Full Scottish-Sam Drake x Rafe Adler NSFW
About two or three weeks after Rafe frees Sam from prison, they head off to Scotland to pick up where they left off thirteen years ago in search of Henry Avery’s treasure.
WARNING: Explicit sexual content
Full Scottish
Sam and Rafe sat at a little round table at a pub somewhere in central Scotland. It was late fall. A stone fireplace crackled with orange heat nearby. The air around them was filled with the chatter of local patrons. It would be a nice way to bide their time until their contact arrived back at the inn-a local antiques merchant who had several items they believed would help them track down the second Saint Dismas cross.
Rafe stared at the fire while Sam fidgeted with his hands. They were both very hungry. Before long a rotund man with a red face and a large beard set down two big plates. Sam looked down at his plate, taking in all the colors. A Full Scottish-toast, a fried egg, sausage, thin ham, baked beans, tomatoes, some weird black shit that Sam didn’t recognize. It all smelled incredible. Rafe stirred a spoon absent-mindedly into his coffee-he was always far less easy to impress. His chin rested in his other palm. He looked tired.
Sam cut a small wedge out of one of his pieces of ham and took a bite-savory, sweet, smoky. Oh, and what’s this? Some kind of spice? He didn’t quite recognize it. That’s right-food has spices, seasoning, flavor. Of the many things Sam missed while locked away, he missed food the most. Good food, real food. He closed his eyes as he chewed and laughed quietly to himself.
Rafe lifted his head and raised an eyebrow. “What are you laughing at?” Sam swallowed and opened his eyes. “Oh, uh, nothin’,” he answered. “This is some good shit.” He pointed down at his plate and laughed again. “Yeah, it’s not bad,” Rafe replied. He casually tore off a corner of toast. “So, do you think our guy is going to have anything useful to us?” Sam tipped a cup of coffee to his lips-rich, dark. Dear God, everything was so good. “Yeah, from what he’s telling me,” he answered. Sam shifted up in his chair, his hands moving busily now. “See, the thing is, when Avery left for Scotland, he took…..”
As Sam spoke, Rafe found his words fading quickly, and the only thing he could focus on was Sam’s face. He lazily brought up a few forkfuls of breakfast, his eyes dry as he stared.
Fascinating after all this time how Sam could look so different, and yet somehow still the same. As his face moved certain ticks, certain twists in his expression, called back to the tall young man Rafe met thirteen years ago, the chatty guy from Boston with hazel eyes, soft skin, and a crooked smile. And while still handsome, Sam now looked every bit of someone who had been locked away for well over a decade. The color of his eyes somehow seemed darker. His skin was dull. His coarse stubble was now peppered with white hairs. His face was littered with cuts, scars, small anomalies. There were deep lines around his eyes, on his forehead, and across his throat.
And then there was the tattoo-curious, crude outlines of four birds in flight, moving across the left side of Sam’s neck. They were faded, a blue-grey color. Sam must have had them for a long time. Perhaps he acquired them not long after he was shot, Rafe wondered. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the birds. Doves? Seagulls? What were they, and what did they mean? Rafe would never have the courage to ask.
Rafe’s attention moved now to Sam’s lips, still talking cheerfully, still forming words that Rafe couldn’t hear. They were thinner now, framed with tiny lines from years of heavy smoking. They still looked soft. But it was Sam’s upper lip in particular that Rafe remembered well-its outline still formed the distinct shape of an archer’s bow. Perfect. Suddenly Rafe found himself imagining-touching Sam’s lip with his fingertip, running his tongue lightly across it. His toes curled in his boots as his face grew warm. No one could see or hear his thoughts, but he felt very embarrassed.
“I mean, wouldn’t you think so?”
A crude snap from his reverie. Shit. Sam asked Rafe a question, but what did he say? Rafe panicked as his brain searched.
“Well, yeah,” he finally answered.
“Right?” Sam chuckled. Such warmth. Such sincerity. How in the hell could a man like Sam not seem more worn down, more broken? Was it an act? Who could say. But what Rafe did know, was that with each of Sam’s charmingly snaggle-toothed grins, with each husky laugh, Rafe could feel a horrible pang of guilt wrench itself into his side. He knew that, despite his cheery disposition, deep down Sam had to be hiding resentment, pain, and darkness caused by Rafe’s indiscretions from thirteen years ago. It was Rafe’s fault, and only Rafe’s fault, that poor Sam lay sweating in Panama for all this time. And now here he was, laughing, talking, genuinely excited to be working with Rafe. Why? Rafe didn’t understand it, and he didn’t trust it, and yet he felt happy to have Sam there with him.
