Jacob finds him, Sam, in the alleyway.
The cool of the late spring air hits him–a sharp contrast to the sultriness of the packed little bar–along with a heady puff of cigarette smoke.
“You good?” Jacob asks, sidling up next to him.
Sam turns to him, fixing him with a private smile.
“I’m good. It’s all just, well, you know.”
He nods.
Jacob does know. The intensity of this moment they find themselves in, on the cusp of something uncontrollable. They spent nine months baring their hearts for a camera and just sat in a room full of people, full of critics and fans and family and coworkers, as they saw it for the first time. Sam and him are cut from the same cloth, both anxious creatures at heart, and as much as they love this insane show, their sweet passion project, there’s always so much worry that others may not feel the same.
It's nice, though, to have each other throughout it all.
Sam offers him the cigarette that's simmering between his fingers, and although Jacob has been teeter-tottering the line of quitting for the past three years, he lets Sam bring it up to his mouth to take a large puff. He blames it on the nerves, but also the way the rings on Sam’s fingers glitter as they offer the fa*g to him.
“You're a bad influence on me,” Jacob laments.
Sam laughs, “I could say the same about you.”
“Mhm.”
Jacob lolls his head to stare, taking a catalog just for himself.
“You cold with all that mesh?”
That one gets a playful eye roll out of Sam, and maybe a bit of blush
“It's not so bad, you know, with you here.”
Jacob’s starts laughing.
“Wow. What a line.”
“Worked on you, didn’t it?”
Jacob just shrugs, bumping their shoulders together, because yeah.
Sam brings the cigarette to his lips once more. Instead of his beloved glass of riesling, Sam was drinking a red with dinner, a merlot. As evidenced by the wine glass inside sitting right next to his own, but also by the subtle, dark stain to the pout of Sam’s lips, which Jacob knows is also on his teeth. Everytime he drinks a dark wine, there’s something about his mouth that makes all of those compounds want to stick to it. Not that he blames them. It’s a peculiar side effect, but endearing. If Jacob had to describe Sam to anyone else, those would be the words he used. Peculiar and endearing.
“What?” Sam asks. He tucks a piece of hair behind his ear.
Caught staring; but that’s not out of the ordinary for either of them. Sam must think about it some more because he offers the stick to Jacob again. He considers, although ultimately pushes it aside in the name of his conscience.
“I’m good.”
“Can’t be too naughty, I suppose.”
They share a look and then dissolve into a fit of giggles, their bodies curling inwards towards each other, bracing on one another.
“Should we Irish goodbye?” Jacob asks at last.
“Bit rude, don’t you think?”
More laughter emerges. Everything about the night seems to make them laugh. Perhaps a side effect from knowing another so well. So many quiet spots in which only they can expertly hit. The rhythm of the tiny bar can still be felt from the alley, just in little waves. Sam calls an Uber Black on his phone to the nearest cross streets.
It’s a very large SUV, but they sit very close. In the back of the car, they let their shoulders bump and their thighs rub and their feet ever so often nudge against the other. Sam feigns tiredness and lets his head rest on Jacob’s shoulder after a while. The perfume from his hair products fill up Jacob’s senses.
Halfway to Sam’s Chelsea apartment, Rolin texts: have a good night ;)
“Cheeky bastard,” Jacob comments.
Sam snorts, “that he is.”
It’s hard to say when Rolin found out. Or when anyone found out, really. But they both have a feeling that Rolin was first. Maybe he had some sort of premonition even back when they first met, across time zones on a grainy zoom call. For most of New Orleans and season one, it was a flutter that they both kept well in-check.
And then Prague. Prague was a different beast. Most probably figured it out then, after all, they didn’t try hard to hide it. So now, when they disappear from places together, as they often do, no one asks questions.
The Uber drops them off on a quiet side street, right outside of the brick building Sam has been calling home.
Sam holds the door for him as they enter. Waiting in the hallway for the elevator, their pinkies brush, they linger too close to each other for it not to happen. In the elevator up, they hold hands; pinkies finally wrapping around the other’s and then full palms slotting together. Sometimes, Jacob likes to think that their hands were cut from the same stone. He doesn’t know what created them, or how, but whatever it was, it must’ve made them with the other in mind, there’s no other explanation.
“At this point,” he says while walking to Sam’s door, still intertwined by their hands, “we should just tell them to start booking one accommodation for the both of us.”
