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gxnic · 4 months ago

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Sorbet Kisses

Sam x (fem) Reader | Happy (early) Valentine's Day!

6.7k words (sorry)

In which Sam asks you on a date, brings you sorbet, and y’all get a little tooooo tipsy at the Saloon. This one gets a little smutty, so MDNI!!! ( I MEAN IT.). Sam is needy and tender and perfect (because, of course, he is). Y/N is older than Sam, but I don’t put actual time frames, so you can insert your age and deduct a few months or years (keep it legal).

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

When you finally finish the farm work for the day, it is well into the evening. The warmth of the baby summer sun beams down on your sweaty skin, coaxing a tan and a heat stroke.

At least everything is done.

It was an impressive feat, truly. You managed to clear out all of your old spring crops and plant your summer crops all in a day’s work. You deserved a good shower, a good leg massage, maybe, and some beer at the tavern. You weren’t truly fond of beer, but it was the start of summer, and sometimes, you can deviate from the norm when you’ve worked hard. Surely, that was the only reason you’d end up at the Saloon tonight. Not because the halo-haired Sam had mailed you an invite the evening before, offering to walk you to the Saloon if you “wanted to relax and spend time with some of the townies.”

Sam was…sweet. Despite his pierced-up, bad-boy exterior, you could tell he was kind and good-mannered. It was your first summer in town, and it was evident that you liked to overwork yourself. Everyone knew you needed a break, besides yourself, that is.

But you knew that his invitation was entirely platonic. It had to be. Sam was a bit younger than you and had his whole life stretched out in front of him, there was no reason for him to be romancing a farmer who had already explored the world a bit and had a solid retirement plan…the farm.

He was always kind to you when you ran into each other in the square and even offered to help out on the farm despite his lack of farm knowledge. He claimed “he had quite a bit of free time,” which you knew was a lie because Jodie always made a point to mention how he was always out and about whenever you’d stop by.

Although you felt a little wrong about it, you had a crush on Sam. It was hard not to, honestly. The first time you met him, he was helping Vincent with homework in their living room. You were just making the rounds, trying to introduce yourself to everyone in town.

“No, Vincent,” he chuckled as he grabbed the eraser and erased an answer Vincent had been working on, his little hands in his hair as he sucked his teeth, making a pointed look at Sam. It was so endearing to see them engage. Jodie was in the kitchen when you peeked your head in, catching them.

“Oh, hi,” Sam said as he made his way up from the couch. “Can we help you?”

You introduced yourself and gave Jodie some parsnips, hoping and praying that she would like them (she did). You chatted with Jodie a bit in the kitchen, and as you left, she had Sam walk you out.

When you made it to the porch, he stretched his hand out to you. “I’m Sam, by the way.”

“I know; your mom gave me the rundown. I’m y/n.” You offered him a small smile and shook his hand.

“Y/n.” he lets your name roll off his tongue, trying it out. “Nice. I like it.” His hand still in yours.

“Thanks. Um, your mom volunteered your help on the farm. Just thought I’d let you know.” His handshake slows, and he’s just holding your hand for a few seconds before he comes to and pulls it back, slipping it into his blonde hair right after.

“Oh. Well. I’d love to!” Despite his over-eagerness, you could sense the underlying anxiety.

“That’s okay, really. See you around!” With a quick wave, you were heading to the next house. Sam offered a quiet “see you around” to your walking figure.

Throughout the entire spring season, Sam would pop up randomly in an old t-shirt and worn jeans on your front doorstep, or you’d catch him wandering around the property. He always made his presence known and asked if you needed any help, but you usually waved him away. You wanted to start this farm off by yourself. A way of proving you could do it, but you pocketed his eagerness to help whenever you needed some assistance down the line.

His mom just raised him well. So polite to offer to walk and accompany you. You made a mental note to send her some fresh produce when the harvest was done to thank her. Maybe you’d throw something in there for him, too.