“Eh, we about ready to move, kid?” Sam threw his linen napkin onto his plate and tossed back his last few drops of coffee. Rafe looked down at his own plate, his breakfast more or less picked at, shoved around. What a waste. “Yep,” Rafe answered as he stood and pulled on his coat. “Let’s move.” He pressed a generous amount of cash onto their table and they left. They quickly made their way back toward their rental car. As they walked Sam tucked his chin snugly into his jacket-a large, army-green coat with many pockets and a soft, downy lining. Rafe bought it for him a few days before the trip.
“You’re going to need something better than that ratty denim thing where we’re going,” Sam remembered Rafe saying. He was right.
They both entered the car, and Rafe immediately fumbled with the GPS on his phone. Sam looked over his shoulder in amusement as Rafe poked angrily at the screen. “Pick up the goddamn satellites already!” He hissed. After a few long minutes the GPS found their location and Rafe headed back toward the inn.
“I hate this driving on the other side of the road bullshit!” Rafe spat as he missed a turn. Sam laughed, staring out the window, observing the old buildings and the locals walking, conversing, huddling in their coats.
“Oh, this is funny, huh?” Rafe glanced at Sam. “You want to take the wheel and get us back?” Sam kept his gaze on his window, chuckling again, “Oh, no. This is far too amusing. I love watching a genius at work.” Rafe muttered a few expletives quietly to himself as he continued down the road. It was about twenty minutes later that the two men arrived back at the inn, a particularly old but beautiful building in the historic part of town. They both stepped out of the car. Rafe looked over at Sam, who was playing with the zipper on his coat and staring up at the sky.
“Sam!” Rafe snapped. “Let’s go, we’ve got shit to do.” Rafe hurried toward the inn’s front gate. “Alright, alright, I’m comin’. Jesus.” Sam grumbled and walked behind Rafe at a more leisurely pace.
Their room was spacious, yet inviting. There was a large brick fireplace and several dark wood furnishings: A desk, a bureau, and a few small tables. Rafe had already littered most of the furniture with books, journals, and notes. Two soft king beds sat on either side of the suite. It was Sam who had requested that the men share a room.
“I uh, I have a hard time falling asleep without someone else in the room,” Sam admitted a few days before their trip.
With his coat still on, Rafe sat down at the desk, immediately flipping open his laptop. Sam stood at the other side of the room idly playing with a bottle of scotch they bought the evening before. “I think I’m gonna go for a walk.”
Rafe spun around. “Sam, our guy.”
“Christ, Rafe, we’ve got over two hours.”
“What if he’s early?”
“Rafe, when is anyone ever early for anything?”
Rafe pushed back in his chair, his hands falling to his lap. He rubbed at the bags under his eyes. He was tired, and he didn’t want to argue anymore. Sam set down the bottle of scotch and pulled a dark red knitted hat and brown leather gloves from the closet. “I’ll be gone an hour at the most.”
“An hour. And hurry back.” Rafe sighed loudly and Sam quietly left their room. Rafe turned back toward his laptop, typing away noisily.
Sam walked around toward the back of the inn where the walking trail began in the woods. He looked up at the thick, grey autumn clouds. He listened as the wind shook the bare, dry branches of the trees. For years, Sam knew only concrete, barbed wire, walls. And the idea of being outside after all this time, cold though it was, delighted him. He breathed deep as the crisp air filled him, letting a playful sting into his lungs.
Sam pulled off his leather gloves and lit up a cigarette. He tucked it firmly in his lips and slipped the gloves back on. After a long drag, Sam exhaled slowly, his eyes downcast. He watched as the sharp November wind snatched up the smoke and carried it far into the trees. He pulled his cap further over his ears and walked down the densely wooded trail. His steps were deliberate, his pace much quicker than he had intended. His mind stirred. He thought of Nathan. “When am I gonna see you again, little brother? Where are you now? Do you even miss me anymore?” Sam’s eyes stung as he fought off tears. He’d find his brother, sooner or later, but now simply wasn’t the time. He and Rafe had too much to do.
Rafe.
