What Sam likes

By Serenade Goryō

A/N: I don't own Danny Phantom. You know that, I'm sure.

Sam has this spot on her neck, right above her collar bone, where if I touch it just right she sucks in her breath and closes her eyes and her expression makes me shiver, like I were still holding back ice.

"Please, Danny," she says, and I never say no.

She has a bed, covered in soft velvet and smooth sheets that pull against the corners and slide across our legs when we rock back and forth. I hold back as long as I can until we're both wordless, reduced to sighs and whimpers and the neatly made bed is in disarray, wild; free.

And so are we.

Sam holds my hands. Or rather, she toys with them. She intertwines her fingers with mine or pulls back, only touching the tips, but she never lets go.

When we make love, she kisses them, moves them to where she wants them. She likes to talk to me this way; in code, a hidden language of quickening breathes and heart beats. Of tiny gasps and barely audible commands.

"Touch here," she whispers, and I never refuse.

Sam likes the cold. She puts her mouth on mine when my hair is white and I breathe out as she breathes in and it's her turn to shiver. She nibbles at my lips and presses her hips to mine and asks me to promise to return to her safely.

I always do.

Sam doesn't like to wait. So she runs alongside, her eyes set only on the war we're fighting and it makes me ache to see them the way I love them best; warm and wanting. I'm motivated to end the fight as quickly as I can, to return to her room after everyone else is asleep.

"Tonight," she tells me, when no one can hear her.

And when I get to her room she's waiting. I settle down next to her, listening to her, touching her, whispering to her how much I need her and love her until the sheets are nearly off, my face is glistening with sweat, and both the bed and Sam are making those soft and rhythmic squeaking noises underneath me that make it nearly impossible to hold back any longer. I cry out her name as she carries me over the edge. There is no one else in the world who can do what she does to me, who can take everything that I am and make it more.

She likes that.