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

The shower you take is long and very, very needed. The amount of dirt you scrubbed off from your body was shocking at the least and abhorrent at best, but it felt good to see it all wash down the drain. It was just another reminder of how much hard work you had put in on the farm today.

You were giddy with nervous butterflies as you slipped on your white eyelet dress and pulled on your farmer boots. This would be your first outing around the other villagers that was a…casual event. Sure, the Flower Festival was nice, but you didn’t really “know” anybody, so you were secluded in the corner most of the time, and the dance was fun but…awkward. You didn’t know the right steps and were positive you looked like an absolute fool. You were grateful to Maru for letting you dance with her since she seemed like the only viable dance partner (although seeing Harvey dejected on the side made you feel a little bad).

Sam approached you afterward and told you that you had done great, but you just hid into your farmer’s hat (one that you proudly won during the egg festival) and made your way back home, offering him a quiet “I have to go.”

The next few days were spent in the mines, far away from contact with anybody.

I just hope it’s not as awkward.

You fiddle with your farmer’s hat a few times. On or off? On or off? You decide to wear it, leaving it on the kitchen counter for easy access when you leave.

Better to bring it just in case I need another quick escape.

Peeking out the window, you realize you’ve gotten ready way too early; the sun hasn’t even set yet.

Now what?

You wander around your room for a bit, fiddle with your radio, and dance around a bit until you hear a gentle knock at the door.

Whatever butterflies you felt before have all multiplied and are now in panic mode.

You rush to turn off the radio and run to the door.

“Hi,” Sam says as you open the door. To your surprise, he’s holding… ice cream?

He is tall and bright in your doorway and has cleaned up quite nicely. He’s wearing a white T-shirt (something you never really see him in) and jeans that, surprisingly, don’t have any holes in them. He’s wearing his signature black Converse, nearly torn to bits those things. Small black and silver piercings adorn his lips, eyes, and ears, and he presses his tongue to the ring on his bottom lip as he waits for your response. Nervous habit, you guess.

“Hi,” You say, giving a small smile despite your quivering lips and thudding heartbeat. “What’s this?” you gesture to the melting pastel-colored liquid dripping down his hand to his forearm.

“Oh!” he takes his free hand and runs it through his blonde locks before taking a lick at the melted ice cream on his wrist. Your eyes make a quick glance at the action, and something in your belly stirs, but you write it off as the butterflies.

Get it together…

“It’s really hot out today, so I thought I’d bring you some sorbet, but…well, it’s really hot, and it’s quite the trip.” He gestures down to his skateboard, leaning on your porch. You can’t tell if it’s the beginning of a sunburn beaming up his neck or blush, but regardless, it’s endearing.

“Well… thanks!” You grab the dripping sorbet cone from his hand, carefully maneuvering it to keep it from spilling onto yourself, you only just got clean. “Wanna come in?” you lick at a sorbet-covered finger before reaching his eyes “and clean up?”

Sam stands on your porch quietly for a few seconds, staring straight into your face. You giggle a little and lick at your hand, now promptly covered in sorbet. “Um, before it melts some more?”

This seems to snap him out of whatever trance he’s in. He clears his throat. “Yeah! I mean, yeah, yeah, that’s probably smart.”

You take a few steps back, careful with the melting cone in your hand, and make room for him to enter your cabin.

“Sorry, it’s kind of a mess. Haven’t really had the time clean.” More licks at your palm.

This is pointless, it’s not even edible at this point.

“That’s okay. You look really pretty, by the way.” Sam is still planted in your entryway, seemingly unsure of where to go from there, his eyes darting everywhere in the room beside you.

His compliment sends a flush of heat throughout your whole body.

“Thank you, Sam. The boots aren’t too ‘farmy’? I mean, with the dress?” You gesture with your hands, moving too fast for the melting confection in your hand. The little dollop of half-frozen sorbet slides dramatically out of the cone.

Before you even realize it, Sam is in your bubble, catching the little ball of sorbet in his hands.

“Ah, I'm sorry!” You say, looking down at Sam’s hands, which are getting stickier by the minute. He just chuckles in response.

