Somebody to You
I.
When Baird asks Anya to meet him for a drink at the Rusty Nail after work, he's not sure who's more surprised.
He and Anya are friends, sure, but they've never exactly hung out one-on-one before. Baird doesn't do one-on-one outside of Cole and Marcus, for obvious reasons. And Sam now, clearly, but that is a completely different relationship since, you know, sex is involved. The point being – he and Anya have never been alone together before and Baird feels weird about it, and then feels weird for feeling weird because it's Anya. He's known her as long as he's known Marcus; it should not be weird. But it is.
Or maybe he's just more antsy about the reason he asked Anya here in the first place.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" Anya asks once they both have drinks in hand.
"Why do I have to want to talk about something?" Baird replies. "Can't I just want to catch up with a friend?"
Anya gives him a flat look behind her glass of prosecco. Okay, fair. Baird takes a long drink of his beer, steeling himself.
"Do you know if Sam's opposed to marriage on like… feminist principle or something?"
Anya blinks a couple times. Whatever the reason she thought that Baird had asked to meet, it clearly wasn't this. "Is this… something you've talked about?"
Baird shakes his head. He's been thinking about this – marriage – for a few months now but hasn't had the courage to raise it with Sam. They've been together almost two years and his girlfriend has never once mentioned marriage, not even offhandedly. He honestly has no idea where she stands on it. She went along with Anya and Marcus's wedding without complaint, but Baird doesn't want to make a fool of himself and drop a load of money on a ring that Sam doesn't even want.
Anya sighs. "This is really something you and Sam should discuss."
"I'm just testing the waters," Baird says defensively. "You're her best friend; you would know if she's vehemently opposed to the idea."
"Honestly, I think she's ambivalent about marriage. She's never fixated on it like some people do, but she's never declared that she'll never get married either. For what it's worth, I don't think she's against the institution of marriage." Anya takes a sip from her glass, regarding him intently. "I take it this is something you want?"
Baird feels his cheeks warm, and it isn't the alcohol. He has to bite back the automatic denial that's on its way out. (He's still working at not balking at his feelings, even after two years.) "Yeah. I, uh, would like that, probably."
Anya smiles at him then and Baird feels his blush deepen. "I'm happy for you."
Is it possible to die of embarrassment? Baird feels like he might find out. "Um, thanks. So you don't think –?"
"I think you should talk to Sam," Anya says firmly. "You want to know a proposal is coming but be surprised by the timing. Don't blindside her with a proposal without talking about it first."
"Right, great, can do. Now please for the love of god, can we talk about anything else?"
Anya smirks, and gracefully changes the subject to her recent promotion.
Later that evening, Baird is sitting at home on the couch with the TV turned down low, waiting for Sam to get back from her kickboxing class. He's nervous, unable to focus on the news that he's trying to watch to take his mind off things. He's also annoyed at himself for feeling anxious – regardless of what Sam has to say about his proposal, it shouldn't change things between them. They'll still love each other; all it would mean is that Sam isn't a fan of the institution of marriage. It's not like they'd have to break up or anything. They'd just continue living together in unwedded bliss.
And yet, his leg still bounces up and down as he checks the time. She should be home any minute now.
As if on cue, the front door to the apartment swings open and Sam breezes inside. She's breathing heavily – she likes to take the stairs, even though she just came from a workout, like an insane person – and drops her gym bag as she kicks off her shoes.
"Hi," Baird says, twisting on the couch to face her.
"Hi yourself," Sam pants, grinning. She shrugs off her jacket and throws it on top of her gym bag. She's like a tornado when she gets home, leaving clothes scattered in her wake, but at least she comes back to pick everything up later.
Sam makes a beeline for the bedroom while Baird tries unsuccessfully to grab her attention. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" he calls after her.
"I need to shower first," she calls from inside the bedroom – presumably on her way to the ensuite. "Give me five minutes."
Baird huffs but doesn't argue. He doesn't blame Sam for not wanting to take her life into her hands and use the grimy showers at the gym. (Plus, after he found out about the crush one of the instructors had on her, he'd much prefer she come back home to get naked.) He turns his attention back to the TV and starts channel surfing for appropriate background noise. Eventually he settles on a re-run of a police procedural comedy, and waits.
It's not like this is the first big conversation about their future that they've had or anything. A couple weeks after they hooked up at Marcus and Anya's wedding, Baird told Sam about the vasectomy he'd had in his early twenties. He'd never wanted kids, never made a secret of it, but he wanted to make sure they were on the same page – and they were. (Sam had never struck him as the maternal type, but he was glad for the confirmation.) And then just under a year ago Sam brought up the possibility of getting a place together. Both of their leases were coming up and while they spent enough time at each other's homes, neither one really worked if they wanted to live together permanently. It had terrified Baird a little bit, moving in together, but at the same time he knew that it was something he wanted. He figured that would be the last big life event they'd navigate together, until a couple months ago when he started getting the urge to propose.
