Sam's mind was coated in a thick layer of fog, her eyes half open as she stared out the passenger side window. Dull greys, tans, and greens blended together as she hummed along lazily to the song on the radio. Or a song in her head.
Her phone buzzed in her lap again. She ignored the ninth call from her mother in the last hour. Each voicemail was the same: "Sam you better get back her with my car!" or some variation of that with more or less colorful words accenting her anger. Sam couldn't handle her right now, or Luke calling to ask when she could return to work, or especially Melanie's endless texts that were laced with worry. She turned off her phone and leaned back in her seat.
Spencer hadn't said anything since he woke her up this morning. He smoothed his hand down her shoulder and the length of her side, whispering her name until her eyes fluttered open.
"Let's go home." He said before gathering their belongings around the room. Sam took a shower and emerged with her same ensemble of Spencer's shirt. He smiled at her and handed her a pair of sweatpants and left. The hotel room stale and empty just as it was when they got there, Sam's abandoned heels and dress the only evidence of their stay.
Sam assumed they were back in Idaho, the air familiar with kisses that never were and hands on sensitive skin. Everything felt overwhelming. The constant flashes of smoke and her father's disgusting smile. Her knuckles tingled at the memory. Then there was Spencer; being comforting and perfect, creating a constant haze of confusion. She wanted to concentrate on how she felt about her father's indifferent attitude towards her. His excuses stacked up in her mind, even though it was the same:
She wondered if he would ever grow up, if he would ever call her or Melanie, or ever apologize to her mom.
Most of all she wondered if this trip made a difference. Maybe Melanie and Carly were right. Maybe she could have moved out of her mom's apartment instead of saving money for a trip to punch her father and then pass out.
"This was pointless." Sam mumbled quietly.
"Ah. If you didn't do this you would have always wondered what if." Sam was surprised Spencer heard her. He yawned.
"Maybe. Or I would have gotten over it." Sam shrugged.
"A girl as stubborn as you? Not a chance." He squeezed her shoulder with another yawn.
"Do you need me to take over?"
"Please."
So she did. Sam felt trapped in her mind even more so as the hours passed. She felt her limbs work automatically on the steering wheel, her eyes open and alert enough not to kill them. When the gaslight went on, she pulled over and got gas and kept going. Her moves were automatic and her brain empty.
"Sam?" Spencer's voice snapped her out of her blurred daze. "We should pull over, get some sleep."
Sam glanced at the clock. 10 o'clock. She felt her stomach hallow and empty and realized she hadn't eaten today. Today. It felt strange to know that today even happened because she felt asleep with her eyes open through the entire day. She made a note not to share that with Spencer, who trusted her driving for close to 10 hours.
"But we're almost there." She just wanted to be home. In her bed, on Spencer's couch, in Spencer's bed, on the Shay living room floor, in the studio… Seattle. She hated the forced distance between her and Spencer in the car, the faint smell of cigarette smoke that still stained her hair, and the squealing sound that crept through one of the backseat windows.
She craved for mornings in Mr. Bean's, cleaning blenders while Spencer sketched sculptures. She needed useless fights over popcorn on the living room floor. She wanted to play made up games, feel his hand in her hair. She wasn't sure she could sleep in one more motel with unfamiliar, scratchy comforters and the three feet of space between her body and Spencer's. Most of all she missed the freedom of conversation, jokes, laughs, and breaths. She hoped that the constant haze of sensitive, careful silence would disappear when she stepped into the chill, damp Seattle air.
"Come on, Sam. You've got to be hungry."
Sam slumped in her seat. "Maybe."
"I have an idea, stop at the next gas station."
Sam followed his directions, which lead her to a gas station where they got MEGA size bags of chips and soda and she parked her car in a far parking spot away from restaurants, gas stations, and parking lot lights.
They scrambled to the backseat where they sat, the sounds of crinkling chip bags and fizzy sodas being uncapped filling the silence. Sometime during her second chip bag, Sam kicked off her shoes and sprawled her legs across Spencer's lap. His hand quickly slid under her pant leg and lightly gripped her ankle.
