He was at her door, soaking wet due to the thunderstorm, holding a bottle of Jack and sporting a wounded hero's gaze. There's no way she could ever turn him away, though she did pretend to ponder whether to let him in. She watched in silence as he walked inside and passed her, his right arm bent in a protective position over his rib region, as if he was protecting it against other objects. He was injured, not seriously, but enough to make him betray discomfort.

24 hours before this, they were on a mission. It all went smooth like butter, until Sam insisted to change their plan and stay in the area well over their planned time period to eliminate a high value target who supposedly should've arrived in the area due to some intel Sam had haphazardly picked up. The HVT was a bad son of a bitch, famous for capturing foreign journalists and executing them in front of the camera. So Sam, naturally, wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. Long story short, Sam overstayed his welcome and considering that they didn't have sufficient intel on the arriving patrols, he ended up captured by the extremists. To add insult to injury, the target was nowhere to be seen. Naturally, they wanted to know what was up with an American, decked out in state of the art operations gear, creeping around their little clubhouse. When they found about a dozen of their dead friends littered across the base, decorated with deep karambit wounds in all the right places, they were even more eager to chat with Sam.

Thankfully, these guys had a serious lack of imagination and their idea of torture wasn't exactly elaborate – Sam was restrained and used as a punching bag, in between yelling sessions in Arabic. Sam responded only in silence and a few insults in the same language. Naturally, Briggs and a handful of operators were dispatched to Sam's aide. Grim made a point of insisting the use of lethal force. She didn't let it show, but she was nervous. The idiots didn't take out Sam's subdermal radio and she could hear well enough the punches connecting against his body. With every second she was more and more seething, partially at Sam for taking an idiotic risk by diverting from the plan. Grim decided that if the worst happens she'd drone the damn place herself. She had the utmost trust in Sam and knew that he had been in stickier situations, but that didn't lessen the cold pit in her stomach.

Interestingly enough, Sam's patience ran out faster than his cavalry managed to arrive. After a good half an hour of trying and waiting for the right opportunity, the weak spot in Sam's chair finally gave in. The sharper bits of the same chair ended up in his most eager torturer's throat. Sam pulled out the pistol tucked behind the man's waist band and made quick work of the room. Only a few minutes later before Sam had decided how to exit the building, Briggs and team busted in. At least Sam was in one piece – of course, said piece was red, black and blue with bruised ribs, but alas, in one piece. Grim was angry at him for making a decision that almost cost him his life. No yelling was involved, but her gaze at him made him wince more than the bruises and lacerations his torturers gave him. The doctors on board patched him up as best as they could, reminded him to severely limit any physical activities, lest he would tear any stitches – a warning Sam would surely heed – and the crew touched down back in DC.

But now, here he was at her apartment, acting almost like at home to her chagrin, despite having been there only once. Her apartment was elegant but somewhat empty, something that screamed „I sleep here for maybe 8 nights per month". Sam headed to her living room, leaving rainy footprints. He took off his jacket, visibly wincing, and sat down on her sofa, arms outstretched. It was quite obvious what he was here for. And truth to be told, Grim wanted it as well, more than she dared to admit. She couldn't stop recalling how his hands felt on her skin. She thought about her way his beard scratched so deliciously over her body while he was teasing her. She wanted to feel his voice in her ear, not the usual professional one, but the dark tone with filthy intent he reserved for her.

Grim wanted to ask him the million dollar question „what are we doing?". This had transitioned from a drunken one night stand to several repeated diversions. Instead she asked him the easier one: „What are you doing here?"

He let off a bitter smile. „You usually ask that only after letting a man inside your house?" She glared at him, unamused. He looked at her, eyes somewhat unfocused. „I had a few drinks. Didn't want to go home, figured I'd stop by. Bottle's for you." He nodded towards the Jack Daniels on the table.

„Thanks for the gift. But what makes you think I'm in the mood for talking right now?"

„If I wanted to talk, I'd have stayed at the bar." Sam decided to skip the pleasantries.

„You know, whatever else you're looking for, you could've found there as well."

„Are you asking me to leave?" Sam leaned forward, confident, an imposing presence that made the sofa he was sitting on smaller than it was.

„You're in any shape for what you're offering?" Grim tried to peck at his confidence. But he was unwavering.

„Why don't you come here and find out?" There it was, the tone she missed.

Grim didn't blink. „Take your shirt off." Sam smirked and obliged, though not managing to hide his wincing as the disappearance of his shirt revealed what mess they had made of their last mission.