His mind lunged. Never in his life had Sam been attracted to another man. So why now? Why Rafe? The notion confused him, frightened him, sickened him. By all accounts Sam should have hated Rafe, the man whose sins Sam was left to pay for. All those years burned, wasted. Thirteen years was more than enough time to seethe, to let the hatred build. But it never did. In place of the hatred rather, was curiosity, fascination even. What was it about the man? Sam walked faster still as his mind searched.
And suddenly Sam was imagining: Hands. Lips. Soft skin. Warmth. Touch. His face flushed with heat and sweat formed at his hairline. An acrid taste in his mouth.
Oh, no. He was going to throw up.
Sam dropped his cigarette and stepped quickly to the side of the trail, bending over, his hands on his knees. He swallowed hard, blinking. He drew a few deep breaths. He stared at the dry grass under his feet.
Oh, thank God. It passed.
Sam stood up and peered down the trail into the woods. And that was when he realized, however far he had wandered down the trail, was exactly how far he would have to go back. He turned around, hands in his pockets, and walked quickly back toward the inn.
When Sam returned to the room Rafe was still poring over text on his laptop. “That was more than an hour,” Rafe admonished without looking up. “Oh, shit. Sorry man, I left my phone here.” Sam ran his hand across the back of his head in embarrassment. Rafe didn’t respond, but watched as Sam removed his gloves, hat, and jacket. He stood now in only his jeans and a white t-shirt. Rafe regarded Sam’s back carefully as he put away his things-the way his shoulder blades cut and glided with ease, his muscles melting so seamlessly into the thin fabric of his shirt. The way he wore his t-shirt just above the hem of his jeans, emphasizing his backside.
As Sam turned around Rafe caught a quick glimpse of his face-he had been sweating. “Why are you sweating, it’s thirty degrees out!” Rafe wondered. And then he remembered how much he loved the way Sam smelled when he sweat. It was different from any other man. Something so uniquely warm, masculine, and animal. And it drove Rafe mad. Rafe pursed his lips as he narrowed his eyes. In that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be physically close to Sam. And the feeling tore at him from the inside.
Rafe continued to watch Sam, who walked to the table with the bottle of scotch. He opened the lid and poured a few drops into one of the short crystal tumblers sitting there.
Sam’s limbs tingled and his nerves burned. It was going to be many months that the two men would work together. Perhaps even a year. Perhaps more. It was time to say something. He lifted the tumbler to his lips, the crystal cold to the touch. Sam’s hand trembled as he took a very small sip. He drew a quick breath through his teeth at the taste. The scotch was smooth, but still very strong.
Sam set down his glass, sighing loudly. A long silence hung between the two men before Sam finally spoke.
“Rafe, what do you think about me?”
Rafe looked up, scanning Sam’s face. His tone was odd. Another lengthy silence.
“Well, uh, I mean. I’m glad to have you back. You’ve been really important to this whole th-”
“No. Rafe. What do you think about me?” With the last word Sam pressed his fingertips into his chest. He leaned forward, as though to physically pull an answer from Rafe. “Rafe, do you understand what I’m asking you?”
Rafe closed his laptop and stood. His arms were limp at his sides. His fingers moved. Sam had asked the question Rafe was dying for him to ask. The window was open-the opportunity now stood before him. Now was the time to say everything he wanted to say. But in that moment, Rafe found no words.
And then, Rafe began walking slowly toward Sam. But he didn’t walk straight toward him. He stopped at one of the wooden tables, fumbling with several papers that sat there. He didn’t look up. When he finally stood in front of Sam, mere inches away, Rafe didn’t know what to do. He reached out with his right hand, his fingertips barely touching Sam’s left hand.
Sam let out a tiny gasp, his eyes widening in surprise. And suddenly, Rafe collapsed into Sam’s arms, his face buried into Sam’s chest.
“I’m tired,” Rafe finally began, “of hating everything, and I’m tired of feeling like shit.” Sam could feel Rafe’s breath, warm against his chest, as he spoke. Sam stared out the window, blinking. He rested his chin on top of Rafe’s head, pulling him in closer. It wasn’t the answer Sam was looking for, but he was happy to hear Rafe say something.
“Yeah, I hear ya, kid,” Sam sighed.
They held their embrace for several long moments until Rafe finally pulled away, looking up toward Sam.
“Come here,” Rafe barely whispered.
“What?”
