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Proximity

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Proximity. 

 

It's a dangerous thing, being so close to someone. 

 

They could turn around and slit your throat with absolutely no warning, and with this thought, Sam realises he may have watched one too many action movies in his lifetime. He isn’t wrong though, about the perils of having someone in one’s personal space, especially if that someone is a drop-dead gorgeous model who manages to provoke impure thoughts with even the most innocent of gestures. 

 

Caitríona Balfe.

 

He thought love at first sight was a pile of bullshit until the moment she burst into the room, breathless and late for an audition that changed both their lives forever. Her dark brown curls and flawless skin and those piercing blue eyes he so often found himself lost within were enough to bring him to his knees, begging to worship at her altar. 

 

The worst thing was, she seemed to be blissfully unaware of the effect she had on him, and pretty much any man that was fortunate enough to cross paths with her. 

 

He thinks it’s a good thing he didn’t meet her until he was an old bloke of thirty-three because eighteen year old Sam would have come in his pants at the sight of her. Even now, older and wiser, he has difficulty maintaining control. 

 

She’s just so… perfect.

 

Everything about her, the crinkles around her eyes when she smiles, the raucous laughter she releases when he makes a joke (How grateful he was that to be part of her life and hear it), the freckles splattered across her nose and cheeks, always visible when she was free of makeup. The kindness and compassion, always so genuine and loving and improving the lives of all those around her. 

 

Her breasts, the perfect size for his hands, the taper of her waist, the flare of her hips and her round arse, just begging to be squeezed. 

 

He knows how she tastes, what is to be kissed by her, to feel her smaller body pressed against is, but he also knows it was all for show. A woman like her wouldn’t give a poor sod like him a second glance on his best day; if it weren’t for their status as colleagues forcing a friendship, he would never get to be around her. It’s not self deprecating behaviour that gives him such thoughts; he's aware that he’s a good looking bloke, but Cait is a goddess. 

 

The amount of control he exercises just to be in her presence and not embarrass himself is more than he thought a mere mortal could possess. When he walks behind her, sees the sway of her hips, it makes his balls ache, just imagining what it would be like to be inside her. She’s felt him before, they’ve been pretty much naked in one another’s presence, but they weren’t Sam and Cait then. Actors often got aroused during sex scenes, and she never commented on the fact that he would be sporting a cockstand after a scene, even with the modesty pouch tied so tightly it pretty much cut off circulation to his cock. 

 

She was wonderful like that, never seeking to embarrass him. 

 

It was just one of many reasons he loved her. 

 

But being around her, it’s starting to kill him. He’s not sure how much longer his heart can stand this torture, the two of them spending countless hours within a day, almost every day of the week for months on end, being so close but not close enough. He’s entirely certain his cock will either shrivel up and fall off or his balls will explode before the year is out, and it makes him feel like such a lecherous bastard for lusting after his co-star like this, but he can’t help it. 

 

He knows that she sees him as a good friend and nothing more, and it just fucking sucks. 

 

Tonight, he’s feeling the pain more than ever. 

 

They’re at yet another promotional event for the show, posing together on the red carpet as they always do and it’s torture. He’s in a three piece suit, hair still dyed red and curls tousled; he knows that he looks good on camera, smiles for the photographers and lets them capture his image without a qualm. 

 

Cait is beauty personified. 

 

She’s in dark blue tonight, a shimmering gown that reminds him of nights spent lying on the grass in his yard and looking up at the stars. The dress is backless, exposing so much skin, and he can feel it, the smooth expanse beneath his palm and fingertips as he cups her waist and they pose together. The front is almost as bad as the back, the fabric clinging to her every curve, and given his height advantage, he can see the swell of her breasts, how they’re almost pushed together. 

 

God, he wants to bury his face against them. 

 

There’s all manner of unspeakable things he wishes he could do to her, and in a moment of weakness, he allows his mind to wander. He thinks about bending her over, fucking her from behind, burying his cock into her tight wet heat and finding out if the noises she made as Claire were the same ones she made in bed. 

