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Flying Solo

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Sam looked at the scattered boxes around him -half packed and unpacked- and sighed at the work ahead. He didn't even know he owned this many stuff. His entire life in boxes had arrived from Vancouver early this morning; his eyes were no more than twin slits when the doorbell rang.

Now seated on the floor, he leaned back against the edge of the lumpy sofa. As he tried to relax and unwind after a long day, he made a mental note to replace the old couch. If he was going to make his life here in this new city, he might as well make his home comfortable. Then again, it wouldn't do to watch his team playing from a miserable excuse of a couch that had clearly seen better days.

The apartment wasn't bad by any means. It was located in the downtown district and had all the amenities a single guy needed. The building was only 15 minutes away driving to the SRU, meaning he could indulge himself several more minutes of sleep in the morning.

Taking a swig of his lukewarm beer, he studied the chipped paint on the wall adjacent to the front door. The crack on the wall was all it took for his mind to instantly fleet to a certain petite brunette who had been occupying his mind as of late. He wondered what Jules would think about this place - whether she would approve or would it make the wheels in her head start to spin thinking of various ways to make the place a proper living quarter - per her standard.

Yesterday had been yet another really close call. He thought he should have gotten used to it by now. They did, in fact, work a dangerous job everyday. But some calls seemed to be far more personal than others. He might have tried to convince himself that what he was feeling for his beautiful teammate was strictly platonic, but who he was kidding, since day one he'd always known it was anything but.

He quietly recalled the day when Jules and Tasha had vanished from his sight; his heart had dropped to the bottom pit of his stomach. It probably had only been four seconds until they knew they wouldn't lose anybody that day, but for him it had felt much longer. An eternity. Then later on he had casually strolled into her locker room. The team had done their part to make sure she really was okay, but if Sam had to be honest, he had decided to check on her because he needed to see her. Needed to know for himself that she was alright.

The sheer memory of her body, feminine and perfectly toned, wrapped in nothing but a bath towel invaded his mind. The truth was, the seductive sight of her was burned into his subconscious. He could be watching the news on TV and finding himself thinking about how her slightly tangled damp hair looked darker when wet- the way it laid over her smooth shoulders. How he could hear a slight hitch in her breath when his knuckles grazed her bruised back.

Sam took another sip of his beer as the thought stirred something inside him. An urge to release all this damn tension he was dealing with.

It was sheer torture, thinking of her. Seeing her in his mind's eye. It was as though he was presented with the opportunity to get a taste of what could be if the situation were different. It had taken all of his strength not to give in into his desire to pull her towel even lower, exposing the entire length of her sleek back.

Of course, there was a good chance that Jules would seriously injure him if he had dared pulling something like that. But it was almost worth the risk.

Sam didn't need to look down to know a particular part of his body was reacting strongly to his train of thoughts.

His eyes reverted back to the crack on the wall. Jules wouldn't like that, he decided, probably wouldn't be able to go to sleep until she got the wall fixed.

The stagnant buzzing coming from the refrigerator was almost hypnotic. His apartment floor was high enough that he was completely isolated from the busy streets and his neighbors had probably gone to bed, seeing the long hand of the clock had just pointed to two. Suddenly he felt like he was floating in a sea as deep as her eyes, and was helpless but to follow the current.

It was that damn crack in the wall.

Closing his eyes, he imagined her slowly walking out of his bedroom clad in nothing but a towel. The very same towel he had seen her in a couple of months ago. Unlike before, however, her hair was dry and piled on top of her head. Stubborn strands of chestnut hair escaped her bun and tickled the graceful slope of her neck. Her skin was glowing and even from the distance he could smell her flowery scent. Small feet softly padded to the kitchen. When she turned her back, he saw no trace of the ugly purple bruise marring her skin. Her position didn't allow him to see her face, but he could tell she was staring at the crack. Studying it, scrutinizing every contour and line. As she was busy watching the imperfection on his wall, his eyes swept down her slender form appreciatively. The towel barely reached her mid-thighs -obviously this towel was shorter- and gave him an eyeful of her slim smooth legs; they were gorgeous.

Sam absently put his beer down, the back of his hand grazing over the growing bulge beneath his jeans. It humped at his touch, against his will, until his fingers gripped the hard length, gently stroking.

The scene continued in the theater of his mind.

