Don't Scratch N' Sniff The Stickers, Darling

By Dr. Pepper 14

Beta'd by my lovely assistant Collar de Espinas!

Summary: Slash. For SerialXLain: Sammie and Tye like fucking in public establishments, wearing orange eye-liner, and John Wayne. But really, who doesn't?

Requirements: A hockey player, a cowboy, a pony, carrots, and boys loving boys.

Song I Listened To Incessantly While Writing This: 'Checkmarks' by The Academy Is. I have no life. But it's a good song. So there.

Merry Christmahanukwanzadon SerialXLain! I love you and the way you kick ass. I really do.

"Kick their fucking asses Sammie!" I scream and throw a handful of overly buttered popcorn at a group of people a few rows below me who are wearing the opposing team's colors.

A woman beside me covers her daughter's ears with a familiar looking pair of pink gloves which makes me think of my little sister and suddenly I don't feel like cursing anymore. Out loud, at least.

I push my glasses further up on my nose, watching Sammie as he skates around the ice hockey rink and pins someone up against the wall, slamming the guy in the family jewels with his hockey stick when the refs aren't looking. Damn, I wish that I were the one he's pinning against the wall right now (though, minus the crotch kick), but that can wait until later…

It's no miraculous game. Sammie doesn't score the winning point last second; the crowd doesn't give a standing ovation- it's just a high school hockey game for god's sake, and nobody gives a shit. Besides, we've been winning almost the entire time, it's rather sad. I would almost feel sorry for the other team… but I don't. Winning makes Sammie happy and a happy Sammie is a frisky Sammie.

I can't wait until we get to my house…

No, I mean it, I really can't wait. And I fucking won't.

After the game, I let myself into the locker room. I'm really not supposed to go in there because it's against the rules and all, but-

Number One: This is high school and nobody cares.

Number Two: I'm boning the star player.

True, no one knows about that second fact, but I'm sure Sammie'd be able to sweet talk me out of any trouble I might get into- like last time. The coach walked in on us when we were making-out in the locker room -right after I pulled away and put some distance between us, of course- and threw a fit like a three year-old who just had her Barbie stolen.

The coach threatened to have me banned from attending any more of the games. Sammie threatened to quit the team.

Needless to say, the coach crumbled.

I find him in his own little alcove of the locker room. He says he doesn't like changing in front of other people. What a dork.

"Congrats, Sammie!" I pin him against the lockers, my hands pushing his shoulders, and plant a big wet one on his mouth.

His eyes are screaming with adrenaline-induced excitement, "Thanks! I can't believe we won! And next we go to states and if we win states we-" something stops him mid-rant, "Oh god..." he moans quietly, very quietly because his teammates are on the other side of the lockers and could hear us.

Yes, that something would be me. Namely my lips and tongue on his neck, ravaging the skin, just how he likes it. Heh, I know how much it turns him on. I kiss up and down his smooth creamy neck, dragging my tongue, scratching with my teeth.

"Mmm, Tye…" he tilts his head further back.

"Yeah baby, moan my name," I say just loud enough for him to hear, giving his neck a lick and suddenly grinding into his hips.

He laughs and puts a little more space between us so our hips aren't touching quite as much, "Shut up, goddamn perv," his hand pushes against my head, moving it away from his neck.

No matter, I just push more forcefully up against him, making sure the lock on the locker is digging painfully into his back, but I know he likes it, "I love your sweaty man-sweat," I declare, licking a drop of sweat from his temple with the tip of my tongue.

"That's redundant," he states, and then, "You are so fucking weird."

"So I am," my mouth moves back to his neck, my body intent on fucking him right here in the locker room.

"Shit, Tye. Cut that out," he places two hands on my chest and pushes me away, "If you haven't noticed, we're in a locker room with the rest of my team not too far away and I'm only wearing a towel."

I squeeze his ass with my hands, "Of course I've noticed," I give his cute tush a little pat, "Now hurry the fuck up and get dressed so we can go."

"Yeah, yeah…" he mutters, grabbing his clothes out of his Nike bag.

I cover my eyes with my hands to give him some privacy as he finishes getting dressed.

"You little fucker," he smacks me upside the head when he notices me peeking through my fingers.

With a huff, I turn my back to him, busying myself with scratching 'Tye loves Sammie' into the paint of a locker with my finger-nail. When that is finished and Sammie still hasn't, I fish out a pen from my pocket and draw on my hand. When that hand is covered, I draw on my other hand. When both hands are completely covered, I lift up my shirt a little, playing a game of tic tac toe on my stomach.