“I said come here.” Rafe brought his face up closer to Sam’s, his gaze darting impatiently between Sam’s eyes and lips.
They met in a warm kiss, and each man’s lips felt like velvet to the other. Rafe could taste a faint, sweet hint of scotch still on Sam’s mouth.
Rafe’s kiss dropped to Sam’s jaw, the coarse stubble bristling his lips. Rafe moved lower still, kissing the birds on Sam’s throat, grazing Sam’s neck with his thumb.
“God,” Sam whispered, dropping his head as his eyes closed. He pushed back gently, holding Rafe by his shoulders.
“Take your clothes off.” Sam’s face was incredibly close to Rafe’s, their foreheads barely touching.
“I-”
“Rafe, c'mon. Lemme make you feel good. Come on.” Sam curled his fingers into Rafe’s sleeves, pulling slightly upward in an attempt to coax him out of his clothes. With a short breath Rafe gave in, tugging his shirt over his head, then unfastening his jeans, his growing erection bulging out through the open zipper.
A wave of goosebumps washed over Rafe’s limbs as he stood now in his bare skin. His fingers moved along his naked hips shyly as he waited for whatever might happen next.
“Rafe, here, sit down.” Sam gently pushed Rafe down by both shoulders til he sat at the edge of the bed. Completely naked, Rafe felt cold, vulnerable, and it both frightened and thrilled him. His breath picked up as he watched Sam, still fully clothed, kneel in front of him. The two men locked eyes. Sam’s expression was curious-It wasn’t one of simple lust. It was one of warmth, kindness. In that moment Sam wanted nothing more than to make Rafe feel good, happy. And Rafe could very easily read it on Sam’s face. His heart fluttered as he closed his eyes.
Then Sam’s hands were between Rafe’s legs, shy, tentative traces of his fingertips along the inside of Rafe’s thighs. Sam’s hands were much softer than Rafe had imagined. His touch was so ghostly and light, and Rafe felt as though he were slipping into a daydream. But Rafe’s mind leapt and his muscles tightened as he suddenly felt Sam grip his cock, which was growing firmer with each moment. “Jesus,” Rafe whispered sharply. He looked down at Sam, who smiled back softly. “Shhh.” Rafe lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt Sam’s lips press against the tip, and then wrap completely around the head.
Rafe moaned quietly as he felt Sam’s strong, wet tongue lap generously along his swollen shaft and tip. Sam could feel Rafe throb with pleasure against his lips. Rafe moved his hands through Sam’s long hair, mussing it carelessly. Sam dragged his tongue along Rafe’s length one more time and then sat up, his hands resting on Rafe’s tremoring knees. Rafe looked down, his eye’s meeting with Sam’s.
“Sam, why did you st-”
“Open your legs.” Sam’s voice was somehow both authoritative and gentle. Rafe obeyed, spreading himself wider, lifting his pelvis forward as much as he could so that his opening was more fully exposed. His breath rattled-he knew what Sam was going to do. He watched as Sam put his middle finger into his mouth, coating it with a thick layer of his saliva. Sam exhaled lightly as he moved his hand down. Rafe drew a breath as he felt Sam’s finger slip inside. “Ohh,” he moaned from deep in his throat. Sam looked up, watching Rafe’s face as he moved slowly. Each time Sam reentered, he curled his fingertip upward, searching for the right spot. And he knew he had found it when Rafe suddenly tossed his head back and curled his spine. He was now very erect. “Oh, fuck.” Rafe began to roll his hips, and he grabbed the back of Sam’s head with significant force, his fingertips dancing in Sam’s dark locks. Rafe pumped his hips faster now, making Sam go harder, deeper. With a final, hard thrust, Rafe came, spilling into his lap, onto Sam’s hand, and across Sam’s forearm.
Sam’s eyes widened as he stared toward Rafe’s stomach. He was surprised at what he did, what he was capable of doing. Then his attention turned to his own waist-he felt himself pressing against his jeans. He was hard, and he felt the sudden, urgent need to rid himself of his clothes.
Sam stood up. He pulled his white t-shirt over his head. He yanked off his socks, and he quickly tugged down his jeans. Sam pulled off his dark boxer briefs, freeing his erection. He stroked himself slowly, running his fingers lightly across the head of his penis. Breathing heavily, Sam cast a leftward glance toward Rafe, whose mouth hung slightly open as he watched. He sat up straight as he took in Sam’s now naked frame. It was even better than he had imagined-Sam’s broad, smooth shoulders, his toned, bare chest, his firm, shapely backside. Rafe gaped at Sam’s belly, taught and contracting slightly as he breathed. Rafe’s eyes followed the trail of hair running down Sam’s stomach, and his eyes locked onto Sam’s now very hard cock. Rafe was then washed over with a terrifying, aching need to have Sam inside of him.
