Chapter Text
Andrea holds up two fingers and taps on the bar. The bartender nods, bored, as if it's a regular occurrence: a beautiful woman sitting alone on Thanksgiving eve ordering doubles of whiskey like she's trying to forget something. She's only mildly insulted that he doesn't try to flirt with her, but she's also too exhausted to pretend to be into it. Thank God for small miracles, she supposes. She isn't in the mood to share.
It isn't even a particularly rough night. She isn't drowning her sorrows, but she is definitely drowning something. The holidays always put her in a funk. She should be grateful -- and she is, sort of. There's no break up to lament over, no dreams that have been dashed. She's doing fine, all things considered. Business is going well, she has more money than she knows what to do with. She has things other people would kill for.
But the loneliness claws deep inside, scratching against her ribs and pushing against her stomach, like it's threatening to expose her at any moment. She closes her eyes, remembering the way it used to be: full houses and extra chairs around the table, people laughing and pulling at her for attention to the point she would sneak around back for a cigarette between conversations. She remembers the elaborate spread, the way her father would take pride in carving the turkey. Lena, sitting by her side, enthralled by anything she was saying.
Now, it's dinner for one, and a cell phone that stays mostly silent except for texts she has to ignore.
So she drinks.
She's about to close her tab when she hears a throat clear behind her. Incensed, because that is the most natural thing to be when you think someone is going to talk to you, she turns.
"Andrea! I thought that was you!"
Sam Arias smiles broadly, her teeth gleaming white like she's a model for toothpaste, her hair slightly mussed from the beanie she has just taken off. And it isn't like Andrea hates her anymore, because that ship has long sailed, but she isn't in any mood for Sam's brand of holiday cheer.
"Sam," she says quietly, nodding. She tries to get the bartender's attention, but of course, she remains invisible. "I was actually just leaving."
"Oh, are you sure? I'd love to buy you a drink. It's been forever."
If Sam could read a room, she'd know it's been forever on purpose, that Andrea can't handle being alone with her for extended periods of time. But she's either blissfully ignorant, or worse, trying to make a breakthrough, so here they are. Andrea watches the way she casually plops down on the stool next to her and orders a beer. "And another one of-- whatever she's having, please."
She turns to Andrea with a grin. "Gosh, I haven't seen you since--"
"The fundraiser, yeah."
"The fundraiser, right. God, that was a shitshow, wasn't it?"
Andrea nods, studying the swirling wood pattern that makes up the bar. She's sure they remember it differently. The shitshow Sam is referencing is probably the way Jack got drunk and knocked over an entire spread of canapés before the auction. Lena had to usher him out through the back while Sam ran interference on stage. It was exactly the kind of chaos those parties tend to bring, and Andrea found it fascinating. But the shitshow she remembers is more of a personal implosion. The Luthor Foundation fundraiser was the beginning of the end, in her mind. It's the night she realized she can't get close to Sam, because it will absolutely result in disaster. Her attraction has probably always been there, if she's honest. First, it was raging jealousy at Sam's budding relationship with Lena, something Andrea was easily able to categorize as bruised ego and hurt feelings. But then, Sam showed up to the fundraiser, single and dashing, and Andrea almost chewed off her own tongue to avoid putting it in Sam's mouth.
And now Sam's sitting here, in a casual navy blazer, tossing a teasing smile at her over her beer as she cheers to the holidays.
So yeah, avoiding her feelings and avoiding Sam Arias is going great.
"I texted you like, a bunch of times," Sam says, frowning slightly. She places her beer down carefully.
"Oh, yeah, I-- I'm not great at texting."
"So it's not a me thing?"
Andrea smirks, because of course it's a Sam thing, but she shakes her head. "I'll do better."
"Well, you look fantastic. It's really good to see you." Andrea hates the way it sounds so genuine, because Sam has no reason to be nice, but here she is, being exactly that. "National City is agreeing with you."
"Not an east feat," Andrea says, chuckling at her own expense. Sam grins, like she knows her. "And what about you? What are you doing here?"
"Oh, right, I guess you wouldn't know. We moved back. I live here now, on the east side. Metropolis was nice but--" she glances at Andrea like she wants to say something else, but she simply smiles. "It wasn't home."
Andrea grits her teeth. This is news she really could have done without, knowing Sam is in the same zip code again. But she forces a smile. "That's great."
The music gets exponentially louder around them, since it's that time of the night where you're either going to dance and get sloppy, or head home before you make a fool of yourself. Andrea glances toward the door, but Sam leans in closer. She can smell her cologne, and the faint vanilla of her shampoo and she almost chokes.
"Do you have Thanksgiving plans?"
Andrea pauses. She could launch into an elaborate lie about a full agenda of parties and check-ins, full tables and bottles of wine, but that sounds exhausting. She could also tell the truth, but that would result in a guaranteed pity-invite. So she nods. Brevity is the soul of wit, after all.
"Yes."