But playing tic tac toe with yourself isn't very fun. And I'm a sore loser. A sore loser whose stomach has the remnants of a tic tac toe game drawn to perfection in bright black ink. And while that makes me damn cool…

Pretty soon, I'm fucking bored.

Something fishy is going on here… and no, I'm not talking about the half-empty can of tuna someone left in locker 84 a few lockers down.

"Sammie? What the fuck are you doing? If you're jerking-off over there, then just wait until we get to my house and I'll help you out-" I turn around, "Where the fuck did he go?"

He isn't there. That sneaky bastard.

I creep out from the mini locker bay… and there he is, talking in a group with the other players, his hands are moving animatedly around him.

Without warning, I run and tackle him to the ground.

"You bitch," I growl, punching him in the shoulder (not too hard).

"Hey, Tye! Didn't see you there," Joey greets.

"That's because I barely come to your shoulders, you fucking mammoth," I grumble to myself, not as bitter as I pretend to be, then move my head to look at him, "Hey there, Joey," said a bit louder, I move my attention back to Sammie, "Now excuse me as I teach this dickhead a lesson."

"Whoa there!" Joey says as he lifts me off Sammie, "We can't have you hurtin' our best player- we need him for states."

Fucking weightlifter. Damn him.

"So you say. You just don't want me to mar his pretty face," I sneer, giving Sammie's cute grin the finger.

"Right. Well, it does bring a lot of fans of the preteen female variety to the arena. Wouldn't want to lose 'em," Joey teases, pinching Sammie's cheeks as I resist the urge to growl at this (very hetero) guy touching my man, "So you guys comin' to the after party?"

Ah, the after parties. Where high school students alike can go to some random person's house and get half-drunk and stoned, all before one o'clock in the afternoon. That's the way it always happens when these hockey games are at ten in morning- party all day until night comes. And then party hardy some more, followed by passing out in some random place on the floor/grass/tile, wherever you happen to land. You hope you wake up fully clothed.

Or in my case, if you wake up half-dressed next to an equally half-dressed Sammie, you don't.

Sammie answers before I can, "Got other plans," he says, giving me a sly look.

I grin stupidly. I know exactly what kind of 'other plans' he's got.


"What other plans could possibly be more important than the party of the century?" Joey wants to know even though he says that about every party, looking scandalized.

Once again: me.

He realizes his shirt is on backwards, pulls his arms in to turn it around, and looks at Sammie curiously through shaggy bangs, "What are you doing?"

Cough, he'll be doing me, cough.

At Sammie's somewhat embarrassed expression (which is incredibly fucking adorable, I must say), Joey seems to take a hint, "Oh, I get it- no need to spell it out for me."

"Yeah, because you don't even know your fucking alphabet. It'd be pointless," I mutter, picking a scab off my left knee, but no one really hears me.

Joey raises and lowers his eyebrow suggestively, giving a locker near him a thrust with his hips, "You've got yourself a hot date, dontcha?"

I check myself out in a mirror. Yeah, I guess you could say that. I'm hot shit.

He blows out a puff of air that ruffles his bangs, "When are you gonna tell me who it is already?" he sighs exasperatedly.

"Don't sweat it –because you're sweaty and gross already - I'm his best friend and he still won't tell me who it is," I sling an arm around Sammie's shoulders, silently laughing to myself.

Sammie pinches my side, right where the hem of my shirt falls, "You guys are just jealous," he says, throwing his head back in a haughty manner, "Jealous that I'm getting laid and fuck is it gonna be good," the fingers are no longer pinching me, but rubbing the skin there, underneath my shirt, and I hope none of the guys notice this.

I shiver a little at his words and soft touch, "Yes… very jealous…" is about all I can say at the moment.

Joey gives Sammie a 'thumbs up' and the rest of the guys murmur their 'good luck's.

"You're a lucky man, my friend. I haven't gotten any pussy in for-fucking-ever," he whispers reassuring words to his crotch, "What about you, Tye?"

"I have a cat."

Sammie's fingers are still stroking my side.

"Uh, I mean… are you coming to the party?" Joey asks, giving me a strange look.

"Oh yeah. He'll be coming alright," Sammie answers for me- and with a straight face, too.

Before Joey can take a second to realize that Sammie's words don't really make sense at all unless you take them for their true meaning, I contradict him, "Actually, no. I can't come. Little sister's b-day party, gotta be there, you understand."

"Fine," Joey scowls, slinging his bag over his left shoulder, "Party poopers..."