After a few minutes Baird hears the shower turn off and his pulse skyrockets all over again. Jesus Christ, get a grip. It's not like he's actually proposing to her tonight, he's just… proposing a proposal. He rubs a hand over his face, willing himself to chill out. Sam pads out of the bedroom a few moments later, wearing a pair of his boxers and one of his sweaters, her hair wet and messy from where she's towel-dried it, and the sight makes Baird's heart drop into his stomach. While the honeymoon phase of "it's not dark out if we haven't fucked" is definitely over, there are still moments throughout the week when Sam will do something innocuous – like wear his clothes around the apartment – that gets Baird unreasonably turned on. The only thing stopping him from following her into the kitchen where she's making herself a protein shake and crowding her up against the counter is the gravity of the conversation he wants to have.
Eventually Sam makes her way to the living room and plops onto the couch next to Baird, kicking her feet up on the coffee table.
"Oh, I love this episode!" She grabs the remote from Baird's limp grasp and turns the volume up. "So, what did you want to talk about?" she asks, and then takes a drink of her shake.
"Well…" he begins, and already his voice has gone up an octave, "how would you react if I asked you to marry me?"
Sam chokes on her drink. Once she's recovered from coughing, she whips her head to stare at Baird. "Are you serious right now?"
"Yes?" he says, mildly affronted that she thinks he might be joking about this. "Do you really think I'd ask just for shits and giggles?"
"No, no!" She seems sheepish, at least, which Baird takes as a good sign. "It's just… you've never mentioned it before. Marriage. Being something you'd be interested in."
"Well, neither have you."
"Yeah, because you never seemed like the marrying type!"
"Apparently I am!" For you, he adds silently.
"Apparently!" And Sam's smiling at him, open and happy.
Something warm unfurls underneath Baird's ribs. "So that's a yes, then?"
"Is this a proposal?" Sam teases, sliding closer to him on the couch.
He rolls his eyes. "Please. You'd know if it was. No, I'm just asking you if you want me to ask you to marry me."
"Awfully convoluted of you."
"I trust you to keep up," he says, and smirks.
But the smirk slips off his face when Sam throws a leg over his lap to straddle him. She runs her fingers through Baird's hair and he can't help but to swallow thickly. The scent of her bodywash, minty and spicy, fills his nostrils.
"I think you're the one who should focus on keeping up," she says, pulling his head back slightly.
Baird doesn't even bother trying to come up with a witty retort. He closes his eyes and savours the feeling of Sam's smile against his lips as she kisses him.
Now that he knows a proposal is on the table, Baird can do what he does best: plan.
He's got some ideas how he's going to ask – and surely that should be the easy part now that he knows Sam's going to say yes – so the next biggest thing he has to deal with is the ring. Sam sends him some ideas and he gets the message pretty quickly that she's not a fan of diamonds. Which, fine. Baird doesn't really care about the stone; it's not like he's the one who has to wear it for the rest of his life. What she seems to like is something called moss agate, which means Baird's going to have to put in a custom order and hope that what he pays for is what he actually gets.
He places the order the same day he books dinner reservations a month out at the Segarra, which unfortunately takes care of all of all the planning. Now he just gets to stress until he can actually pop the question. Wonderful.
Cole comes with him when Baird has to go to the jeweller to pick up the engagement ring. It's not exactly a secret at this point that Baird's going to propose. Baird assumed as soon as he told Anya that Marcus, being her husband and all, would no doubt know later that night. (He's not mad about it or anything; he just knows that when one half of a couple finds something out, it's basically like you're telling both of them.) Baird didn't want Cole to feel out of the loop, and let's be honest, there was no way he was going to keep something this big from his best friend.
It's sort of relieving, having all the people who matter to him already know about the impending proposal. He doesn't have to be cagey with anyone, or worry about letting something slip and giving up the game. This is probably the most low-key proposal in the history of proposals, which suits Baird just fine.
After Baird gives the ring a once-over, he pays the cashier and picks up the tiny little bag containing the ring. When he turns around to leave, he sees Cole perusing a display of engagement rings, very focused. Baird goes to stand beside him, and when Cole doesn't notice, elbows him gently in the ribs.
"Looking for something for your girlfriend?" Baird asks, keeping his tone light just in case he's off the mark.
Cole grins. "Just gettin' some ideas. We're not quite there yet." He straightens and claps Baird on the shoulder. "So? Everything good?"
"Yeah, we're good."
They exit the store and Cole suggests heading to the mall's food court to grab a bite. Baird shrugs in non-committal agreement and follows his friend. He told Sam that he and Cole were having a guys' day anyway, and even if he hadn't needed that excuse to throw her off the scent, it's not like she'd be twiddling her thumbs waiting for him to get home. They're both pretty independent, which Baird appreciates.
They grab their food – a burger for Cole and Chinese for Baird – and head to a table. Baird places the tiny bag in the middle of the table, still a little paranoid to let it out of his sight. It's not like he bankrupted himself on it or anything, but he's certainly in no mood to drop that kind of money again anytime soon.
Baird's barely had two mouthfuls of his noodles before Cole hits him with a question out of nowhere: "So, are you gonna tell your folks?"
Baird finishes chewing. He supposes he shouldn't be all that surprised that Cole asked. Cole knows his family history better than anyone, even Sam; he must have guessed that Baird's been going back and forth on this one.
"Honestly?" Baird says. "No idea. We haven't actually talked since I enlisted. Still send me a card on my birthday, though." And cheques that Baird never cashes.
