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durrtydawg · 4 months

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A Brief Encounter

{Sam Drake x F!Reader Smut}

You’d agreed not to give each other gifts this year, but after a rather crass Secret Santa gift from Sam at his brother’s Christmas party, it’d be rude not to return the favour. So, when he subtly beckons you to meet him into his brother’s airing cupboard, you’re all too happy to accept the invitation.

a/n: this isn't the best, and christmas is pretty much done and dusted, but i'm a bit low and it helped to write this, so I hope you enjoyyy!!

Word Count: 5.3k

WARNINGS: 18+, unprotected p in v, oral (f&m), friends with benefits type beat, erring on the 'too much' side of pining, but that's how i roll so sorry if that's not your jam. I have NOT proof read this fully, so there are bound to be mistakes but I am OVER it. Enjoy, lovelies x

Curiosity and anticipation mingle as you slip into the cramped space, closing the door as slowly and as discreetly as possible. You down the remainder of your amaretto and coke, placing the glass beside Sam as you wince at the unmixed alcohol that coats your tongue.

The moment the latch clicks, the same smirk he’d given you from across the room mere minutes ago returns as he swallows a mouthful of beer. "Fancy meeting you here," he quips, his voice low and provocative, the red tinsel draped over his shoulders offsetting a warm glow over his face. You don’t want to take him seriously.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” You scoff, leaning against the dryer as you’re enveloped by the smell of detergent and clean linen. “Crappy wrapping, tacky gift. I should’ve known you were my Secret Santa the moment it was handed over.”

“Alright, I can’t excuse the wrapping, but, I’ll have you know that these,” He removes a hand from the counter, pulling the offending garment from where it’s poking out of your skirt's pocket, catching you off guard and eliciting a quiet yelp from you as he slingshots the material against your forearm.

“Ow!” You attempt to smack his hand, but his reflexes are quick, and he swipes it out of reach just in time, placing a finger over your lips.

“Keep your squawking down.” He warns with a slightly sardonic half-smile, shaking his head towards the door. “These were not cheap. I don’t scrimp on my favourite girl.” He holds them up to the small lamp on the shelf behind him and you blush a little. “Plus, I just know it’s gonna look fantastic on you.” He shrugs, smug, and satisfied.

You roll your eyes, smirking as you adjust your volume. "Really, though, Samuel? ‘Ho ho ho’? A thong? Real smooth.”

His response accompanies a smug grin. "Well, I had to get you something that matches your…” He holds his beer just shy of his lips as he mulls over his thoughts for a second, “You.”

You snort in response, folding your arms as your brows raise, the two of you locking metaphorical, and very flirtatiously charged horns. “Oh! Well, in that case, we’ll have to get you a matching pair!”

He chuckles into his beer bottle, taking a swig before placing it beside him. He goads you with his look- a soft furrow of his brows that says ‘elaborate’.

“Dragging me into your brother’s airing cupboard in the middle of his impeccably planned Christmas party? Hardly the behaviour of someone who isn’t a… ‘ho ho ho’ themselves.” You feel yourself stifle a giggle- what a stupid conversation.

Ah, who gives a shit. You’re both tipsy, and you both know what’s about to happen.

Sam licks the remnants of his beer off of his lips, pushing himself away from the counter with an amused grin. His smug smile, a silent agreement, sets the stage for what both of you have been dancing around all night. The atmosphere becomes charged, filled with unspoken needs that have lingered in stolen glances and exchanged banter amongst a crowd of drunken acquaintances and giddy friends.

“You must be sorely mistaken, gorgeous.” He starts as his hands brace themselves onto the dryer, gently caging you in. “I wanted to help out my little brother by… folding towels. You know- keep him in the wife’s good books.”

In the intimate, shrunken space of the airing cupboard, the atmosphere thickens as his joke hangs between Sam and you, a veil of playfulness concealing the underlying, and oh so mouth-watering tension that’s coarsening your skin with goosebumps.

“Folding towels. That’s what we’re calling it now?” You grin, though your voice takes on a slightly lower tone as he leans over you. God, he smells fantastic.

The slight wrinkle in his navy t-shirt is a telltale sign that he’s obviously pulled it straight from the dryer and thrown it on as he left his apartment; but that damn jacket. Recently washed, yes, but never rid of that tinge of cigarette smoke that’s practically woven its way into the denim by now; a little aftershave spritzed over it as to not cause offence to those that despise his poor habit, accompanied by… him; A gentle amber muskiness diluted by the subtle red fruit scent that’s interwoven itself into him during his winter period of reluctant domesticity.

“Shame you’ve not got these on now, ya know.” He takes another look at the thong before abandoning it on the top of the washer, re-assuming his position over you. “Red’s definitely your colour. Always has been.”

His eyes make a show of their journey up and down your frame, and much to your own chagrin, you feel your face heat up even more. You should be used to this by now. Your little arrangement has been going on for almost a year. Yet every time, he’s got you blushing like a high school kid with a crush on their teacher.

Sam grins, shoulders jolting with a chuckle as he watches the redness spread across your cheeks.

“Aw. See? Adorable.”

“Stop it.” You chide, head turning to the side as you try to hide the consistent blush bleeding across your face. As if his ego needs to be given any more fuel.

“Stop what?” He smirks, knowing full-well what you mean. You frown. “Ohhh.” He over exaggerates, grinning wide as his head flops sideways in search of your face. “Making you blush? Doesn’t take much, does it?”

“No. I’m not gonna stop.” Sam's smug smile lingers, a subtle spark in his eyes made visible by the warm glow of the lamp. The air crackles with anticipation as he leans in, his lips brushing yours with a teasing tenderness that makes your hairs stand on end. His eyes are sly, and of course seductive, provoking you to lean in and close the gap. He’s offering the illusion of a situation where you get to take charge.