"Maybe next time, man," I say, tugging on Sammie's jacket, a sign that I'm ready to go.

We walk like that, with our arms over the other's shoulders, to my car, occasionally bumping hips because it really is an awkward way to walk.

I open the passenger door like any true gentleman would and let my lady –I mean, Sammie- into the car. I barely avoid a collision with the wall as we leave when a hand lands on my thigh. It moves away after giving me a quick squeeze.

"Hey, Sammie?" I quickly jerk the wheel to the right.

"Yeah? What?" he asks, stopping his fiddling with the radio stations to look at me.

I swiftly shift gears, "Do you mind if we make a quick pit-stop at Wal-mart to pick up some ice cream for my sister's party?" my finger pushes a button to change the station from whatever stupid one he's picked.

He changes it back, "No, not really."

I pull into the Wal-mart parking lot, squashing my car between two big trucks parked by people who didn't know what the fuck they were doing.

Sammie ditches me as soon as we enter the building as if I'm nothing more than a pant to his leg, "Okay… you get the ice cream and I'm gonna go look at stuff," he runs off excitedly, looking like a kid in a toy store, "C'ya!" he calls over his shoulder.

"He yours?"

I turn around at the sound of the masculine voice and see that it's some guy with a cart pilled high with boxes of feminine products. He leans it against a shelf of cereal on sale.

I snort and nod my head, "Yup. That's my baby," I watch Sammie adoringly as he runs around and picks up random things.

He quirks an eyebrow, funny little grin setting in, "Your baby? Didn't you ever learn about safe sex in Sex Ed?"

"The condom broke," I bend down to tie my shoe, "So how'd you know, anyway? We're usually painstakingly obvious, but we haven't even done anything nearly discriminating yet," I tuck the laces into the shoe.

He laughs at points somewhere behind me, "Well, he's glaring at me like he wants to kill me."

"What?" I stand up and turn around.

Sure enough, Sammie has stopped picking up all the toys and other random shit and is glaring daggers at… hmm, I don't even know his name.

"I'm Tye. And you would be…?" I hold out my hand for him to shake.

"I be Robbie," he offers as he offers his hand.

"Tye you whore!" Sammie stomps up beside me, arms crossed over his muscular chest, "Stop hitting on every cute guy you see, will ya?"

Robbie bats his eyelashes, "You think I'm cute?"

"I'm not!" I protest as he slips his arms around my waist in a 'this bitch is taken' gesture, "We were just talking."

"We were just talking," he mocks, "Talking, shmalking. What is that? Code for 'canoodling' or 'making plans to fuck later in the employee's bathroom'?"

That's a pretty good idea… just minus the Robbie fuck and add the Sammie fuck. Robbie's hot and all, but I love Sammie and I'd much rather fuck him in there. I'd be fun.

"Yes, Sammie. Exactly," I tease, looking serious though, "Now excuse us. We're busy."

But he looks so sad…

"Oh stop it, you dork," I order him, turning my head to reach his lips, "You know I like your burgers best…"

I kiss him, showing him just how much his burgers are the shit and that I'd never eat burgers anywhere else.

Someone clears their throat nearby.

I pull away and trace the little goatee on his chin with a finger, moving the finger to trace his lips as well. His tongue darts out to meet my finger. I smile when I hear Robbie laugh quietly, something that seems to snap Sammie out of his tongue-fucked daze.

I hiss as Sammie's arms constrict almost painfully around my middle, "My Tye-" he growls at Robbie.

"-Sammie," I pant, "I can't breathe-"

"-My best friend. My fuck buddy. Mine. So I suggest that you just fuck off, bucko."

Robbie holds his arms out in front of him defensively, "Whoa there cowboy. I'm not mackin' on your man," he assures him, taking a step back and bumping into his cart.

I suck in air and let out a sigh of relief as Sammie's arms loosen their hold.

"Oh. Sorry," Sammie apologizes, twisting his shirt in his hands sheepishly.

"'Oh. Sorry'!?," I exclaim, elbowing him in the ribs, "Is that all you have to say for yourself, dickwad?" I wiggle out of his hold, "Oh, sorry I doubted your fidelity, Tye? Oh, sorry I nearly suffocated you, Tye? Oh, sorry I don't even know you, Robbie, but still acted like a complete asshole to you? You're such a dick," I yell, now out of breath, and ignore him when he makes a perverted comment, twisting my words.

Robbie makes a dismissing sound and fiddles with his nametag, "Eh, it's alright. I know what it's like to be in love with your best friend."