"Do they even know that you've been dating Sam for two years?"
Baird shrugs. "Dunno. I wouldn't put it past them to have hired someone to check up on me. Anyway, I certainly didn't tell them shit."
Cole grabs a couple fries and chews thoughtfully. He doesn't look like he's judging Baird, which isn't surprising. Despite Cole's loving relationship with his own mother, he's never been the kind of guy to insist that you owe your blood family something, no matter how shitty they treated you. Besides, even if Baird is loath to admit it, his real family – the people who really matter to him – already know about him and Sam.
"You talked to Sam's momma yet?" Cole asks instead.
That actually brings Baird up short. "Uh, no? Should I?"
Cole gives him a flat look. "Uh, yeah. Not like you gotta ask for permission or anything, but you might want to give her a head's up."
"I kind of thought we'd do that after the fact."
"Might be more polite to let her know what you're planning."
"I'll take that under advisement, thanks."
"And, as for your folks, I'm not gonna tell you what you should do. Not my place, and at the end of the day, you're the only one who knows what the right call is. But you should probably –"
"Let me guess: talk to Sam?" Baird rolls his eyes.
Cole isn't deterred. "There's a reason they say communication is the key to a good relationship."
"We've been dating for two years, man. I think I've got it."
"Not saying you don't, just that there's always room for improvement."
If it was anybody else, Baird would be offended. But he and Cole go way back, have seen each other at their best and worse, know each other's strengths and weaknesses. Relationships and feelings have never come easily for Baird, and Cole would have had to be in a coma to miss that. Plus, Cole cares about Sam too, independently of her relationship to Baird, so it makes sense that he'd be a bit of a mother hen.
"Once I'm married, it'll be nice to nag you about your relationships for once," Baird snarks.
Cole just grins. "Speaking of, when are you gonna pop the question?"
Baird's heart stumbles a bit as the familiar anxiety returns. "I booked a hotel and dinner reservations for next weekend. She's probably not going to be surprised exactly, but whatever."
"The surprise part is overrated, if you ask me," Cole says. "Supposed to be special, not shocking."
When Baird sits in his car later, his thumb hovering over Sheraya Byrne's name on his phone, he feels like he might vomit.
He doesn't get where this nervousness is coming from. It's not like this is the first time he's telling someone his intention to marry Sam. All their friends already know; Sam knows, for Christ's sake. He shouldn't be this nervous about telling her mother. Besides, he and Sheraya have always been fine with each other. He probably has a better relationship with her than he has with his own mother, and isn't that just pathetic.
Fuck it, he thinks, and hits her name.
The second ring doesn't even finish before Sam's mom picks up the phone.
"Hi Sheraya, it's Damon," he says, only wincing slightly at using his first name. Sam's mother had bullied him into using it with her after their first meeting, a couple months after he and Sam started dating. Sheraya couldn't understand why Baird preferred to go by his last name, and was even more bemused that her daughter seemed fine with it. But Sheraya had been nice, warm, maybe a little overbearing, and so Baird relented.
"Hello, Damon. How are things?"
"Great, yeah, awesome, things are great, everything's great." He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to stop babbling. "So, uh. The reason I'm calling. Is, um. Well..."
"Have you and Samantha had a fight?" Sheraya sounds genuinely upset.
"No! No, no, no, we're good. Better than good, we're – well, actually, I'm –" Oh my god, get to the point! "– I'm going to ask Sam to marry me."
There's a brief pause, and all sorts of unpleasant thoughts flood Baird's brain. Maybe Sheraya was just pretending to like him this whole time and she's actually horrified at the prospect of him marrying her daughter. Maybe Sam has secretly been airing her (presumably many) grievances about him to her mom and doesn't actually want to marry him. Maybe—
"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Sheraya exclaims in his ear. "I was beginning to think you'd never ask! When's the date?"
Baird's mouth hangs open. He hasn't considered anything beyond the proposal itself; he'd forgotten that once she said yes, there's a whole wedding to plan.
Frigging crap.
Baird informs Sam of their weekend plans the morning of the day they're due to check into the hotel and have dinner.
"It's black tie, so wear a nice dress, yeah?" he says as Sam digs out her small travel suitcase to start packing.
Baird's bag is already packed under the bed, the ring box stuffed in a pair of socks and tucked into one of the side pockets. He's not expecting Sam to go searching for it or anything, but he wants to keep it safe and hidden away until he needs it later this evening.
"Should I paint my nails?" Sam asks, grinning.
Baird frowns; Sam's never really been one for nail polish before, even on special occasions. "Uh, why?"
She sighs and shakes her head. "For a genius, you can be really thick sometimes."
Baird's still confused, but there's a small smile still on Sam's lips, so he decides she can't really be mad at him. He's sure he'll get it eventually.
They check in to their hotel room later that evening, giving themselves just enough time to get changed and make themselves look like they belong in a restaurant like the Segarra. Baird has plenty of experience; when he was younger, his parents dined out exclusively at places like this. If the dress code didn't require a suit jacket, it wasn't classy enough for his parents. They never ate at the Segarra, though – Baird wouldn't have picked this restaurant if that were the case. A restaurant attached to a hotel was never to be tolerated, no matter its reputation.