But he’s done this before, and things never go that way.

Not that you mind, of course.

Each passing second adds fuel to the simmering fire as you feel his thumbs grace your wrists at either side of you. You hold steady, your eyes narrowing towards his in a sort of stand off. You’re not going to cave first.

Though… it’s becoming more and more of a challenge as he leans further into you, your back pressed hard against the edge of the dryer as he imposes fully on your personal space. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

His head dips down, and you feel light stubble scratch against your jaw as he laughs softly, yet there’s still an undeniable smugness to it that makes your hands go clammy. “I intend to keep that blush of yours nice an’ vibrant for the foreseeable, sweetheart.”

And just like that, you’re butter in his hands. Melted butter, mind you- it’s fucking boiling in here.

You mutter a quiet “fuck sake” in a poor attempt at saving face, but as his lips press against the spot just beneath your ear, you know things are about to progress quickly- just like they always do when the two of you are alone. A few more pecks down your neck, and you breathe in; your nipples rub against your bra, and you exhale shakily as his teeth come into play. Sam removes his hands from your wrists, respectively taking a hold of your waist and your hair, keeping you pressed against him as he reddens your neck, bit by bit, and- God- the sight of him still wearing that jacket is making you feel like you’re in the depths of a furnace. He’s not even breaking a sweat. Bastard.

You find your hands weaving underneath the sherpa, clawing at his dark tee ’til you reach his shoulders. You tuck your hands underneath, and as if telepathy exists, he shunts the jacket off, along with the tinsel, lips still trailing a series of small bruises along your neck.

They fall to the floor, buttons clack-clattering against the washer behind him- dangerously loud whilst whatever song is playing outside seems to be in the midst of a quiet bridge- and you both break apart to stare at the door, wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

After a few butterfly-inducing seconds, a new song starts and someone whoops loudly- you’re safe.

Sam looks back at you with a relieved smile. It’s too innocent and uncharacteristic, so you push him off of the diving board, straight into the deep end; fingers tugging him down to your level by the scalp, using his slight moment of surprise to shove him back into the washer as your lips find his.

Sam's hands trace a path of yearning along your back; they dive under your tacky ‘tinsel tits’ sweater in search of skin, and as his calloused, scarred hands meet the smooth softness of your back, he hums quietly into you, as if he’s checked something off of a to-do list. You take it upon yourself to tick off another, and your free hand reaches down to give him a teasing squeeze through his jeans.

You both smirk in tandem, but as you one-handedly pull out his t-shirt’s French-Tuck- his lazy attempt at sprucing himself up- and your dexterous fingers unhook his belt buckle in one fell swoop, his smirk falters slightly.

Smugness now replaced by an urgent need, he pulls you tighter against him, and the air becomes charged with the electricity of your concealed connection as you unbutton his jeans. Your hand snakes past the zipper, thumb testing the waters with a teasing stroke over the fabric of his boxers as you push your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of nicotine that’s been drowned in alcohol, Nathan’s experimental lebkuchen, and a stick of cheap gum, and as your hand wraps around him completely, you cannot get enough.

Sam fights against your tongue with his own, brows scrunching every so often as you slowly pump his cock in your palm. Shutting him up is always pleasant, and always rare, so you savour every second, watching as a flush of his own begins to make an appearance across his cheeks. Two can play at that game, you think to yourself, your core seizing in anticipation.

A wandering hand squeezes at your ass under your skirt, and as you roll your thumb over his tip, you pull your lips from his, making sure to take in the sight of his growing arousal. You smile knowingly, your other hand freeing his hair so your thumb can swipe away saliva from his lips. You give him a gentle peck, made teasing by the smirk that accompanies it before you pull away from him and crouch slightly.

Pushing up his t-shirt a little, your smirk deepens as you take in the quick rise and fall of his stomach as he breathes fast in expectancy. You kiss him; a soft, open-mouthed peck over each scar, tongue rolling across the hair trailing along his belly, down lower, and lower, fingers pulling aside the waistband of his jeans.

Sam’s hands find purchase on the edge of the washing machine, eyes transfixed on you as you expose him, jeans pulled down just enough to give you access, but still modest enough for any hasty getaway that may be required.

You lower yourself fully to your knees, and the temperature is too much now. You pull off your sweater, placing it gently aside as you twist your hair into a makeshift pony, throwing it over a shoulder. He’s well-groomed. It’s almost as if he knew this was going to happen.

“Don’t be too quiet.” You look up at him. “I love hearing my pretty boy lose his composure.” You smile innocently, taking him in your hand again.

“Shut ya mouth. Calling’ me shit like that.” He laughs in response. The way his cheeks take on a soft pink hue sets you aflame; it’s evidence that his annoyance his feigned. He likes being called ‘shit like that’.

You giggle quietly, tongue licking a stripe up from his balls to his tip, before you let spit roll over your lower lip and onto him as Sam looks down at you with a neediness he’s only ever let you see. You move painfully slowly, lips parting enough to pull his head into your mouth, hands finding the outside of his thighs. He’s tense with anticipation, and your hands squeeze, before your throat envelopes his cock as far as you can take him.

Cheeks hollowed, you slowly retract, making him hiss as you gently graze your bottom teeth against his frenulum, before you retract completely.

“Do that again.” He breathes, knuckles pale.

“Ask nicely.” You grin, opening your mouth a little, hovering just in front of him.

“Christ.” He mutters, unable to wipe away his smile as he shakes his head, eyes closed. “Do that again, please.”

“Good boy.”

“Will you stop callin’ me th-ah-at, fuck!” He cuts himself off as you repeat the action, this time drawing a bead of salty-sweetness from him. You hum in satisfaction, feeling your own slick between your thighs as his hand instinctively grabs a hold of your hair.