“AMC would love that,” Sam remarks, “cheap f*cks.”
“Don’t talk about big brother like that,” Jacob chides.
Sam unlocks the door and it swings open to reveal the Airbnb, their promised land. It’s small and sparsely decorated, but sweet. Sam tugs him inside. To Jacob’s disappointment, Sam has to let go of his hand to unlace his boots although Jacob still hovers near, slipping off his shoes and using his broad shoulder for stability. He’s still drunk enough to have a bit of a stumble when his balance is tested.
Sam looks up at him from his crouch, hand moving to steady him at the waist, “doing alright there, Jake?”
“I don’t want to hear a word from someone with purple lips right now.”
At that, Sam immediately moves to touch his lips, “really? Agh.”
Jacob snickers as Sam attempts in vain to rub the pigment off his lips, but the amusem*nt soon fades to something else. As funny as Sam’s distress is, the attention being pulled to Sam’s lips as he kneels next to him is going straight to his dick. It’s pavlovian, the way his subconscious reacts as soon as they get alone together. The heat that simmers in his gut perpetually around his man comes out full force.
It’s from that pavlovian response that Jacob reaches his hand out. He brushes a thumb right over the center of his lips, replacing where Sam was once rubbing incessantly. He lets his hand fall as Jacob takes over, the other gripping onto his narrow waist. Instead of resuming the scrubbing, Jacob moves his thumb slowly, snagging the plump of Sam’s bottom lip and pulling it down to reveal teeth. Then, he moves his thumb a little to the right, watching as it catches, and then up again, giving Sam a pout. Around and around in a circle he manipulates his face, and through it all, Sam sits there on his knees, watching Jacob through his eyelashes with rapt attention, letting himself be dissected for pleasure.
Very casually, Jacob uses his thumb to prod at the seam between Sam’s lips. With the encouragement of the pressure, Sam opens his mouth, letting Jacob insert his entire thumb. He drags it over the pointy ridges of his bottom teeth and then upwards to fit between his gums and the top molars, slowly traversing the plains of his maxillary teeth. Jacob clasps Sam’s chin with his four fingers and brushes his thumb over his tongue, from the tip all the way to the back of his throat. It’s almost like possession, the urge he gets to go deeper and deeper into his mouth. He feels Sam’s throat constrict against his thumb, but he doesn’t gag, just takes it.
From just this alone, Jacob feels like he’s harder than he’s ever been in his entire life. Both of their chests are moving rapidly.
He takes his thumb out, “can I just do anything to you?”
Sam swallows and seemingly blinks the trance out of his eyes before he responds, “yeah, pretty much.”
Jacob rubs his thumb over his cheek, “come up here then.”
Sam does as he’s told, unfolding from the ground and rising to his full height. They are so close now.
“Is it off my lips yet?”
“Not quite,” Jacob quirks his lips, “wanna kiss and see if that works?”
“That’s a good one,” Sam admits, voice low and breath coming out hot against Jacob’s face, “it doesn’t hurt to try.”
Sam leans in first. His big, paw of a hand rests right at the juncture between Jacob’s neck and jaw, cradling his pulsepoint. He’s so gentle when his lips finally meet Jacob’s. That was one thing he always marveled at about Sam, he’s such a presence, with those insane broad shoulders and his voice that could move mountains with the bass of it, yet he’s always quite soft and unassuming. It makes Jacob feel like a little, baby calf in the hands of his sweet farmer boy.
Jacob is the one who deepens the kiss out of that gentle press of their lips, biting at Sam’s bottom lip to make him open up, letting Sam lick a long strip into his mouth. He can’t deny himself the moan that slips out, which makes Sam go at him with a renewed intensity. If they don't stop now, Jacob thinks they might just end up f*cking on the kitchen floor. Sam bites at his bottom lip, latching on to it for a second before allowing Jacob to pull back, resting their foreheads against each other.
“We should go to the bedroom,” Jacob says.
“We should,” Sam agrees, then leans in to envelop Jacob in another kiss.
The kissing never stops but in a haze of hands and tongues and bodies and spit, they do eventually make it to the bedroom. Jacob walks Sam back so that his legs meet the side of the bed. He drags his hands from Sam’s jaw down to his shoulders, thumbing underneath the suit jacket, pushing it off his shoulders.
“Take this off for me, love,” he instructs, pushing the fabric off of Sam’s shoulders.
“Mhm,” Sam mumbles.