Shit, he really needs to stop thinking about his parents. He is not going to feel guilty about not telling them. They forfeited their right to know about his life a long time ago.
While Sam gets ready in the bathroom, Baird attempts for the third time to tie his tie around his neck. He's wrinkling the sleeves of his dress shirt, which shouldn't really matter because he's going to wear a jacket anyway, and getting more and more frustrated by the minute. Finally, he has to admit to himself that, despite his best efforts, he's nervous as fuck.
Jesus Christ, get a grip! he thinks to himself as he viciously tugs the tie knot into place. I thought we were done with the pointless freaking out, seriously.
The ring box is a weight in his pocket. He can feel one of the corners poking into his thigh, which isn't helping to ease his anxiety in the slightest – the constant reminder of the monumental question, even if he already knows what the answer will be.
Sam emerges from the bathroom, finally done with her makeup, and Baird's about to make a crack about how long it took her to get ready, just to ease his tension, when he gets a good look at her and his mouth actually falls open. She's wearing a dark green dress that's new to him, floor-length with a deep slit up the side, and thin straps over her shoulders that show off her tattoos. Her hair is done in a low messy updo and her dark eyes look absolutely stunning with the smokey eye she's applied.
Thing is, Sam's beautiful all the time to Baird. She hardly ever wears much makeup and her style is definitely closer to the tough biker chick end of the fashion spectrum, but she could be wearing a paper bag and Baird would still find her attractive. (There was an occasion only a few months back where he stumbled across her in the army base's garage, up to her elbows in grease and oil, working on an old motorcycle, and Baird had been so turned on that he had to drag her into a nearby supply closet.) So it's not like Baird is suddenly seeing her as this beautiful, feminine ideal all of a sudden – he figures it's more that he's grown accustomed to her everyday beauty, and seeing her all dolled up like this is like seeing her again for the first time.
"You look very... wow," he says eloquently.
Sam smiles, clearly pleased with his reaction. "Thanks. I'd say the same to you, but what have you done here?"
She comes to stand in front of him and starts adjusting his tie. Her perfume washes over him and it's his favourite, the one that smells like freshly baked cookies. Christ, he wants to absolutely take her apart.
She fixes his tie and pats his chest gently. "Come on, let's head down." She turns away to open the door, and Baird makes a split-second decision that he barely registers.
He drops to one knee and clears his throat meaningfully.
He'd thought about trying to be clever, conspiring with a waiter to slip the ring into a glass of wine during dinner, but then had a panic about the possibility of Sam swallowing the ring or choking on it. He also knows her well enough to know that she's not a fan of public spectacle and probably wouldn't have appreciated him popping the question in front of a bunch of strangers, even if the answer was a foregone conclusion. So he had narrowed his timing down to either after dinner, when her guard was down, or before – and it appears he's settled on before. There's no way in hell he could deal with this thrumming anxiety all throughout the meal.
Sam glances over her shoulder, a look of confusion on her face for a split second before she catches sight of him. Then she turns completely around, eyes wide, and one of her hands comes up to cover her mouth.
Underneath the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears, Baird feels a small surge of victory that he has managed to surprise her after all.
He fishes the ring box out of his pocket with slightly shaking hands. He hadn't really rehearsed a speech, and what few ideas he had been kicking around scatter from his mind now that he's actually in the moment. Scrambling for words, he blurts out the first coherent sentence he can come up with: "Let's get married."
Sam's eyes are shining and Baird's throat suddenly feels tight. "Yeah," she says. "Let's do that."
If he's beaming like an idiot, no one is around to make fun of him. He slides the ring onto Sam's finger and then she helps him to his feet. She gazes at the ring, turning her hand to look at it from all angles, and it's then that Baird notices that Sam has painted her nails. He suddenly understands why as she snaps a photo with her phone's camera.
"Very nice," Sam says, still examining the engagement ring.
"Just nice?" Baird asks jokingly.
He half-expects her to play along and tease him, but instead Sam meets his gaze and gives him a sincere smile that makes his heart skip a beat. "It's beautiful."
Baird isn't sure how to answer that, so instead of fumbling with his words, he leans in and kisses her. He means it just to be a quick, thanks-for-agreeing-to-marry-me kiss – they have dinner reservations, after all – but his hands sort of betray him and come up of their own volition to frame Sam's face and pull her closer. Sam doesn't seem to mind; she gets one hand on the back of his neck and the other around his tie, and suddenly any thoughts of a chaste kiss go flying out the window.
He backs up towards the king bed, pulling Sam with him. His calves bump against the mattress sooner than he's expecting and he stumbles. Sam takes advantage of his unsteady feet and tackles him onto the bed.
"How much time do we have?" Sam gasps.
"Ten minutes."
"Quick and dirty it is, then."
"Hang on, let me get set up here."
Sam makes a noise of protest but rolls off of him. Baird scoots further up the sheets until his back is against the headboard and supported by the pillows. He knows exactly what he wants to do and has just enough time to do it.
"Come here," he says, patting the spot next to him on the mattress.