As the next minute progresses, you hear Sam’s breathing gradually grow slightly more erratic, his hand unsteadily pushing your hair out of your face as the pace builds. Every now and then you flick your eyes upwards, relishing in the way he swallows in want, hips twitching occasionally as you involve your teeth- his breathy little pants make you want to keep this up forever, but you crave more.

You move particularly deep, and he bucks up; you feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag, eyes beginning to water instantly. You slide him out of your mouth as you take in air, and whilst it takes a whole lot of willpower for him not to push himself back into your throat, he instead tucks himself away and comes down to your level with an apology and a chuckle, cupping your jaw as you pull yourself together.

“Hate it when you do that.”

“It’s a good thing I did,” He breathes, “Don’t think this would’ve lasted as long as I’d want it to if you kept going.”

You laugh whilst Sam’s eyes follow the trickle of drool slowly rolling down your chin. He’s suddenly in a world of his own, barely registering what you’re saying before his tongue gathers the spit off of your skin, pushing it back into your mouth, your back hitting against the cool metal of the dryer as he kisses you; stubble grazes almost painfully against your face, but you don’t give a shit. Sam takes a rushed pause to rest his forehead against yours as he looks down at your chest; heaving, ripe for the picking.

You can only squeak as he grabs hold of you, hoisting you to your feet before propping you back up onto the top of the dryer. You almost fall back from the haste of it all, but with his hands on your lower back, you’re relatively stable again.

You groan as his hands grab your breasts, kneading them with a ferocity that sends your pulse skyrocketing. His eyes flit to yours, and he gives you an warning grin before his hands snake behind you and unhook your bra. You gasp, mildly irritated that he’d expose you so thoughtlessly whilst you’d taken every care to preserve him from any embarrassment that could occur from an innocent party-goer accidentally infiltrating the unlocked airing cupboard.

“These are magnificent.” He preens, and you roll your eyes with a scoff.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen them before.”

“Been a while. God.”

“Did you just lick your lips? What are you, fourteen?”

“Look, doll, you know me. I’m a simple guy. I see a good pair’a tits, and I start to salivate. Now shut up.”

You huff in amused shock, but as Sam’s tongue goes for your nipple, you force yourself to swallow down a small gasp. A lick turns into a suck, which turns into a bite, and you have to cover your mouth to stop yourself from yelping out in pained pleasure as his teeth apply pressure to the sensitive spot, tugging as he looks up at you deviously. He lets go, and you let out a sharp breath, glaring at him.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” You chastise, panting a little as he pinches your neglected nipple, the roughness of his thumb and forefinger making you squeeze your thighs together in response to the action.

He gives you a toothy grin, pupils blown out; eyes darkened by impertinence as he chooses not to respond. God, he drives you mad.

As Sam takes a moment to look at you again, his smugness gives way to an unseated hunger, his lips briefly seeking yours again with a precision born of familiarity. He smooths his hands up your legs, pulling his lips away, eyes flitting between each one as he squeezes your thighs.

And all of a sudden, your heart is palpitating hard. You’re soaked- that much is certain, but you’re also slightly afraid of the concept of him stripping you completely bare without so much as a lock from keeping you from being walked in on. Perhaps you should’ve thought this through. Perhaps you shouldn’t be-

“Sam!” You whisper-yell as the ripping of fabric snatches you from your thoughts.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He replies, completely unbothered by your reaction, the new hole torn into your tights right between your thighs giving him an almost completely unrestricted view he’s been waiting for. “Jesus Christ. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re wet through.”

“I will kick you.”

“Nah, you won’t.” He shoots a complacent grin up at you, before hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the dryer with a quick yank that has your eyes widen momentarily.

You sigh shakily, bracing yourself on your forearms as he comes back to antagonise your chest.

Your gaze fixes on Sam, who looks up at you with a teasing smile as he pushes your thigh aside, deft tongue swirling and flicking around your nipple in a way that makes your lips part with quickened breaths; the signalling of your growing want couldn’t possibly get any clearer. The playful glint in his eyes mirrors the deriding movement of his lips, and for a moment, the laughter, music, and clinking glasses outside the intimate space you’re sharing muffles into the background.

His fingers, warm and skilful, navigate the contours of your skin through your thin tights with a gentle caress. The intention is clear—a slow, tantalising exploration that builds mutual desire with every inch of you that’s covered, and as he finally strokes a thumb over your covered core, sending a soft mewl spilling from your lips, a switch flips in his brain. Playfulness starts to deepen into a smouldering gaze, reminding you of his undeniable hunger beneath the friendship on the surface. As he pulls aside the material and starts to coat his fingers in your slick, it’s all too clear that his movements are deliberate, each touch purposeful, as if he's savouring the anticipation as much as the final destination.

He wants you. But he wants you to need him more. Sam wasn’t lying when he said you’re his ‘favourite girl’.— he adores you, and he wants to give you everything he can through his body that he can’t bring himself to give you through caged in commitment. As a result, he’s not afraid to take his time- time to pretend that this is more than the ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement you’d forged way back when. He doesn’t give anyone else this kind of time. He doesn’t want to.

You're caught between the thrill of the unexpected and the familiarity of Sam's touch. Every stroke and every red blotch left on your skin feels like a shared rebellion against the constraints of everything else life has to offer. He bites you again, and you buck your hips in response, brows furrowing as a quiet hiss pushes through your teeth. Your nails claw against the edge of the dryer, and as he effortlessly slides two fingers knuckle deep inside you, your grip falters slightly.

