CHAPTER 2: Delicate

Summary: "When nobody's watchin', We might take it home... It's not that we're scared; it's just delicate."

After S2:E13, "God's Good Grace," Andy and Sam at home, together. Angst/Comfort/Romance; rated M for sexual situations.

A. McNally and S. Swarek. Title taken from Damien Rice's "Delicate," a whisper of a song and a perfect to describe the bit of time Sandy McSwarek needs before rejoining the world of the living.

Disclaimer: I do not own "Delicate," by Damien Rice or Rookie Blue.

NOTE: It's not a mistake where I say "second and third reasons." If you can't figure out the first reason, you're not old enough to be reading this fic. Use your imagination.

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"sssssss..." Sam's pained hiss is barely audible over the sound of water hitting tile, but Andy, attuned to every flinch and muffled gasp, hears it.

Andy jerks her hands away, contrite, before replacing them at the site of Sam's bloody head laceration. "Sorry... sorry - it's just..." She parts the sticky strands more gently, brow furrowed, wary of causing more pain. "There's blood everywhere," she huffs.

"'S'ok. Rinse as much of it away as you can," he mumbles, forehead pressed to her taut belly, right hand curled around her thigh for comfort. Being beaten up gives Sam second and third reasons to be thankful for the shower's bench: The stone is solid beneath him, more than he can say for his legs, and it puts his head just under the enticing curve of Andy's breasts.

"Tilt your head back," she demands, and it's natural that he kisses her, there, on the light fullness now within reach of his lips. Andy freezes momentarily, then continues her careful rinsing. "What happened to 'I can't lift my arms'?" she scoffs.

Sam's trails his fingers up the inside of her thigh, inciting the hip wiggle he loves. "I said it 'hurt like hell,' not that I couldn't do it."

Andy's hands follow the curve of his skull, down his neck, to his shoulders. Her smirk is audible. "And 'hot shower, hot meal, clean sheets'?"

"You mean, 'lie down next to you'?" Both hands work well enough to trace the crease where each cheek of her gorgeous ass meets her thighs. Sam drags his lightly bearded chin across her belly, working all his rightfully limited charms on Andy's body. "Come lie down with me, Andy."

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They lay face to face, legs entangled, eye to eye. Sam's cock lies hot against Andy's inner thigh; it's all she can do to keep from edging closer. She tries to satisfy herself instead with caressing him: silken eyebrow giving way to the ridge of his cheekbone, then the rough terrain of his jaw interrupted by the crease of his dimple. But his mouth… His mouth is too much to resist and Andy closes in, eyes half-mast. Sam lets her set the pace, drawing her in with his stillness. He lets her seduce herself, never pushing, while the kisses grow longer, wetter, licks of kisses that set both of them shivering and closing the last crucial distance between them.

Sam levers his wrist under her knee, drawing it up over his hip, opening her to his invasion. It's slow, and weighted with the knowledge of what might have been. They rock into each other, barely moving, careful, the cadence set between them with no conscious thought, until he is as deep within her as possible. "Welcome home," Andy mouths, and he catches the words in another endless series of kisses.

Despite the dreamy pace, a familiar throb begins in the pit of Andy's stomach. "Sam…" she whispers. "Sam…"

"Open your eyes, Andy," he grinds out. "I need to see you."

Andy's lashes flutter, and she stares back into velvet-dark eyes desperate for connection. Correction: Desperate for connection with her. "…with you." I'm with you. It's what she'd hoped for the long day and night of his disappearance, to be back here, with him, feeling this, "…oh…" with him. This is right.

It's that depth of feeling that sends her over the edge, and Sam follows the pulsing of her body with his own and they still, spent.

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"I need to see you." The gleam in her eyes, flecked with gold, just visible in the dim light cast by his floor lamp. The fall of her hair across his pillow. The press of her breasts against him. The flush of her skin as they get closer… closer…

He aches, but it's worth it for this, for Andy. All of it was worth it to get back to her, to feel this alive and whole.

Sam can feel the orgasm beginning in the base of his spine; at the same time Andy's eyes widen and she's with him, she says, then "…ohhh…"

It sweeps over him like a wave, everything silenced by the roar in his ears and the fire in his blood.