Title: Walk Away
By: Caroline Crane
Pairing: Sam/Joe
Rating: NC-17
Note: this is a prequel to Acceptable Risk.
A/N: This is another one of those pairings that maybe two people are even going to recognize, and probably only one other person has ever thought about. In fact, this whole idea belongs to oh_mumble, but since she doesn't write pr0n I am writing it for her. Because I like to make people happy. It's a sickness.

So. It's Miami fic, but there's no Speed or Tyler or even Calleigh in sight. There is a mention of Delko, but other than that it's all about my new Sekrit OTP, Sam/Joe. Sam is the gorgeous Chilean lab tech who flirts with...well, everyone and Joe is the sadly neglected lab tech who discovered Tripp's print on the dead girl's room key in "Bait" and got yelled at for it by Delko even though Delko should know better than to kill the messenger.

Joe's a bit of a masochist, apparently, as he a) has a crush on the very obviously straight Delko, and b) continues to crush on him even after Delko snipes at him about the fingerprint thing. And Sam...well, I'm not entirely sure he's got a crush on anybody, but he probably wouldn't kick Speed or Calleigh out of bed.
Summary: This is the prequel to Acceptable Risk, in which we discover how this whole thing started in the first place.

***

He's not sure what he's doing here. The music's too loud, the lights are giving him a headache, and the crush of bodies on the dance floor isn't making him feel any less alone. What he should have done was gone to a bar – a real bar, not an overpriced club like the one he finds himself in. At least in a bar he could have gotten quietly drunk without having to worry about the bad dance music or the crowds of half-drunk girls.

Not that he really minds the attention, and it's nice to know that someone wants him, even if he doesn't return the feeling. It's sort of flattering to find himself staring down some giggling co-ed from Miami University or one of the other nearby campuses, and even though he turns down the few invitations he gets to dance it makes him feel a little better, at least for a second or two. Then he says 'no, thanks' and turns back to his drink, and he's reminded of exactly how alone he is.

And it's not like he ever expected anything to happen with Delko – he's not an idiot, and he can recognize a straight guy when he sees one. Especially one as straight as Delko, so it's not like Joe's been nursing some lame crush. He's not, but he can't help wishing things were different. Wishing Delko were a little less straight, or maybe wishing that he was a little less pathetic.

He rolls his eyes at himself, swaying a little on his bar stool as he reaches for his beer and drains the bottle. For a second he considers ordering another, but he sees the way the bartender's been eyeing him and he knows he's about to get cut off anyway. Not that he's drunk, but he doesn't want to make a scene that could get back to work either, so he stands up and catches his balance against the bar before he heads for the door.

Threading his way through the crowd is a challenge – there are too many bodies and the pounding in his head is making his vision blur a little, leaving him to push blindly through the wall of people between him and the exit. He makes it halfway across the club before a hand closes around his arm, yanking him backwards and almost pulling him off his feet. He scowls as he catches his balance, turning to face whoever's still holding onto him and when he finds himself looking into dark brown eyes his knees buckle a little.

"I know you."

Brilliant observation, Joe thinks, trying and failing to shake himself loose from the other man's grip. This is the last thing he needs, because it's bad enough to have a crush on someone he knows is straight, but when he's not sure that makes it even harder. And it just figures he'd run into Sam of all people, Sam with his perfect smile and that musical voice and that hair Joe always wants to run his fingers through.

"What are you doing here?"

It's a stupid question, and when Sam smirks Joe knows he's thinking the exact same thing. "What is it you say? 'It's a free country'?"

He should have stayed home tonight – he wishes he had – but there was no way he could have predicted…this. Getting caught alone – and okay, maybe a little drunk – by one of his coworkers is embarrassing enough, but Sam's still holding onto his arm and it's starting to feel way too good. And that's more proof than he really needed of just how pathetic he is, because Sam's only holding onto him so he doesn't fall over.

"Look, I gotta…" He trails off, trying to shake himself free of Sam's grip again, "…I gotta go."

"You're not driving like this."

He never said anything about driving, and that just makes it more annoying that Sam thinks he can just show up out of nowhere and tell him what to do. "Look, man, I appreciate…"

"You came here alone?" Sam asks, talking right over him like Joe didn't say a word. And now he really is annoyed, which makes it a little easier to forget the warm pressure of strong fingers against his arm.

"No offense, man, but it's none of your business."

Sam doesn't even blink at that, reaching into his pocket with his free hand and suddenly he's holding a set of keys. A second later they're both moving, Sam's hand still gripping his arm as he propels Joe toward the door. "I can give you a lift," he says, raising his voice so Joe will hear him over the music.

"I don't need…" Joe begins, but the crowd and the music drown out his voice and there's nothing he can do but let Sam steer him through the crowd, out of the club into the warm Miami night. As soon as he breathes in fresh air his head clears a little, and Joe blinks in the darkness and turns to look at Sam. "I don't need a ride."

Sam just grins at him and tugs him forward, past rows of cars until they stop next to a black sports car. And he really doesn't need a ride – his place is only a few blocks away, and that's the reason he ended up at a club instead of a quiet bar where nobody would bother him while he drowned his sorrows. His head's a little clearer now, the warm metal of the car at his back holding him up and he reaches out and puts a hand on Sam's chest.

"I'm serious, man. I don't need a ride."

That gets him another grin, smug this time and he knows Sam's not used to taking no for an answer. Only he's not sure what the question is, and when Sam shifts closer Joe starts to wonder if he's dreaming. "No? Then what is it you need?"