She looked him up and down. He had leaned back and spread his arms across the couch, as if he was taking pride of his injuries. „One thing." Grim said. „I'm in charge." Sam blinked, staying silent, in agreement.

She walked up to him, making sure to take her time, and straddled him. His body was covered in black and blue bruises, bandaged in some areas. Grim lightly trailed her fingers over his collarbone, through the coarse dark hair that covered his chest, stopping at his right side ribs that sported a particularly nasty gash that had a bandage over it with had a dark red spot. She trailed her fingers over it and felt Sam's otherwise solid breathing hitch, but he said nothing. She put slight pressure on the area. Sam drew in a sharper breath than usual but didn't take his eyes off her and waited. She pressed harder. Sam made a silent grunt but his hands were still stretched across the sofa. Grim shifted her gaze from his torso to his eyes. They were dark with a mix of desire and challenge. He challenged her to take control, over him, over everything. His mouth was half open. Grim wanted to sink her teeth in his lower lip.

Instead she shifted her attention to another dark purple bruise on his abdomen. Grim quietly registered her appreciation for his sculpted body, but didn't give Sam the satisfaction. She pressed the purple bruise harder than she had the one growled louder but didn't move. Something dark unlocked in her. She pressed another fresh bruise on his ribs and Sam let off a sound that couldn't be mistaken for anything else than enjoyment. She suddenly registered the growing wetness between her legs. He enjoyed her controlling what he feels, being in charge of his body. She had never seen Sam willingly be controlled by anyone. Being in charge of the 4th Echelon was at the utmost importance for him. But now here he was, splayed over a sofa in front of her, clearly getting off at her touching him and causing him pain whenever, however she wanted. His thickly muscled body, which made her look tiny in comparison, fully in her control.

„Enjoying this?" Sam's low voice suddenly jolted her back to reality.

Grim raked her nails over a bruise on his side and enjoyed the sharp hitch of his breathing. She let her eyes trail way down to the obvious bulge in his pants and then back up to his face, letting off a smirk.

„I've barely touched you and you're already rock hard, who's enjoying this more?"

He didn't respond. Sam's green eyes, full of desire, drifted towards her mouth. It was as he was asking permission, though she didn't grant one to him, not yet. Instead, she moved her hand to his throat and let the fingers linger there. Sam said nothing but his gaze practically begged her to do something.

She lightly squeezed and his green eyes darkened with lust.

Grim finally trailed down her hand to his crotch and squeezed him. The man was borderline in pain. She finally took him out, long, thick and throbbing and ran a soft stroke over him. Sam's silent facade fell apart quickly and he started breathing heavily. She picked up the pace, not too fast, but enough so that he would feel warranted. A few droplets of sweat ran down his forehead. He smelled like whiskey, rain and an ever slight hint of cologne. It was intoxicating.

„Grim…" He whispered, barely audible. She wasn't going to let him get away with it. „Huh, Sam? You were saying?"

„Dont…please don't stop…"

Grim paused, of course. Wouldn't want to let him get off this easily. She took her hand off him, licked it and ran over his body. Sam groaned, possibly called her a bitch under his breath, but he was smart enough not to repeat it louder. After a minute Grim picked up the tempo and felt him throb hard under her touch. He was leaking all over her fingers. She fought the urge to run her tongue over him. All in due time.

„Grim..for fuck's sake, please…"

„You're gonna come all over my arm like a good boy?"

„I'll do whatever you want."

She started to stroke him faster, enjoying the way his muscles tightened, his breathing quickened, his eyes closed. He started to buck into her hand. But he was holding back from making a sound.

„I want to hear you, Sam."

He looked at her through half lidded and hazy eyes and exhaled through his nose. Grim stopped abruptly and squeezed him, once. He was slick, trying to move against her hand and she could feel his need for release. Sam tried his best to focus his gaze, looked at her with pleading eyes which then drifted down to her mouth and he leaned in to capture her lips with his, only to have her lean away. She lightly slapped him with her left hand.

„Did I tell you to do that?" She asked in a commanding tone, even though her heart was pounding and she felt herself becoming wetter by every second. Grim could feel him throb in her hand and if it was possible he'd have gotten even harder. So the big bad commander enjoys getting slapped around. Huh.

Sam licked his lips and silently groaned. Grim took a moment to enjoy having this newfound power and dragged her nail over his length, stroking a certain spot he had a particular weakness for. Now that he reacted to, bucking sharply into her hand, letting out a gasp and mouthing various versions of „fuck". The bandages across his chest were soaked with sweat.

Grim wasn't done with teasing him though. „Oh, you liked that?"