She watched Spencer flip through his phone, occasionally typing as he went. He had stopped eating after he finished his first bag that now lay empty on her stomach. She watched him silently, his face changing with each swipe of his fingers against the screen. His eyes were expressive as always, squinted as he read because he was too stubborn to get glasses, and then relaxed or straightened into an expression of annoyance or comfort. She knew when he was looking at a text message from Carly, or when she posted new pictures on Facebook. An outsider would guess him just aloof and silly, and she wondered if anyone else knew how much he cared. She imagined his heart was the size of the Grinch's after it grew three sizes on Christmas.
She noticed his brow forward and he shook his head slightly.
"What's up?" Sam asked.
"Oh." His head lobbed to the side, typing on his phone. "Just… just this girl."
Sam felt her stomach turn violently and drop all in one moment. Of course. Spencer and his girls. Her brain flashed to the many first dates he worried about, pacing the living room while she sucked on popsicles in the kitchen with Carly. All the different women that had paraded in and out of his bedroom late at night when she was watching scary movies with Freddie and Carly. How did she forget them? How did they slip her mind?
"Ah. Still breaking hearts, huh?" Her voice sounded foreign and the words felt sour on her tongue. It definitely didn't sound like her and she was hoping he didn't notice.
She grabbed a few more chips and shoved them in her mouth. Spencer shook his head.
"Well, of course. Just my mere presence on this Earth must be heartbreaking for all the women of the world." He responded, a smile playing on his lips. He peeked a glance at her as she kicked his leg. He pinched her thigh and put his phone in his pocket. "We went out once months ago and she hasn't left me alone. You would think mentioning that I went to Vegas with another woman would get her off my back, but nope."
Sam felt her insides warm. He looked up at her and stole a chip from her bag, his lips smiling as he munched.
"Okay." Sam shook the crumbs off her shirt and sat up. "Time to get back on the road?" She pulled herself up on the headrests of the front seats, ready to crawl through the opening between.
"No, no." Spencer protested. He grabbed her waist and pulled her back down. She smashed an empty bag of chips and accidentally elbowed him in the stomach. Spencer groaned while Sam giggled an apology.
"Let's sleep." Spencer coughed, rubbing his stomach.
There was a long pause while Sam looked around the backseat of the car. Many nights they have snuggled on the couch and fell asleep, or found themselves tangled in each other after a short nap in the studio, but this was different. She was very conscious of what had to happen for both of them to sleep back here. They always just found themselves in these positions in the past, after a fight over the remote or during a half-sleep daze full of wandering hands.
Spencer seemed obviously confused by her hesitation and slowly edged away from her, keeping his leg resting against hers. Sam felt her heart drop at his uncomfortable distance. His other leg bounced, shaking the car slightly and vibrating the seat. She did it again. Pushed him away due to lack of timing and her clouded mind.
Her mind that had a small space for worrying about how Melanie felt about Sam's rendezvous with their father, her mom's texts and phone calls making her phone buzz, or how she felt like this was all one big waste. She had this idea for months and Spencer distracted her in the best possible way some one could be distracted. Instead of crunching numbers or counting tips she played board games and ate pudding straight from the mixing bowl while their ankles intertwined sporadically under the table. Thanksgiving didn't seem depressing and Spencer kept saying things like "Let's make ham instead of turkey" or "What do you like better, homemade cranberry sauce or the canned jelly kind?" She found herself full of butterflies and not twisted knots of constant panic or worry over the impending trip.
All because of Spencer. And she wanted to feel his heartbeat against her chest, his scrawny legs wrap around her thighs. She liked how his breath tickled the tip of her ear and pushed her hair, tickling her neck. She was already anticipating waking up to his morning twitches that always signaled that he would be waking soon. Back at the loft there were many mornings where Spencer would inhale slowly, his nose buried in her hair and mumble, his voice rough with sleep, "Coffee." She wondered if the absence from Mr. Bean's would cause him not to smell her hair. His voice comforted her every morning, but most of all the act made it seem like he was making sure she was there, real, tangible and his. Whether he knew it or not: it was too late, she was his.
"Sam?" Spencer's voice snapped her back into the car and out of her mind.
She whipped around and faced him. He was leaning against the door, his legs stretched out, no longer huddled and nervous. "Huh? Sorry."
"I said Daniel Craig." He pushed her leg with his foot.
"James Bond movies." Sam answered, her lip twitching in a smile.
"That's cheating!" Spencer imitated her, his hands flailing up in an impression of Sam that couldn't have been more inaccurate.
