Author: Anne Marsh
Title: Trick/Treat
Rating: NC-17 (yes, another extended PWP)
Pairing: Sam/Josh
Summary: Sam pretends to pick Josh up as a 'trick', both get a treat...
Notes: Hallowe'en comes early for you guys. Enjoy leather!Sam. Fits into Reuniverse, but it's Josh's POV.
Archive: yes
Feedback: Please.

Trick/Treat by Anne Marsh

"Okay, Josh," Sam called from upstairs. "I'm dressed. Go-- go wait in the kitchen, okay, I'll be down in a minute."

I complied, setting a couple of beers out on the counter and leaning against it. Sam, if my ears don't deceive me, was making a detour over to the living room to put music on, turning it up loud enough to be heard in the kitchen. Classic rock stuff, Thin Lizzy and ZZ Top.

He walked into the kitchen a moment later, and my jaw dropped. Okay, so here's me, khakis and a button-up shirt I don't plan on wearing for very long, nothing too remarkable. I don't have a costume. *There* is Sam, wearing leather pants, tight, shiny, black leather pants. With those *very* nice leather pants (yeah, so maybe I *am* drooling, you wanna make something of it?), Sam is wearing a black muscle tee, and a leather band around one upper arm. He's also wearing a very sultry expression.

He scanned the kitchen like he was scanning a bar, and definitely on the prowl. The minute his eyes locked on mine, I felt my stomach flip-flop, and Sam, Sam started towards me like he was stalking his prey.

"Hey." He stood so close, he was practically pinning me to the 'bar'. "I'm Sam."


"Come here often?"

"Sometimes." I shrugged, feigning the composure of a jittery virgin, but the fluttering was real... Sam, who is so sexy without trying, is *devastating* when he wants to be.

"Where else do you sometimes go?"

I shrugged again. "Nowhere, really."

"I hope you're not here with someone."


"Good. I'd hate to have to shatter his dreams." He winked at me. I swallowed, hard. Sam's eyes travelled down my throat, then back up to my mouth. "So... Josh. Can I buy you a drink?"

Before I said anything, Sam nodded to an imaginary bartender and reached past me-- leaning against me so close I could feel the heat coming off his body-- and grabbed the two beers I had set out.


"Don't mention it." That sultry thing was still going on, and it took a lot of restraint to play the hunted, because right about now, I wanted nothing more than to pull him down onto the nearest available flat surface-- and yes, I *will* do it on the kitchen floor if that's what it takes, but no, the whole thing was my idea, and it was my idea to have Sam play the bad boy, and pick up on me, and take the lead, and does he *have* to do that thing with the neck of his beer bottle, because I know he knows what he's doing to me, he can't not know what he's doing to me...

"So... I guess, you come here?" I struggled.

"Sometimes." He flashed me a half-cocked smile. I took another swallow of beer and tried to anticipate his next move.

'Dead Ringer' started, and Sam set his beer down, took mine and placed it beside his on the counter, taking my hands.

"Dance with me." It wasn't even a question.

"I don't--" Of course, I *do*."

"C'mon." He pulled me in a little closer. We danced. "See, you're not so bad. I bet there are some other things you're... not so bad at?"

"I wouldn't know..." I tilted my head down a little, giving off the impression of blushing, even if it wasn't enough to actually make me blush. Not after some of the things we've done in real life...



"You're long overdue." He grinned.

I pulled away, as the song started fading out, and went back to the counter, and the two beers. Sam followed, stood directly in front of me, his hips trapping me against the counter.

"You could do a lot worse than me." I ought to ask him later where on earth he learned to be so cocky, but then I get this feeling I might not like the answer... "But then, why would you want to?"


He kissed me. I have been waiting for this all night. Well, in a broader sense, all year, but the kiss I've been waiting for since he went upstairs to change. And we had to wait so long, because the neighbourhood has trick-or-treaters...

His tongue thrust roughly into my mouth, laying claim, his hands gripping my arms, his hips pressed against mine, chest pressed against mine, his whole body taking possession of me...

I melted against him, as he kissed me, hard, one hand holding the back of my head in place, fingers curled in my hair, the other sliding down to worm between the counter and me, groping. My hands were on his chest, as though a token protest had died before it began, and now I was only trying to stay upright.

Well... some parts of me had no trouble staying upright. Sam jerked his head towards the bathroom and dragged me back, and as the door closed behind us, I found myself pushed back against it, and zippers were being undone, and Sam was stroking us both in one hand, ravishing my mouth again, his teeth tugging at my lower lip before his tongue soothed over the bite.