Sam obliges and settles beside him, grinning when Baird takes full advantage of the slit in her dress to tug her underwear down her thighs. She begins to slide her left hand under the waistband of Baird's pants, but he catches her wrist and stops her.
"I've got this," he says, and his voice is already rough.
She nods, twisting her arm so instead they're holding hands. He can work with that. With his free hand, he spreads her labia with his fingers, and then begins to run his middle finger teasingly over her opening. He can't help but smirk when he feels Sam shift impatiently against him as he deliberately misses her clit by a few millimetres.
"I thought we were on a tight schedule here," she grumbles.
He's almost a little offended that she thinks they're going to run over time; after two years in the bedroom, Baird knows how to get her off with devastating accuracy. Instead of rising to the bait, he brings their joined hands up to tilt her head so that he can kiss her. It's slow and just a little messy, as Sam's mind is clearly more focused on his hand between her legs, but Baird doesn't mind. He's almost glad her eyes are squeezed shut because he's having a hard time looking away from the engagement ring on her hand.
She said yes. They're going to get married.
Baird suddenly feels a little dizzy at the realization. His fingers falter just enough for Sam to get annoyed and nip at his mouth. Right, Baird supposes that's probably enough with the teasing if they don't want to be late. He slides one finger into her at the same time that he starts to circle her clit with his thumb, and Sam breaks the kiss to make a very attractive strangled noise as her entire body jerks. She abandons all attempts at kissing, twisting so that she's splayed half on top of him, effectively pinning his arm underneath her. No matter; he doesn't need to move his arm much to finish what he's started.
He crooks his finger and is rewarded with another choked-off moan, even if it is somewhat muffled now that her face is pressed into his neck. It's actually probably better that she can't see the insufferably smug expression on his face or she'd definitely try to punch him. He keeps up his movements until her breath is coming in short, hitched gasps, signalling she's so, so close—but sue him, he can't resist one final tease.
"We're gonna be late," he mumbles into her hair, slowing his attentions slightly.
"Then hurry up."
She sounds demanding, but her breath is hot and heavy against his collarbone. He drags his fingers out and over her clit before sinking back inside.
"Oh god," Sam groans. "Damon, please, that's –"
A mean part of Baird has the impulse to prolong this until Sam is really begging for it, but he doesn't want to miss their reservation. While he supposes room service is always an option, he did go through all this trouble and it would be a shame to let their table go to someone on the waitlist. Besides, he imagines there will be plenty of time for rounds two, three and four after dessert. So he repeats the dragging motion, this time sliding two fingers back in, and can't help but grin even as Sam crushes his other hand in her grip as she comes.
He wipes his hand on the bedsheets, absolutely brimming with satisfaction, as Sam pushes herself up on her elbows and lets out a long, slow exhale.
"Was that also nice?" Baird asks, doing his best not to preen.
Sam chuckles a little breathlessly. "That's one word for it." She takes a look at him, still fully clothed and making no moves to change that. "You aren't feeling a little short-changed?"
"We gotta get moving," he says, getting to his feet to go clean up. "Besides, I'm sure you'll get me back later."
Sam practically leers at him, and even if he did just get her off with his hand, the hungry look in her eyes still makes his stomach drop. "Oh, you can count on that."
They're a couple minutes late for their reservation, which earns them a slightly reproachful look from the host, but they get their table all the same. The restaurant décor is pretty impressive; Baird loses track of how many large oil paintings the host leads them past on the way to their table, and there are multiple display cases of expensive wines which probably cost more than his annual salary. Sam looks perfectly at ease, walking confidently behind the host in her dress and heels, while Baird sort of feels like shrinking in on himself.
It's not like he's living in poverty. He had a nice apartment when he lived alone thanks to his housing allowance, and Sam had seemed pretty happy about the new apartment they got when they moved in together. She grew up with a single mother, has never once complained about their relatively modest living compared to Marcus and Anya's generational wealth and Cole's residual royalties from his thrashball career. Baird had never cared before either. Sure, he grew up accustomed to the upper echelons of society, but he'd never particularly enjoyed it. And after his parents disinherited him, he'd sure as hell never missed any of it.
But seeing Sam in her gorgeous dress, looking fashionable and affluent, Baird can't help but wish that he could give her this all the time, without having to readjust their monthly budget to accommodate for a stupidly expensive night out.
He shakes his head and stuffs the self-pity away. He isn't going to spoil this evening, not when Sam is practically bouncing as she walks, her happiness radiating off of her. Besides, his friends have dragged him through enough emotional growth that he's pretty sure he's just projecting his own insecurities and Sam couldn't give less of a shit about his reduced circumstances.
Their table ends up being tucked away in a dim corner next to the gas fireplace. After the waiter takes their drink orders, Baird opens the menu and starts perusing. He's barely made it through the appetizers before he hears Sam cough lightly in an effort to get his attention.
"What?" he asks, looking up.
Sam has her own menu open, but looks pointedly down at where her left arm is resting on top of the table cloth.
Oh.
Baird reaches with his right arm to take her hand, and feels himself blush when Sam smiles softly and goes back to the menu. He can't help but rub his thumb across her knuckles, savouring every time he touches the engagement ring. It doesn't take much imagination to remember the noises Sam made while he had his fingers inside her and Baird can't tell if it's the memory of that or the smell of rosemary and garlic emanating from the kitchen that's making his mouth water.
