Chapter Text
“—drew. Wake up. Andrew.”
The dream pulled apart like taffy around him, so slowly that Andrew barely noticed when the warmth of the sun became the warmth of a body beneath him, the rich scent of earth becoming human, comforting and familiar. The sensations bled into each other, uncomplicated lazy pleasure slackening his limbs, pooling in his gut. Then Sam spoke again, and the simple illusion shattered into full wakefulness. He was sprawled over Sam, one of the other man’s thighs wedged between his own, pressing firmly against the line of his hard-on. Andrew froze, horror bolting after pleasure, swallowing it up. Without thinking, he flung himself sideways, rolling off of Sam and clipping the other man’s jaw with the top of his own head in his haste to get away.
“Ow, fuck, Blur—”
“Sorry, fuck, I’m sorry—” Andrew was hardly aware of the words as they came out of his mouth, struggling to disentangle himself from the flat sheet wound over his legs like a shroud, heartbeat thick in his throat. He made a convulsive move to sit up, only to be stopped by Sam’s hand spread firm over his belly.
“Quit for a second and fucking breathe before you give yourself an aneurysm,” he snapped, voice still graveled from sleep. Then he added, gentler, “I’m not pissed, Blur. Your dick might scare you but a weapon of mass destruction it ain’t.”
Andrew lay there, panting, pinned, too aware of the warm weight of Sam’s hand, the shape of him in the darkness half-leaned over him. His dick gave a twitch against his thigh, slower to catch up than the rest of his body. Sam said nothing, seeming content to watch him as best he could in the moonlight seeping in around the blinds, waiting for his breath to come back under control.
“Sorry,” he said again, directing his words to the ceiling rather than what he could see of Sam’s face. “I didn’t mean to…”
Sam snorted. “Yeah, Andrew, what with you being unconscious I kinda figured you didn’t have designs on my virtue.”
He flushed, grateful that the darkness hid that much. “What virtue,” he retorted, words out before he could reconsider.
Sam just chuckled low above him. “I’d ask if you always got bitchy when you were frustrated but I’ve seen enough to think it’s just your natural state,” he drawled, shifting his weight slightly. The motion dragged his hand across the bare skin in the valley between Andrew’s hipbones, and Andrew hissed as the unexpected touch jolted straight to his cock. Sam paused at the noise, and Andrew could feel the weight of his gaze. As the last tatters of sleep drifted away, he was increasingly aware of something growing in his gut, something that had been simmering since the painful awkwardness of his conversation with Del, something that made him aware of the line of Sam’s jaw and every bruise he’d ever laid on him. His breathing was shallow, uneven.
“Been awhile, huh Blur,” and Sam’s voice was lower than it had been. “You want to deal with that? Only person allowed to jerk off in my bed is me, but you know where the bathroom is.”
Andrew’s heart was trying to make a hole in his ribcage. “Not interested in getting off in your bathroom, actually,” he managed. He could see enough to see the way that Sam’s head cocked at the words.
“Somewhere else you thinking of getting off, princess?” His words were steady, even amused, but his fingers twitched against Andrew’s skin.
Andrew paused. The fear and embarrassment that had flooded through him on waking were receding, and in their place rose a feeling that was familiar from hours spent on the line, a thousand pounds of steel-wrapped acceleration held in check by the balance of his foot on the clutch, revs boiling up in the fractional, endless moment before the hand fell, when every possible outcome was arrayed equidistant on the stretch of road in front of him: an anticipation that strained the boundaries of his skin, a weightless swoop of adrenaline: the universe, narrowed to a point. It was a sense of wild possibility, unburdened by the past, and Andrew had to breathe past it before he could turn his head, searching out Sam’s gaze in the darkness. He found it, steady and intent as ever.
Andrew took a breath, savored for an instant longer the sensation of balancing on a precipice, and then pushed up on one elbow, angling his head as he brought his mouth to Sam’s. The kiss was clumsy, landing slightly off center, and Sam made a startled noise against his lips. For a frozen second, neither of them moved, and the thrill in Andrew’s stomach started to sour—then Sam pushed forward, turning his head and adjusting the angle until their lips slid together properly. His mouth was warm and firm, and Andrew groaned as he licked over the seam of Andrew’s lips. He parted them, letting Sam slide inside, reveling in the hungry noise the other man made as he did. For stretching, syrupy moments, Andrew lost himself in the rhythm of their mouths, tongues sliding past each other. The other man bit down on his lip, a bright spark of pain skittering down Andrew’s spine, and he groaned, arching thoughtlessly upward. When they pulled apart for air, both of them were breathing heavily.
“Goddamn, Andrew.” Sam started to move his hand, slow and deliberate, rubbing circles into Andrew’s lower belly. Andrew shivered hard, hyper-aware of every square centimeter of his skin, the tiny muscles at the base of his pelvis twitching at each drag of Sam’s hand over sensitized skin. “Easy, princess, you’re good. Just wanna put my hands on you for a second.”
