Green Dress’s green dress is short enough to hike up. They don’t bother removing any clothes—she yanks her panties to the side and hikes up her thigh as he pushes in.
They’re face to face—something Sam hasn’t had in a long time.
She moans as he bottoms out, encouraging him to go faster, faster, harder,harder.
Grunts and slaps of skin against skin seem extra loud in the muted room. The thump of bass is still present, still shaking the walls, and Sam tries not to thrust to the beat like a dickhead.
He chases his peak, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that can’t shake the feeling anal is just… better.
She’s so,sohot, and so,sowet, but there’s just something about a tight rim, a muscled back, and taking his time that sounds more appealing.
The bouncing breasts help, though.
He is just a man.
Sam rubs her mound with his thumb and groans praise in her ear until she’s shaking. When she comes, she clenches down on him, and it only takes a couple more thrusts before he spills into his condom.
She collapses back against the wall of the stall and Sam follows, hoping he doesn’t crush her with his weight. He needs to stay awake. He knows he needs to stay awake, but man, he’s exhausted.
“Fuck,” Green Dress mutters on an exhale. “Fuck, that was so good.”
“Yeah.” Sam forgets where he is for a brief moment. “That was good. Thanks for that.”
She huffs a laugh and slowly lets down her leg, causing him to slide out. “Let me give you my number. I’m in town for the race, but I live in Liverpool. Tell me when you’re there.”
“Yeah.” He probably won’t, but he digs out his phone and hands it to her before pulling off the condom, tying it off, and trashing it.
“I gotta get back to my friends, but it wassogood to meet you.”
“Yeah.” Sam might’ve lost all of his other words. Maybe they’re in the condom he just threw away. Dang.
She leaves the stall and the door bounces against the stopper as Sam tries to figure out what he does next.
Wash up? Sure, that sounds good. He scrubs his fingers and activates the blow dryer a few times, staring at his hands as the wind pushes against his skin.
He eventually finds his way back to the group and collapses on the couch.
“You ‘ave been gone a long time. Thought you might ‘ave left.”
Sam distantly recognizes the voice—the French accent. “Thomas!Thank God.”
Then Sam falls asleep.
“What do you usually do wizz ‘im?!” someone asks with a harsh tone.
“We just leave him.”
Sam knows the second voice. Or, at least, he knows he doesn’t like the person it belongs to.
“We cannot jus’leave ‘im‘ere! Whazzif someone robs ‘im? Orkidnaps ‘im?!”
“They can have him.” The bad voice scoffs and it grates Sam’s teeth. “I’m heading out, you should too.”
“Wait, just—ugh. Samuel, wakeup!”
Sam’s violently jostled again, but this time he pushes back against whatever is attacking him. He just needs a little bit longer.
“Samuel,please. They are trying to close, they want to leave you on the street.”