“It’s okay, really.” He takes the ball of sorbet ice cream and plops it into his mouth before looking back down at you.

“Ow, shot, diu yew wan sum?” He says with a mouth full of sorbet.

You giggle and shake your head, licking the remainder of the sorbet off your fingers and wrist. If you had looked up at any point in your self-grooming, you would have noticed Sam’s heated eyes on you.

“It is really yummy, though; I like sorbet.” You say before looking back up and catching his eyes. He’s pink all over.

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I like it too.” He offers after a beat and then gestures his sticky hands towards the sink. You nod your head and walk over with him.

“Sorry for finishing it off, that was rude.” He says while taking off his rings, now covered in sorbet.

He wore four of them, one on each of his middle fingers, one on his right pointer finger, and the last on his left thumb. He rinses them quickly before placing them on your counter.

“No, it’s okay, really. I enjoyed what I had.” You watch as he lathers his hands with your homemade kale soap before he places it into your open hands.

You both stand there in silence, washing hands and arms. Despite your best wishes, it’s awkward. An odd, homely awkwardness because it’s your kitchen and your sink and your soap, and yet Sam’s presence makes everything feel brand new. He’s standing so close, you can smell the sweat on his skin, and you hate yourself for being a little obsessed with it.

His arm brushes up against yours as he runs the soapy water over himself.

Despite how simple, the act seems entirely too intimate, and you quickly finish washing your hands and drying them with a dish towel. You needed to get far away from him to quell the butterflies in your gut.

Wow, I definitely like him more than I thought.

Not knowing what to do with yourself, you lean on the backside of your kitchen counter and fiddle with the frayed edges of your farmer hat.

Sam is the first to break the silence.

“I like the boots, actually. I’ve been thinking about getting myself a pair.” He reaches for a kitchen towel and begins drying his arms, turning around and leaning his back on the sink.

He looks so pretty you could faint from this vision of him in your kitchen. His lower abdomen is soaked, and his shirt has become temporarily see-through. You try so hard not to stare, but you can see a thin stretch of a happy train through his shirt, and you can feel your cheeks get hot.

Oh my God.

“I’m sure you’d look nice in them.” You say, your voice shaky.

Sam smirks. “Not better than you.”

You let out a dry laugh because it’s all you can manage and make an exaggerated nervous look at the clock.

7:00 pm.

“We should probably head over, yeah?”

Sam clears his throat. “Yeah, yeah, are you ready?” He folds your kitchen towel and starts putting his rings back on as he walks to the front door.

You fiddle with your hat some more.

Better to be safe than sorry.

You go to put the hat on your head, and Sam chuckles from behind you.

“Isn’t it too late to be wearing a hat? The sun’s setting.” His tone is light and jokey, but it still stings a little.

“Oh, it was, ugh, I don’t know, haha.” You quickly make your way towards the door, leaving the hat on the counter.

“Wait, no, what?” Sam moves closer and places a hand on your arm, stopping you in your steps. You look up into his eyes, and his brows are pursed together in confusion and questioning.

“I was using it for ‘protection.” You throw up fake quotation marks and give a light chuckle, deeply embarrassed.

“I’ll protect you.” Sam blurts out, and before you can even respond, he’s quick to correct himself.

“I won’t let you be alone tonight. That’s what I meant. I’ll stay by your side…if you want.”

“Oh, um, okay.” You cringe internally at the entire situation and make your way outside, passing by Sam’s body in the doorway, making a conscious effort not to look at his face. You don’t think you could survive looking into his eyes with only a few inches between you.

I need to get myself together…quickly.

Sam walks out and walks down your steps as you lock up.

“I was thinking I could teach you how to ride?” Sam says as he pulls up his skateboard from the porch.

As you walk down the steps, you shake your head a little, “Not that’s okay, I'd probably just fall over.”

Sam chuckles, “You think I’d let you fall?”