The hand on your waist tightens, and one of yours goes for the back of his head. You tangle your fingers into his hair, head rolling back as you try to stop yourself from moaning. He hooks his fingers, rubbing back and forth against your sweet spot in quick, repetitive motions, whilst his thumb flicks against your clit. Your breathing grows heavier, and you struggle to keep quiet as he releases your nipple from his mouth with a gentle ‘pop’.

The fire in your lower belly is burning stronger with each passing second, and you clasp your lip between your teeth as he adds a third digit— the stretch forcing a groan bubbling out of your throat as he laughs softly at the sight of you leaking onto the back of his hand. This time you’re unable to keep it down.

You’re sopping, and so damn tight at this angle— Sam feels his cock twitch with need as he feels you contract around him, the sensation of your nails scratching gently against his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair giving him goosebumps of his own. He loves the way you sound; the wetness, your unsteady breathing, and your quiet, raspy little moans— even more so knowing that you’re trying and failing to restrain yourself.

“Ohh— shit.” you gasp as his thumb speeds up, stimulating your clit to the point where your breath gets caught in your throat. You’re not far from the edge, but he’s not ready for that yet. Neither are you.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you, and you exhale, a desperate look in your eyes as the emptiness hurts.

He presses his forehead to yours, gently nudging his nose against yours in a display of affection that forces a shy smile from you. His eyes flit to your lips, and back up to your eyes, and just before you take it as a silent invitation to kiss him, his hand is brought up from between your thighs. Your cheeks heat up at the sight of his glistening fingers as he hovers them just in front of your chin.

“Open up.” He whispers, lips tugged into a cocky half-smile. You’re more than happy to oblige, and as your lips part, he slides two slick-covered fingers into your mouth, your tongue lapping up the sticky sweetness as he fixates on your mouth for a moment.

Without so much as looking back up at you, he mutters “My turn.”

As you continue to taste yourself on his skin, Sam gets to his knees, free hand holding a thigh to one side before it moves aside the soaked material of your underwear again.

“So so pretty.” He mutters, voice gruff, eyes ravenous as he takes in the sight of you; glistening, ready. All for him. All because of him. He leans in, hand keeping you exposed as he pulls his fingers from between your lips, instead choosing to keep you wide open for him. His tongue scoops you up, from the bottom of your folds up to your swollen clit, and you shudder, fingers instinctively tightening in his hair as you look down at him.

Sam goes again, this time sucking the sensitive bud in order to draw out a noise from you. You hum; high pitched and needy, leaning your coccyx against the dryer as you spread your legs open a little further.

He groans into you, fingers digging into the fullness of your thighs as his tongue moves; slow and deliberate, as if every stroke, every lick, every bite is a carefully composed note in a well-practiced symphony. The taste of you spurs him on, and through the feeling of your thighs involuntarily tightening around his head as he begins to devour you like you’re the first meal he’s eaten in days, and the slight tug you give his hair every few seconds, a blend of mischief and longing and lust takes him over.

You’re a mess, flustered, muffled moans and curses spilling into your hand, your bare chest heaving as he becomes more unrestrained; he can’t get close enough to you, his nose rubs against your clit while his tongue snakes inside you, pretty, dark eyes flicking up to see the effect that he’s having on you every so often.

You could do this all day. So could he. But you’re approaching your peak far too quickly, and whilst his tongue feels wonderful, you want more. You want him inside you when you finish— you want him to feel what he’s done to you in the most intimate way possible.

“Sam?” You rasp, tugging at his hair slightly harder. “F-fuck, Sam, s—stop.” You tug a little harder, and you whimper as you feel his breath fan over you as he reluctantly allows you to pull him away from your sensitive cunt.

He swallows, chest heaving as he takes in air. “You okay?” He asks, brows furrowed, nose, lips, and chin coated in a glistening layer of your arousal. You have to give yourself a moment to take it in. This is far from the first time you’ve seen him like this, but each time you do, you feel yourself fall in deeper. You nod, hand moving to the back of his neck, drawing him into you. Your lips press against his again, and as his tongue dives into your mouth, sharing with you the tangy sweetness he’s obsessed with, you pull his cock into his other hand. Your thumb smooths over the dribble of pre-cum that’s seeping out of him, and you pump him in your hand a few times just to feel how hard he is. He huffs out through his nose as you squeeze him gently, and as you rub him against your dripping pussy, his arms tighten around you.

You line him up, edging yourself forwards just enough for his tip to breach you, and as he swallows down a quiet moan, you peel your mouth from his and get him to look at you. “You know I love you, right?” You breathe, thumb stroking the bridge of his nose as he looks at you with parted lips.

“I know you love me.” He says, just a little louder than a whisper. He pushes into you, a cuss sighed into your neck as he tucks his head beside you. You swallow a moan as he stills, nestled into you as deep as he can, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as he gives you a moment to adjust, and him to embrace.

You laugh, quiet and breathy into the shell of his ear. “I know you do.” You say, pressing a kiss just behind his ear as he drags himself part-way out of you. He rocks himself back into you, hips rolling gently as he begins to build a gentle rhythm. He doesn’t want to come just yet. He wants to savour this. To enjoy this perfect glimpse into the normal life he’s never wanted. He loves you. He loves you so much, but he can’t give you everything you want, so you both settle for stolen moments like these.

He quickens the pace ever so slightly, and as he continues to litter the delicate skin of your neck with deep pink nips and wet speckles your eyes close. You cradle his head in your arms as his thrusts grow a little harsher, and he hums out soft, vulnerable moans that make his closeness to his peak all the more evident.

“So good t’me.” He murmurs into your neck as he slots a hand between you, blindly searching for your clit with shaky fingers.

You cry out into his shoulder as he finds it, and you cling onto him with all of your might as he fucks you with more intensity with each passing second.