"Oh, good! That's good," Sam nods once to herself. She takes a sip of her drink and Andrea hates the way it looks so hot. Her eyes lock on the smooth column of Sam's throat, the muscles flexing slightly as she swallows. Andrea's tongue involuntarily pushes in protest against her teeth. She shakes her head, trying to jostle her brain back into any type of functioning. Sam, unaware of the carnage she's caused, continues, "--I don't really. Have plans, I mean. I mean, I outsourced. I've ordered more food than I know what to do with because I was told my cooking is subpar. And Ruby..." She drifts, her brow furrowing slightly, but she covers it with a smile. "Well she's so excited to be home that she's staying with a friend tonight, but I made her promise we'd do dinner. Moms, right? The worst."
Andrea smiles vacantly, unsure what to do with all the information. This conversation is trending into dangerous territory. Andrea doesn't want to ask about Ruby, she doesn't want to know why Sam is by herself, she doesn't want to know any of it. Her mind is spinning slightly, because of course now she's buzzed, only able to process certain things, like how warm it is in here, and how Sam's shirt is opened a little too low, so she blurts the only thing she can think of.
"Dance with me."
Sam's eyes widen, but she nods enthusiastically, like if she doesn't react fast enough, Andrea might disappear. And that's fair, because that's exactly what will happen. But Sam is agile and quick, and before she can change her mind, it's happening. All too quickly, Andrea finds herself being pulled on to the dance floor with Sam in her space, and fuck. This is marginally, infinitely worse.
Well played, Andrea.
Before she can establish rules, Sam's hand is on her hip, and the crowd pushes them even closer. Sam chuckles lightly, her breath warm against Andrea's cheek. It sends a jolt down her spine and she immediately stiffens.
"Relax," Sam says calmly. She pushes against her hip, and Andrea's knees go weak. "There you go."
The earlier drinks help considerably, otherwise Andrea would probably make a run for it. But she eases into the rhythm, content to ignore the way Sam is able to mirror her movements perfectly. It's infuriating how well they seem to fit. Andrea tries not to focus on the way Sam's eyes practically sparkle, or the way her jaw clenches when she moves, or the ghost of her fingers trailing over her back. She closes her eyes and ignores it all, getting lost in the bass of whatever crappy pop song comes through the speakers as if it's a masterpiece.
Sam flags down a waiter and gets them more drinks, and Andrea knows she should probably stop, but she's finally feeling good enough to almost enjoy this. The beat pulsing through her, the way Sam holds her, sturdy and careful at the same time, and the way she smiles like she's actually happy to be here. It's all a pleasant change of pace from her earlier wallowing, so she decides to let go and enjoy it.
There will be plenty of time to feel guilty later.
They dance for what feels like hours, their bodies giving in to temptation with wandering hands and gyrating hips, their breaths perfectly in sync until finally, Andrea feels like she might explode. With flushed cheeks and buzzing limbs, Andrea pulls them back to their seats.
Once settled back at the bar, Sam studies her like she's some kind of art piece hanging in the MoMa. Andrea wants to tell her to stop, but the words refuse to come. Somehow under her gaze, she feels infinite, like Sam is turning her into something beautiful. "I'm so glad I ran into you," Sam finally says, her cheeks a delightfully attractive crimson. Andrea wets her lips. "I-- yeah. It's nice."
"You're not awful company," Andrea agrees. She's barely keeping it together.
"Can I say something?"
"Would I actually be able to stop you?"
Sam frowns, but Andrea offers a smile that she hopes gives her permission. She's greedy for anything Sam will give her, even though she acts like it's tremendously inconvenient. It's fucking confusing, and she knows she's being horrible, but she never claimed to be great at any of this.
"I know you have a lot of reasons to dislike me," Sam says. She sighs, searching Andrea for something -- a hint that she can actually say what's on her mind, or something more.
Oh, so we're doing this. Andrea straightens slightly.
"I don't--"
"Just let me finish," Sam begs. "I know it's probably awkward. But I really just want you to know that-- you have a friend, if you want it. I'm here for you. However you'd like me to be. Okay?"
Andrea's cheeks blaze. It's a nice sentiment, even if she feels pathetic. Sam sees right through her, sees the depths of her loneliness, but she doesn't want Sam like that. She wants her on her back, her eyes rolling, her fingers scratching along Andrea's hips. She doesn't want someone to listen to her problems. She just wants someone to chase them away with their teeth, to wrap her up in their arms and light her on fire with their lips.
She wants Sam to do those things, but instead of all that, she spits, "I don't need a friend."
Sam scoots her chair closer, her legs slotting perfectly between Andrea's. She leans in dangerously close. It's fucking relentless. "Fine. Do you wanna tell me why you really avoid my texts, then?"
"Not particularly."
Sam is quiet, not responding except for the back of her finger that is blazing a slow, agonizing trail up Andrea's thigh. Apparently, she can read the room, and Andrea wants to rip off all her clothes right then and there.