Sam lunged at him, her hands quickly smoothing over his sides and struggling to wrap around his back that was pressed against the door. He adjusted accordingly as his breathing slowed, allowing his arms to carefully move around her. Her knees slid down the seat until her body was pressed against him. A hand scooped onto the back of her neck and Sam couldn't stop herself from sighing, finding comfort in his familiar touch. It felt like centuries since he had found her neck.
They sat like this as minutes passed, their game abandoned. Sam tightened her grip on him with every swipe of his thumb along the sensitive skin of her neck. They silently
adjusted until Spencer lay along the seat, Sam sprawled out against his chest, face buried in his shoulder, her body stretched between his legs. She could feel sleep creeping up on her now, through the comfort of Spencer's heartbeat and the soft music of his breathing. Her eyes fluttered closed as she let the weight of her eyelids win their familiar battle.
"Thank you." She said into his collar bone, not loud but she hoped it was loud enough for him to hear.
His arms tightened around her, each finger sending waves through her as they squeezed against her skin. She felt his scratchy chin push through her hair, and rest on top of her ear. She heard him take an inward breath, but she interrupted him.
"Thank you for inviting me over weeks ago. Thank you for saying yes. Thank you for coming. Thank you for giving me space but never leaving." Sam's words were caught in her throat but escaped along the smooth fabric of his sweatshirt. Even with Spencer, words were hard, but they were necessary. He deserved them.
His face snuggled into her hair and the breath he was holding finally let out with his words.
"Sam, I'm not going anywhere."
/
Spencer woke up in the morning, the familiar warmth of Sam's body protecting him from the morning chill. The sun was only just starting to rise creating a blue, grey light filling the car. His mind felt fuzzy in his slow wake, and his leg had a numb feeling from being tucked underneath Sam's sleeping form.
He blinked trying to guess the time by the light and how sound asleep Sam was. He used to find her asleep at noon after a sleepover with Carly but since he found her at Mr. Bean's her sleeping habits were different. Sleeping in for Sam was 8 o'clock and her body seemed to naturally wake itself up around 7, but she would fight it for as long as she could. By her deep, steady breathing he guessed it was somewhere around 6:30.
From his angle he couldn't see her face that was buried in his shoulder, but her hair lay frizzy and big around his neck and chest, leaving a few strands across his face. He slowly moved his hand up her back and into her hair, giving the locks a light squeeze, feeling their soft tangle between his fingers.
He missed this. The trip had changed things between them, even if only slightly. This voyage had put a brick wall between them, every touch hyper sensitive and advances denied. That wasn't how it had been in his apartment, at Mr. Bean's, or out in the streets of Seattle. He understood why but it didn't mean he stopped missing the curve of her waist or his fingers on the back of her neck. He could wait, he had waited this long.
Falling in love with Sam was like rereading a favorite book: it was easy and familiar but you always found something knew that you had never noticed before, and the twists and turns were just as exciting as the first time around.
He wanted to tighten his arms around her and fall back asleep but he knew she would be waking soon from her internal clock, hunger, the cold, or a mixture of all three. He pushed his face into her hair and took a long, deep breath.
There were many intricate smells to Sam, but most of it was held in her hair. Her shampoo was probably the sweetest smell, a rich creamy artificial peach smell that was only bearable because it mixed with the coffee she was surrounded by five days a week. If they spent hours in Inside Out Burger, her hair would smell of French fries, and when she spent the night at his house her hair gave off an aroma of paint. He must smell like paint a lot. He hoped Sam was okay with that.
Her hair had a tinge of cigarette smoke still laced between the locks but the other smell was paint. So yes, he thought, he does smell like paint.
His scent on her made his limbs tingle and he couldn't help the kiss he planted on the top of her head. He couldn't help leaving more, soft trails against her mane. His lips grazed her hairline as she stirred awake.
"Good morning." He mumbled against her head.
She groaned in response and snuggled deeper into him. He heard her moan "cold" into his sweatshirt and he tightened his arms around her, rubbing awkward circles on her back.
"I don't know if you saw, but there's a McDonald's at this rest stop." Spencer teased, trying to get her up.
Sam's body shot up and she sat on top of him, her hair wild as she looked out of the windows frantically. She spotted the restaurant and smiled.
"Well don't just lay there, mama's hungry."