His eyes shot daggers at her, but didn't say anything out of concern that she might get even worse. Grim looked at her commander, rapidly breathing and on the verge of losing his mind, and decided to take pity and give him his release. She stroked fast and hard, enjoying his rhythmic grunts. The typical scowl was missing from Sam's face, replaced with something primal but a lot more human.

She didn't take her eyes off his face when he had his release, all wet and warm over both himself and her, and Grim couldn't help but smirk at his numerous uses of the word „fuck", showing just how damn good this felt for him.

He was coming off a high, catching his breath. Grim lifted her hand to her mouth and licked it clean, while he watched absolutely enthralled and for a second she thought hes' gonna take her then and there. Sam looked at the scene before him, coming to his senses. „What a fucking mess."

Grim shot him a devilish look and bent down to lick him clean. She ran her toungue over a particularly bad bruise and heard him whisper curses. She imagined Sam would be ready and willing to go again soon – after all her own need was becoming bothersome.

„Jesus fucking Christ, I needed that."

She fought the urge to laugh abruptly and reached for a cigarette pack on the nearest table. „Hand me one of those?" Grim lit one and placed it between his lips.

„So…you're good?" Sam asked after a moment of not so uncomfortable silence. Grim shrugged in response.

„I'm gonna finish the cigarette and then get over here." Sam exhaled smoke. „Won't let you accuse me of being selfish."

Grim couldn't suppress a smirk. „Promises, promises. Are you even good to move? Not gonna do all the work."

„Still have a tongue, don't I?" Grim didn't let it show, but she slightly shuddered, a warm sensation right where she wanted him.

„I obliged your little control game."

„MY little control game? Sorry, Sam, but from I was sitting, it seemed like you were happily getting off on being tuned like a guitar. One little slap and you can't control yourself, is that all it takes?"

Sam wasn't the man to get embarrassed. „If I couldn't control myself, you'd be face down on the couch right now. Are you gonna come over here or not?"

Grim obliged, growing restless herself. Sam sank into the couch, giving her room to kneel over him. He was staring at her intently, like a man on a mission. Suddenly, he grabbed her and held her over his face, powerful grip digging into her thighs. Grim felt his hot breath over her. He gave her a hint of a smirk.

„Oh, you were enjoying yourself."

„Shut up, Fisher."

Sam grunted in response and seconds later she felt his tongue on her. That set a spark all throughout her body. He pulled her closer to his face. Grim heard him hum in approval. „Fuck, you taste good." He loved doing this. Grim bit her lip and tangled her fingers in his hair, pressing him closer and closer, straddling his head with her thighs. „Don't you fucking stop." She whispered. Not necessary – he would rather suffocate than pull away.

She rode his face, getting closer and closer to release, and it didn't take long: he was good, really good. Grim promised herself that she's not gonna say his name, but it ended up rolling off her tongue in between moans and whispers, but Sam was so preoccupied in between her legs that he didn't even notice.

After the final waves were over, she pushed herself off him. Sam's face was a beautiful mess, he was breathing rapidly, his face and beard wet, eyes glassy and hair disheveled from her using it as a handle.

He licked his lips, obviously pleased with himself as she recovered. „Good enough not to kick me out in the rain?"

This time she didn't suppress her smile. „We'll still see about that."

He laughed abruptly and leaned over to crack open the bottle he brought.

Sam stayed the night, but neither of them let themselves show any semblance of sentimentality other than his hand running absentmindedly over her body or her finger tracing the outline of his bicep while they were catching their breaths. They never discussed what exactly was going on between them.

She woke up when the sun was coming up and stretched, feeling the exhaustion from the vigorous sex that went on until the late hours of night. She silently admired how, despite being obviously injured, he didn't let up the pace or show any pain, like he felt he can't give anything less than his best performance. Part of Sam's obsessive nature. He was completely out, bare chest rising and falling rhythmically. He almost looked like a normal person for a moment. Vulnerable. Hell, she could've sworn even heard him snore one time. But as the light of the rising sun fell on him, the bruises and scars gave it away. Big and small, scattered across his chest, arms and as she now knew, thighs and back as well. They gave away plenty of humanity, despite his seemingly machine-like hard body and a perpetual scowl. Now he looked relaxed, tired yet peaceful. And handsome in a different way from his usual masculine Eastwood squint. Grim resisted the urge to run his hand down his bearded cheek. She couldn't allow it – those types of things belonged to people who could let themselves have this level of intimacy.

Grim opened a window, lit a cigarette and enjoyed the way the sunrise distracted her from her thoughts.