After their waiter takes their orders, Baird settles back in his chair and surveys the room. There are a lot of couples, a few families, and one table crammed full of women on what has to be the first stop of a bachelorette party. Baird frowns slightly; he hopes they aren't planning on getting raucously drunk until the next stop after dinner. He's about to make a catty remark to Sam, but she cuts him off.
"So, not that I'm complaining or anything, but why now?"
His heart thuds. "Why what now?"
Sam rolls her eyes. "Don't be a galah. Why d'you want to get married now?"
"Because I love you?" he says, mildly offended.
"I got that when we moved in together, thanks. I figured we were just going to be common-law. What changed for you?"
Baird could be a bit of a bastard and list off the practical reasons: the financial and legal benefits, having their assets default to each other if something terrible should happen since they're both too cheap to get professional wills done up — stuff like that. But that would be cheating a bit, since he's well aware the practical reasons aren't what swayed him in the end. Practicality would have made more sense if they were going to have kids, or if Baird still thought he might get an inheritance when his parents finally bite it. Neither of those scenarios influenced his decision.
It's not that he wanted a big wedding either, or the signed piece of paper that would somehow prove their intentions toward each other. As pathetic as it might be, he knew two weeks into dating Sam that there was never going to be anyone else for him. And Sam had never given him any reason to worry. Sure, they fight – occasionally their bickering turns into something a little more sinister, cuts a little too deep, but they make up and work shit out as well.
So, the question: why? Why did he suddenly decide to do an about face on his declaration when he was nineteen that he'd never get married? Why, when Sam made it clear she was perfectly content to just live together? Why?
"It's not like I think we need a legal union to prove our commitment or whatever," Baird grumbles. "I just... I want people to know. That you're mine and I'm yours."
A public declaration, to their friends and family and strangers they'll meet on the street. It's not like he's only doing this so that guys will stop hitting on Sam because of a wedding ring (realistically, he knows a ring won't make a difference for a lot of jackasses). He doesn't really know how to explain it, he just knows that he wants. He's no longer content with being her boyfriend or her partner – he wants to be her husband.
Sam seems to get it, though. She gives him a soft smile and nods.
The conversation over dinner – steak for Baird, some sort of creamy risotto for Sam – is much less introspective and sincere, thank Christ. They settle in to their familiar banter and before Baird even knows it, their desserts are being dropped off at their table. He's almost a little sad the night has flown by so fast, but then he remembers what's waiting for him back up in the hotel room and digs in to his crème brûlée with gusto.
It's only after he's nearly finished that he realizes something is wrong.
"Are you feeling okay?" he asks.
"Hmm? Why?"
"Normally you steal, like, half my dessert." Baird's come to expect it every time they go out for dinner, part of their routine that he pretends to find annoying but actually finds secretly endearing.
Sam grins coyly at him. She gets a spoonful of ice cream and puts it in her mouth, and then does a very thorough job of cleaning the spoon with her tongue. Baird doesn't notice himself gaping until his own spoon slips out of his suddenly limp grip and clatters against the plate. He's never been so jealous of cutlery before.
"I'm saving room for later," Sam says, and licks her spoon once more for good measure.
After that, Baird can't get the cheque fast enough.
The door to their hotel room has barely closed behind them before Sam has her hands on Baird's face, her mouth on his, and his back pressed up against the door. The doorknob digs into his lower back but it's a minor annoyance, easily ignored while Sam licks into his mouth and slides a hand into his hair and tugs. Baird just goes with it. He gets his hands on her hips and pulls her pelvis flush with his, and he was already half-turned on all throughout dinner so it doesn't take much before his erection is back in full force.
Sam moves her mouth along his jaw and neck, pausing occasionally to bite and suck, and Baird can't help but quip, "So this is the dessert you really wanted?"
Sam just grins at him, then rolls her hips deliberately. The motion shoots a bolt of pleasure down to Baird's toes and he groans. He doesn't know why he ever teases Sam; it only ever comes back to bite him – most of the time literally.
"You planned everything about tonight," Sam says as she twirls his tie around her fingers. "I think it's only fair that I take care of you now."
"Oh yeah?" He feels his heartbeat speeding up at the prospect. "And how are you gonna do that?"
Sam slowly undoes the tie knot and slips the thin piece of fabric free of his shirt collar. "What do you want me to do?" When Baird stares at her pointedly, she laughs and continues, "I mean specifically."
Her fingers start working on his shirt buttons and Baird suddenly finds it very hard to concentrate. "I, uh."
She pushes his jacket off his shoulders and it makes a soft thump as it hits the floor. Baird should probably be concerned about it wrinkling. "I could use my hands, or you could fuck my mouth. I could get you on your back on the bed and sink down on you, wet and tight."
"Jesus Christ," he says. "That one."
Sam smiles as she loosens his belt. "Good choice. Better get yourself on your back then."
Baird surges forward and kisses her firmly. He loves when she takes charge in the bedroom, throws out dirty talk like she's having a casual conversation, gets him worked up without even trying. Tossing his belt to the side, he follows Sam's instructions and heads for the bed. He sits on the edge and bends down to start untying his shoes, but suddenly Sam is crouching in front of him and pushing his hands away.