Rafe clawed at the comforter with both hands and sighed loudly in frustration. Sam looked over at him, confused.
“Sam, come here. Please.” Rafe moved further back toward the middle of the mattress. Without saying anything, Sam walked over and moved up onto the bed, hovering over Rafe. Sam leaned in, pressing into Rafe with a soft kiss.
They tumbled across the mattress, kissing warmly, their hands reaching for whatever they could find. Sam was illuminated-how good it felt for his naked body to be tangled with Rafe’s, everything so deliciously soft. It had been so very long since he had felt the bare, intimate touch of another, and in that moment, Sam nearly wept.
Rafe was slowly growing hard again, and he could feel Sam’s strong erection moving against his belly, slightly wet at the tip. His heart thundered. To Rafe, it felt like so much more than simple pleasure seeking-something so much greater than quick gratification. He scarcely knew what to think of it all, and in a particular moment of bravery Rafe leaned up, kissing Sam gently on the side of his nose.
“Oh. Well that’s cute,” Sam chuckled softly.
Rafe’s face flushed. “Shut up, Sam,” he sighed. Sam only laughed again, moving in for another kiss, opening his mouth slowly, forcing his tongue to meet with Rafe’s.
Rafe pushed away as he abruptly broke their kiss. He spun over, propping himself on all fours, his fingers digging deep into the mattress. He pushed his back end up as high as he could, a not-so-subtle invitation.
“Sam, c'mon. Get me ready.” Rafe gestured backward toward Sam’s hand. Sam sat up straight on the mattress, re-wetting his finger. He slipped his finger back inside of Rafe, who quickly returned with an exasperated grunt.
“No, Sam. Use two fingers. C'mon. Open me up.” He backed up slightly, moving closer to Sam.
Sam felt his face grow warm-he was flustered, and a little embarrassed. He promptly licked his pointer finger and pushed both fingers into Rafe’s opening. Sam spread his digits, moving them about as best he could in the tight space in an attempt to loosen Rafe. After a few moments Sam withdrew his fingers and sat back.
“Are you ah….you good?” Sam tried to search for Rafe’s face, but he was pressed tightly into the bed. Rafe huffed against the comforter in aggravation and shot up. Sam retreated slightly in alarm. Rafe knelt upright on the bed. He tilted his head and sighed, his expression softening. “Sam, just lay back,” his voice very low. Sam complied, laying down onto the bed, watching intently for Rafe’s next move.
Rafe moved down toward Sam’s waist, coaxing Sam’s legs wider by pushing his knees. Sam peered up at the ceiling and panted as he anticipated what would happen next, and soon enough, Rafe’s mouth was wrapped around him, drenching Sam with his spit. Rafe’s method was sloppy, gratuitous. “Jesus Christ, Rafe!” Sam exclaimed, grasping at the pillow under his head. Sam back arched up off the mattress as Rafe continued to work his mouth generously over his cock. When Rafe pulled away, breaking off the last string of saliva with his fingers, Sam was completely covered in a thick sheen. Rafe hastily licked his finger, slipping it into himself as he watched Sam’s bewildered expression. And then Rafe flipped over again, resuming his position as he commanded, “Okay, do it.”
Sam swallowed hard and sat up tall by his knees. He grabbed his erection close to the tip, and with a shaky breath, he pushed himself in. He could feel Rafe’s entire body shift as he moaned into the bed. Sam pushed harder now, and with a bit of force, the rest of his length snapped into Rafe.
“Christ, Sam, easy!” Rafe yelled, turning his head to the side. He sucked a sharp breath through his teeth. It stretched, it stung, and it hurt. But it was what he wanted.
“Shit! I’m sorry, man. You okay?” Sam moved his hands to rub Rafe’s hips in an attempt to soothe him.
“Yeah, c'mon.” Rafe thrust backward toward Sam to encourage him to move. And with that, the two men’s hips began to work together.