It’s orange outside now, and there is a cool summer breeze that passes by just as you feel the heat crawl up your body again. It’s almost as if nature is helping you chill out.

“Um, no, I don’t.” You give a little laugh, and Sam reaches his hand out to you, one foot on the board.

“It’ll get us there faster anyways.”

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

In the end, it doesn’t.

His best efforts to stabilize you made you a shaky mess, causing you to tumble off the board and into his arms way too many times to count.

Sam’s heavy hands on your waist as he walked alongside you on the board made you dizzy the whole time. The coldness of his rings bled through the thin fabric of your dress, making his touch ten times more intoxicating.

That and the fact that his grip was so tight, your dress kept riding up. At one point, he even made a point to pull it down himself before running alongside you to distract you from the action with speed (which only made your dress hike up again).

“You know, you're not so bad at this,” he says as you approach the cobblestone, slowing down before firmly plucking you off the skateboard.

You flush again because you are both very aware that you could have stepped off the skateboard without hurting yourself, but whatever.

“Well, I have a pretty good teacher.” You say before tugging your dress down...again.

“Why, thank you,” He laughs before he grabs his skateboard and fiddles with it for a bit before adding, “Maybe I could teach you properly, you know, another time?”

It’s a hazy purple-pink outside now, and yet Sam is still haloed by the gentle fading light of the sun. Somehow, the universe just decides to highlight and pedestal him whenever it can, turning every moment that should be normal into a cinematic scene.

“I’d like that.” You say before turning on your heel and making a slow approach to the Saloon.

It takes a few seconds before you hear the quick shuffle of Sam’s scuffed-up Converse catching up to you, and before you know it, he’s right beside you, arm brushing against yours ever so slightly in your walk.

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

When you finally make it to the Saloon, it isn’t as busy as you’d thought it would be. Sam leaves you near the entrance a beat after you enter to say hi to Abigail and Sebastian. You don’t mind his absence, needing a moment to still your beating heart.

You look around the saloon as Sam walks away, turning back every two seconds to check up on you. You lock eyes with Penny, who’s already looking at you by the time you look at her, and she gives you a small wave.

You didn’t know Penny well, but you knew she and Sam were close. You remembered seeing them dance at the flower dance together and a few times after that just around town, but you didn’t really know the extent of their relationship. Surely, if Sam was here with you, that meant that nothing was going on between them, right?

You walk over to her table despite a familiar sick feeling rising in your gut.

“Hi, Penny.” There is a stool at her table, but you remain standing. Sam was gonna come back any minute anyway, and you weren’t too keen on sitting at a table with the both of them for the remainder of the night.

“Y/N! How nice to see you away from the farm, " she says, fiddling with a muffin wrapper on the table. Before you can respond, she adds, “You’re here with Sam?”

“Oh… yeah. He thought I needed some time out and about; I guess everyone thinks that.” You laugh a little and wish you had something to fiddle with as well.

Penny gives a short laugh, “We all just like seeing you around, that’s all.”

You don’t know if you believe her, but before you can respond, her eyes are trailing away from yours to something…no, someone behind you. They seem to soften at whoever she’s looking at, and a few beats later, Sam’s standing right next to you at the table.

“Good evening, Penny.” He says with a goofy smile on his face.

You hear a whistle behind you and turn around to see Sebastian and Abigail peeking around a corner of the Saloon. Abigail is wriggling her eyebrows in your direction, and Seb has a god-awful smirk on his face.

You turn around quickly, looking down at your boots, and can hear Sam clear his throat.

“Hi, Sam. So kind of you to bring our lovely farmer out.” Penny says, her hands on the table.

“About time, right?” He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Yeah, most definitely.” You say, giving them both the warmest smile you could conjure up.

“Now, Miss Penny, if you don’t mind,” he moves behind you and places both hands on your shoulders, gently turning you to the bar, “I’m gonna get our farmer a drink.”

Penny gives a light laugh, but Sam has let go of your arms before you can even say goodbye and is walking ahead of you to the bar.

