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[personal profile] and_i_waited
[what a glorious mess we’ve made]
1771 words

notes: for [personal profile] poisontaster's birthday.

Summer comes hot and sticky the year she graduates. She minimizes the accomplishment to the point even she believes it’s really nothing; it’s a piece of paper saying she stuck it out through high school that doesn’t really mean anything to her. It’ll get lost in the shuffle or end up buried in the trunk under dirty weapons, or left behind in some bedroom that was never really hers. Sam thinks she’s crazy not to be applying to colleges and trying to do something with her life, but she and Sam have never really agreed on what their lives are, or should be.

Their father takes her out to dinner at some steakhouse but is careful not to make eye contact with her or say congratulations. He does tell her that he’s proud of her and that more than makes up for anything he didn’t or couldn’t say before. He lets her order what she wants and Sam’s a solid, warm presence beside her, happier for her than she probably is for herself. Their father doesn’t order too much in the way of food for himself, but he knocks back a few beers, even lets her sip off of them without much in the way of reprimand.

Sam is jittery beside her, constantly bumping his leg or arm against her, or tapping her foot with his own. After their father pays the bill Sam follows too closely to her across the parking lot, so she gives him a playful shove and their father chuckles, probably a little bit buzzed. He tosses her the car keys and she smiles because he knows how much she loves the car, loves to drive her around, and Sam shakes his head and smiles, never able to understand what she and her father share – just like their father could never understand what she and Sam share.

Dad doesn’t say anything when she stops at a gas station and uses her fake id to buy a 24-pack of beer, and when she drives them home he takes the keys back and says he’s going out for a while. She doesn’t take it to heart; her father is tough, really tough, but she knows that it gets to him, knowing she’s growing up, that she’s really, really not his little girl anymore. She’d only ever heard him say that once, and he was on the phone with Pastor Jim; she felt like a jerk for over a week for listening to a conversation she really had no business hearing.

Sam offered to let her pick a movie, but she opted to play cards instead. Sam suggested strip poker and she laughed, loud and happy, told him she was sick of poker, so it was strip rummy instead. She loses the first three hands on purpose and by the time they’re both down to nothing but their underwear their limbs are heavy with alcohol. She crawls across the living room floor to settle herself on Sam’s lap. She slips her hands up the sides of his neck, into his hair and he shivers. She laughs a little and shakes her head.

“What’s so funny?” he asks her and she laughs again.

“I actually graduated high school,” she says.

“I knew you could do it,” Sam says, hands settling on her hips.

“I didn’t,” she says. She can’t admit to him that she’s a little bit excited now, a little bit proud of herself for doing it, for even bothering to try when most of the time she thought it was a giant waste of time because she’d never do anything to put an education to use.

Sam just looks at her for a pair of minutes, eyes a little unfocused, and touches her face. Sometimes she aches with how much she loves him, aches with how much he loves her, and she can’t bring herself to care if this is wrong, or illegal, or anything else, because to them it’s everything. She leans in and kisses him like she needs him to breathe, deep and slow and dirty, and she swallows a groan from his mouth. She grabs the hem of his undershirt and tugs. “Off,” she mumbles against his lips, and he pulls away long enough to let her pull it over his head. He reaches down between them to pull his dick up against his belly, pulling her with him as he goes down to lie on his back. He pushes down on her hips, grinding her against his dick and gasps, and she loves the way it sounds so she does it again unprompted. Normally, she’d feel stupid dry humping him on the dirty carpet of the living room, but tonight she doesn’t because she’s had too much beer to be self-conscious.

He grunts. “God, Dee, please,” he whispers against her neck, sucking a bruise to the surface that’s going to be ridiculously hard to hide from their father. He slides his hands up her back and unclasps her bra; she lets it fall down her arms and drops it to the side. She’s not afraid to do this here, either, because she knows that their father is going to be gone for hours, if not all night. “Please,” he whispers again.