"Are you sure?"
Andrea's resolve cracks slightly as she whimpers. Sam trails higher.
"Sam."
"I'll stop if you want."
Andrea inhales sharply. Her heart is pounding in her ears. She glances around. The bar is not entirely empty, and she feels like a spectacle. She notices the back exit and makes a decision.
"Not here."
The door slams and within seconds, Andrea's back is against a wall, with Sam pressed against her firmly. Her hips buck wildly and Sam responds, pushing her roughly, their lips finally closing the remaining gap between them.
Sam kisses with intense sincerity, and Andrea can taste the sour hint of beer and the depth of her feelings. She pulls her closer, and Sam moans into her mouth. Andrea's knees almost buckle, but Sam is there, stable and strong, keeping her upright.
"Fuck, Andrea," Sam moans, slotting her thigh between her legs. Electricity crackles up Andrea's spine. "I've wanted this--"
Andrea's stomach flips, but she closes her eyes hard, fighting against it.
"--Don't talk."
She cuts Sam off with her tongue, desperate to let their actions speak for themselves. She isn't the kind of woman who is going to make out with someone in a back alley out of desperation, and she knows Sam gets it. And of course, to her absolute delight, and her particular devastation, Sam is a perfect kisser, because of course she is. It's the right combination of give and take, her tongue filling the gaps where Andrea needs it the most. Sam pushes against her and Andrea feels herself come undone.
"I've got a car," Andrea says against Sam's mouth. Her pulse is roaring in her ears, and the throbbing between her legs is almost explosive. "My place or yours?"
"Come home with me," Sam whispers, lips trailing along Andrea's jaw, breath hot in her ear.
She's already too far gone, so she might as well seal the deal.
"Okay."
Andrea wakes up squinting, the sun blazing directly into her eyes. She blinks, bleary-eyed, slowly taking stock of her surroundings: unfamiliar bed, cozy comforter, and her clothes discarded everywhere on the floor.
It comes back to her in a rush, and she remembers everything all at once. She remembers at least 4 somethings, actually, and the soreness in her muscles announces itself like a well-timed throat clearing. Sam Arias is great with her hands, and even better with her tongue, and fuck, this is not how this was supposed to go. And now that she has Sam tattooed all over her body, there's no way it's going to come off in the shower.
She involuntarily clenches her thighs together and groans, pulling the blanket securely over her. She winces as her head begins to pound.
Sam chooses that particular moment to announce her presence, coming in with two mimosas and an oversized dress shirt. Andrea studies the literal mile length view of Sam's legs and her mouth waters.
"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Sam says in greeting, sporting a lopsided grin. She looks like she's ready to walk the runway instead of being hungover. It's ten kinds of unfair, but as Andrea seems to be the beneficiary, she keeps her mouth shut. "Hair of the dog," she says proudly, holding up the glasses.
Sam hands her a glass and grabs the remote. She makes herself comfortable, stacking her pillows as she flips through the channels. Andrea notices the faint traces of a bruise forming on Sam's neck, and it sends a pleasant shiver through her body as she recalls the easy way her teeth sank into Sam's skin. Sam eventually lands on the parade. She turns to Andrea with a wink, holding up her glass.
"Happy Thanksgiving, Andrea."
Andrea nods and clinks her glass half-heartedly. They watch the performances and advertisements for new Broadway shows. The Rockettes come out and Sam giggles.
"I always wanted to be a Rockette," she says, still staring directly at the screen.
"You could with those legs."
Sam whips her neck abruptly as she turns to face her, mouth hanging open."That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
Andrea takes a small sip of her drink, the bubbles smoothly dancing down her throat. It feels easy, almost domestic, sitting here in bed with Sam, watching the parade on a holiday morning. There's nothing forced, nothing implied. Andrea's stomach sinks. It can't last. She can't actually have this. She'll ruin it, and ruin them, and Sam deserves to be far away from a person as destructive as her.
Right?
"I should go," Andrea says when the parade cuts to commercial. She shifts the covers and as she's about to stand, Sam reaches for her hand.
"Stay," Sam says, her eyes deep and pleading. Andrea feels like she could get lost in them for hours if she allowed herself. Instead, she pulls her hand back.
"It's Thanksgiving."
"Exactly."
"I have plans."
"Do you?"
Andrea bites her lip and avoids Sam's gaze. "No."
"Stay."
"I don't have any clothes here."
Sam rolls her eyes. "Borrow some. I'm not fancy." She leans in close and whispers, "You won't need them later anyway."
"I--"
Sam waits. Andrea sighs, defeated. She's so tired of fighting, and Sam looks so good, and she's only human, after all.
"I'm out of excuses."
"Finally," Sam exhales a smile and pulls Andrea back in close, kissing her deeply. Andrea melts into her touch, her mind blank except for one thing: Sam Arias. She doesn't know what to make of it all, but she thinks maybe she can stick around to find out.