He grips onto your lower back as he continues to groan into your neck— he pulls you into him with such intensity that every small bruise developing on your chest is stimulated as your tits are crushed harshly against his t-shirt.

Sam goes deeper, sweeter, and your eyes water as he squeezes your clit almost desperately. You grunt, the coil in your abdomen tightening and tightening with each passing second, eyes squeezing shut as he gives up concentrating on your neck, collapsing into the crook of it altogether.

He breathes heavily, grunting as you bite into his shoulder to suppress a scream as you completely lose yourself. You convulse in his arms, your pussy spasming around his cock as you feel your orgasm crash over you, muffled expletives and Sam’s name spilling mindlessly from you as you feel nothing but white hot pleasure. The coil releases, and you fall limp in his grasp as you begin to milk his own orgasm out of him.

“G—God,” He groans, hand snatched from between you as he braces himself against you. He keeps moving as you feel hot ropes of cum fill you, leaning back just enough to see it dribble out of you and onto him.

He stills, foreheads touching again as you catch your breath. You feel his eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch as his breathing slowly becomes steadier, and the intensity of your respective climaxes dim into a soft afterglow.

You feel a hand stroke against your jaw, and he huffs out a laugh as you smile.

“Hi.” He whispers.

“Hey.” Your responding laugh quickly dissipates into a wince as he slides out of you.

He sniffs, with a smile to mirror your own. “Perhaps I should’ve gotten you a towel instead of that thing.” He shakes his head towards the Secret Santa gift lying abandoned on the washer behind him, and you snort.

“Hmm. I mean you could always use them as a cum rag.”

“Love it when you talk all ladylike.” He jokes. “Christmas isn’t over til New Years, the way I see it, so you’ve got plenty of time to model them for me before they’re allowed to be used for something so…menial.”

You shove him playfully, hopping off of the dryer, legs wobbling slightly as you get used to being on the ground again. He throws you your bra and sweater, which you throw on as he relocates his jacket.

You rake your fingers through your hair in hopes that it still looks relatively presentable and suitably covers your thoughtfully gifted hickey-patchwork, before you swipe up the thong and walk over to the door.

“Gonna... take a stealth walk to the bathroom.” You clear your throat, smiling as you rest a hand over the handle.

He nods in response, a half, and slightly coy smile on his lips. As you twist the handle, he gets your attention with a quick “Hey”.

You turn, raising an expectant brow. He clears his throat, nodding as if he’s reassuring himself about something.

“You… you know I love ya too, yeah?”

You smile, taking in the slight nervousness in his eyes. “I know you do. Despite these.” You swing the red monstrosity around your finger before bunching it up and shoving it into your skirt pocket. You give him an endearingly sweet wink, opening the door slowly, exposing the room to the bass boost of Nate’s festive playlist and someone’s dreadful karaoke attempt.

“See you out there?”

He chuckles as he watches you check that the coast is clear. God, he adores you.

“See you out there.”

I love him a normal amount.

#sam drake #uncharted #sam drake x reader #samuel drake x reader #samuel drake smut #reeEEHe

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durrtydawg · 7 months

Text

Fructose (Sam Drake x F!Reader)🍓

Summary: A 'normal' life isn't all bad. Especially when it involves a picnic in a secluded part of a nature reserve, gorgeous natural lighting, and plenty of strawberries- they're an aphrodisiac, apparently.

Just a short, sweet (pun unintended), smutty one-shot that I wrote in two hours to procrastinate from anything and everything else I should be doing.

No, I haven't proof-read. Yes, I know you can tell.

Warnings: smut (albeit nothing crazy), 18+ please x

“Where is everyone? All the horrible... screaming kids and their long-suffering parents?”

“C’mon, you know I’m good at weaselling out private spots. You really think I’d put you through that? Or myself, for that matter?”

“Fair.”

“God, I love this weather.” You sigh whimsically, hopping out of the car, closing the door behind you as you bask in the warmth of the late-afternoon. Sam nods, pushing his sunglasses from his forehead down to his eyes. “Sunny, but not too hot. Light breeze-”

“Southwesterly winds, ten miles per hour— you know, I was unaware I was dating a weather girl.”

You raise your brows at his know-it-all grin. “Oh? You’ll also be dating a pro-boxer soon if you’re not careful.” With a smug smile, you make your way to the back of the car, holding the keys between your teeth, opening the trunk as Sam holds up his hands in defence with mouth curled into an amused grin.

“Think fast.” You catch his attention, talking through your teeth as you toss a rolled up blanket in his direction. Removing the keys from your mouth, you lock the car, muttering a ‘let’s go’, with a self-satisfied smile on your face.

Sam catches the blanket with ease, giving you a playful salute with his free hand. “Caught, boss. Lead the way.”

As you amble into the secluded meadow, a sense of tranquillity washes over you. The tall grass dances in the gentle breeze, the sunlight filtering through the leaves of the nearby trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground around you. You had picked this spot for a reason – to help Sam relax and enjoy the simple pleasure of doing absolutely nothing.

You dictate a spot, and he spreads out the chequered blanket, though unfortunately, that aforementioned sense of tranquillity hasn’t quite transferred to Sam. He can't seem to sit still; his leg bouncing slightly as he scans the surroundings. You frown at him, knowing his restless nature all too well. You decide to give him time, instead fishing into the bag to retrieve some of the things you’ve packed.

Once everything is laid out, you settle down on the ground, leaning back on your elbows and soaking in the natural beauty around you. Sam, however, still can't seem to sit still. He fidgets, shifting positions, and tapping his fingers against his knee.

You smirk at his restlessness. "Hey, remember the plan today," you say softly, a playful glint in your eye. "No checking your phone, no fidgeting, no damn smoking. Just us, the field, and a whole lot of relaxation."

You put emphasis on the last word, narrowing your eyes in an accusatory expression.