You look over your shoulder in hopes of giving Penny a wave, but you only catch her orange skirt on the door frame as she leaves the saloon.

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

The last time you were at a bar, it was in ZuZu City. What was supposed to be a fun night out with some coworkers ended up with you throwing up in an alleyway and then again in a taxi. One too many cosmopolitans. You miss the feeling a little. Being unknown in a bar, wearing tight shimmery dresses, desire in the air, and shitty expensive drinks with exotic names. You approach Sam at the bar, and despite the lack of patrons, you stand so close your arms touch for the millionth time that night.

At this moment, you can’t help but think about how drastically your life changed in just a year.

The gentle hum of the jukebox playing “Hold You in My Arms” by Ray LaMontagne, the softness of Sam’s skin on yours, the yellow lighting, and beer and wine being the only things on the drink menu. Something about this trumped the feeling of a sleazy dive bar. Sure, there was a desire in the air…but it wasn’t scary. It didn’t prompt you to take three “Green Tea Shots” back-to-back to quell the nerves. It was gentle and promising. You still couldn’t believe this was a part of your life now.

Sam clears his throat to get Gus’s attention and holds up a crinkly twenty-dollar bill. “What can this get us?” His voice comes out shaky.

You get the impression that this isn’t something Sam does often. Well, not the drinking bit, but ordering it at a bar.

Gus raises an eyebrow and takes the bill from Sam’s hands, holding it up to the light and faux inspecting it with a smirk on his face.

Sam sucks his tongue and shakes his head “C’mon Gus.”

“Hey, you can never know with your generation. Two beers?” He raises an eyebrow at the both of you, and you smile back. “Yes, please.”

“And how are you doing, farmer?” Gus goes to pour the beers as the question lingers in the air.

“Good!” you offer enthusiastically. “Summer crops are all planted...So that’s good.”

“That’s…Good?” Gus jokes and places the beers on the bar.

You give a light laugh and take the beer in your hands.

“Thank you, Gus!” Sam adds as he one-handedly grabs his beer, places his free hand on your lower back, and ushers you away from the bar to a table near the jukebox.

“He usually doesn’t give me a hard time.” He leans down and side-whispers into your ear, which causes your brain to short-circuit. All you can do is hum in response.

This might kill me.

He goes to pull out your chair, and when you sit, he pulls the diagonal seat closer to yours before sitting down and smiling at you.

Okay, this will definitely kill me.

“Gus’s beer is the best.” He says before taking a big gulp. You go for a small sip, and he’s right. It is a really good beer. You make a mental note to ask Gus about his technique.

“So…” you offer into the silence.

“So…” Sam says back, chuckling after. “I’m glad you decided to come out tonight.”

“Yeah, me too. My body definitely needed this.” You hold the beer up before taking another drink.

After a few more swallows, the conversation comes easily. Sam talks about work and his dad, but mostly his music.

“Yeah, I’ve got some stuff I'm working on now if you ever wanna stop by and listen.” Another sip.

“At this point, we’ve got like three dates lined up.” You blush as soon as the words leave your mouth, and you're torn between taking another sip or putting the beer down because, clearly, you’ve had enough. You take another sip despite that fact and pull your eyes up to Sam’s.

He’s blushing.

“I guess I just really want to see you.” And with that, he downs the rest of his beer.

This time, the butterflies in your gut don’t stir from anxiety but from something else. Something less tangible and indistinguishable but so, so good.

“Well, then, how can I say no?” You try and fail at finishing the rest of your beer, a piss-poor attempt at mimicking his confidence.

He chuckles, and the sound sends tingles all over your body.

“Okay, but first, I need to know if you like rock music.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Um…” You ponder on the question. You couldn’t say that you listened to rock music often, not recently at least.

“I used to listen to a lot… back in my youth.” You finish off your beer, feeling it in your head and your legs. The butterflies must be boozy, too, now because they have seemingly gone to sleep.

“You say that like you're old or something,” Sam says before getting up from his seat and offering you his hand.

