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Many Waters

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When Jess gets back from study group, Sam is still at the kitchen table. Classic Readings in Political Theory is closed now, and Sam is bent over a book Jess recognizes from when she took econ.

“It’s like eleven,” she says from the doorway. He doesn’t startle; it doesn’t matter how quiet she tries to be, how little attention he is apparently paying, she has still never, ever surprised him.

“I have to finish this reading before tomorrow.”

Jess is unconvinced, because more than once she’s caught him reading a week in advance. “Well, come cuddle on the couch with me for a while. Then I can go to bed and you can go back to work, if you want.” She walks up behind him and lays her hands on his shoulders. “Pleeease?”

“Fine,” he says, but when he gets up and turns around, he’s grinning.

They get all settled on the sofa. Sam mumbles something about TV, and Jess gives him the eye and says, “Seriously? You’ve got me all to yourself on this very comfy couch, and you want to watch TV?”

And he blushes. Goddamn, she loves this boy, because even though he’s competent in bed – his theory is solid, at any rate, and she’s been working on giving him plenty of practice – she can still get him to blush with one flirty eyebrow. Who knew they grew ‘em like this anymore?

He’s still flushing firey red when he pulls her in and starts nibbling his way up her throat, which she really approves of. She squirms, aiming to give him a better angle. He grunts. It’s a sharper sound than she’d have expected of a badly placed elbow, and she pulls back. “You okay?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Just, um, I should piss at some point.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jess slides a hand over his abdomen, just south of his navel. There’s a tremor under her palm. That’s. Well. That’s really interesting, and more than just her brain thinks so. “Shoulda gone before we left,” she teases.

He shrugs. “Used to holding it.”

It’s not that Jess has never noticed Sam’s superhuman control of his bladder. He’s said something before about a lot of road trips as a kid. It just never occurred to her to care until now. “What’d you drink, like a two-liter of Mountain Dew? That stuff is disgusting.”

“Not the whole two-liter,” Sam says. He’s eyeing her, which she can’t blame him for, because she apparently is pausing a make-out session to interrogate his caffeine habits.

“When did you go last?” Jess asks.

“Why?” Sam is seriously giving her the side-eye now, and she is abruptly done with exploring this topic. She starts sliding her hand up under his t-shirt. He’s got a nipple sensitivity she can distract him with.

But he catches her wrist before she gets far. “Why?” he repeats.

Something about his inflection suggests he knows she’s not just motherhenning him. “I just want to know.”

He gives it some thought this time. “Maybe six hours.”

“Yeah?” His grip is loose, and she pulls out of it and gently presses against his stomach. He gasps, and God, that sound goes straight south.

He gives her a long, slow look, and he says, “Just don’t make me piss myself.”

The trip from pleasantly buzzed to turned the fuck on usually takes her a lot longer than this, not to mention it normally doesn’t involve anyone’s bathroom activities, but oh baby is she there now.

She angles the heel of her hand against him and digs in, just a little. He huffs, and his eyes are half closed, and those careful shallow breaths he’s taking are as good as any bedroom sounds she’s heard.

“Does it hurt?” she asks.

His eyes slit open. “Kinda?”

“In the good way?” She presses a little deeper, and he groans.

“I can deal.” That is not the ringing endorsement Jess looking for. She starts to pull back, and Sam grabs her wrist again. He gives her one of those slitted, cat’s-eye grins, and she knows that grin, oh yes she does.

She starts to drag the heel of her hand ever so slowly over Sam’s lower belly. He sinks back into the couch, away from the pressure, and she follows him in. “Where you going?” she asks, and presses a little deeper. He groans, and then he shoves her hand away.

“Okay,” he says. “Hitting the head now.”

“Leave the door open,” Jess calls after him.

“Seriously?” She hears the grin in his voice, though, and a half second later she also hears a prodigous stream of fluid hitting the toilet bowl.

* * *

“So what was that?” Sam asked a while later, after he’d done the relatively short work of getting Jess off with his fingers. Seriously, it did not take long this time.