He shimmies out of the suit jacket and lets it drop to the floor. Jacob runs his hands over the fabric of the mesh shirt Sam wears underneath, feeling his back muscles twitch and jump under his exploring hands. He brushes a hand against the bottom hem, dragging his fingers across Sam's adonis belt as well.
“Will you get rid of the one for me, too?” Jacob asks, and Sam obeys.
To put them on more equal footing, and to relieve the sweltering heat that has entered his body, Jacob removes his jacket and tie while Sam takes off his own shirt. Sam’s hands feel their way up Jacob’s body come to his dress shirt, toying with the buttons. It’s a question that doesn’t need to be asked.
“Go on,” Jacob says.
His dexterous fingers make easy work of his buttons, leaving his shirt to fall open and expose his heated chest to the cool air of the room. Jacob pushes Sam onto the bed, his back hitting the plush comforter and hair fanning out around him like a halo. Jacob quickly follows, crawling over him and planting himself on his lap, resting on his arms to lean over the length of his body. Sam grasps him by the shoulders before mapping the length of Jacob’s back with his hands and then to the firm swell of his ass. At this point, Sam could probably recite all of the ebbs and flows of his body by memory. Jacob arches into his waiting hands. He used to get embarrassed by it, the startling way his body reacts, but Sam makes it so easy to just fall head first into his instincts.
“You’re so beautiful,” Sam breathes out, lips inches from Jacob’s.
Praise is something that falls so easily out of Sam’s mouth to him, but each time it makes his cheeks heat a little hotter.
“I think that about you all the time,” Jacob brushes a thumb over Sam’s sharp cheekbone, then leans in to give him a smooch.
He rolls his hips down and they both hiss out in pleasure, finally getting to that white-hot friction. Before Sam, Jacob doesn’t think he’s ever dry-humped this much, even fooling around as a horny teenager imbued with a healthy fear of teen pregnancy (thanks to his mum). But now, they love to pretend they have all the time in the world to rub up against each other and make out.
Sam’s left hand trails from his ass towards the center, over the slope of his cheek to brush right over his hole. Jacob jolts forward at the rush from the contact, smushing his face further into Sam’s as he cups him through his pants. He presses his middle finger down onto Jacob’s hole, making tight little circles. Jacob moans, an embarrassingly long and high pitched thing, but he can barely help himself.
“Please,” Sam asks.
Sam’s voice is deep enough that when he begs, it never takes on a whiny quality. It’s more of a growl, deep in his chest, which is dangerously much more hot and convincing.
As if Jacob isn’t pushing back into his hand like a bitch in heat, he asks, “please, what?”
Sam groans, tossing his face into the duvet, but then both end up laughing anyway.
“Hmm?” Jacob prompts, just to f*ck with him.
“I need to f*ck you,” Sam says, turning his face back to Jacob, cheeks flushed rose.
Maybe if he was less worked up, Jacob could drag this out a little longer, just to torture Sam, but he can’t deny how badly he needs it, too.
“I need you to f*ck me, too,” Jacob agrees, then sits back, “grab the lube?”
“Whatever you want,” Sam says.
Jacob hates to see him go, mourns the loss of his heat and his form, but he can’t deny the glee that comes to him seeing Sam walk around, locating the tube of lube, with an obscene tent in his pants. Jacob shuffles his way from the bottom of the bed to rest up on the pillows and the headboard, shucking off his pants and his boxers in the meantime.
Sam returns to him soon after, lube in hand and eyes raking over his body. He had also taken off his pants and boxers; that pretty dick of his flushed up against his pale belly. Almost involuntarily, Jacob lets his legs fall open, knees knocking to the sides, giving Sam a view of his hole. He can feel himself clenching around nothing in anticipation. Sam is the first–and only–man he’s been with, at least in this tender, carnal way. When they first had sex, forever ago at this point, he felt with the first thrust of Sam’s co*ck into him, the finality of a chemical reaction. It was one that began with their first meeting in New Orleans, with the transfer of sweat between the shaking of hands and then had turned him into an entirely different creature. He’s completely altered by Sam, by his body and his heart.
Sam crawls into bed with him, tossing the lube somewhere to the left of them. They kiss some more, salivating into each other’s mouths. When Sam pulls back, a line of saliva connects their lips together. He lowers himself down to spit a big, wet glob of it directly onto Jacob's hole.
“That’s nasty,” Jacob says, in the sense that he is so irrevocably turned on right now.