A hastily-grabbed for wad of toilet paper kept anything else from getting messy, and Sam kept kissing me, I was trapped between his body and the door as he washed his hands.

We moved back out of the bathroom on wobbling legs, his arm possessive around my waist as we headed back to the 'bar'. He took a long pull from one of the beers-- I don't remember which is his and which is mine, not that it matters-- and I took a swig from mine. His eyes kept roving over me, gleam still in them.


"That was... good."

And he couldn't have planned it better, as Bachman Turner Overdrive started up, and Sam looked at me with naked lust and said "You ain't seen nothin' yet."


I swallowed. Hard. Again. That *look* he was giving me was maddening.

"Why don't you and I ditch this joint?" He jerked his head back, in some vague 'out of here' direction.

"I-- we've only just--"

"Done it in the john?"


"Come on, Josh." He kissed me. Oh, how he kissed me... it was great, masterful, just-- perfect. Sam, you animal, I might've said, if I wasn't supposed to be the passive to his aggressive. "I think you'll like it. In fact, I *know* you'll enjoy what I do to you..."

He tugged me forward, into the hallway, leaned me against the wall and undid my pants, was on his knees in one fluid motion, sized up my once-again erect cock.

"Mm... not bad at all. How long have you been hiding this away?"

There was no way I could answer that, and I don't think I was meant to. He spent *way* too long just looking, and when he took me into his mouth, his eyes burned into mine as he sucked at just the very head, his tongue doing impossibly wonderful things to the underside there, and...

The doorbell rang.

Sam sprang up, horror written all over his face, and we looked each other over. He was presentable, if only in comparison to me. Well, from the waist up he was presentable. But in those tight (and have I mentioned how I love them) leather pants, his state of arousal was patently obvious.

Me, I don't want to know what I looked like. Pants open and starting to work their way down my legs, and the interruption wasn't enough to rid me of this still-aching hard-on, and I can't imagine what else I look like, but there's no way I could answer the door without somebody calling the cops.

"Get in the kitchen!" Sam hissed, character broken.


"Josh, get in the kitchen!"

"Can't we pretend we're not home?" I whined.

"Get in the kitchen NOW!" He gave me a gentle push and grabbed a red-lined cape from the coatrack, and a pair of horns. With the cape concealing the tightness of the leather pants, and the overall blatant sexuality of his costume altogether, he was a far more suitable door-answering candidate.

>From the kitchen, I heard him distribute candy to the last lingering group of trick-or-treaters, trying so hard to be solicitous after being interrupted as we were.

I was so not feeling solicitous. I was feeling horny and not a little frustrated.

Finally-- okay, so it probably wasn't nearly as long as it felt-- I heard the door close and peeked around the corner to see Sam hanging up the cape.

"Where were we?"

"You were on your knees." I reminded him pointedly, resuming my spot against the wall.

"Right. I was going to show you a good time." He was back in character.

"In the alley, behind the bar." I grinned, before slipping back into mine.

"Tell me you want it."

"I want it..."

"Mm, tell me you *need* it."

"I need it, Sam..."

His mouth was back, this time he took me to the root, the flat of his tongue undulating against the underside of my shaft, his throat massaging me, his hands on my buttocks, driving my thrusts even deeper. I came, and Sam swallowed, didn't give up my flaccid penis until I threatened to collapse on him, and then he finally released me and helped me stand.

"What did I tell you?" He leered at me.

I nodded, a little dazed.

"Come home with me." He placed my hand over the bulge in his pants. Again, not a question. Not an order, just a statement of fact. He was in no doubt whatsoever that I would-- of course, there's no way I *wouldn't*, that's not the point. The point is that unlike the old Sam-who's-never-sure-someone's-interested, this is a whole new just-for-me Sam-who-knows-for-a-fact-he's- getting-what-he's-after. And he's *hot*.

"I've never done this before..."

"I know, I know, I'm your first." He thrust into my palm once, and the same little jolt that I know shot through him went through me, it just started in my hand and didn't involve an erection, that's all.


"Turnabout's fair play, though, isn't it?"


"And I'm not going to ask a clean-cut college boy like you to get down on his knees and suck me off in a dirty alley like this." He licked his lips, leaned in close...

"O-- okay." I trembled a little, and he kissed me again, a little softer, but still demanding. He started me off in the direction of the stairs, squeezing my butt as he followed close behind me, and when he spoke this next, very un-Sam-like sentence, his breath was in my ear.