After they had eaten and caffeinated, they were back on the road. Spencer sat behind the wheel as Sam frantically caught up on text messages. She would update him once and awhile, say a very vague and fluffy text that Melanie had sent or the angry one her mother did. He nodded or laughed in response appropriately.
Sam was right last night; they were almost home when he made her pull over. The drive was more lush and green and roads a bit more twisty this morning. When they drove into Washington it started to rain, welcoming them home. Spencer couldn't have chosen a more perfect metaphor for washing away what had happened during this trip. It was thoughts like this that reminded him that he was an artist.
"I told Carly you came with me." Sam suddenly spoke up, her eyes not leaving her phone.
Spencer's stomach twisted. He wasn't sure how he was going to have to one day tell his little sister that he was falling – no, was in love – with her best friend. There were many things to be worried about in that future exchange. How long had he been? Felt like forever. But you're practically 30! He didn't care, two seconds with Spencer and a person would realize he really was somewhere around 25 internally. She's your little sister's best friend. There was nothing to say to that, honestly. Just that he was sorry for that one fact, but things like relationships and age hadn't stopped him before and he was in too deep to stop now.
"Oh." He mustered. The air was thick with the meaning behind Sam's statement. Sam let Carly in on their secret that they weren't trying to hide. The mention of Spencer coming with her lends itself to deeper questions. When have you talked to Spencer? Do you spend a lot of time with him? Why? What's going on? Those questions didn't have to be answered but they would start piling in.
It wasn't like Sam and Spencer weren't friends before Carly left. They hung out often but there was always a reason: Carly was running late from school, Carly was volunteering the morning after a sleepover, Freddie and Carly were rehearsing for iCarly and Sam was bored so she wandered downstairs for snacks.
"You caught me in the middle of a lie." Spencer grinned.
"Oops."
"And now I can feel the text messages piling up. Most she's texted me in weeks." Spencer absently put his hand over his pocket where his cell phone lived.
Sam spent the rest of the car ride texting and playing with the radio, finally in familiar radio station territory. Spencer drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, trying to find an easy way to ask her if he was dropping her off at home or if she was coming over to his apartment. He wanted to make it clear that he wanted her over without actually saying it, which made him feel like an idiot.
"What's your plan for the rest of your day?" Spencer asked.
Sam kept her eyes out of the window. "I have to return my mom's car, but I want to come over."
"Let's go get my bike and then we can take care of all that. Food?"
"Duh."
An hour later they sat in the KFC parking lot grabbing pieces of chicken out of the bucket and devouring them, Spencer sitting on the curb and Sam leaning against his motorcycle. There, Sam declared that the trip was pointless and her sister and Carly were right which made her mad. Spencer pinched her calf and reminded her that she would have regretted not going, which would be a waste of time. She kicked his leg and knocked over a container of gravy. They laughed about it for ten minutes.
Sam was still sipping on the root beer she had managed to hold the whole ride home as they took the elevator up to the loft. They both cradled their helmets and Spencer had their bags slung on his shoulder.
When the door opened, there was a burst of color. Spencer's balloon painting was still leaning against the counter, pieces of broken, paint-dried balloon scattered the tarp on the ground. The jars of paint were hastily capped but still sat scattered across the living room floor.
"I forgot about this." Spencer said, to no one in particular. He put the bags down and they both placed their helmets on the counter.
He watched Sam nod and throw away her cup. Walking out of the elevator felt like a huge sigh of relief but now that they were actually home, there was still a mist of something unfinished in the air. He was hoping it was his painting and not Sam's disappointment with the whole trip.
Sam kicked off her shoes and looked at her shirt, which was actually Spencer's. He wondered if she was contemplating changing into clothes that were in her bag or if she was just investigating the pattern. Either was possible.
To his surprise, she chuckled.
"What?" He asked.
She shook her head. "I'm wearing your shirt." She said simply.
"Uh, yeah." He forced a confused laugh and kept his eyes on her, suspicious. She sounded like someone on the verge of a mental breakdown and for all intents and purposes he wouldn't be surprised if she was.
"It's kind of ridiculous." He listened to her intently, ears perked. "Well, I mean… it actually doesn't feel ridiculous. It just IS ridiculous." She sighed and he watched her face change to an uncomfortable grimace that scrunched her nose perfectly. Sam, the only girl that warmed his heart in a moment of struggle.
"Because we haven't even kissed yet." Her eyes flicked up to his as she exhaled after her simplified thought that said so much.