He looks at you as if you’ve said something ridiculous. “I- I am relaxed.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you get up onto your knees. “Nope. I’ve seen military lieutenants more relaxed than you, Samuel.” You say, hobbling behind him and bracing your hands on his shoulders. “You’re more tense than a damn bomb disposal unit. God, I thought you’d have wanted to actually chill out and enjoy spending some time with me before you ditch me in aid of another piece of old junk.” You say into his ear, digging your fingers into his trapezius as you infiltrate your speech with a lilt of teasing castigation.

“Old junk that pays the bills.” He sighs, turning his neck sideways as if to give you better access to the knots in his shoulders. Your thumb digs into a particularly tense spot, and you watch his nose crinkle as he winces at the ache.

“Loosen your shoulders.” You instruct, raising an authoritative brow towards him, which he sees in the corner of his vision. With a slight eye roll, he makes an effort to do as he’s told, slumping slightly into you as you continue to dig away at the knot. “Good boy.” You joke, feeling him grin in response as you peck his cheek.

As you feel the tension begin to give, a small hum of satisfaction slips out of Sam’s mouth, signalling the knot has dissipated enough for you to pull away. “We’ve got no agenda. Nothing to do. Nowhere to be.” You speak softly, crawling back around to the spot you were sitting in a moment ago. “You, sir, severely need to master the art of mitigating unnecessary stress.” You clasp your hands together before hovering over the selection of goodies you’d prepared. “Let’s start with something to eat.”

He sighs again, this time a genuine and slightly apologetic smile on his lips. He adjusts his sunglasses, before sitting up straight and showing interest in what’s in front of him.

“What’s on the menu, chef?”

You smile at the sight of him physically beginning to relax before you turn to the goods. “So— nothing exciting— a few veggies and some hummus, some of that focaccia I made the other day, a couple of cookies… oh…” You start, biting your lip in an attempt to restrain your excitement, “I stopped off at the farmer’s market on my way to work yesterday, and picked up some of those strawberries you were eyeing up last week.” You lean forwards to pick up the punnet. “Let me tell you, it took every ounce of willpower not to galvanise the lot on my way home. You’re a lucky guy.”

His shoulders jolt as he chuckles, his eyes lingering on you rather than the fruit. “I sure am.” You watch his eyes squint slightly, some sort of thought flashing through his mind. Sam's glance lowers he takes in the spread. “You really went all out, didn't you?"

You nod proudly, shifting until you’re beside him.

“I hope I’ve, uh, not forgotten some sort of… milestone or anything.” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

You shake your head, a small chuckle leaving your lips. “Just wanted to take your mind off of things— to make sure you had no excuse to be restless today. And if that means forcing you into a food coma, so be it.”

Sam leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "Well, I can think of one distraction I wouldn't mind."

You blush slightly, ignoring the familiar warmth spreading through, instead choosing to swat his arm. “Behave yourself."

He laughs at the sight of the warmth spreading over your cheeks, before reaching for a stick of cucumber. “You,” he taps it on the tip of your nose, “are too good to me.”

You laugh, wiping the residue off with the back of your hand as he takes a bite of the cucumber. “Yeah, don’t you forget it, toots.” You respond with a teasing smile, mimicking his accent to the best of your ability before removing the film from the pot of hummus and dipping your own cucumber slice into it.

After watching Sam scarf down at least seventy-five percent of the food without taking so much as a breath, you find yourselves lying side by side on the blanket, fingers interlaced as you gaze up at the sky. The gentle rustling of the grass and the distant hum of wildlife that surrounds you— give or take the odd mosquito you both fight over clapping to death— otherwise creates a peaceful cocoon for just the two of you.

Sam turns his head to look at your fingers as you absentmindedly trace circles over his forearm, a soft smile playing on his lips as you look at the small streaks of clouds dotted above you. “Hate to say it…but you were right.” You raise an eyebrow back at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I needed this. You. Me. A whole lotta’ nothing.”

Feeling a deep sense of contentment, and perhaps a little smugness, you lay your head on his shoulder, humming in agreement. “See? Normalcy. Not all bad.” You get up onto your elbow, twisting for the punnet of strawberries. “You’re so chilled out, in fact, that you forgot-” You pause, biting the tip off of a strawberry before holding it above Sam’s lips, “about these.”

He grins up at you, opening his mouth and biting the rest of the strawberry off of its stem, placing a kiss onto your fingers as he chews. You throw the stem into the grass, before taking one of your own and eating it, sitting up to take in the hues of pink and orange appearing in the horizon; the sun begins to dip beneath it, casting a warm, golden glow over the meadow.

It’s all so peaceful and insanely rare for the two of you to spend so long doing so little together, so you take a moment to embrace the nothingness; The sound of trees rustling in the gentle breeze, the crickets beginning to chirp in the distance, the sound of a camera shutter going off…

“No!” You grunt, turning to Sam as he holds his phone discreetly facing you.

“No, no, no, hold that pose.”

“What- what pose? No! Screw off!” You swat your hand in his direction, trying to grab his phone off of him as he presses the button again. You climb on top of him, snatching his phone out of his hand, straddling his torso as you feverishly swipe for the gallery in order to prevent the photos from ever seeing the light of day. “God, I look awful- don’t-” You squeak out in surprise as Sam uses his size to his advantage, grabbing you by the waist, and pushing you onto your back, making light work of pinning your arms above your head in order to reclaim his phone.

“Absolutely not.” He shakes his head, wrestling his phone out of your hand and shoving it back into the pocket of his jeans as you writhe in protest. You attempt once more to pull your arms from his grip, rolling your eyes with a sigh once it proves futile. He looks down at you, chuckling at the heat rising through your face.