Jess didn’t so much as move her head from the pillow. “Baby’s first watersports?” She blinks her eyes open. “Did you like?” To her ears, the question sounds a little tentative. She’s not used to being shy about this sort of thing, but then she’s not used to getting off on her boyfriend needing to piss, either.

“I could deal,” he says.

“Yeah?” She’s having a little trouble reading his tone. “You think you’d like to ‘deal’ again?”

“Maybe?” There’s a pause. “Maybe.”

Okay, well, Jess is willing to work with that. She can be patient.

* * *

Over the next couple of weeks, Jess catches him a couple more times, bent over his books for hours and strung along on caffeine - which is, of course, a dieuretic - and she lures him onto the couch and plays with him a little while before he’s up and off to the bathroom.

After the first time, he clearly knows what’s going on, and he knows she gets off on it. She’s not sure, though, but that he might be just doing it for her. Which is sweet, but also not quite what she was aiming for. So much for that, she supposes.

* * *

The week before midterms, Jess drags Sam out on a Friday night because seriously, even the full-ride wonderboy does not need to be doing homework on a Friday night, midterms or no. There’s a rock concert in the community park just off-campus where the musicians are more loud than good, and then Jess’s friend Kaytee declares she needs Taco Bell, because, as Kaytee puts it, “I’m just pure class like that.”

So Jess is in line with Sam and contemplating her none-too-appealing options – at least McDonald’s has salad now, good grief – when Sam leans down and whispers in her ear, “I thought maybe I’d get the megasize soda.”

“The what?” Jess follows his line of sight to the ridiculous forty-ounce plastic cup. “Do you really need that much caffeine? Anyway, you’ll need to piss, like, a billion times...” She trails off as she recognizes the look in his eye. Oh. “Really?”

He shrugs, and now he looks a little embarrassed. “Never mind.”

Jess closes in and slides her hand oh so subtly – except not at all, because this is her man and she doesn’t care who knows it – across his belly. “I think that is an awesome idea.”

“Yeah?” He already sounds a little breathless, in anticipation, maybe, and Jess likes that a lot.

“Yeah. Only, get Gatorade instead.”

“What? Why?”

“Salts and electrolytes. If you’re putting that much fluid through your system, you don’t want to get imbalanced.”

He gives her the eye. “Seriously?”

“Hey, you think I’m a health and nutrion major for kicks?”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

He fills the forty-ounce cup to the brim with purple Gatorade, and then he sits there next to Jess, across from Kaytee and Jarvis, and proceeds to start sucking it down. He catches her eye sometimes with the straw in his mouth, and he doesn’t wink, doesn’t change expression at all, but he’s reminding her what he’s doing just the same. It gives Jess a hot delicious shiver every time he does it.

He’s about half done when Jess slides a hand into his lap and presses her fingertips to his belly. His breath hitches. He pushes her hand away, leans over, and whispers, “Not yet.”

And yeah, it’s not like all that fluid has had a chance to work its way to his bladder. Still, Jess knows quite well just what Sam’s stomach feels like under all sorts of circumstances, and he is definitely... sloshier, now. She squirms a little in her seat, and the edges of Sam’s mouth turn up.

Jess makes a decision. In Sam’s ear, she says, “You had enough of your Friday night out?”

His tone doesn’t give away a thing. “Maybe. Why?”

“I think we should go home and watch a movie on our very own couch.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You could bring your drink. Since you’re not finished.”

“Works for me.” He shrugs, apparently all casual about this change in plans, but Jess knows that smirk hiding in his eyes.

They extricate themselves from Kaytee and Jarvis and walk the short distance back to their apartment. Jess works on unlocking their door and asks, “So, how are you feeling? Ready to burst?”

Again, that casual shrug. “Not yet.”

“So we should watch that movie?”


So they hunker down on the sofa and channel-surf until they find a Bruce Lee movie – because Sam may be the fullride wonderboy, but he is still just boy when it comes to his taste in movies – and Sam finishes his drink. Jess ends up with her head his lap, partly if not entirely because his stomach’s gurgling and she can hear it better there.