I raise an eyebrow, a habit I picked up from Sammie, intrigued, "Well?" I prod.

He frowns, "Well what?"

"How's that going for you?" Sammie supplies the question.

"Oh, um... It's not going, I guess," he shrugs, "He doesn't know I like him. Or that I'm gay."

I nod.

Now friendly, Sammie slings an arm around his shoulders, "Don't worry. I had no idea Tye was gay until he jumped me one day in the locker room and all but fucked me into the dirty carpet."

"I won't," Robbie says, sounding defeated, "And I don't think that'd work for me. I'm not cool enough."

"Nonsense," I berate him, "So what's his name?" I ask, fiddling with my bracelet.

Robbie looks around himself suspiciously as if someone might care enough to listen to three teenaged boys' conversation, "Clay…" his eyes shift back and forth.

"Clay? Like the art supply?" wonders Sammie.

Robbie rolls his eyes, "No, Clay as in the person, dumb shit. I'm not in love with fucking art supplies," he adds almost offhandedly, "I hate art. I almost failed kindergarten because of art… fucking useless subject…"

I pick up a box from the cart, "What's with the Tampax?"

He grins sourly, "Punishment."

"Punishment?" I inquire further, wondering what kind of punishment involves tampons.


"Gah!" Robbie drops the box he had previously been holding onto my foot.

We all jumped out of our shoes as a girl in pink high heels and a Wal-mart uniform stormed past.

"We'll leave you to it, then," Sammie says, picking up the box and handing it to him.

"C'ya," he waves as we leave and we wave back.

Sammie drags me off to some unidentifiable isle.

"Do you want my bod?" he asks, waving around some bod man fragrance spray.

"You put that shit on and I'll never touch you again," I warn, dodging out of the way when he tries to spray me with it.

He gives up and quickly finds something else to amuse himself with.

"Look! It lights up!" he holds out the toothbrush to me, demonstrating to me its amazing ability.

"Neat-o," I respond, not really paying attention, "Okay, you stay here and do… whatever the hell you were going to do… I'm gonna go get the ice cream."

"'Kay," he murmurs, attention focused on an electric razor now.

I half expected him to protest and say he wanted to come with me to make sure I wouldn't hit on any more Wal-mart employees, but he didn't. I leave him with his toys.

I shuffle over to the frozen isle, stare at the different flavors of ice cream, argue back and forth between cookie dough and Reese cup, end up finally just grabbing a random flavor, and head back to where I last saw Sammie.

"Sammie?" I call, looking around, "Sammie?" a little louder.

"Over here."

I walk past the shampoo isle, the tampon/pad/deodorant isle (half-expecting to see Robbie there), and find Sammie scurrying around in the makeup isle. He's leaning towards a mirror, applying some dark orange eyeliner underneath his eyes.

"Whadda ya think?" he poses for me, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically, "Tye? Tye? Why are you looking at me like that?" he says, stopping his model posing to give me a funny look.

"I think-" I say, voice low and much huskier than I thought it would be as I advance towards my prey, "-that you should wear eyeliner more often," and then I pounce.

"Holy mother of Jesus!" he cries in surprise as I swiftly back him into a wall, not caring as makeup tumbles to the floor and rolls away, some shattering.

I lean my forehead against his, hands working their way underneath his t-shirt as I stare into his eyes, "That is just about the sexiest thing I've ever seen."

"Then you haven't seen much," his warm breath hits my face.

Next thing I know, we're on the ground, Sammie on top of me.

It starts as short darting kisses, no tongue- just a peck and then pull away, but soon escalates into something more frantic. And yet… our kiss is still very patient nonetheless. I don't worry about my glasses breaking when Sammie throws them to the side somewhere for better face-suckage because I don't care. He takes his time in coaxing my mouth to open, tongue running over the roof of my mouth and over my teeth as if he has all the time in the world to explore the inner wonders of my mouth. And I suppose he does have a long time, we're still only in high school- we have the rest of our lives. Cue annoying soap opera music that is the true leading cause of death in old people nowadays.

The kiss takes a sudden turn and not an unwelcome one. It's all teeth, ruthless tongues, and wandering (bordering on groping) hands. It's impossible to hide our moans and surprised gasps as we did before in the locker room.

I pull away from the kiss for air as well as to nip at his jaw, hearing him practically purr in response, hands griping my biceps and fingers curling around the sleeves of my shirt almost painfully.