"But I'm gonna pop that cherry tonight..."


Sam didn't waste any time once we got to our room. He pushed me down on the bed, his body following mine down, lips devouring my neck and hands ripping my clothes off, and all of a sudden I'm spread-eagle and Sam is shoving his pillow under my hips and lubing me up.

"Relax, baby." He whispered, still kissing the back of my neck hungrily, hurrying through the preparation, walking that fine line between I'm playing a virgin and he's playing a guy who might not so much with the caring, and *finally* he's in me...

We're flexible. I mean, position-wise, we-- no, that still sounds like I'm talking hyperextension, I just mean I do both, and Sam does both, and I'd say a good seventy-five or so percent of the time, I'll top, because I can't help it, he's got a *great* 'rear view'... and then that other twenty-five percent of the time, I don't know...

I never used to think I was a bottom at all. Even when Sam and I were first a thing, were first having sex. I always thought 'well, I'm a top, and if Sam's not into bottoming, then we don't have to do it like that', but I never, ever thought I was going to want him doing what right now, I really want him to do a whole lot more of.

And then, this one time, we were just fooling around-- we weren't even having sex, and it wasn't written in stone that we'd wind up having sex, we were just, you know, making out a little, and laughing a little, we were on his couch, we'd been watching TV, but gave it up in favour of something a little more... interactive. And then I got into his pants, and he laughed and said 'oh, so this is how it's gonna be?', and I said 'yeah', and kissed him again, and suddenly it was like the whole world changed, and I'm looking down at Sam in my hand and thinking 'gee, I wonder if he'd like to screw me to the mattress tonight, because all of a sudden, that sounds like something I'd be into', and... well, long story short, he did and I was.

Which brings us back to now, and Sam thrusting roughly into me, hitting my prostate on maybe every other pass, and breathing raggedly against my shoulder, hands mauling me, twisting nipples, grasping one hip hard enough to leave finger- sized bruises, groping and squeezing, and I can't keep track of the litany of filth and 'oh, yeah, baby's anymore because I'm too busy doing some moaning of my own.

"Josh," And when I don't pipe down and pay attention, he nips my earlobe sharply. "Josh,"


"Gonna make you come so hard in a minute. You feel about ready, 'cause I wanna come in you..."

"Uh-huh." I nodded, picking up on a common pattern or words-- mostly 'come', which sounded good to me.

"You like this, don't you?"

"Uh-huh." All I'm good for right now, really...

"Yeah, baby, you're so tight..." He nibbled on my shoulder, the side of my neck. "So hot..."


"You ready?"


"I'm gonna thrust into you one more time, and I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come hard in you, you're gonna feel it, it's gonna hit you right there," There was a quick 'example thrust' to illustrate his point. "And when you feel me, hot and wet, you feel me come, that's when you can finish, okay?"

"Uh-huh." I tried for another nod, but my head just flopped forward to rest against my pillow.

My head fell forward, that is, until Sam's teeth closing around my shoulder-- harder, this time-- and that promised spurt of liquid heat against my prostate as he filled me again and came, and then my head snapped back again, and if anyone was out on the street still, they heard me.

"Oh, yeah..." Sam sighed, pulling out of me gently and rolling me over. He inspected his pillow, then tossed it off the bed and used my chest instead as we lay in the afterglow.


"Was it good for you?"

I snorted. I couldn't help it, I had to. "Yeah."

He rolled over just enough to place a soft kiss over my heart. "Good. I'm just gonna be me now, 'kay?"

"That's fine. I'll just be me." I nodded, pulling him into an embrace.

"Good. I love you."

"Love you, too, Sam. Of course, any time you want to put on the leather pants and order me around, I'll love that, too..."

"We'll see." He smothered a laugh against my skin and snuggled down close. "Some other time."

Definitely some other time, I thought. Right now, it's far too late and I have been so worn out. Besides, the pants are somewhere on the other side of the room, and the muscle tee. All he's wearing now is the black leather armband.

Now *there's* a picture...

"Don't have any nightmares." Sam mumbled.

"Don't you usually just say 'sweet dreams'?"

"But it's Hallowe'en." He yawned.

"Oh. Okay. Well, I think the monsters in the closet will leave me alone-- I'm a lawyer, after all, we have professional curtesy."

"That's sharks."

"Whatever." I looked down at him, already drifting off, lying on my side of the bed, me somehow shoved over onto his, and his one banded arm stretched across me, and I knew I'd have sweet dreams tonight.


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