"Let me," she says. "You've taken care of everything tonight, let me handle this."
The sincerity in her voice makes Baird's throat go dry. He nods mutely and sits back, watching as Sam gently pulls his shoes and socks off. The sight of her in-between his legs is doing funny things to Baird's chest. He wants to get his hands in her hair and absolutely ruin her updo, pull her up to his mouth and kiss her until she can't see straight, but he also wants to let this play out and see what Sam has planned. As she unzips his fly, she glances up at him and he doesn't even try to school his expression into something a little less embarrassing.
He's about to say something sickeningly romantic, but Sam beats him to it: "Are you sure you don't want to see your cock in my mouth?" she asks sweetly.
Baird startles out a laugh at the same time he feels a clench in his balls. "We can start like that, but I want to finish with you on top of me."
Sam beams at him. "Then trousers off, soldier. As quick as you like."
Don't need to tell me twice. He stands up just long enough to shove his pants and underwear down his legs and kick them off, then shrugs off his unbuttoned shirt. Completely naked and extremely ready, he sits back down and tries not to look too eager as Sam positions herself on her knees. She's probably done this hundreds of times but each time still fills Baird with a thrill of anticipation.
Sam doesn't break eye contact as she slowly takes his cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around the tip. A groan rumbles out of his chest as she swallows down more of his length. It's all wet velvet heat, and the world goes bright and sharp-edged as everything outside of Sam's mouth fades away. His hips start thrusting slowly of their own violation, which makes Sam bring up one of her arms to pin him down and control the pace herself. He watches as her nose brushes up against the coarse thatch of his pubic hair and then she honest-to-god nuzzles almost reverently at it, her lips stretched wide around him.
"God, your fucking pretty mouth..." Baird mumbles.
Sam hums with pleasure, and it reverberates throughout his entire body. He briefly reconsiders whether he does want to come like this, her sucking his cock like she could do it all night, but he forces himself to see the bigger picture, to remember what it feels like to be buried balls-deep inside of her, how much he likes it when she rides him. Sam's making it really difficult to focus though, with the things she's doing with her tongue. He's always loved her tongue. It's when she takes him as deep as she can, letting him fuck her throat for a few beautiful moments, that he feels the muscles in his thighs start to tense and he knows he's in trouble.
"Sam," he gasps, patting at her shoulder, but she's still holding him down. "Sam, Samsamsamsam, I'm gonna –"
She pulls off with an obscene wet noise at the same time as she wraps a hand around the base of his cock and squeezes. "Don't worry, I've got you."
It takes all of Baird's self-control to stop himself from thrusting into her grip and finishing right then and there. He fists the sheets and takes a deep breath in through his nose, trying to regain some control over his—anything. It's a talent of hers, bringing him just to the edge and then pulling him back. Sometimes he lets her do it again and again until he can barely remember his own name, but he doesn't have the patience for that tonight.
"You," he finally manages to wheeze, "are a menace sometimes."
Sam blinks at him innocently. "You said you didn't want to come in my mouth."
He shudders as his dick twitches in her grip. "Stop that."
"Stop what?"
"You know exactly what. Can I fuck you sometime tonight?"
Sam lets him go and gets to her feet. "I told you, darling. Whatever you want."
If she hadn't just driven him half-crazy, Baird would have half a mind to turn the tables and make her the one desperate and begging. "I want," he grits out, "for you to stop talking and get on top of me."
"Then get on your back," Sam says, gesturing to the bed. "You're the one holding this up."
Baird rolls his eyes but swings his legs up on the mattress. He shuffles a bit so he's positioned closer to the middle of the bed, and then imitates Sam's gesture, albeit more impatiently. She just laughs at him, bends down to pull her thong down her legs, then crawls onto the bed to join him. Baird thinks about griping that she's still in her dress but then she sits down on his abs, bracketing his body with her thighs, and the complaint dies in his throat when she reaches back to find his dick and stroke it. He shivers under her touch.
"There's one thing I forgot to mention earlier," she says as she gives his cock another long, slow pull.
"Oh – fuck – yeah? And what's that?"
"I'm not changing my name."
"Wasn't expecting you to." And then he arches his back as Sam gently pulls her hand away. "You're killing me here."
She smiles down at him. "Ask nicely and maybe I'll stop teasing."
"I hate you," he groans, writhing a little bit underneath her. "So much hatred in my heart."
She folds herself down to kiss his jaw. "Say please."
He could continue to be petulant and refuse but he can feel her own arousal, slick and cool on his stomach, and he honestly thinks he might have an aneurism if he drags this out any longer. "Frigging please, then."
He means to sound annoyed, but there's a little too much real desperation in his tone. Either way, it seems to satisfy Sam. She lifts off his lap and pulls her dress out of the way to line them up. Baird's cock is rock-hard and leaking and he has to clench his jaw to stop himself from making some truly embarrassing noises when Sam hovers over top of him and pushes the head of his dick into her. He almost lets his head fall back and rest on the mattress but he doesn't want to miss cataloguing the expressions that run across Sam's face as she sinks all the way down onto his cock.
