)
Sam blinks rapidly, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the light. When he can finally focus on her face she’s wearing this truly horrified expression, like maybe she thinks she’s already caused some kind of permanent psychological damage.
“God, Sam,” she says, up on her knees and reaching for his wrists, “I didn’t even think…” she sounds angry with herself, shaking her head as she fumbles with the knots, “I’m sorry, I just… shit.”
On one hand, he’s got a excuse to get out of this now - if he lets her keep going he can get his arms back and then get them around her, roll her over and spend the rest of their suspension having perfectly normal, vanilla sex… which is good - who’s he kidding? It’s incredible, he could have vanilla sex with her the rest of his life and be totally and completely satisfied…
But on the other hand, if he lets her keep going she’s going to be jumpy and cautious and worrying about his fragile mental state which is just --
It’s unacceptable, is what that is. He can’t have her freaking out and treating him like a delicate fucking flower from here on out. “Andy,” he bucks his hips to jostle her a little and get her attention. “Come on. It was just a joke.”
A bad joke, but whatever. They’re gonna have to start laughing about it at some point, because he seriously cannot, cannot handle the kid gloves anymore.
Not that it wasn’t nice for the first couple of days - her rubbing his back, applying this strange homemade peppermint ointment to his ribs, being gentle like he’s never known her to be a day in her life. It was nice to be like, nurtured for a while - but now he’d like the real McNally back.
Andy won’t look at him as she concentrates on untying him, tongue caught between her teeth. He decides to try a different tactic and lowers his voice. “Hey, stop.” She continues ignoring him for a moment but then finally glances down, brown eyes wide and unsure. He holds her gaze and tells her - “I’m serious. Cut it out.”
She still looks uncertain - eyeing him with this vaguely skeptical look as if she’s wondering if maybe he’s lying to her, just trying to be a tough guy. “Are you sure?” she asks.
“A bet’s a bet,” he repeats her words back to her. “Come on. I wouldn’t let you out of it.” He wouldn’t either - already he’s imagining it, her squirming around in his sheets, a little helpless.
He’s not totally against this, is the thing - as much as he would like for her to think otherwise.
(“Have you ever been tied up?” she inquired, right after he posed the same question late one night, lying on their sides and facing one another. When he shook his head she practically beamed at him but quickly decided, “Yeah, I’m not surprised. You’re a total control freak.”)
Slowly, like she’s giving him a chance to change his mind, she begins to retie the knot, a little looser this time. “I just - I don’t want you to start having flashbacks or whatever.”
Yeah, he doesn’t really think that’s gonna be a problem, what with the simple fact that she’s naked and on top of him - warm and wet and wiggling, knees right up by his ribs. Two completely different scenarios here. “Yeah,” he replies, nodding in mock sincerity. “That’d probably kill the mood.”
Andy rolls her eyes - probably she’s annoyed he’s not taking this more seriously - but he sees her lips start to twitch with the faintest of smiles.
(He’s pretty sure she gets a little thrill out of that… being the only one to - yeah. “You were there” - he’s not the only one that likes to be trusted.)
“Total mood killer,” she concurs. Her eyes dart around but she’s definitely starting to smile now, sitting back and rocking from side to side on his abdomen, looking for friction. He wants to get a hold of her hips, push her back to where he needs her to be. “Do you, like… do you want a safe word or something?”
Sam wants to laugh - how gung ho she was about this before and how she’s being careful with him now - but he holds it in and just grins up at her. “Sure, McNally. What’s my safe word?”
She thinks for a second and then her pretty pink lips spread into a full, mischievous grin. “Black Penny,” she says, proud of herself for that one - like she knows he’ll never be able to cross the threshold without remembering this.
Not that, uh - not that there’s a chance he’s going to be forgetting anytime soon.
“Black Penny it is,” he agrees.
(After she grabbed a couple of ties from his closet she practically tackled him to the bed, spreading him out underneath her and kissing him thoroughly as she tried to discretely pull his wrists up to the headboard, as if he wouldn’t realize what was going on. Like she needed to distract him or something.)
The blindfold’s still in her hands and she twirls it between her fingers, watching as it gracefully slips through. When it clears, she looks up at him, arching an eyebrow. She’s back in now - he can tell by the set of her jaw and the glint in her eye. “Should I put this back on?” she asks, waving the material in the air.
Sam licks his lips, laughs a little hoarsely. “I think that’s up to you.”
“Hmm…” she pretends to consider it and then narrows her gaze. “Do you want me to?