He then grabs my chin roughly, pulling my lips back to his. I tangle my hands in his hair and tug on a chunk of it to tell him to calm down. He doesn't, though, only kisses me harder and deeper. I find that I don't mind so much.

I moan breathlessly as his hand lingers at the waistband of my sweatpants, "Sammie…"

I think I hear a gasp that doesn't come from Sammie or I, but don't think anything of it as I'm otherwise occupied.

And, just as things start to get good, someone has to ruin it.

"Get out!" someone screams at the top of their lungs just as Sammie's hand dip into my pants.

We break apart in surprise. Sammie locates my glasses on the floor and picks them up, situating them on my nose for me.

"Getoutgetoutgetout!" it's the same girl from before, sharp pink nails and cold heart.

"Uh, okay," I grab the ice cream and tug at Sammie's hand to get us the hell out of here.

We get as far as the doors, "Wait," he stops and his hand holding mine jerks me back, "We have to pay for the ice cream."

"Oh yeah," we change directions and head over to the self check-out lanes.

When it asks me to pick a language, I choose the 'Espanol' button, pressing the screen with my finger.

"Why'd you do that?" Sammie asks, scanning the ice cream and bagging it like an expert.

I shrug, "Dunno."

"Oh! I know what that means," he says, pointing to the 'Terminar y Pagar' button, accidentally pushing it, "It says 'finish and pay'."

I would get mad that he pushed the button, but I'm done anyway, so I suppose it doesn't matter. I give the machine the money and pat Sammie on the back.

"You're amazing. That's why I love you," I give him a quick kiss on his cheek.

"And I'm good in bed."

I blink, "And you're good in bed."

"Fantastic in bed."

"Fantastic in bed," I correct, "Fucktastic"

Sammie loops his arm in mine and says, "Onward march!"

"Adios," I say to the machine, in my head naming it Darla.

Bye Darla.

I drive home quickly so the ice cream won't melt.

"Lucy, I'm home!" I yell once we get inside the door, but everyone is outside.

Sammie runs his hands through my hair, "You could pass for Lucille Ball. Definitely. If your hair was longer…"

I set the ice cream down on a coffee table by the door, "Listen here, chiquito," I say, doing a really bad impression of a Spanish accent, hand on my hip, "I don't appreciate being told I could pass for a girl-"

"-Even though you act like one," he cuts me off.

I dig my elbow hard into his stomach, "You motherfucking prat of a boy..."

He doesn't like this.

"Aye Carumba!" I yell as I'm tackled and I find myself lying on my back on the ground for what seems like the third time today.

He tickles and pinches any inch of skin he can find, showing no mercy. And then he gets this glint in his eyes and I know his intentions are no longer innocent. His mouth descends, no plunges, onto mine, hard and fast.

"Sammie-" I try to push him away, but he keeps kissing my neck as if he isn't even listening, "-We can't-" no longer wearing a shirt, he uses the opportunity to kiss my chest, "-Not here-" my stomach, "-Eight year old girls outside-"

I struggle under him, but the hockey player is much stronger than I. Because of our ruckus, my foot lashes out, kicking and flailing, and we manage to knock over something. I don't know what it is- I only hear the crash.

A long, piercing shriek, "Boys!"

That would be my mother.

"What's going on here?"

And that would be my father.


And that would be Sammie, lying on my naked chest, creating a very provocative looking situation that will be damn hard to explain.

I quickly make something up, "We were… uh… wrestling…"

"You broke my Chinese vase!" wails my mother as my dad tries to soothe her.

"Sandra, Sandra calm down," he rubs her back.

He hugs her to his chest and mouths to me over her shoulder: 'If I take her outside and you clean this up, maybe she'll forget'. Yes, only my dad knows how to deal with my narcotic mom. I give him the 'okay' sign.

Sammie and I make a collaborative effort to clean up the mess and then take the (now probably melted) ice cream outside.

I tap my mom on the shoulder, "Here, mom," and hand her the carton of ice cream.

She smiles at me brightly, "Oh, thank you so much, honey!" as if I didn't just break her two thousand dollar vase.

And I won't be reminding her.

"Can I go ride the pony?" Sammie asks, looking so hopeful.

I open the ice cream on the table and stick my finger in the gooey mess, "You might be too big…" I trail off at seeing his downhearted face, "Yeah, sure. Just don't kill the pony," I lick the ice cream off my finger.

"Never," he goes and gets in line.

I look down as I feel something tugging at my shirt.

"Hey birthday girl," I sweep her into my arms, twirling her around even though she says she doesn't like it anymore 'cause she's too old.