 

He’s pulled rather rudely from his thoughts when her hand accidentally brushes up against his crotch during a pose change, and he freezes. His cock is hard, straining against his boxers, the seam of his pants, and she must have felt it. He won’t have an excuse either, as to why he’s sporting a boner during a presser, but Cait doesn’t show any sign that she’s noticed. 

 

Of course she wouldn’t, he’s just a small and insignificant part of her universe. 

 

He just hopes that the cameras don’t pick on it. 

 

Taking in a deep breath and catching a whiff of her , his cock straining even further in his pants, he angles himself so his crotch is concealed by the curve of her hip, careful not to brush up against her. He smiles, pretends that he’s fine, and he is, for a moment, until she shifts backwards, they’re now standing with her arse pressed against his erection, and he’s never been so aroused or mortified in a single moment. 

 

He wants to apologise but the words are all jumbled in his mind. 

 

All the blood in his body has rushed south and he wants to make a run for it. 

 

“Is that a dirk in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” Cait asks under her breath, and of course she’s joking, trying to lighten the mood, to get them both out of this experience unscathed. 

 

He lets out a shaky laugh, unsure of how to answer her, when she turns again, now facing him, hand on his chest and her breasts pushed up against him. 

 

“Meet me at my hotel room when this is all over,” she tells him, and he must have passed out from shock and knocked his head because there is no way this is happening. With that, she saunters off to let the photographers take some solo shots of her, and he starts imagining rotting carcasses filled with maggots and all manner of disgusting images, trying to calm himself down. 

 

It’s going to be a long night.


 

Sam doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous, not even before the audition that landed him the role of Jamie and started all this. He’s standing outside Cait’s hotel room, freshly showered and if during that shower he wanked off to thoughts of her to try and maintain his control for the evening, that’s neither here nor there. His suit is gone, traded for a fitted t-shirt and a pair of jeans, casual, in case he’s entirely misread the situation and she’s just called him to tell him off for inappropriate behaviour. 

 

He knocks, and stands there, hands wedged beneath his armpits as he shifts his weight from foot to foot in anticipation. 

 

There’s no sound from inside her room, so he’s a little startled when the door is abruptly pulled open, but all is forgotten when he lays eyes upon her. 

 

She’s still in that fucking dress, but her heels are gone, so the fabric trails around her ankles and she looks so much smaller. Her hair is down, curling widely around her shoulders, and she smiles, lips curving gently upwards at the sight of him. 

 

They don’t speak, both at an apparent loss for words, but she inches slowly backward, allowing him to step over the threshold into her room, before locking the door behind them. 

 

“I must say, I’m a little disappointed that you’ve changed. I was hoping to take that suit off you,” she tells him, and he turns, not quite believing his ears. She’s watching him, intensely, teeth tugging at her lower lip and he snaps, forcing her backwards until she’s sandwiched between him and the door. 

 

“Next time,” he murmurs, into her ear, grinding against her, unable to control himself any further. 

 

“What makes you so sure there’ll be a next time?,” she responds, running one hand through his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. 

 

“How long have you wanted me Cait?” he asks, burying his face in the area where her neck meets her shoulders, sinking his teeth into her skin, needing to mark her. He can’t wait to see the bruise there tomorrow, knowing that he was the one who did it to her. 

 

“The audition.”

 

Oh dear god.

 

He could curse at the unfairness of the world, at the wasted time, at all the pain and agony and unresolved sexual tension, but her words spark a confidence within him, soothe his battered heart. 

 

She wants him, has wanted him, since day one. 

 

“I can’t wait,” he tells her honestly, because he needs to take her - now. There’s time for slow and sensual later. He’ll lay her down against the sheets and eat her out, bury his face in her cunt and taste her, put his tongue on her clit and drive her mad with the wanting, and perhaps she’ll return the favour. The thought of her lips stretched around his cock, fingers teasing his balls, he can’t take it.