Spencer's heart thumped in his chest as his stomach fell to his feet. He gripped the bottom of his sweatshirt and broke her gaze. Maybe he shouldn't have, but he couldn't look at her. She was irresistible; when she laughed behind the coffee counter, when she sat on the dining table eating bacon fresh out of the frying pan, when she hogged the covers, when she unlocked her apartment door, when she bit on her sleeve during scary movies, anticipating the gore and rooting for more.
"Sam." Spencer's voice was stern, like her admittance of love without proper affection was something punishable. But shit, it was because she couldn't say things like that without making him break.
"What?" She smoothed her hands down the fabric and examined the buttons. "By the way, what size ARE you, I'm pretty sure we are the same size." She teased, her eyes smiling through her hair.
Spencer would have loved to say this is when he broke down. When he scooped her up and captured her lips and held her in his arms, relishing in the warmth and curve of her.
But like everything that they were, it was different.
They laughed until their bodies were touching and the next natural step was to hug. He held her tight, his arms sliding up and down her back as she relaxed into him. He buried his face in her hair, the smell of damp air slipping through him. He chuckled into her ear.
"I am a little upset about how well it fits you."
Sam laughed, a loud sudden chuckle. She gripped his sweatshirt and he couldn't help a frustrated groan escape from his throat as she pulled away to look at him. Her eyes wandered across his face, curved around his neck and back up again, lingering near his lips. Spencer felt his mouth go dry and his chest squeeze.
Her grip on the front of his sweatshirt tightened and then she pulled.
When his lips met hers, he felt light. Sam's body melted against him, her grip on his sweatshirt loosening and his arms instinctively wrapped around her. His hands moved up towards her neck finally landing in the curve, her hair feathering around his fingers. He felt perfect, like his lips belonged on hers, and his hands should live where her hair meets the back of her neck. Her lips were smooth with a small taste of peppermint from her Chapstick and when she pushed his mouth open; her tongue was sweet from the root beer.
Spencer was lost in her, his lips tasting and his tongue feeling as he kissed her. His hands stayed planted in her hair, gripping her skin with each turn on his head. He felt his heart in his chest, beating faster as each part of her body smoothed up against his. He wasn't sure when but his feet stepped towards her. He wanted to get closer to her, melt their bodies together so he can always feel the curves of her, hear her small moans in the back of her throat, and see the warm glow of stars behind his eyelids.
Sam backed into the propped up canvas and laughter bounced off lips but no one seemed to care about the painting. Spencer felt grateful and rushed but also as if time was slowing and the walls were spinning. He wanted to savor every touch of Sam's fingers against his neck and remember the sound of her gasps as they moved against each other, a mess of eager desperation.
Spencer's body shook as Sam's hands scooped under his layers, smoothing over his stomach, up his chest until he lifted his arms and felt the cool air of the apartment on his skin. He grabbed at her, frantic and needy to feel her warmth. Being a part from her lips for the second it took to get his shirts off drove him crazy and he needed to make up for those lost seconds.
Spencer felt his belt loosen and soon realized he would be naked before he even felt Sam's skin against his chest. He spoke between long, deep kisses.
"Not fair." He worked on the buttons of the plaid she flawlessly wore even though it was his. She pushed the shirt off her shoulders, Spencer's hands exploring free and slow on her exposed skin.
His knees felt weak as his fingertips surveyed every ridge and curve of her torso, teasing himself by only outlining her bra if he dared to get that close. Finally kissing Sam was like starting a new, exciting sculpture, but once the clothes started to come off he was afraid it would all be done too fast, the process gone and over with. Sam's body stiffened every time he got close to the fabric and she groaned in frustration as he brushed past the clasp for the fourth time.
"Spencer, come on." She growled frantically grabbing behind her to unclasp her bra. It fell to the ground quickly, before Spencer could actually comprehend what had happened. His mouth slowed against hers, his mind racing. He wanted to look at her, appreciate her in front of him, against his painting. But he also loved kissing her, and separating sounded impossible and terrible.
So he let his hands feel her first. His hands smoothed up her stomach slowly, his breathing quickening the closer he got. Sam leaned into him, pushing her breasts towards his hands, hurrying the process. Spencer wanted this to last forever and his needs were promptly getting steamrolled by Sam, pushy and stubborn, a woman who never liked to wait for anything she wanted. It was hard to deny her, to say no to her clothes dropping to the floor, to remove his mouth from hers when her tongue felt so good dancing with his.