“Technically, I am old, older than you.” You make a one-over look at his ring-clad hand before adding, “What's this?”

“I’m gonna play a song for you. On the jukebox. C’mon.” His fingers beckon for you to get up, so you do because if there’s one thing liquor makes you be, it is obedient.

His rings are cold against your hand as he leads you to the jukebox, and you internally whine at the absence of his touch when he lets you go to fiddle with the options.

“If you know this song, I owe you another beer, and if not…” He raises his eyebrow.

You laugh a little and then get immediately nervous.

Please let me know the song.

The intro to “Take Me Out” by Franz Ferdinand starts playing, and you have to giggle because who on earth doesn’t know this song? Sam looks down at you, and instead of giving him an answer, you start to sing along with the song.

“So if you’re lonely, you know I'm here waiting for you…”

Sam’s face lights up immediately, and he claps his hands.

“Wow, I guess I owe you another beer.”

“Oh, c’mon Sam, everyone knows this song.”

Sam throws his hands up in the air before making his way back to the bar, and this time, it looks like Gus doesn’t give him a hard time. Hell, you even think that you see Gus wink at him as he makes his way back over to you.

“One beer for the pretty farmer.” He says as he hands you a full pint.

“Thank you,” You say before taking a big gulp.

“Do you know any drinking games?” Sam says, now leaning on the jukebox, his face very close to yours. You don’t flush from the proximity, and maybe it’s because of the beer, or maybe it is because, under the yellow light and lenses of damn good beer, Sam is so pretty.

To be honest, Sam was always really pretty, very breathtaking, but now... something made him shine. There was a pull that made you want to lean in and fully dissect every element of his face. Of his being.

You hum lightly as your eyes trace over his face before saying, “It’s not technically a drinking game, but, Never Have I Ever?”

You watch as Sam rolls his eyes before he licks at his lip ring and answers, albeit sarcastically, “No, y/n, I have never played, never have I ever.” Despite his answer, he throws up a ring-clad hand and says, “Can I go first?”

You roll your eyes. “Sure, hit me.”

He juts out his bottom lip in feign thought before he raises his eyebrows as if he’s had a realization.

“What does the winner get?”

You blink at him a few times before shrugging. “What do you want? If you win, that is.”

There seems to be no point to fake think this time as Sam rounds the jukebox machine to get closer to you before leaning in and whispering in your ear, “A kiss.”

You feel warm all over and a little dizzy, but the nerves that usually pulse through your veins when Sam is near are nowhere to be found, just a warm wanting. You want to kiss him.

The idea of faking wrong answers passes through your mind, but you push it down because if you were going to kiss Sam, it would have to be won by him fair and square. And if you won... well, you’d just find another to kiss him.

“Okay. I’ll kiss you.” It comes out quick, and you feel a little embarrassed by the laugh it pulls from Sam.

“Woah, farmer, that’s only when I win.” He winks and puts his hand up again. “You first.” He says, his eyes lazily drawing over your face.

“Hmm, okay. Never have I ever been lost in the mines after curfew.”

Sam blinks at you a few times before slowly putting a finger down, and you fake a gasp.

“Okay, okay, just don’t tell my mom; she’ll freak.”

“Sam, Sam, Sam, I never would have thought.” You say before taking another sip of your beer, it’s almost empty now, and your bottom lip feels numb at the intoxication it brings

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

The questions come and go, and by the time it’s almost midnight, you're left with one finger, and Sam is left with two. Most of his questions were farm-related, and you’d be annoyed at the fact that you were losing if you weren’t getting rewarded for your loss. But you are.

“Okay, farmer, you ready for this one?” he wiggles his two fingers, and you giggle, wiggling your one finger back.

“Never have I ever been a farmer in Stardew Valley.”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Not out of actual annoyance, but because Sam is just that good. Knows all the right words, right things to do and say. Knows how to kill the final question in Never Have I Ever.

You put your one finger down, and before you can say anything to memorialize your loss, Sam’s palms are on your neck, and his lips are on yours, wet and needy.