“I’ll show you ‘nasty’” Sam jokes, and grabs the lube.
A warm and wet finger circles his already wet hole, and what a relief it is to not have any fabric in the way anymore. Jacob sighs as the digit pushes its way inside, the pleasure of being full given to him in incremental pieces. Sam is always careful when he opens him up, taking his time, exploring the innermost depths of Jacob’s body with his fingers. Jacob loosely wraps a hand around his dick that seems to desperately need attention, laying leaking against his belly and twitching at the slightest arousal. Sam adds another finger to the mix, his middle and ring finger curling in, finding that sweet spot.
“Hngh,” is all Jacob manages to get out, can’t help but to jack his dick faster, “that’s good.”
“Yeah?” Sam looks ravenous as he inserts his pointer finger.
“Mhm.”
Jacob reaches with the hand that isn’t on his co*ck to brush a couple strands of hair from Sam’s forehead. His body is starting to feel like goo already, mostly all he can do is lay there and take it, listening to the sloppy squelch of Sam’s thick fingers in his hole and reveling in the way he opens up. His man knows how to use his fingers well. Sam continuously pets the insides of his walls, creating lush pressure, and then tops it off by brushing against his prostate every few thrusts. Jacob feels demons getting exorcised out of him every time. His back arches up off the bed, feet kicking out in a rush. Sam rises up so they’re at eye-level, barely contained in his lust.
“Can I?” he begs.
“You wanna put that big dick in me?” Jacob says, grinning through the delirium.
“Uhuh,” Sam nods, hair falling all over his face, so close to getting into Jacob’s mouth too, “wanna be inside you. Always wanna be inside you.”
Sam pulls Jacob’s legs up. He hitches them over his shoulders like it’s nothing, so that he’s prime for f*cking.
“Is that so?” Jacob goads, even if he knows the answer.
“Yea,” Sam grabs his co*ck, pulling back the foreskin to reveal the flushed head, “you’re like a siren, I just want to–mhm.”
A growl-grunt rips from Sam’s throat as his dick rubs against Jacob’s entrance.
Jacob rubs a soothing hand down Sam’s flank, “come on, you can f*ck me now, baby.”
He nudges the head of his co*ck right up against Jacob’s hole and pushes in. Sam goes slow, almost excruciatingly slow. Jacob can’t fathom the control he has in the moment. It feels mind-numbingly good to be stretched to the limits by his favorite co*ck. Sam’s eyebrows are knitted above him as he sinks inch-by-inch into his wet heat. As Jacob spasms and convulses through the pleasure, he keeps rubbing Sam’s side.
“Thassit,” Jacob slurs out.
His man is always so sweet and thoughtful with him. Sam slides all the way to the hilt.
“f*ck, you’re insane,” he groans out, chest heaving just from the first sheath.
Jacob gets giddy at that. Sam has had a lot more experience than he has, something that daunted Jacob in the beginning. To see and hear that it's just as mindblowing for Sam as it is for him, Jacob feels an incorrigible sense of pride. They kiss again. There’s nothing soft or tender about it this time. Sam sticks his tongue so far into Jacob’s mouth he thinks he may have licked his tonsils. Sam slightly thrusts his hips and Jacob’s right there with him, rolling back to meet each thrust.
The sex gets more frantic. Jacob urges, f*ck me harder. Sam’s thrusts become longer, more drawn out. He pulls his hips all the way back until just the head is caught inside Jacob’s tight hole before ramming it back in with a swift thrust. It’s impossible for Jacob to stop moaning. Each time he gets propelled into the pillows, a whine escapes him. Sam is no better, with a constant stream of f*ck, f*ck, god, sh*t. He essentially folds Jacob in-half and plants a foot down to better pound his ass into the mattress.
They don’t even kiss, just lips on top of the other, breathing hot air into each other’s mouths.
“You’re doing so well,” Jacob sighs, the coil of heat in his belly getting tighter, “you fill me up so good, uhn, so big.”
Sam splays a large hand over his lower abdominal. He presses down with every rock into Jacob. Jacob knows that he can feel himself moving inside, that idea coupled with the added pressure sets Jacob off. His senses overwhelm him. All he can focus on is how good he feels in this moment. He’s so close, he brings a hand to circle around his co*ck again, just to give him that extra push over the edge. Sam’s hand quickly comes to cover his own.
“Let me touch you.”