Spencer exhaled as he slowly pulled from her. His stomach twisted in longing for her swollen lips, but he needed to see her. His eyes fluttered open and he swallowed hard at the sight of her. Her lips were a deep shade of pink, larger than usual and slightly open as she tried to catch her breath. He only caught her eyes for a second, scanning his face before they locked with his and she looked down at her feet. Her hair was a crazy mess of gold, cascading to her bare shoulders and the locks lay among her exposed skin. Her chest rose and fell slower and slower as looked at her. Sam, beautiful but rough Sam. There was a small pink scar under her collar bone, and he noticed a new burn from work on the inside crease of her elbow. His eyes roamed her chest, resting on her breasts which felt wrong and stolen but he convinced himself because this was Sam: the girl who brought life back into him and twisted his heart with love.
"Shit." He exhaled. He was scared of saying something too much, too soon so he bit his bottom lip and watched her hands wringing together where her soft skin met her sweatpants. Even though his eyes stayed on her hands, he felt her smile lighten the room.
Her small fingers clasped together then extended themselves wide before she reached forward for the button of his jeans again. He watched her hands move and thought that the act of undressing someone else was incredibly intimate when it wasn't matched with frantic kissing and dizzy heads.
He scooped his head down and captured her lips again as his pants slid to the floor. He stepped out of them, awkwardly removing his shoes and socks in the process, resulting in muffled laughter and bodies being pulled closer playfully. Sam pushed into him, pushing her hips closer to his and he broke. He wanted to move slower, appreciate each inch of her, but the feel of her hips crushing into his with the weight of her mouth against his chest was his breaking point. One hand swept into her hair quickly while the other frantically pulled at her pants, clumsily pushing them down her waist, over her hips, and down her legs. She stepped out of them, pushing him farther across the living room.
Spencer wanted to take her to his bedroom, but wondered if that said too much. Going into his bedroom meant something, held significant meaning. If they stayed in the living room, the possibility of this moment's ending was still up in the air. In his bedroom there was a definite ending, the ending his body was begging for, but his heart was still hesitant about.
However, his body was already working automatically. Sam's fingers peaked under the waistband of his boxers at his hips, which made his arms wrap around her and pull her towards his room. He didn't feel any hesitance on her side, her hips kept grinding into his and she shivered and moaned every time his fingers passed over her breasts. But this was Sam. He cared too much to let his body take over and just worry about the consequences after. As he decided he was going to ask her, she slipped his boxers down his legs. He groaned and gripped her arms to restrain him from going forward. He slowed his mouth, feathering kisses against her lips as he collected himself and cleared his mind.
"Sam." He kissed her again, pulling his body away from her, free from distractions. She slid her hands across his hips and back to his stomach. Her fingers teased him, skirting lower and lower and he felt his mind fogging over. "Sam." His voice shook.
His hands found her hips and squeezed the fabric of her panties.
"Sam." He took another breath. His forehead fell on hers. "Sam, are you-"
"Yes."
Spencer kissed her, his body smashed into hers and she stumbled backwards as he kept pushing until her back smacked into his bedroom door and it slammed behind them, making them both jump but not stop. His heart was thumping in his ears and the room was definitely spinning now. He pushed down her underwear and sighed as he felt her skin against his from head to toe.
Sam's hands moved around his body, rushed. His skin tingled as her hands slipped around his waist, and when she pushed his hips against her. He gasped when she pulled his hair, bringing his mouth closer to hers.
When her hand wrapped around him and pumped once, he felt his head spin and his breath catch in his throat. He hissed as she continued, his lips falling from her mouth and falling into her neck, one hand supporting himself against the door, the other gripping her hip.
His breaths moved her hair across her chest, moans escaping his mouth with every twist of her wrist. Her hand slowed and his body shook at the slower intensity of it all. His ears suddenly cleared and he could hear everything in the room: the charged air, her small, steady breathing and his moans. He was aware of her power over him. He wasn't usually this way, not so passive when it came to sex, first moves, anything concerning his steps with women. But that had never been the case with Sam and why would that start now?
He kissed her collar bone and she tasted incredible. He let out a shaky breath.
"Sam." He sighed her name, dreamy and soft.