The kiss is over before you even know it, and he’s pulling back, all big-eyed and tender-looking. With his face still within an inch of yours, he smirks and says, “I win.”

You nod dazedly, your eyes still on Sam’s lips.

“You want another?” Sam hiccups and rubs his thumb on your cheek. You nod, and Sam is leaning in, licking at his piercing before you connect again.

Sometime during all of the fuss, you put your glass down and allow your hands to roam over Sam’s arms and down to his biceps. He’s pretty solid, and as you reach to run your hands under his shirt, you hear a loud clearing of the throat at the bar.

In sync, you and Sam pull away from each other and turn to the sound, only to be pleasantly greeted with Gus’s frown.

“Closing up soon. You kids should head home.” He says before making a pointed look at Sam, “Make sure she makes it back home.”

You flush from embarrassment, but Sam grabs your hand, gives a head nod to Gus, and pulls you out of the Saloon before it can seep in.

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

Before you can register what’s happening, the boozy feeling in your mind and legs making everything feel wobbly, Sam is pulling you to the side of the saloon, and his lips are on yours again.

He tastes like beer and sorbet and sweat and summer. It’s magical the way Sam kisses. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. To be fair, you’ve never been pressed up against the side of a saloon on a warm summer night kissing the guy of your dreams. Your hands make their way up into his hair, and it’s so soft, so you grip it because it’s angel hair, truly. Sam moans into your mouth and kisses his tongue inside.

He liked that?

You can feel everything, everywhere. The brick wall, Sam’s heavy front, and even heavier mouth. He keeps one hand on your neck, his thumb running up and down, trying to pull you closer than you already are. The other finds its way to your thigh and pulls one of your legs up and around him, slotting himself closer to you.

Oh my gosh, he’s huge.

The pressure of his body is intense and needy and all too much and not enough at the same time.

He pulls back, and even in the dim light that the tavern provides, you can see the need in his eyes and the kissed-out pink on his lips. He’s absolutely angelic. “Is this okay?” he nudges his nose into your neck, peppering it with kisses and sniffs as if he is trying to capture your scent and trap it in his memory.

His hand on your thigh travels higher, hiking your thin white dress up even higher, but he stops right before he hits your panty line, thumbs tracing hesitant circles into your skin.

You can sense he’s waiting for an answer, but the fireflies dancing just behind his head distract you for a second. What did you do in a past life to deserve this? What bug did you save that was an angel in disguise that pardoned you from a life without this kind of pleasure?

He leaves wet, sloppy kisses down your neck and grinds himself into you, and you can actually feel him. “Y/N?” He looks up, his brows taught with desire. His eyes dart back and forth between yours and your lips, and he looks so needy you can’t even bring yourself to say anything.

You nod your head quickly before grabbing his face and pulling him back into a kiss. Salty and boozy and so intoxicating. Sam is a good kisser. Like really good.

It’s like he studied the right amount of pressure to apply, when to purse his lips into yours, when to swirl his tongue around, and when to pull it back. He even gives your tongue a little suck before pulling back and peppering your lips and cheeks before diving back in again, giving you time to breathe.

Who taught him this?

To shun the thought of Sam kissing literally anybody but you out of your mind, you pull him closer to you (which seems impossible at this point).

Sam lets out probably the sexiest laugh you've ever heard in your life before pulling away from the kiss and biting your lip, using his thumb to soothe the sting that’s left.

The sting is long gone after a few seconds, evaporating into something stronger, but he keeps his thumb there, swiping back and forth at the wetness left from your kiss.

“You like me?” He says as he looks at your lips like he wants to see them say yes. Commit the action to his memory and replay it whenever he gets the chance. His free hand (free is subjective considering how it was just squeezing and caressing your thigh two seconds ago) travels closer to your panty line, and when he finally reaches it, he snaps it.

You jolt. Everything about this is just too much. You think back to only a few hours later when you couldn’t even fathom the touch of Sam’s arm against yours, and now…well, now things are very different.