"Tye!" she nuzzles into my neck, "Thank you for the cowboy boots."

I grin, "I knew you'd dig 'em."

"Dig what?" she asks, looking up from my neck.


"Oh," she goes back to her haven in my neck, "…What?"

"Nothing. So how does it feel to be eight years old, little missy?" I ask, smiling at her squeal when I poke her side.


"Runny?" I blink.

She lifts her face from my neck again and sniffs up her boogers, "Yeah. I'm eight now and my nose is still runny."

"I'd offer my sleeve, but… that's just gross," I tease and she huffs like little girls do.

I let her down to go play with her friends and yawn as Sammie returns to my side.

"You tired?" he asks, brushing some hair out of my face.

I nod, "Maybe," and lean my head on his shoulder.

"Me too. Maybe. Wanna go inside and lay down and watch a move? Or something?" he's already leading me inside.

"Okay," I say, even though there's really no point.

Once we pass through the doors and into the house, Sammie picks me up, carrying me all the way up the stairs to the attic where me bedroom is, "Chistfuck Tye… you weigh as much as a pregnant cow…"

"I know," I say, letting him deposit me onto the bed.

"What movies do you wanna watch?" he asks, covering me with my little brother's Yugioh blanket and I have no idea why it's in here.

"Dunno. You pick," I watch him as he searches around in my closet, choosing from the huge bookshelf in there that is filled to the brink with movies.

He comes out and lays a piling heap of movies next to me: old westerns, Kungfoo, Lord of the Rings and Star Wars. You know, the best of all worlds.

"This one first," he decides, handing me an old cowboy movie.

I get of the bed and shove the movie into my old VCR, frowning when I can't get it to work, "I pushed play, damnit!" I growl, stopping myself from smacking the stupid VCR, "Why won't it work?"

"I didn't know there was a button called 'play damnit'," muses Sammie, pushing play with the remote.

"It's a commonly overlooked button," I answer, wondering how Sammie remembered that you have to use the remote to get it to work and I didn't- when it's my VCR.

"How sad. I'm gonna go get us some snacks," he leaves.

"Okay," I watch him go.

The previews are over by the time he gets back, soy sauce and carrots in hand, "Want some?" he offers.

I lay my head on his shoulder, listening to the sound of his teeth crunching the carrots, "Uh, maybe later."

"Alrighty then," he continues to munch.

I cover my cold toes with the blanket, "Before I knew you were gay, I always wondered why you liked these old western movies so much."

"Oh?" he says, turning his head from the movie to look at me.

I tip my head to the side, looking at him and grinning, "Yeah. Now I know you just like to see John Wayne in his too-tight jeans practically dry-humping a pony."

He shrugs noncommittally.

He pops another carrot into his mouth, "Before I knew you were gay, I always wondered why you accidentally walked in on me when I was in the shower so much."


We turn our attention back to the movie, to John Wayne and his sexy guns. And then Sammie must have lost interest in the movie 'cause now he's in front of me, blocking the screen.

"Did you know," he says, face so close to mine, as if we were about to divulge in a secret only for us two, "That your hair looks really fucked right now?"

I pull him even closer with my fingers in his hair, taking in his carroty, and yet still minty, breath, "Did you know that you sometimes drool on your pillow?"

He smiles, "Did you know you sometimes snore really loud?" he says, caressing my cheek with his thumb.

I turn my face to kiss it, "Did you know you sometimes hump my stuffed animals in your sleep?"

He completely covers my body with his, "Do you realize the fact that you even have stuffed animals on your bed is pretty fucking weird?"

"Yeah. At least I don't hump them."

"Shut up."

And he makes me do just that. Everything after that is a blur. Daring lips. Clothes disappearing off of bodies and onto the floor. Hands touching in private places. Me reaching for my nightstand to get the supplies. Cries of 'More!', '…The fuck? Tic tac toe?', and 'Why is there a toy pony poking my thigh?"

"Oh, it's my sister's," I answered.

The movie is forgotten. All we know now is each other. I can't even tell you my middle name.

I don't worry that my glasses will break when Sammie throws them to the side. I don't worry if people will see us from the un-curtained window, having already stopped in the middle of a rather pressing situation to make Sammie go downstairs and outside to make sure you couldn't see anything. I don't worry that the kisses Sammie places on my body are going to leave marks. I don't worry that he might hurt me.

The movie stops long before we do.

Okay, there you go.

Please review and all your dreams will come true.

Happy Holidays!