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“Okay now let’s do Sammy’s girlfriend’s present!” Vincent squirms in your lap with excitement, looking upside down at you. His big blue eyes sparkle with adoration, and you think he takes after his brother.
Sam beside you looks playfully dejected. He pushes out his lip in a pout, shoving his hand into Vincent’s hair and down his face.
“Bro, stop,” he whines, and you think maybe his jealousy isn’t all for show, “you’re rizzing her up too much! She’s gonna leave me for you, dude!”
Sam’s playing, but you know he is at least a little perturbed because Vince can sit in your lap and he can’t. It’s a wonder he’s not climbing the walls right now, all things considered.
With deadly efficiency you use one hand to tickle his ribs, and Sam cringes back in a cry of surrender.
Kent rolls his eyes and coughs to hide a laugh while Jodi giggles. She gives you a sweet smile as she passes over a silver wrapped box. It says ‘from all of us’ in swooping calligraphy, and you know that means it’s from Jodi.
“You wanna unwrap it bud?” You ask, and Sam’s hand twitches out to the package before he realizes you were talking to Vince. Another pout, and you smirk at him while Vince annihilates the beautiful wrapping job Jodi did.
Dutifully, he passes back the unassuming cardboard box and crawls off your lap so you can open it properly.
You pull the top away and don’t delay in pushing back the tissue and removing the deep red nightgown, holding it up to the light to see better.
“I know it’s not very hip,” Jodi says, her voice quiet and maybe a little insecure, “but I—uh, we—just couldn’t leave it. Sammy sent those gorgeous pictures of you and I kept thinking how lovely you would look in it.”
It is pretty, albeit more conservative than you would ever pick for yourself. The gown is ankle length, with sleeves that hit the wrist. Lace and gold beading trim the edges, and you think Jodi has good taste.
You can feel Sam’s eyes heavy on you, on the nightgown, and you have to bite back a grin. He’s so desperate for you at this point, you know exactly where his brain is. Poor baby hasn’t gone over a day without sex since you two got together about four months ago, and with prepping and visiting it’s been a week since he had his hands on you.
“It’s perfect Jodi, thank you,” you say, winking at her conspiratorially before saying, “all of you have excellent fashion sense.”
In a show of good faith you change into it after dinner. Jodi was right—the color complements your complexion perfectly. And while it’s long, and shows no skin, it clings to your curves and drapes in such a way that you still look shapely. You look sexy in a prudish sort of way.
You’re not the only one that seems to think so. The moment you emerge from the bedroom to show Jodi the final product, Sam’s back to staring at you hard. As Jodi ooh’s and ah’s over you with the affection only a mother has, and Vincent stares with big round eyes and tells you you’re beautiful with a nervous little blush, Sam begins to fidget.
A glance at him and you think he might drag you out to his truck for some privacy and rail you in the passenger seat. Your cunt pulses with excitement. Vincent is going to be too distracted with his toys to bother you, and Jodi and Kent are going to take the Mullner’s Christmas cookies, so you’ll have time for a quickie if all goes well.
“And what about you, Sammy, don’t you think that—“ there’s a knock on the door, startling Jodi into silence. She presses a hand against her chest. “Goodness, now who could that be so late?”
Jodi wanders off towards the door and Sam circles in on you like a predator, fingers skimming the fabric where it hits your waist. He leans in close, and his voice is raspy in your ear. “I like this,” he says, giving it a small, affectionate tug, and you know that tone. That’s the tone he uses when he’s going to fuck you like an animal. A shiver of anticipatory arousal claws its way down your spine, and you smile.
“I can't say I approve of you coming all the way out here in the cold so late, but you know I’m always happy to see you Sebastian,” Jodi giggles, opening the door wider and letting in a pink cheeked, crookedly grinning Sebastian. He’s got a small present wrapped in his hands, and his eyes are positively glittering as he stares up at Sam’s mom.
“You know I can’t go a Winter Star without seeing you, Miss Jodi,” he says, savoring the words Miss Jodi. Sam retracts from your space while Jodi giggles and blushes, and he throws up his hands with a groan.
“Dude stop flirting with my mom,” he whines, and Sebastian laughs once before shaking his head and giving Jodi a sweet smile.
“I’m not flirting Sammy, I’m being polite. You should try it once in a while,” he says, and he winks before coming up to you and Sam.
“Why are you here?” Irritation drips off his every word, and you know Sam is properly annoyed. Pent up, desperate, and cockblocked by his best friend who’s also hitting on his mom.
Bad day for Samson.