Andrew’s breath stuttered in his throat as Sam dragged his fingernails across his skin and he twisted, brain breaking a little under the shock of sensation, a noise partway between a yelp and a whimper dragging from his throat.
“Yeah,” Sam said, voice rough, “Like that. Is it always this much for you, Blur? Not that I mind seeing you squirm, but you don’t act like a guy who’s used to other people’s hands on him.”
“I was—more used to it. Once.” As he relaxed under Sam’s continued petting, Andrew tilted his hips fractionally upward, was rewarded when a few of Sam’s fingertips slipped under the waistband of his sweats.
Sam followed the thread of their conversation, even as he started to explore the skin under Andrew’s sweats, curling his fingers through the hair there, sliding his fingers possessively over the crease where Andrew’s thigh met his body, but ignoring for the moment the increasingly obvious bulge of Andrew’s dick.
“So, you and Eddie…?”
The familiar jolt at Eddie’s name came, but distantly. “No,” Andrew said, an edge of breathlessness in his voice. “It was never—this.” This is you, he wanted to add, but the words floated just beyond his verbal reach, the vulnerability a stretch too far.
Sam hummed an acknowledgement. Then he grinned. Andrew could hear it in his voice as he said, “Well, then, princess, guessing it’s been a minute since anyone’s done this.” And suddenly he was sliding his hand all the way down to wrap, firm and sure, around the aching length of Andrew’s cock. Andrew gasped, a ragged sound that felt punched out of him, and pushed up into Sam’s grip. Sam just moved his hand with the motion, laughing under his breath, “Ah-ah, so am I right, Andrew? Anyone done this for you recently?”
Unbidden, a memory floated to the surface of Andrew’s mind. Summer, Columbus. Andrew, bitter and restless, looking for a distraction. Del, there. Sloppy, biting kisses, Andrew chasing something he couldn’t even articulate to himself. Growing frustration at the lack of response in his body, the liquid hurt in Del’s eyes when she’d realized—and what Andrew now thought might’ve been something like resignation.
Shame, bitter like bile, rose in the back of his throat. The hurt he’d done, without ever caring to notice.
Sam’s hand, closing hot and tight around him, yanked him back to the present.
“I’m gonna take the sudden dissociation as a ‘yes, but it sucked’,” he mused.
“Pretty much,” Andrew said thinly, feeling three sizes too big for his skin.
Sam’s hand was confident on him, massaging him with a grip that was just the right side of painful and killing coherent thought before it began. Andrew flailed out with one arm and dug his nails into Sam’s skin in retaliation, and the other man groaned.
“Shit yeah, princess, tell me you want this,” he demanded, sounding less put together than Andrew had ever heard him. Andrew choked at a particularly clever twist of Sam’s fingers and managed to grit out, “If you stop, I’ll kill you.”
Sam laughed, full-bodied, before drawing his hand away. Andrew swore, but Sam was already hushing him, gripping him by the hip and manhandling him onto his side before crowding close behind him and shoving his sweats down far enough to free his dick. “Fuck, yeah, there we go,” he muttered, fervent as he hitched his hips forward. A bolt of heat shot through Andrew at the blunt pressure of Sam’s dick through the damp cotton of his boxers. He whined, a desperate hunger uncoiling beneath his skin alongside a heady rush of freedom. This pulsing tangle of desire they were weaving in the dark was his in a way Andrew’s wants had never been, and the newness of it was raw and thrilling as tag at triple digits down the interstate.
Blunt fingers bumped against his lips. “Open up, princess.” Andrew opened his mouth, let Sam slide his fingers inside, thought giving out in favor of chasing the sensation Sam was offering. Sam’s fingers were thick, thrusting lazy and proprietary over Andrew’s tongue, hooking over his gums, teasing at the back of his throat. Spit flooded his mouth. Sam was still rolling his hips against him, slower and more deliberate now. The bare skin of his chest was slightly sweaty against Andrew’s back and he allowed himself a moment of sinking into the feeling of being caged, held fast between Sam’s fingers in his mouth and the cock pressing against his ass. The sensation was dizzying, electrifying, and Andrew sucked on Sam’s fingers as they pushed back into his mouth without thinking about it. Sam swore softly. “Yeah, Andrew, that’s right, get ‘em wet for me.” Andrew was so hard it hurt, noises he didn’t know he could make spilling out around Sam’s fingers. His breaths huffed out in short bursts through his nostrils, catching when Sam drew his hand away only to curl his spit-slick fingers around Andrew’s dick, sliding his fist lazily up and down.
He pushed his hips forward into the touch, only for Sam to slow the pace even further.