God, she is so much weirder than she ever thought she was. She’s not sure what it says about Sam that he doesn’t seem weirded out at all.

Just as the big final battle starts, Jess adjusts her position and bumps up against Sam, and he says, very quietly, “Oof.”

The movie is forgotten. Sam’s staring down at her. His eyes are wide and his mouth is a little slack, and Jess knows that that sound was exactly the sound she’s been waiting for. She rolls her head against his stomach again, and he grunts.

Gently Jess levers herself off his lap. “You ready for this?”


“Really? Because you don’t sound sure.”

“Jess.” Now he just looks annoyed.

“Okay, okay!”

Now, Jess has been giving this some thought this evening, while she’s waited for all that purple Gatorade to move through Sam’s pipes. Let’s be honest, she’s been giving this some thought for a month and a half now. She gets up and swings herself onto Sam so she’s straddling him with her weight on his legs and knees. She wriggles a little. “This good?”

“Just don’t make me piss myself,” he says again, but it doesn’t sound like any of the times he’s said it before – and he has, every single time they’ve done this. This time, it doesn’t sound like a bargain being struck. It sounds like a plea.

And Jess thought this couldn’t get any better. The blood rushing south says different. “I won’t,” she promises. “I won’t.”

Since this has always been so casual the other times, unspoken, almost accidental, Jess felt a little weird about doing any set-up. She doesn’t now. Clearly, if she wants real access then Sam needs to lose the belt. She reaches down and starts to unbuckle.


“No hands,” Jess says, pushing his away.

His eyes are already huge, and she hasn’t even touched him yet.

She finishes unbuckling the belt, and then she undoes his jeans button and zips his zipper halfway down. “How we doing there, champ?”

“Pretty—” He gasps as her finger barely grazes the skin of his soft, pale underbelly. “Pretty full.”

“Could you go now?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Tough.” She flattens her hand against the warmth of his stomach and presses, ever so gently. He gasps, and it’s a familiar sound now, but no less exciting. “You’re all tense,” she says.

“Yeah?” The word comes out a little strangled.

She puts both hands to his belly, just below the navel, and starts very gently to knead. “You need to relax.”

“What are you doing? I told you—”

“Not all the way. Just a little. Try it. Loosen up just a little bit for me, okay?”

Under her hands, his contracted abdominal muscles begin to relax. She presses gradually in again. He tenses up, and she whaps him lightly across the belly with the flat of her hand. He gasps. “You need to stay loose.”

“I need to?”

Jess sees the twinkle in his eye. “You want to.”

“Okay, okay.” And he does it. He loosens up enough that she can press in just a quarter inch and hear the change in Sam’s breathing. A half inch, and his hands grasp at the upholstery, his shoulders shoved into the sofa as deep as they’ll go.

“We should go to the beach next weekend,” Jess says.

Sam’s eyes fly open. “What?”

“I think there’s a big high tide coming.” She turns to kneading again, measuring Sam’s resistance with her fingertips. He’s starting to quiver. “You know, all that water rushing in from the ocean, those big waves crashing against the shore.”

His reply is more sound the words.

“There’s a lot of force in one of those waves. Could go right through a man.” She flattens both hands against Sam begins to press down as gradual and certain like the tide coming in.

“Jess,” Sam pants.

She doesn’t pause. Slowly, slowly is the game. He’s talking, sort of, but it’s his gasps she’s listening to, the one’s she’s pressing out of him. She’s familiar with the Sam-sound that means orgasm imminent, the helpless urgency of it. She’d know that urgency anywhere know now, whatever the cause.

“Okay, Jess,” Sam says with a ring of finality.

Jess doesn’t swing herself off him, like he probably expected he would. She says, “We should take this to bathroom.”

This isn’t how he expected the script to go. “We should?”

“You can make it to the shower, right? Get your clothes off?”

“I, uh.” Jess applies a tiny bit of new pressure, and Sam’s eyes go even wider. “Yeah.”

“Great.” Jess slides carefully on him. “Onward!”