(Once she got the blindfold on the first time, she trailed her hands down his sides, nails raking lightly over his ribs, before pausing for a long moment. The next thing he felt was her warm mouth placing hot, messy kisses along the line of skin right above his boxers, nipping a bit with her teeth. Five seconds later she was gone - his hips jerked upwards on their on accord, seeking her out.)
What he wants her to do is scoot backwards about two inches and then sit back down - she’s been bumping back against him for a while now, no real pressure or intent, and he’s starting to ache a little bit.
Maybe more than a little bit.
It’s getting painful, actually, now that he’s thinking about it.
He looks up the line of her body, still not completely familiar but getting there - her sharp hipbones, the curve of her waist and her flat belly… she’s leaning back a little and he can count every one of her ribs right up to the swell of her breasts - no. No, he does not want the blindfold.
If he can’t touch her he at least wants to see her.
Andy seems to have a different idea. When his gaze goes back to her face she’s smirking down at him, like she can read his mind - “What’s it gonna be?” she asks, pulling it tight between her hands so it snaps a couple of times.
He opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out - his throat is drier than a desert so he swallows hard, tries to get it together. “Off,” he manages, just barely. It comes out all scratchy and rough and her face brightens - she likes that, likes the affect she has on him.
“Off?” Her grin is wicked now, gone is any sort of worry or concern - which is what he wanted, he reminds himself. He watches as she slides down and tilts her hips back, bracing her hands on his chest as she lines them up and rolls slowly up and then slowly back down… not inside, just this unbearable slick heat - but then it’s gone, replaced by frigid… nothing. Air.
He actually pants, desperately in need of oxygen - not that any of it is going to his brain - and looks back up at her. She arches an eyebrow, just waiting. “Andy…” he’s not even entirely sure what he’s asking here.
“Sam?” her voice is completely calm and even, and if it wasn’t for how insanely dark her eyes are he’d think she was getting ready to ask him about his weekend or if he could grab her some sugar for her coffee. “You sure?” she lifts her hips and then sinks down on him, maybe an inch, not even that.
His knees come up and he pushes with his feet, trying to get deeper, but as soon as his hips leave the mattress she’s up and off of him, hovering just out of reach.
He chokes out a laugh, impatient, and it is really, in all seriousness, hurting now. His back bows up once more, gets nothing. “McNally… come on,” he’s not begging exactly, he’s not quite there yet but… she lowers herself down again, impossibly warm just at the head - and then she stays there, unmoving.
“You need something?” she asks, totally innocent save for her smug smirk. She lifts off of him again and his head flies back against the pillow, letting out a frustrated groan and squeezing his eyes closed. He can feel one of her hands trailing through the hair on his chest and then the prick of her nail at his nipple, flicking back and forth a couple of times. “Just tell me what you want.”
He really can’t figure out how in three minutes he’s gone from reassuring her that this whole thing was okay to absolutely needing her so badly he’s about to lose his fucking mind.
She’s on him again, a hair deeper this time, but still… not enough. Not nearly enough. His hips shove up all on their own but she’s gone again, her laugh echoing through the room. “Come on, Swarek,” she sing-songs, taunting him now likes she’s having fun with this.
He opens his eyes and watches as she just barely grazes him again - “Fine, fuck, okay…” pleading, he’s pleading and he doesn’t even care, just wants to be inside her more than anything. “The blindfold.”
“What about it?” she asks, dipping down again.
Sam gulps, neck working with effort, “On.”
“Oh?” she replies, eyes wide like a china doll as she holds it up, “You want me to put this on?” He nods but apparently that’s not good enough, she needs to hear him say it - “I don’t know what you want unless you tell me.”
She’s getting him back is what’s happening here - getting him back for all the times he yelled at her and all the times he’s told her what to do… some sick satisfaction in making him beg.
He hesitates for a second but just as she starts to move away… “Yes, put it on,” - desperate doesn’t even touch where he’s at right now, hips rocking up involuntarily, this pull of something on his spine. “Please.”
Andy grins and then slowly leans all the way over, soft breasts against his chest and hips rolled back into his. Sam thinks he might have actually whimpered, he can’t be sure. “Okay, since you asked,” she says softly, smoothing it over his eyes. He lifts his head to help her out and the knot settles at the base of his skull.
When the world goes black the first thing he feels are her lips on his, just briefly, like she’s making sure. She smiles against him and then her hands are at his shoulders and finally, finally, she gives him what he wants - sinks all the way down.