“My girl looks like a painting. I wanted a picture. And… I finally figured out how to focus stuff properly on that damn phone. Do not take that away from me.” He raises a brow as if to chastise you.

“But they were awful!” You whine. “All double chin and celluli-mph!” With a shake of his head, Sam unceremoniously shoves a strawberry into your mouth.

“Mmm. That’s better.” He smirks down at you as you frown and reluctantly begin to chew at the strawberry that’s slightly too big for your mouth. His thumb captures the juice that dribbles its way out of the corner of your lips, and your frown falters a little as he pushes it back into your mouth with a chuckle, effectively silencing you. Much to his amusement, your cheeks redden even more, as his hand gently squeezes them; his other hand effortlessly— irritatingly, rather— keeping your wrists above your head. “Wouldn’t want to pollute such gorgeous surroundings with your whining, now, would we?”

“You got leaves in my mouth.” You grumble through your squished cheeks, unable to hide the small smile growing on your lips as he finally lets go.

“Aww, sweetheart,” he goads with a teasing pout, gently nudging his nose against yours “Want me to get rid of ‘em for you?”

“Shut up.” You laugh, swallowing the remainder of the fruit as he pecks your lips.

He hovers above you, grin softening into a thoughtful smile as his eyes take in every sun kissed freckle on your face. “Thank you.” His hand pulls away from your wrists, removing his sunglasses before coming to rest softly on your jaw.

Your brows furrow.

“For what?”

He closes his eyes for a second, almost as if he doesn’t want to speak. He does, regardless, a slight flush on his face. “For giving me a soft place to land.” He’ll never be fully comfortable with this wishy-washy relationship stuff, but he’s making an effort, and you’ll forever appreciate that.

You smile up at him, your hands coming down to cup his cheeks. “I could turn that into a self-deprecating joke…” you start, but swiftly continue as Sam narrows his eyes at you, “…But I… sense this is the wrong moment for that.”

“Damn right it is.” He says, dipping down once more to kiss you. This time it lingers, eyes closing and thumbs stroking skin as he savours the strawberry-tinged sweetness of your lips.

His teeth pull gently at your lower lip, parting them just enough for his tongue to meet yours as he smirks into the kiss. Your fingers tangle into his hair, tugging lightly in order to keep the gap closed.

One hand kneads at your thigh, and it’s not until he begins to slide it up further that you break the kiss for a moment, holding him just shy of your face.

“We can’t.” You bashfully whisper, lips wet, cheeks hot.

“Why not?” He smirks.

You laugh, looking up at him as if he’s a total idiot. “What if someone sees?”

“No one’s gonna see. There hasn’t been a sign of anyone for over an hour.” He retaliates, continuing to softly knead at your thigh. You bite your lip, eyes anxiously darting around as Sam takes in your expression. His hand shifts up further, magnetising your glare towards him.

“Hey, you say the word, and I’ll stop.” He shrugs above you, thumb stroking at your inner thigh. “But, personally, I don’t see the need.”

You swallow, lips parting to speak, but as his fingertips find the hem of your underwear, any potential words fail you.

“You know,” he speaks low, the whole mood taking a drastic shift, “I’ve also gotta thank you for wearing a dress for once.” He plants a kiss just under your ear, making you shiver. “Not only do you look so, so pretty,” You roll your eyes again as he speaks, biting your lip to dilute your coy smile as his fingers hook around the waistband, “but also, the easy access is really something I could get used to.”

“Christ, you’re awful.” You finally grumble, giving in completely, hurrying to pull him back down to you in a heated kiss as he rolls your underwear down your thighs.

“And you’re already soaked. So, clearly, I'm not that bad.” He says, barely paying your clit any attention as he gathers a little of your slick onto his fingers, before he slides them knuckle deep inside you, in turn, drawing a choked gasp from your throat.

“Jesus- Don’t… hold back or anything.” You say, voice breathless and sarcastic, instantly earning another smirk from Sam.

“I don’t intend to, doll.” He grins, coming back down for another kiss as he curls his fingers, coaxing perfectly against your g-spot. Your soft groan permeates the kiss, your hands drifting down to his belt buckle, making light work of it before you go for the button. “Someone did a quick one-eighty, didn’t they?” Sam chuckles as you reach inside his jeans, beginning to palm him over the remaining layer of fabric keeping him covered.

“Shush.” You murmur, pulling his cock out of his boxers, fully wrapping your fist around him.

“But it’s true.” He chuckles back, burying his face into the crook of your neck as you begin to jerk him off, inhaling the sun cream and perfume concoction that gorgeously complements your natural scent. It drives him insane.

“You give it all this ‘we can’t’ nonsense, but this is what you really want, isn’t it?” He swallows, chuckling to himself again as he places an open-mouthed kiss on your neck. “You want to be fingered in the middle of a public field, where aaanyone could walk by and see me treat you like a filthy little whore, huh?”

His sudden shift in tone has you flush faster than ever, a gargled sound rising from your throat as your hairs stand on end and his thumb brushes against your clit. Your chest rises and falls much more rapidly as he turns more crass, and his cheeky demeanour becomes much more presiding. You’re riling him up just as much as he’s getting to you.

And you did a one-eighty? He’s one to talk.

“Answer me, sweetheart.” He speaks into your ear, teeth gently pulling on your earlobe as your hand squeezes around him harder. He pulls himself up more as if to take the sight of you beneath him in; Sam’s teeth graze against his bottom lip as he sees your breath hitch, the sudden, needy tightening of your fingers in his hair, a silent but obvious plea to further the motions. And he gives you what you want, adding a third digit just to see you squirm. God, how pretty you look all stretched out around him. His smug grin teases you as he jokes about adding one more. About how greedy his girl is.