“Other than I wanted to give you your present? I needed a break from the ‘festivities,’” he makes air quotes around festivities, and you can feel Sam unwind in resignation. “Come with me for a walk?”
“What’s the magic word?” Sam’s already stepping towards the door to his room, presumably to get dressed for the outside, and you feel a tug of disappointment. Maybe it’s not Sam getting cockblocked.
“I’ll say please if it makes you happy Samson.”
Your face must be doing something by the time Sam’s dressed and ready for the cold, because Sebastian frowns apologetically and Sam twists his mouth. Once Jodi finishes fussing over her boys and departs with Kent, Sam approaches with a sheepish smile.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says, and you stare at him hard in a way that hopes to convey your emotions.
“You better,” You respond, and maybe it’s a little more irritable than you meant for it to be because Sam looks like a kicked puppy as he follows Sebastian out the door. You’d feel worse if you weren’t babysitting Vincent alone on Winter Star when you could be getting railed.
It doesn’t take long for Jodi and Kent to get back—an hour said and done—and everyone readies for bed pretty immediately, too exhausted from the fact that Vince woke everybody at the godless hour of five am for presents. Sam still isn’t back by the time you crawl into his bed, and you glare at the air mattress where he should be and hope he can feel the phantom pain wherever he is.
You’re drifting off when a swoop of cold air chills you to the bone. There’s a light commotion, and you hear Sam go “fucking shit ass,” before you fully process that he’s stumbling in the window. You sit back, burrowing into his blankets as he regains his footing.
“Later Seb,” he calls outside with a wave, and you wave too, tight and irritable.
“See you Sammy. If you need me I’ll be in the master bedroom,” Sebastian calls back, and you hear his footsteps recede along with maniacal laughter, a faint call of bye to you billowing in the wind as an afterthought.
“Remind me to kick his ass,” Sam looks at you once he snaps the windowpane shut with a big grin, his cheeks pink and snow dusting his eyelashes. It makes you angry how good he looks right now, how disgustingly cute and charming.
“Sure,” you cross your arms and pout, averting your gaze as Sam comes up and kneels by the side of the bed.
“Baby please, I’m sorry,” he reaches for your hand, and when you don’t give it he settles for your gripping the nightgown, and it doesn’t go unnoticed that it’s right at the apex of your thigh, “what was I supposed to do? Say no to Seb in front of everybody?”
“Yes.”
He buries his face in the sheets beside you and you finally spare him a glance. He senses it and looks up at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes he can muster, and you feel yourself melting under his gaze.
“Please, let me make it up to you,” he says, and there’s a little whine in his voice. Desperation, maybe. “I need you so bad, you look so hot right now, please.”
The chill of the room mingles with the sensation of watching Sam beg on his knees and makes your nipples hard, and you decide to go on with it for a minute. “It’s just a shame. I’m not even wearing any underwear, Sammy, because I was so excited to finally get a minute alone with you.”
He whines, shifts, and you can see the excited bulge growing in his pants.
“Too bad everybody’s home now so we can’t do anything. I’m really horny too.”
“No we can, please,” he grabs your hand now, chilly fingers insistent on yours, “we just have to be quiet. Everybody’s asleep. Come on, please?”
You almost break right now, but you hold out. If you can get him that much more worked up, it’ll be worth your while. “I dunno if you’d be able to keep it down Sammy. For your Winter Star present I was gonna let you fuck me without a condom—you know, an unwrapped gift kinda thing.”
It’s something you’ve been saving specifically for a moment like this. Truthfully you know Sam’s clean and you have reliable birth control, and would have let him hit raw months ago, but making him twitch with anticipation has been more fun than anything else.
And oh, it’s worth it to watch the way his eyes widen and his face slackens. He sits up that much taller, and you’re almost surprised he doesn’t clasp his hands together and shake them.
“Baby, I promise I’ll be good. I need you so bad. I really want my present, I’ll do anything.”
You gesture for him to stand, and he does because he’s a puppet on strings, and you arch your eyebrow at him. “You can start by putting your money where your mouth is. Sit at the foot of the bed for me and prove you can stay quiet by touching yourself.”
Sam’s clothes shlump to the floor unceremoniously as he peels off his layers, and you feel a pang of guilt because he’s shivering and flushed since he’s not warm yet. In a show of good faith, you kick the blanket towards him and scoot until you’re rested on the headboard.
It’s alright, you reason, because he won’t be left alone for long.
Sam wraps the blanket around his shoulders, and you watch with enthusiasm as he shifts. His cock is hard and flushed, his nipples pink and pert from the cold, and he’s wearing that shy expression he always has before he truly gets into it. You might be drooling.