 

He grabs her hip, pulling back and giving her a long, deep kiss. She moans into it, looping both arms around his neck and urging him closer. 

 

“Zipper - back of my neck,” she pants, and he follows her instructions, fingers quickly locating the only thing holding her dress up and tugging it free. He steps back, even though it pains him to do so, and watches as the fabric falls, pooling around her bare feet. 

 

Cait is naked, completely bare. 

 

He can’t help the growl that rips free from his throat, low and guttural and then she’s on him, and they’re stumbling backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed. Her hands work furiously at his pants, pulling his belt free, undoing the buttons, yanking down the zipper and unceremoniously baring him to her, pushing down his jeans and boxers in one go. He kicks off his shoes, shimmies out of his pants and her impatient hands are already working at pulling his shirt off. They pause, her hands still fisted in the fabric of his shirt, kissing, consuming, devouring one another. 

 

“Why weren’t you wearing panties,” he pants into her mouth, and she pulls back, stripping his shirt off. She takes a moment to take in the sight of his naked body before she reaches down, tugging roughly at his cock. 

 

“Had to take them off, soaked through them thinking about having this inside me.”

 

 “Fuck Cait, you’re killing me.”

 

He manoeuvres them around, pushing her down against the sheets, watching her hair fan out around her. His earlier assessment was correct; she’s a fucking goddess and he’s about to give her quick worshipping. 

 

“Hurry up,” she whines, reaching one hand down to her cunt, which is already dripping, and making to bury her fingers inside herself if he doesn’t obey. His hand shoots out, fingers wrapping tightly around her wrist and bringing it to his lips for a quick taste. 

 

Delicious , just as he’d imagined. 

 

Not one to disappoint, he reaches down, palming his cock, giving it a quick pump before driving into her, burying himself deep within her. She cries out at the sensation and then there’s nothing else, just the two of them, fucking- no, he’s not fucking her; he’s loving her, bringing her pleasure. Their love-making consumes him, the sounds of their pleasure echoing in the room around them. 

 

“God, you feel so good Cait. I’ve dreamed about this for so long, what it might be like to touch you, and my dreams don’t compare. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, and I must be the luckiest bastard to have you.”

 

Their hands wander, exploring, unable to stay still. She claws at his back, digs her fingers into the muscles of his upper arms, cups his face so tenderly between her palms even though the force of his thrusts send her slipping further and further back on the bed. He  grabs at her breasts, at her hips, running his hands over the endless expanse of smooth skin, needing to know every inch of her, intimately. 

 

“Sam - you make me.. Oh god.. You’re so good at this. Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?” 

 

He’s getting close, a familiar tightening sensation in the pit of his stomach, his cock growing impossibly harder as he tries to hold out until she’s there, with him. The sounds she makes, short gasps and long moans, high pitched whines when he hits the right spot, the crease between her brows, the shudder of her body beneath him. 

 

It’s all the warning he’s given before she’s crying out, clamping down around him, cunt squeezing his cock in a vice-like grip and then he’s following her into the abyss, unable to hold out any longer. 

 

In his post-orgasmic haze, three little words slip out, and he doesn’t even realise he’s said them until she freezes beneath him. 

 

I love you , he had whispered, unable to help himself.

 

Fuck, he’s ruined everything. 

 

Before he’s able to spiral, let the negative thoughts consume him, she’s wrapping herself more firmly around him, brushing their noses together, rubbing her smooth cheek against his stubbled one. 

 

“I love you too, you fool.”

 

He can’t help the grin, so wide it makes his face hurt, and he leans forward, kissing her, stealing her breath, embracing her and protecting her body from the cool air of the night, the heat of their passion trapped between them. 

 

They fall asleep like that, curled together, but with her sprawled out against his chest, the pair of them cocooned by the sweat dampened sheets. Tomorrow, he’ll head back to his room, change into the suit and make good on his promise of letting her remove it from his body, but for now, he’s content. 

 

Being so close to her.

 

In her,

 

Proximity.