“C’mon, tell me what you want.” he spurs, cock twitching in your hand in response to your whines and the feeling of your pussy clenching around his fingers.

“This.” You whimper, squeezing him hard for emphasis. “You.”

He could keep dragging this out, tease you a little more, make you beg, but, as much as he hates to admit it, he urgently wants you too. You look so sweet- so appetising- like one of those strawberries- and he has to satiate the need to feel that delicious stretch of your core around him.

So with a grunt, he scoops you up, fingers still working your cunt as he pulls you into his lap. Hand on the small of your back, he ruts the other even faster, drawing out more gasps and moans that you’re not even attempting to keep hushed any more. Dog walkers be damned. This is your fucking meadow.

You can’t help but curse loudly as his thumb assaults your clit, knees trembling either side of his thighs as he keeps you spread open. Your head falls onto his shoulder, hands bracing themselves on his upper arms as your composure is all but failing to remain in place, though before too long, he’s nudging your head upright with his own, wanting to see every facial expression he’s giving you.

“You wanna cum on my fingers or on my cock?” He breathes, missing the stimulation of your hand, secretly wishing for the latter. You’re biting your lip, feeling way too stimulated to form a sentence without making a fool of yourself, so you paw at his wrist- it's enough of a signal that his wish is about to be granted. He gives you a few more thrusts of his fingers before pulling out of you, and you tremble with want, hating the sudden emptiness.

The emptiness, of course, doesn’t last long. He jerks himself a few times, giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before he pulls you forwards, lining himself up and letting you lower yourself onto him. He lets out a long-held breath, groaning a little as he stretches you out and feels you give around him, tight and warm. Your nails dig into his biceps as he bottoms out, your throat tightening as you take him to the hilt.

“Three fingers, and you’re still so damn tight, princess.” He teases, still giving you a moment to adjust. You let out a breathy giggle, feeling the warm evening breeze tickle your hot cheeks as Sam rummages beside the pair of you.

You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as his hand, half-coated in your arousal, brings another strawberry to your lips. You look into his eyes, and he gives you a small nod, watching with fascinated lust as he presses the berry to your parted lips. You open your mouth slightly, just enough for him to push it in, and he can’t help but lick his lips as he watches you take a bite, your tongue lapping up the juice from the strawberry, as well as his fingers, your gentle moans sending vibrations through his forearm as you do so.

"Such a pretty girl." Sam mutters, testing the waters with a gentle thrust upwards. Your eyes flutter shut as he keeps your mouth filled, and you continue to softly lap at and suck every part of the strawberry as he takes the lead again, bouncing you on his dick as you savour the sweetness of the fruit and the tang of your own juices.

You moan loudly as he speeds up, hitting deeper still as you arch your back a little, hips rocking to stimulate your aching clit.

Sam lets out a low chuckle as a dribble of watery-red flows down your chin, leaving a pink stain on the bust of your dress.

He takes the opportunity to grab you by the throat, almost violently pulling you into another kiss as he feels you swallow the strawberry. He groans at the taste of his favourite fruit and his favourite girl, tongue exploring every inch he can reach within your mouth as you grind yourself onto him rougher.

His other hand moves from the small of your back, unable to decide on where to land- a clear sign that he's fast-approaching his peak. He gropes and strokes wherever he can whilst his other hand keeps your mouth firmly against his own, and as you push your upper body harder against him, he pulls you down too, now straddled over him as he lays on his back.

Desperate to feel his skin, your arm snakes under his raglan shirt, absorbing the feeling of every hair, every scar, every bit of soft or firm you can reach, whilst your other reaches between the two of you, sandwiched between your bodies as you find your clit to bring yourself where you want to be even faster.

The two of you can barely fucking breathe, but you don't care. You could pass out-- die, right here, and never would you have felt better.

Sam loosens his grip on your throat, wet, pink-stained lips parting to let out a rare, and fucking beautiful whimper as his arms desperately embrace you, clamping you down on top of him as you rock your hips back and forth like your life depends on it.

When he fills you, you almost cry; the feeling of him twitching, spilling everything into you, and just knowing you're the one that's brought him to that ecstacy makes you feel more adoration for Sam than you could ever express with words.

And then you cum. Laying flat on top of him as a rush of heat floods you in your entirety, the spasming of your core making him hiss in overstimulation but equal adoration as his fingers dig into the clammy nape of your neck.

You finally still, bar the shared heavy breathing, making your bodies rise and fall in tandem.

Seconds pass. Minutes, even, and you're dangerously close to drifting off.

"Holy shit."

You laugh, spent.

"That's all you've got to say to your... what was it? Your 'little whore'?"

He rasps out a chuckle, too fucked out to even hide the fact that he's blushing profusely- something only you can make him do. Then a nod, continuing to stroke at the baby hairs that rest curled and matted on the back of your neck.

"Those strawberries?" He clears his throat, dismantling the rasp in his voice, "We're doing that again."

You lift your head, just enough to kiss the tip of his nose. "I'll have to remember not to wear white next time."

"Who said you've got to wear anything at all?" He says, shrugging.

You laugh into his chest as you feel him slide out of you, your hand still tracing shapes on his stomach underneath his shirt.

"You are… just…"

For a moment, there's nothing else. You raise your head again, looking up at him to gauge where the sentence is going, your thumb stroking the bridge of his nose that you love so much.

Another moment, and you know he's struggling to find his words, as he always does when he's trying to express his feelings. But the way he's looking at you tells you everything. So, you gently kiss him, non-verbally letting him know he doesn't need to speak. That you've got him.

And as he watches the golden hour sun bathe your skin, he's captivated by you. He really couldn't ask for any more.

#sam drake #samuel drake #sam drake x reader #uncharted #samuel drake smut #samuel drake x reader

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