She slides down, almost off of him and he does something that sounds so much like a whimper she’s going to bust his balls about it for the next month. She pulls at the waistband of his boxers and he lifts up, lets her pull them down his legs, off over his feet. She starts at his breastbone, sucking wet kisses right down the center of his chest, and when she gets to his stomach she feels the muscles jump. She kisses his hip, the inside of his thigh, and looks up through her bangs to see him watching her with heavy eyes. When she takes him in her mouth he trembles, eyes closing and head thudding dully on the carpet. She keeps one hand on his hip and works him with her other hand and her mouth until he’s panting, digging his bare heels into the rug. “Stop,” he gasps, one hand on her head, pulling lightly at her hair. She pulls off feeling drunker than she is, and lets him push at her panties, dropping them on the floor next to them.

She climbs on top of him, pressing her body along the length of his, and kisses him. His hands are on her ass now, grabbing and pulling her down onto his cock so she gasps into his mouth. “God, Sam,” she says, voice hoarse with the want, the need of this. His pace isn’t brutal, but it isn’t slow, and it feels too good to stop. He pushes her up, so she’s sitting, keeping his rhythm.

“Wanna see you,” he says. His hands and fingers are ticklish moving up over her ribs, tender and soft on her breasts. His thumbs brush over her nipples and it sends little shocks down her spine, makes her shiver. He slides his hands back down, one on her hip and one where she needs it, his fingers rubbing hard against her clit. She can feel the tremors start in her legs.

“Sam,” she says, low and needy, watching his face. He presses a little harder, rubbing in tight circles, until she cries out oh god. She’s shaking with it, her legs wrapped tight around Sam as he rolls them over, puts her on her back. He buries his face in her neck, panting wetly against her skin, thrusting hard and fast. She pulls his hair, yanking his head back, and crashing her mouth into his. She kisses him dirty, tongue stabbing into his mouth, teeth gently in his lower lip, and then she watches his face – his eyes scrunched shut, mouth open, a quiet moan escaping his throat. He came so hard his body shook and she could feel his heart beating like a wild thing in his chest, out of rhythm with her own.

She doesn’t realize she closed her eyes until she opens them again, Sam warm and heavy on top of her still, face in her neck. It smells like sweat and spunk and she loves it, loves the way they smell all mixed together, and takes a minute to just breathe – breathe them in, breathe Sam in. She realizes they’re a few feet from where they started, and with that she realizes her back stings; she’ll have rug burn, red and angry, by morning. She runs her fingertips up his back and it’s still a little damp with sweat, so they can’t have been asleep for more than ten minutes or so. She slides her hand up into Sam’s hair and scratches lightly at his scalp.

“Come on, Sammy,” she says softly, “gotta get up.”

He makes a sound that comes out like mmrph and she laughs softly. He moves slowly, pushing himself up, watching her sit up, and reaching for his underwear. She watches him pull on his boxers and then puts her panties back on. She doesn’t bother with her bra, her back starting to burn, and pulls on Sam’s tee instead. She sucks air through her teeth, hissing when the fabric touches her back.

“You ok?” he asks and she looks at him. His hair is messed up and his lips are red and a little puffy from their kissing, but his face is soft, young, and he looks so innocent it almost breaks her heart, because he’s never known innocence and she wishes she could have at least given that to him. She shakes herself out of it and forces a little smile.

“You gave me rug burn,” she answers, “bad.”

“Lemme see,” he says, turning her around and lifting the back of the shirt. It’s his turn to suck air through his teeth. “Ouch,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

She looks over her shoulder at him and grins. “Don’t be. Every time it hurts I’m going to think about you inside of me, on the floor, fucking me like you mean it.”

Sam groans. “Dee,” he whines, pressing the heel of his palm against his dick. “Jesus, why do you do that?”

She smiles, bright and happy, can feel it stretch across her face and heads to her bedroom, Sam not far behind. She lets Sam stay in her bed, knowing that their father won’t be back until midmorning tomorrow, and sets her alarm for six am to make sure they’re not in any compromising positions if their father happens to find his way back earlier.


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February 2010

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