Title: Insomnia
Rating: M
Pairing: A. McNally/S. Swarek; A. McNally/L. Callaghan (implied)
Category: Angst/Romance/Smut
Spoilers: S1:E7, Hot & Bothered; some S1:E8, Honor Roll. This takes place between those episodes, referencing the time McNally was given to recover from her first fatal shooting.
Summary: She should know who it is, right?
Two dreams haunt her, force her to consciousness in the stale breathlessness of her apartment.
Hands, palms lightly calloused, drifting down her sides, then tugging the hem of her thin tank top up and over her head. The feel of his mouth tasting the sweat beaded at her collarbone, her hands fumbling with the button fly of his jeans, the intimate smells of their overheated bodies uncovered...
Or:
Nearly impenetrable dark, gun weighted like a ten-pound barbell in her sweaty palm. The sound of movement rushing toward her, the glint of metal in low light, the echoing roar of shots fired – some wide, others on target, the perp, or the girl, or Oliver, or even, more than once, herself…
Regardless of the dream, the sound of her own panting awakens her, the constriction of the sheets around her restless legs and thighs. And the pounding of her lustful, fearful heart.
Andy lies still and breathes – in, two three four, out, two three four – and her racing pulse slows, if not her thoughts. The sex dream again this time. Long, lean male over her, the weight of him pressing her to the mattress... Her thighs squeeze shut of their own accord, sending a belated jolt of pleasure through her. It would be so easy to finish, to roll to her stomach and… But the thought whose name catches her up short.
She should know, right? Whose hands, whose mouth, whose body – but she doesn't. And it's fear that keeps her from finding out, from chasing what promises to be a dazzling orgasm. Particularly now that she is awake and can't lie to herself. What if, in the last moments, it's Sam's face she sees instead of Luke's? What if…?
In two three four, out two three four… It's too late, though: The possibility of sleep slips away to the throb of lingering desire.
The bedside clock reads just after 5 A.M. Insanely early, ridiculously early but not too terrible for a run. She can get an early start on the day, tire herself out with laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning and errands… The sheet unwinds after a few determined tugs, and she begins.
She'll sleep through the night tonight. Yeah, tonight.