Sam could feel Rafe’s muscles pull and pulse around him. His head hung low as his hips pumped. The immense pressure he felt was somehow both exciting and terrifying. Small channels of sweat trickled down his forehead and face. It was all incredible. But Sam found their position to be ungratifying. He wanted Rafe’s body to be closer to his own.
So Sam straightened his body as he knelt, bringing Rafe up with him so that they were both upright on their knees. They continued to grind in tandem. Their pace was hurried. Rafe could feel the soft, dark hair from Sam’s chest and belly from behind as they moved. Sam brought his hands under Rafe’s arms and across his shoulders. It was so tight, so warm-it was too much, and he was afraid he wasn’t going to last. “Jesus Rafe, I’m already close,” Sam panted. His lips were pressed against Rafe’s back, wet and desperate. And Rafe knew Sam was close-from inside himself he could feel how hard Sam was now-his swollen, pulsing head, his thick veins. His shape could be felt with alarming detail. It was so very good, and Rafe wasn’t about to let it end. He went still. Sam froze. He was panting, and his eyes were wild.
Rafe grabbed Sam’s hands, and he turned to whisper to him. “Let’s just slow it down, then, ok? Take a break, I’m fine.” He tilted his head, exposing the curve of his neck. Sam answered Rafe’s silent request and covered his throat in feather-soft kisses. His heart rate slowed as he felt his pending orgasm subside. After resting for a few moments, Rafe pushed back into Sam gently, inviting him to move again. “Okay, come on.” Rafe bent over, bracing himself on his palms.
Sam then continued to pump into Rafe’s hips, but before long, the sensation returned, and the pressure was becoming more than he could stand. He couldn’t hold off any longer. “Rafe, I can’t-” Sam gasped. “Go, do it.” Rafe returned. And at Rafe’s reply, Sam’s entire body throbbed as his climax took over. He bucked into Rafe with hard, uneven thrusts, a soft grunt or moan escaping his lips with each rung of his orgasm. After a few moments everything dwindled, and the muscles in Sam’s body loosened. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, whimpering softly. Rafe could feel a significant weight on top of him as Sam leaned over, his palms on the mattress at either side of Rafe’s hips. Sam reached around to grab Rafe’s cock, but Rafe quickly moved his hand away.
“No.”
The whole experience had been frightening, if thrilling, in its lack of control, and Rafe wanted to finish on his own terms. Rafe leaned forward slightly, stroking himself a few times with a tight grip. He quickly came again in several short bursts into his left palm. Rafe gasped loudly, collapsing onto his forearms. He panted as Sam slowly pulled out, a droplet of cum still hanging from head of his penis.
Rafe rolled onto his back, breathless and exhausted. He looked up toward the ceiling. Sam got up and stood at the side of the bed, looking down at Rafe, watching his chest rise and fall with fatigue. Sam pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand and handed it to Rafe. Rafe wiped his left palm and quickly tossed the tissue over the side of the bed.
“Sam, come lay down.” Rafe patted the comforter.
“Yeah, ok.” Sam didn’t move. He stared at the bed, then looked back at Rafe.
“So, uh, what happens now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Between us.”
Rafe kept his eyes on the ceiling for a moment, then finally sighed. “I don’t know. Is that something we have to figure out right now?”
“Oh. Well, no. I guess not.” Sam fell onto the bed next to Rafe. After small pause, Rafe moved his hand over to Sam’s, which were resting on top of his stomach. Their fingers laced together. Sam squeezed Rafe’s fingers and smiled. The two men closed their eyes, breathing deeply now, drifting into a light sleep.
A knock at the door.
Rafe shot up in alarm. “Shit! our guy!” Sam lifted his head. “Oh, jeez.” He sat up straight in the bed.
“Give us like two minutes, please!” Sam yelled toward the door.
“Alright,” a voice answered from the other side.
They sprang up from the bed, scrambling for their clothes. They frantically pulled on their socks, their underwear and jeans. Sam grabbed Rafe’s dark green t-shirt, tossing it and hitting Rafe in the face. Rafe caught it with a smile and laughed-really laughed-for the first time in years. Sam looked at Rafe’s face in surprise-it had been the first time since their reunion-perhaps since they met-that Rafe really looked happy. Sam couldn’t help but laugh in return. When they were both fully dressed they walked toward the door, Rafe still smiling. Sam grabbed the doorknob, turning it slowly. He looked over his shoulder at Rafe and grinned.
“This better be worth it.”