“Jess,” Sam says softly. He pushes himself very carefully to his feet, and once he stands, he holds himself very still. Even his grin is adorably stiff. “Jess, you’re a dork.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. She steps in beside him and puts a hand to his elbow, carefuly not to jostle. He’s like a vase filled to the brim, ready to spill at the slightest bump. The only way to take him anywhere is very, very slowly.

It is with deep concentration that they make their way around the couch and down the hall. Once they get into the bathroom, Sam backs himself up to the counter and grips it with both hands while Jess pulls the jeans down to his ankles. He lifts his arms, stiff as a mannequin, and she pulls his shirt over his head. She steps back and admires him. His thin wiry form has been filling out since she first met him, helped along by regular cooking and occasional trips to the gym. She steps around to the side and eyeballs his lower abdomen. Probably it’s her imagination, but she thinks she can see a bit of a swell there.

She lets him stand there and strips herself down to her underwear. What she’s envisioning is not helped by too much clothing. Then she maneuvers Sam in. It’s not the most spacious of showers, but that’s okay; Jess doesn’t need much room. She moves right in behind him until her boobs are flattened against his chest, and she reaches around, positioning her flattened hand just below his bellybutton.

“Can I go now?” he asks, in a desperate whine, and this. This is exactly where she’s wanted him since before she’d even worked out what she wanted.

“Soon,” she promises. She slides her hand back and forth across his stomach. All his muscles are tight, contracted and guarding against any pressure from her, and that is just not right. “I told you to relax. Just a little bit, you can do it.”

He softens under her touch, ever so slightly, and she takes the opportunity to push just a little bit against his belly.


“You’re fine,” she says. “See, you’re fine.”

“Oh, God,” Sam groans. He’s close to the opposite wall of the shower, and braces his hands on it, his head drooping.

Still flush against him, Jess picks up where he interrupted her before. She places both flat against his lower belly – still not really relaxed, but she figures that’s to be expected now – and begins to press in, through him and directly towards herself. His groan is long, pulled straight out of his throat. She presses a little more, and his breaths, which have already been pretty shallow for ten minutes now, quicken into tight, sharp pants.


And there it is. That breathless plea is the signal she’s been waiting for.

“Okay,” she says. “You can go. Let go.”

For a moment nothing happens.


She doesn’t know if it’s his muscles or his brain that don’t believe her. She grips his belly with both hands and begins to knead, harder now than before, firm. “You can go,” she repeats, and digs in with her knuckles.

Then all the tension in his stomach just goes, there’s nothing under her hands but the yielding giddy pressure of contained fluid, and then it’s gone, too, emptying out of Sam in a heavy pale stream against the discolored, off-white tile.

When it’s all done but the dripping, Sam collapses against the wall of the shower. “Oh my God,” he groans.

Jess steps in until they’re touching, hip to hip. “How you doing?”

There’s a few moments where Sam just breathes. Finally, raggedly, he says, “I’m definitely not doing any studying tonight.”

Jess laughs, giddy with relief as well as other things. “Well, good.”

Sam glances sidelong at her. “How are you doing?”

Jess doesn’t quite know how to answer that. Sam saves her the trouble. He reaches out and grazes his knuckles against her clit, and she just about buckles at the touch.

“You know,” Sam says, as impish as she has ever seen him, “I just pissed a lot. I’m sort of thirsty.”

Jess is flushing. How is Jess flushing? Apparently Sam just brings it out in her. Maybe they bring it out in each other. She manages to say, “I could probably help you with that.”

“But I have to keep my salts balanced.”

“I can definitely help you with that.”

* * *

On Thursday at ten pm, Jess stalks into the kitchen. Blearily, Sam looks up from his econ book. Huge test tomorrow, he said. Have to study, he said.

Well, he’s studied enough.

“I’m putting a time limit on you, mister,” Jess says.

Sam’s eyebrows rise.

Jess pulls the bottle of Gatorade out from behind her with a flourish and sets it on the table. Thunk. “You drink that, and then you’re done for the night. Deal?”

And he grins at her. Sam, her shy awesome ridiculous boyfriend who pisses on her command, grins at her. “Yes, ma’am,” he says.