He quietly approached her from behind, and as though the history was repeating itself, grazed his fingers over the exposed skin of her back, unblemished by any bruise or mark. She jumped slightly at the sudden contact, but didn't shy away from his touch. She shivered as if cold. His fingers continued their sensual exploration over her shoulders. He had all the time in the world, kneading her tight flesh, thumbs digging into her taut muscles that elicited a deep satisfied moan from within her.

In reality the hand moving over his jeans quickened at the breathy sound, the movement sending shooting pulses of pleasures down his spine. He could see her so clearly in his mind.

He leaned down and brushed his lips over her neck as one hand stealthily slipped underneath her towel. His hand almost covered her entire thigh when he gently ran his fingers up and down her inner thigh, over her slender hip, causing her to gasp. She leaned into his caress, silently urging him onward.

Sitting on the floor was starting to lose its charm, so he quickly pushed himself up. He unsnapped his jeans and pushed them to his knees -finally giving his erection some room to breathe- before sinking down into the couch, too absorbed in taking care of his needs to pay attention to the lumpy couch. The lotion on the small inn table had been left there accidentally, but now it seemed like fate. He reached for it, damn all reason, and squeezed some in the palm of his hand. Then his hand reached inside his boxer shorts and gripped his erect shaft.

The sweet pecks on her neck turned into wet, open-mouthed kisses and as his free hand tore at her towel. The hand on her hip travelled to the juncture of her legs. An experimental brush of fingers told him that she was dripping wet and he effortlessly inserted a lone finger into her scorching core, his thumb playing with her swollen clit. He lazily flicked at the hardened kernel, enjoying the way her bare body writhed against him. His erection pressed tightly against her backside. "Sam…"

Sam's eyes remained shut; he savored the delicious friction his first created around the length of his penis, a repressed moan escaping him. Up and down his hand stroked his cock, from root to tip. His fingers, slick with lotion, made the journey so warm and smooth.

Within his fantasy his moan grew louder when a small hand snuck its way behind her and wrapped itself around his hard manhood. He broke his kisses on her neck and bit into the pale flesh as her hand worked him into near oblivion. He gave her clit one last pinch that evoked the most wonderful sigh out of her and extracted his fingers out. Her moan turned to a frustrated growl that came to a halt when he swiftly turned her around, lifted her against the wall high onto his hips, and then pressed the weeping tip of his cock to her soft entrance. Their gazes locked as he thrust up into her, feeling her draw snug around him. His strong arms keeping her pinned to the hard surface.

He kissed her. God knew how long he had wanted to capture those beckoning plump lips and claim them as his. He embraced her tongue with his in a velvety duel while her breast pressed flush against him, her nipples poking into his chest. He released her scrumptious mouth only to busy his mouth with her breast, suckling, nibbling and nipping at the hard pebble of her nipples.

On the couch Sam tugged even harder at his rigid penis, panting with his eyes squeezed shut, lost in fantasy. He bit down a loud moan as he quickened the pace of his strokes.

His face buried in the crook of her neck. He plunged deep into her, over and over again, loving the way she clenched around him. Her short fingernails raked over his back as she wrapped her legs around his waist tighter, wanting him closer, deeper.

"Sam," she panted.


Her mouth sought his neck and sucked at his pulse point. He hiked her up higher, thrusting into her faster, the new angle effectively making his hard cock tease her sensitive clit every time he pushed back in. One, two, and three more thrusts before she exploded around him, bathing him in warm juices and milking him for all he was worth.

"J-Jules-" he moaned as his cock swelled in his fist and he came harder than he had ever had. He shook violently before settling back on the wing tips of a long exhale.

Jules showered small kisses on his face, her inner muscles still holding his softening organ as snugly as he was holding her. Nowhere else he'd rather be. A mischievous, satisfied smile flashed on her face.

Sam's eyes remained close, the aftershock of his orgasm still rippling through him. His head was slightly lightheaded and his knees felt rubbery. It was so powerful. The only thing that could be better than what he had just experienced was doing it with the woman of his dreams for real.

When the ringing finally subsided from his ears, he opened his eyes and looked down at the mess he had made. "Yeah, Braddock, feel free to make yourself at home." He mumbled to himself before staring at the crack again.

He stepped out of his jeans and underwear, needing a paper towel or something. He needed to clean up, period.

It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to mention that crack to Jules tomorrow. Maybe she would get inspired. He had been told that she was good with her hands, who knew if she wanted to demonstrate it for him.

The pun wasn't lost in him and in spite of himself, Sam Braddock smiled.