"Shit," he breathes once her weight is settled back down on his pelvis.
"Is this what you wanted?" she asks smugly.
"Not quite."
He uses his abs to pull himself into enough of a sitting position so he can tug Sam's dress straps off her shoulders. The fabric pools around her waist and Sam gets with the program pretty quickly, unhooking her bra and tossing it aside. Her breasts come tumbling forward and Baird's mouth waters.
"Fuck," he says without really thinking, "I love your tits."
"Oh good," Sam responds dryly, but he can see the blush high on her cheekbones. "That's definitely something I was worried about."
He bucks upwards, just to make her gasp, and isn't disappointed. "You gonna talk all night?"
"Such a bastard," she says, but it's with tender appreciation.
And then she starts to move her hips. There's no in-and-out friction in this position, just bodies rising and falling together, moving in that rhythm that's almost as familiar as breathing. Baird reaches out to palm one of Sam's breasts, running his thumb over his nipple and revelling in her shiver. He can't really control the pace from on his back, but that's just fine with him. Sam is confident and focused above him, adjusting her position every so often so that he must hit that sweet spot inside with each thrust, but he knows her – knows this – well enough to be able to tell that she's drawing this out, moving deliberately slow, making him work for it, making him ache for it.
"God, Sam –" he moans, trying to speed her up.
She plants her hands on his shoulders and holds him down. "I don't want you to come until after I do. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?"
Baird's heart seems to trip over itself in his chest. She's already got him so riled up that he doesn't know if he could if he wanted to, but he finds himself promising all the same. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."
He slides his hand off her breast and pushes her dress out of the way, hoping Sam isn't going to object to him helping things along. He presses a finger against her clit, just for some payback, and can't help but grin when she swears.
"Oh fuck, oh Jesus-fucking-Christ fuck, Jesus yes –"
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?" he jokes, even though he's holding on for dear life himself.
Sam gasps and shuts her eyes as her thighs squeeze against him, and then she's clenching as she comes, spasming around him, and Baird really is about to die with the sheer effort it takes to stop himself from following her straight off that cliff. It's his favourite feeling, the way she is immediately after her orgasm, boneless and pliant as he fucks up into her a few more times, absolutely wild and desperate now as she feels even wetter around him. Sam leans forward, letting him thrust even deeper, and rests her forehead against his, their ragged breath mingling together as he finally lets go.
When the twitching stops, Baird's eyes refocus. Sam's draped over him like a blanket and he can feel her heart hammering away against his chest. He skims his fingertips up and down her spine, grinning when she sighs contentedly into his neck. The sound makes Baird's heart swell like he's the frigging Grinch. Too soon, Sam reaches down to unjoin their bodies and slides off of him. But she stays close, a warm presence against his side as she places her left hand on his chest and scratches him lightly with her nails.
"You know what this means," Baird says as he taps the ring on her finger.
"Hmm, what's that?"
"You're my ex-girlfriend now."
"Oh, piss off," Sam moans, burying her face in one of the pillows. "You're the worst."
"You so love it."
"Keep telling yourself that." Sam rolls onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. "I should probably shower and take my face off before I make a mess of the sheets."
"I think we already took care of that."
"And here I thought you'd make some lewd comment about joining me."
The look she gives him though implies she would very much like him to join her.
Baird wakes up the next morning with a smug feeling of contentment that had settled deep into his bones while he slept.
He isn't the biggest fan of hotel beds – despite the obscene price tag for the night, the pillows are still shit – but it's hard to complain when Sam is curled next to him, looking gorgeous and well-fucked. The sight of her is almost enough to convince Baird to settle back under the covers and drift back to unconsciousness, but then Sam shifts slightly and the sheets on her shoulder slip down to reveal her collarbone, and Baird really can't help himself.
He dips down to press his mouth to the hollow at the base of her throat. Sam makes a sleepy sort of sigh, slowly coming awake as Baird runs his tongue along her skin. He doesn't need to look up to know when she's fully awake – that's made obvious when her hands slide into his hair, fingers rubbing a gentle pattern against his skull.
It's slow and lazy, not really leading anywhere, and Baird is perfectly fine with that. He moves from her collarbone to her shoulders, tracing the lines of her tattoos with his tongue, and then up to her neck and jaw. Planting one last kiss on the corner of her mouth, Baird pulls back to look at her.
There's a bit of smudged mascara around her eyes that she didn't quite manage to clean off last night – they were a bit preoccupied in the shower – and there are still imprints from the pillow on her face. She's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Good morning, ex-girlfriend," he says with a shit-eating grin.
"Good morning, my handsome fiancé."
Annoyingly, Baird's face heats up. Sam definitely notices; she reaches out and palms his jaw as a small smile appears on her lips. And then she says the last words he ever expected to hear from her.
"I think we should tell your parents."
Author's Note: Welcome to the continuing saga of me not being able to leave well enough alone! This feels slightly ridiculous in that I just wrote a 46k word fic about why these two idiots didn't get married in the canon, but sue me, I wanted to write some proposal fluff, and then angst, and then smut. And I've just decided that I'm the target audience of my own fanfic, and if other people like it too, then that's just a bonus :]