And okay, that sounds a lot like a come-on, but he's not going to jump to any conclusions. They work together, after all, and even though their paths don't cross that often he doesn't want to have to start avoiding Sam on purpose. "Look, Sam, I appreciate the offer and everything, I really do. But the thing is…"

"You Americans," Sam interrupts, shaking his head and suddenly he's impossibly closer, "always so dramatic."

Joe opens his mouth to ask what that's supposed to mean, but before he gets the words out there's a hot mouth pressed against his, Sam's tongue sliding past his teeth and he tastes orange and the sharp tang of alcohol. He hears a moan that he thinks might be his own, the sound muffled by the kiss and then Sam's whole body is pinning him against the car. And this…this he definitely wasn't expecting, but at least he knows now which way Sam swings.

The thought makes him want to laugh, but Sam's tongue is still in his mouth and all Joe can do is moan again and thrust forward, cocks grinding together through way too many clothes. And they're making out in a parking lot like a couple teenagers, right out in the open where anyone can see them and call the cops. He has no idea how they'd explain that to Horatio, if it would cost them their jobs, but then Sam shifts just a little and slides a hand under Joe's shirt and he thinks it might be worth it.

Sam's got great hands – he's got a great mouth too, great hair and this might be Joe's only chance to find out if it's really as soft as it looks. He pushes his hand through Sam's hair, tilting his head just a little more and Sam makes this noise like he's just been waiting for this moment. And if they keep this up he's going to come in his pants like a teenager, so he fumbles behind him for the door handle, tugging fruitlessly for a few seconds before he realizes it's still locked.

"Keys," he gasps, tearing his mouth away from Sam's long enough to force out the only word he can.

A breathless laugh, and he's pretty sure he's going to regret this tomorrow when they're at work and Joe's still hearing that laugh every time he thinks about this. But his only option is stopping, and he's not sure he could even if he wanted to. So he waits until Sam pulls the door open, scrambling into the back seat and it just figures Sam would have such a small fucking car. Not that it matters much, because a second later Sam's following him into the back seat, door closing behind him and Joe finds himself draped in Sam.

He pushes his thigh between Joe's legs, rocking hard against him and Joe gasps and arches into the pressure, leaving his neck wide open for Sam's mouth. Hot kisses along his neck, across his Adam's apple and Sam's sucking hard, drawing needy moans out of Joe as he tugs at Sam's shirt, finally getting his hands under the fabric to stroke along warm skin. And he could come just like this – he's already close, and when Sam thrusts against him again Joe knows this is going to be over way too fast.

His head's spinning again, the world tilting under him and he has to hold on tight to keep from falling. Only he's not trapped between smooth leather and hard muscle, the whole length of Sam's body holding him in place and when a hand presses against his dick through his jeans he lets out a startled gasp and comes. It's humiliating, and he feels his ears start to burn even as he tries to catch his breath. He's wet and sticky and drenched in sweat and he feels like a teenager, but Sam's still hard and when he sits back on the seat and reaches for Joe's hand Joe doesn't try to pull away.

He works Sam's pants open, fingers still shaking a little from the force of his own orgasm as he pulls Sam's cock out and runs a thumb over the tip. The little sigh that gets him makes him feel better, and he shifts on the seat a little, finding a more comfortable position before he begins to stroke. He wants to lean over and take Sam into his mouth, to use his lips and his tongue to get him off, but there's barely room in the back seat for the two of them as it is, so he settles for resting one hand on the back of Sam's neck as he jerks him off.

Not that Sam's complaining – his hips are moving in time to Joe's strokes, rising off the seat just a little and when Sam opens his eyes and turns to look at him Joe doesn't even think before he leans in for another kiss. He thinks about that mouth on other parts of his body, mapping his skin and pressing inside him. He thinks about Sam's mouth on his cock, tongue doing things that make Joe's blood itch in his veins and he tightens his grip a little.

Sam's hips move a little faster, thrusting into the circle of Joe's fist and suddenly he's terrified that this will never happen again. That hardly seems fair, because he hasn't even seen Sam naked yet and there are a hundred things he'd like to do. A thousand things, and he can't do any of them in the back seat of a cramped sports car in a public parking lot.

When Sam moans against his mouth Joe pulls away, temperature spiking at the sight of Sam leaning back against the seat, lips parted and eyes shut tight against the almost painful pleasure in his groin. Another rough stroke, then another and he feels Sam tense, regretting all over again that there's not enough room in the car to lean over and lick Sam's stomach clean. He settles for lifting his hand to his mouth, tasting salt and bitter and Sam as he sucks his fingers clean.

Before he's even done Sam's pulling him close, licking his knuckles and tugging Joe's hand away from his mouth to press their lips together. That's when the panic sets in, because Sam's mouth feels good against his and Joe's still drunk enough to let himself get caught up in something he shouldn't be feeling. He pulls away with a gasp, scrambling backwards and reaching blindly for the lock on the door.

"I…uh…I gotta go," he stammers, working hard to try to remember how his legs work. He expects Sam to stop him – hopes he will, maybe – but when he climbs out of the car Sam's still leaning back on the seat, pants open and eyes bright as he watches Joe get out of his car.

"I could give you a ride."

"That's okay," Joe answers, gesturing vaguely behind him and he's not even sure he's got the direction right. "It's not far."

Sam nods, and just like that this…whatever is over. He hesitates for another second, trying and failing to think of something to say. Something clever, maybe, or just something to put everything back the way it was. Only there's no way he can, because he knows how Sam's mouth feels on him and he knows he's going home to jerk off to the memory. And part of him thinks it was better when he didn't know – when all he had was his imagination, his fantasies of what Sam would feel like and how he'd taste.

At least with Delko he always knew it would never happen, but now…now he can still taste Sam on his tongue, and he knows it's going to be a long time before he forgets tonight.

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