Jacob nods, letting his arms drop to the side as Sam circles his big fist all the way around his dick, setting a mean pace to match the intensity of his thrusts.
“Oh f*ck,” Jacob pants out, “I’m gonna come. Oh my god.”
It took him barely three strokes and then Jacob is shooting off with a moan. The acrobatic position that Sam has him in makes it so that the comeshot splatters all over his clavicle, neck, and lower face. One drop lands neatly on his bottom lip. Sam stops thrusting just to stare.
The absurdity of it makes them both break out in laughter.
“Holy sh*t,” Sam pants out.
He leans down to kiss Jacob. He sucks the come off of his bottom lip with an almost obscene moan. It never ceases to f*ck with Jacob, how much Sam wants him. The ferocity that he chases him with. Jacob has this man licking the come off his lips, only getting harder in the process. It makes Jacob get a little power-drunk, too. Jacob takes a hand to Sam’s cheek, pushing him back slightly.
“You gotta clean up the rest of me, too,” he instructs.
Sam nods, eyes nothing but black, “mhm.”
He sticks his tongue out flat and presses it down to Jacob’s chest. Upwards strokes of that broad muscle picking up the ropes of white and savoring it. He does a thorough job, making sure no crevice goes unexplored, drooling into his neck and all over his face. His co*ck stays twitching in Jacob, but he doesn’t move it an inch. Jacob feels it all happen to him in a dream-state, f*cked out and satiated. He strokes a hand through Sam’s hair.
“Good,” he says, and then impulsively he adds, “good boy.”
At that, a growl tears out of Sam, chest heaving in arousal.
“Go on,” Jacob urges, “get yours.”
“Can I flip you?” Sam asks, voice lower than he’s ever heard it.
“You can do whatever you want, baby.” Jacob tells him, his brain is turned all the way off.
Sam manhandles him so that his ass is up in the air and his face is smushed into the pillows. He lets himself be ragdolled as Sam begins to f*ck him again, bypassing the sweetness when he first starts to immediately pounding him into the mattress, the bed creaking with the force of it. His sweet little farmboy reduced to such a cavemen. His dick is spent, but Jacob still languishes in this special closeness, getting pleasure just from the feeling of one’s body being so irrevocably intertwined with his.
“f*ck,” Sam swears, signaling the beginning of the end, “you take me so well.”
Jacob can’t say much, just moans that get caught in the pillows, but Sam focuses on his mounting pleasure anyway. When he finally comes, he comes with a long moan, shooting ropes after ropes, painting Jacob’s walls pearly white. Heat radiates off their bodies, sweat drips between the two of them just as the come oozes from Jacobs hole. Sam doesn’t slip out of him just yet. He adjusts them so that they’re laying side by side, spooning, his breath coming out in hot puffs against Jacob’s next.
Jacob covers Sam’s hands on his stomach with his own, “that was, a lot.”
Sam huffs out a laugh, “did it feel good?”
That doesn’t cover it. Not nearly enough. In fact, Jacob doesn’t even think he has the vocabulary to properly express what just happened. He keeps thinking Sam has given him his last life-changing moment, each time can’t possibly open up his world even more. Yet, it does. When Jacob leaves this room, he will again be a changed man. He feels euphoric, he needs this everyday of his life. He’s addicted.
“I don’t think you should ever leave me,” is what Jacob settles on.
Yes, he’s talking about never wanting Sam to pull out of him, his keenness for at least two more rounds. He also means it in every other way too. He’ll never be able to leave Sam again, not leave him in this hotel room, not leave him in life. They’re woven together.
He feels Sam nod his head against his neck, “we’ll never, ever part. Whatever you want, I have for you.”
“I know,” Jacob says, “I’ve got you too.”
They lay there in silence for a moment, enjoying each other. Sam pulls out of him eventually. Jacob mourns the loss, but also cringes at the flow of come that comes with it.
“Aw man.”
Sam chuckles, “we should probably clean up.”
“Probably,” Jacob agrees, “wanna shower together?”
“I always want to shower together.”
Back in New Orleans, when there was still a mountain of repression, tension, and plausible deniability between them, they showered together a couple times. Mostly after shoots with obscene amounts of blood, citing efficiency. Naked as the day they were born but the only time they'd touch would be to scrub the shampoo in each other's hair. They would stand there and watch the red corn syrup swirl down the drain together. Now, Jacob laughs at the memory. They were f*cked from the start.
