Date: 2011-08-26 03:20 am (UTC)
She's totally going to stop him.

Like, any second she is.

Because this is not a date, okay?

One top of which somebody is totally going to come back any minute with an armful of popcorn and see them groping each other like teenagers, her fist opening and closing in the hair at the base of his skull (she scratches a little, just really lightly; he growls a sound she feels more than hears and oh, huh, it's possible she'd like to know how to get him to make more sounds like that).

Seriously, though: not a date.

Andy means to tell him that like three different times but she keeps getting distracted, is the problem: the scrape of his stubble at her jawline, the fingers of his free hand kneading, not entirely gently, at the muscle in her thigh through her jeans. Crap, she wants to climb him--crap, she wants to climb him, there you go Toronto, she said it, cue the falling balloons.

Sam bites her bottom lip, smirks at her, smoothes it over with his tongue.

This is terrible.

Andy scratches at his nape one more time.
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