Sam laughs into your neck from your reaction and draws his finger in between your skin and the fabric of your panties, which are now thoroughly soaked. It tickles, so you pull away a little, but Sam sucks his tongue and pushes himself closer to you.

You can’t even focus on the task at hand because the view of your bodies this close together is borderline pornographic, and honestly, if you could take a picture with your eyes, you would.

“Y/N,” he says carefully, almost shyly, using his hand to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. “Do you?”

At this moment, Sam is everything. Your heart and breath get heavy, and you need to calm yourself down before you combust into a thousand beams of light and never get to feel this again because you’ve become a part of the atmosphere.

Five things you can see?

Sam’s lust-ridden eyes, peering into your soul.

Sams’s pink cheeks, his even pinker lips.

Fireflies in the distance, glowing in and out. Haloing him.

The moon; full and beaming.

Four things you can touch?

You run your hand up Sam’s arm, which is taut and slightly muscular. It travels up and up to Sam's neck, and he leans into the touch before you fiddle with his earring and then reach into his hair before dragging your hand down to his lips, mimicking his action from before.

Three things you can hear?

The bugs outside are buzzing loudly, but they have nothing on the deep, heavy breaths Sam is taking as you play with his bottom lip. He hums gently before leaning in to kiss you again.

Two things you can smell?

Beer and the summer air at night.

One thing you can taste?

Sams’s lips finally touch yours again, and you can’t even compute the taste. It just tastes like him. It’s deep and wet and needy and tastes like heaven. You pull back and lick at the piercing on his bottom lip before diving back into his lips. You want to kiss him deeper, but he pulls away and presses his forehead against yours.

“I don’t want-” Sam starts, but you cut him off this time.

“Yes, yes, Sam. I like you.” It comes out needier and breathier than you would have liked, but the look on Sam’s face eases any embarrassment your brain could even come up with to ruin the moment.

“God, you are so pretty,” Sam says before peppering kisses onto your lips. Every time his lips pull away, even though it’s for a millisecond, you long for them, feeling helplessly needy.

The feeling is heavy in your chest. Need. Want. Desire.

Sam’s hand is going back up to your dress and presses at your clothed heat, pulling the wet fabric to the side before tracing his middle finger through your sex.

“Oh shit you are so we-“

“AHEM.” You both jolt apart quick to see Gus standing in the now paling light of the Saloon.

“You’d both better get home.” Gus is walking away before either of you can respond. You can see him shaking his head slowly as he walks away.

“Oh, shit.” You say, turning to Sam, giggling.

He’s got a stupid smile plastered on his face as he gets down on one knee, his face at your abdomen, and he’s pulling down and smoothing out your hiked-up dress before leaving a kiss right above your navel and getting back up.

“It’s getting late.” He kicks up his skateboard from the bush he hid it in only hours before. “Feel safe riding home?”

Despite the beer coursing through your veins and the uneasiness that comes with each step, you nod your head. Anything to feel Sam’s heavy hands on your body again.

�� ⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

The ride back home takes twice as long. Every time you fell off the skateboard, Sam met you with a heated kiss and said, “It’s okay, Y/N. You can try again.” His hands were warmer than ever, steady on your waist, and when your dress began to hike up this time, he didn’t even bother pulling it down, drunk eyes roaming all over your figure.

Eventually, you got the hang of it, riding on the board without his assistance, dress flowing in the wind, a screamed laugh of excitement leaving your lungs.

When the board came to a halt, you turned around expecting to see Sam close at your behind, but he was actually a few ways back, arms crossed, smiling.

⌁₊˚⊹ ⊹˚₊⌁

You watch Sam skate off into the moonlight, and when he turns around to wave, wobbling on his board, he has the biggest, dorkiest smile on his face. You don’t realize it, but you do, too.

When he finally rides out of sight, you go back inside but can’t get yourself to let go of the door handle. A part of you wanted to run back outside and call out his name and invite him inside. For what? You couldn’t even answer that question yourself.

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