She let go and her hands crept up his chest and into his hair. He lifted his head and kissed her as she moved them from the door, his feet tripping behind him as she pushed him towards his bed, unmade and cold from their absence.
He stopped when his calves hit the bed. He pressed their bodies together and he smoothed his hands up and down her back as he kissed her, taking special care to slow down their movements. His lips took care to explore every inch of hers, swiped his tongue against hers slow and deliberate. Her moans were low and deep in her throat and he felt her body melt into his, slowly losing her power as he explored her, devoured her.
He slowly crept down her body, keeping his lips firmly locked on her skin. He scooped her up in his arms, her legs gently wrapped around his hips. He spun slowly, careful to keep his balance as the closeness of her skin made him unstable.
She let out a sharp gasp when he placed her on the bed, her eyes moving along his face, down his body and up again. He couldn't help but smile at her, letting out a satisfied breath as he whispered her name. He saw her cheeks flush and the pink travel down her neck and to the top of her chest. The effect he had on her was startling. Sam was always calm, collected, too cool to show emotions or be vulnerable to feelings. He had seen her vulnerable before, succumb to emotions so hard that it made her pass out. Yet he was humbled by a simple blush that traveled to her chest. Her beautiful chest.
He dipped his mouth to her chest and her back arched as she sighed. Her hands gripped the sheets as he kissed her skin, finally taking the detailed tour of her body that he wanted. He kissed the scar near her collar bone and left feather kisses along her sternum, taking care to remember each bump or ridge of her skin. When he reached her stomach, his hands joined his memorization efforts, taking note of how deep the curve of her hip was and where her skin was most sensitive below her belly button.
He gave her a hard kiss on her hip that made her moan, loud and full. He smiled against her. He kissed her again and he felt her hand in his hair and she gently pulled. He responded and found his mouth back on hers. Her legs adjusted underneath him so he was between them, their bodies closer. He groaned and kissed her deeper, hungry.
"I wasn't done." He whined playfully, kissing her cheek before returning to her mouth.
"Well, no." She pushed his mouth away and traveled down his chin, making him suddenly conscious of his lack of shaving the last few days. "But I need you."
It was like a dam breaking. He positioned himself above her, perfect; like that spot was made for him. They kissed frantically with mumblings of birth control considerations among loud, hard kisses.
Spencer thanked whoever created birth control and then whoever made it available to women before he arranged his body again, slipping two fingers between them because he had to touch her before this. He needed to know what she felt like on his fingers, even though he knew it would only make him want this more.
And he was right. She was slick, warm, and perfect. He sighed into her neck as her gasp filled the air. Her hips bucked towards him and he swiftly took his hand away from her and on her hip to steady her. He guided her back against the mattress before he covered her mouth delicately with his and pushed into her.
Their moans joined together and their bodies relaxed into each other at the release of tension. She felt amazing. His senses felt heightened, he was suddenly aware of all the points they were touching. Her breasts against his chest, her breath mixing with his, the way the inside of her legs felt against his thighs. That his hipbones pushed against hers perfectly. He could feel the soft, feather like curls in his fingers as his hand rested where her head and pillow met.
And he couldn't help the smile that formed on his face when he felt her feet move around his calves, nowhere near his own feet. He felt her hips roll and he shook at her small movement that signaled impatience. He inhaled sharply as she turned her hips under him again and groaned when he felt her push up, pushing him deeper.
He smoothed the small whisps of hair out of her face and kissed her soft, sweet. This feeling was one of completeness, of being with someone who completes your half and makes a whole. Sam was what made him complete. His muse. His one and only. His reason to have senses, to breathe air, and to use his hands to create something beautiful. Because of her. Always.
"Sam." She grinned at him, her impatience playing in her eyes and man, if that's not one of the many reasons he loves her. He loves her, he knows, because nothing this perfect is described in any other way. He pushed into her slightly. She gasped and frowned when he stopped again. He loved watching her face change, her emotions clear and always readable, just for him. "Sam." He sighed.
"Yeah?" Her voice was gentle and curious, not a usual tone, a tinge to her voice only reserved for him.
"I love you."
He would have sworn her eyes began to water and her mouth hung open for a few seconds, but it's hard to remember because her lips were soon on his and his body was flipped over because Sam wasn't going to use just words to tell him the same. That just wasn't her, just wasn't them.
This, this was them.