It’s hard to tell if he’s teasing you or if he’s warming himself up when he runs his hand down his chest and across his stomach painfully slow. Your breath catches in your throat when he finally wraps a hand around his cock, deliberate as he spreads a bead of precome from his tip down with his thumb.
His teeth sink into his lip on the first stroke, cheeks darkening while his eyebrows scrunch inwards. He watches you watch him, and one corner of his mouth ticks upwards while he spreads his knees that much more and arches his back.
Stage fright gone, Sam’s putting on a show now, and god do you ever watch. You lose yourself in it—in the way his abs tighten and his breath puffs out intermittently like he might’ve moaned in another situation. His head falls back on his shoulders, eyes screwed shut, until finally he tightens his hand around the base of his cock and looks at you with pure desperation.
“Please,” his voice is hoarse when he whispers, and he’s squirming. For just a second you think you should tell him no, keep going, because you’re so into watching him you want to see his come paint his beautiful stomach. But then he’s blinking at you, big blue eyes pleading. “Baby?” His voice cracks when he prods for a response, and you decide he should be put out of his misery.
“Remember to be qui—“ Sam cuts you off in a bruising kiss. He doesn’t waste a second, licking into your mouth while he fumbles between your legs, rucking up the nightgown in the process.
“Quiet,” he pants while he rips the hem up past your breasts, leaving you suddenly cold and exposed, save the places where his fingers trail blazing paths towards your cunt. “Quiet, uh huh, I’ll be so—quiet—“ he nods into your skin, latching his mouth to your neck and sucking while he slips a finger into your eager cunt.
Sam’s fingers are expert, long and dexterous and callused from years of playing the guitar, and you’re the one struggling not to make any noise now while he fingers you open for him. Every glance of his fingers has your thighs twitching and you biting back little wanton moans.
“Shit, I can’t,” Sam withdraws his fingers after barely a minute, still managing a throaty murmur, “I’m so sorry, fuck, I just can’t wait. You’re so goddamn wet.”
And then he’s lining himself up and thrusting into you slowly. Inching in while he huffs air through his clenched teeth. You can tell he’s really trying to hold himself back, to be gentle, but then his forehead drops to your shoulder and he looses a high whine when his hips snap all the way forward seemingly against his volition.
You freeze, heart hammering in your chest as you hold him still and listen for any sounds that somebody in the house has woken up. Sam’s doing his best, but he’s gyrating against your cunt frivolously and begging against your chest.
“Just couldn’t help it, I’m sorry. Sorry, please baby,” he’s much quieter in his whisper now, “you just felt better— ah —than I expected—please let me move, I’ll be good I swear.”
After another moment of nothing, you finally relax your grip, and Sam wastes no time, fucking into you so hard and fast your eyes roll back in your head.
“Thank you baby— nngh —thank you,” the words are spoken against your breasts as he presses his mouth to them, sucking and nipping the skin while he humps you like an animal in heat. “Best Winter Star gift ever, swear. Thank you, oh God.”
You’re actually surprised when his thumb finds its way to your clit. Sam’s one track minded on his best days, and you would’ve thought he’d be too overwhelmed to even think of it.
“Wanna— hah —feel you come. Can you come on my cock baby?”
You go to say yes, you’re right there, and a too loud moan slips from your chest instead when he slams right into your g-spot. Sam’s free hand closes over your mouth, eyes wide and hips stuttering as he tries and fails to still to a stop.
He either doesn’t give a fuck or can’t bring himself to slow down anymore, because a moment later he’s back to absolutely railing you, making little tiny grunting whines as he does his best to keep himself quiet. “Gonna come,” he manages, strained, and that’s what finishes you.
You ride wave after wave of delicious white heat as Sam stuffs you with his come, shaking and muffling himself against your skin. He doesn’t stop thrusting, greedy and prolonging your mutual pleasure as long as he can before he collapses onto you, limp.
When you finally get your bearings back you take stock of the situation: Sam draped over you, cock still inside, nightgown around your armpits, bruises beginning to purple in the places where Sam used you as his silencer. A ripple of perverse arousal trickles through your overstimulated body at the sheer wrongness of it all, and you twitch.
That’s enough to rouse Sam, who kisses your cheek and pulls out of you, lovingly tucking the nightgown back down to your ankles and pulling up the blanket before snuggling into your side.
When you two wake, you’re horrified to find come staining the inside of the nice garment. Sam sees it over your shoulder while you’re changing and packing, and he tugs you close to him, purring into your ear, “I want you to wear that again when we get home tonight. I’m not finished ruining it.”