Sam is totally an adult who can live on his own. He has his own couch and the dishes in the dishwasher are clean and everything. They've also been sitting there for three days, but he's been busy, and he eats a lot of meals at the rink. He hasn't needed dishes.
"You mean you eat a lot of meals at my place," Cogs says.
"You're the best like that," Sam agrees.
"At least you know you're a mooch," Cogs mutters, and Sam gives him a punch on the arm of sheer affection.
He can't really explain why he'd rather spend time in Cogs' apartment, but it's seriously a lot nicer than his. It shouldn't be, the realtor said all the apartments in this building were basically identical, but Cogs definitely got the better deal. It's not like he's decorated or anything, and Sam totally has a couple pictures of his own up on the walls – they even fit now! – so it's got to be the apartment. He puts his feet up on the box that's serving as a coffee table and sighs with happiness. Cogs punches him back, much less affectionately. "NHL10?" Sam offers, ignoring the insult like the generous and giving individual that he is.
"It's my Xbox," Cogs says.
Sam nods. "Yeah, but do you want to play NHL10 on it?"
Cogs shrugs. "Sure."
Sam stretches back, sinks deeper into the couch. It’s very comfortable, and he leans back and grins at Cogs, who pokes him. Sam groans sadly as he squirms away.
"Just get the controllers," Cogs says, sighing. Sam can do that. Preferably without getting off of this amazing couch. They might be just a little too far, but maybe not, and Sam's stretching that extra inch, poised on the very edge of the couch when Cogs shoves him and he bounces to the floor.
"Dick," Sam says lazily from the ground, punching Cogs' calf and trying to drag him down with him. It's totally cheating when Cogs draws his legs up onto the couch out of his reach, but Cogs just laughs and won't agree with him.
It's easier to get the controllers than wrestle him properly, and Sam doesn't feel like moving too much. He's too at peace with Cogs' awesome apartment. He considers being too at peace to get back on the couch, but the cardboard box coffee table blocks too much of the view of the TV.
He isn't too at peace to beat Cogs' ass at this. He is a god of NHL10, and Cogs should appreciate his glory, but sadly does not, even when he leans on him hard. “I forgive you,” Sam says, pressing down harder against Cog’s warm bulk. Cogs says something back, but his protests are too muffled to hear and also getting spit on Sam’s shirt, which is kind of gross.
Cogs wrinkles his nose at him when he sits back up, and rocks back into him hard, shoulder to shoulder, knocking him to the side and lying heavy on him. "Hi," Sam says. Cogs makes a disgusted noise, and kisses him. It's very nice. Sam kisses back, licking into his mouth, their tongues slipping against each other. Cogs nips at Sam's lower lip, and he sucks in a long slow breath, running his hands down Cogs’ back to pull him closer. Cogs obliges, pushing into Sam’s space, kissing him again and again as their hips begin to move together. Sam’s not all the way hard, but close enough that all he wants is Cogs to keep kissing him to make it happen. He shivers when Cogs licks at his neck, enjoying the feeling of muscle under his hands as he gropes Cog’s ass.
The weight of Cogs pressing him back into the couch is good, but Cogs' bed is better, and Sam drags him up and into the other room with a hand tucked into his back pockets. Cogs grumbles into Sam's mouth as they walk, and laughs when the backs of Sam’s knees hit the bedframe and he sits abruptly, but then they’re lying back together and his hand is slipping into Sam's sweats so Sam’s too busy to listen.
He always knows just what Sam likes; he's the best. Sam kisses back fervently, fingers twisting desperately in Cogs’ shirt as he jerks up into his tight grip, shuddering as he gets closer and closer.
Cogs is gratifyingly hard when Sam finishes stripping off the clothes he came all over, and gasps when Sam rubs his thumb over the head of Cogs' dick. He twists against the sheets, hips bucking, when Sam bends his head to lick at his nipples. It’s really hot. Sam wants to watch, but also to keep doing what he’s doing. It’s difficult. The muscles of Cogs’ stomach jump as he comes, shaking through two or three spurts, panting hard. Sam holds him close, his hand slowing down as he noses into Cogs' hair. Cogs curls against him, making incomprehensible, but satisfied noises, the sex-tension softening out of him. Sam makes himself comfortable.
"Why do we never do this in your bed?" Cogs says into Sam's neck while Sam wipes his hand on the comforter.
"We can later, if you want," Sam says happily. Cogs is so warm, and Sam likes it when he's breathless like this, his chest moving irregularly against Sam's. He burrows closer into that warmth: his ass is getting cold, but they’re lying too firmly on the blanket to get under it. It’s okay, Cogs is a good substitute for now.
"You don't have sheets."
"I didn't have sheets once. I totally have sheets now."
"Are they actually on your bed?" Cogs asks suspiciously.
"Duh," Sam says and Cogs huffs, cuddling closer into his arms. He makes more disparaging noises against Sam’s skin, but they’re slowing down and evening out as he chooses sleep instead of argument. It's a good choice. Technically, the sheets are in the pile of laundry on Sam's bed, but it's clean laundry, so that's basically close enough to count. Sam would definitely win that one.