“What the fuck—” Andrew cut off when the wet heat of Sam’s mouth closed over the skin at the join between his neck and his shoulder. The other man sucked what was sure to be a brilliant hickey into his skin, sending Andrew’s thoughts scattering like fireworks. He pulled off with a pop and a satisfied hum.
“Settle, Andrew, and lemme be sweet to you for a minute. Don’t you ever just treat yourself nice?”
An image flashed through Andrew’s head then, of Sam, sprawled out on tangled sheets, Sunday morning lining his limbs, head thrown back—treating himself nice—and he cursed, reaching back blindly and curling his hand around the solid muscle of Sam’s forearm, needing something to keep from drowning in the feeling that surged through him then, swelling up the back of his throat and pulsing in his groin.
“Yeah, that’s it baby, hang on nice and tight,” and he could hear the shit-eating grin in Sam’s voice as he slid his thumb over the head of Andrew’s cock, dragging in agonizingly slow spirals. He slid a curious fingernail down the slit, repeating the motion when Andrew bucked forward with a startled noise. The slight tackiness of spit beginning to dry on Andrew’s skin made every move just slightly too much, sent icy flashes of pleasure that almost hurt skittering up Andrew’s nerves. Dimly he was aware that he was panting, mouth open, pillow damp beneath the side of his face. Little broken noises were crawling out of his throat and he didn’t give a single fuck. He was aware of Sam moving against his back and rallied, letting go of Sam’s forearm to shove at the waistband of his boxers.
“Yeah? Thirsty for it, huh?” But Sam was moving as urgently as he was, groaning when he got his boxers pushed down enough to free his dick. And then he was right back where he had been, pressed up against Andrew, only now Andrew could feel the blood-hot length of him pressed right against the seam of his ass and he pushed backwards into it as best he could, wanting more, wanting things he didn’t think he could name. Sam swiped his fingers over the head of Andrew’s cock again, and then he was holding them up in front of Andrew’s mouth. “Open,” and his voice was dark, hungry, and he didn’t wait for Andrew to obey before he was pushing into Andrew’s mouth. The taste of himself was sharp and surprising, and Andrew moaned around Sam’s fingers, working his tongue against them, viciously pleased when he heard Sam’s breath stutter behind him. “Holy goddamn, Andrew, how are you so fucking good?”
He wasn’t expecting it when Sam slid his hand free long enough to grab roughly at one of Andrew’s cheeks, pulling until he could slot himself up against Andrew’s hole. The blunt head of his cock, now slick with Andrew’s spit, rubbed up against him, waking nerves Andrew didn’t even know he had and sending long waves of pleasure intermingled with something like fear sliding up his spine. Sam returned to jacking his dick in long, lazy strokes that matched the pace he set with his hips, each motion sending Andrew spiraling ever higher. Every so often he’d twist the palm of his hand so that it rubbed over the head of his dick and Andrew would gasp, stutter-fucking forward into the rough pleasure. Everything was a mess of sensation, Sam methodically snapping all the ties that anchored Andrew in his head until all that was left was Sam, surrounding him, wringing pleasure out of him until Andrew could barely breathe around it.
He came with a cry that he hardly recognized, hips spasming forward, vision greying out. Sam swore, filthy praise dripping from his mouth, and Andrew pulled enough scraps of thought together to beg, “Sam, fuck, want you to come on me, c’mon, please.”
“Christ—” and then Sam shifted backwards enough to work an arm between them, and Andrew could hear the slick, frantic noises, and then liquid warmth was splattering over his back as Sam came with a ragged groan.
For a moment they just lay there, Sam pressing his forehead into the back of Andrew’s neck, Andrew reveling in the languid warmth that was filling his chest. Then he shifted, and made a face. “I’m fucking gross, man.”
Sam laughed, breath huffing across the top of Andrew’s spine. “And whose fault is that, exactly? ‘Sides, it’s not your shirt or your sheets we just wrecked, so quit whining.”
Even as he finished talking, though, he sat up, rummaging through the pile of clothes on the ground. Andrew twisted to watch him. The palest edge of morning was seeping in around the blinds, picking out the dark lines of Sam’s tattoo. Sam turned back to toss an old shirt at Andrew and caught him looking. Something like a smile hooked the corner of his mouth.
“You flipping out on me, Blur?”
Andrew caught the shirt and shrugged, swiping half-heartedly at the mess on his belly. “Nah. I’ve woken up elbow deep in corpses, man, you’re not that special.”
Sam’s eyes widened, and then he snorted, leaning in to plant a smacking kiss on the corner of Andrew’s mouth. “That’s a cute way of saying I got you moaning like a whore for me, princess, but okay.”
Andrew threw the shirt in his face and he batted it out of the air. The grin he flashed made something sharp and soft at once wake up in Andrew’s chest. Sam dragged him back down to the mattress, muttering about his beauty sleep, and it wasn’t until sleep was closing in over his head that Andrew recognized the feeling as tenderness.