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chattahoochiecoochie · 1 year

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Spare Keys

Summary: What do you do when you fuck before the first date? You skip all the other regular relationship steps right after, just to catch up.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Suggestive Language / Author Thinks She’s Funny

A/N: I exist to entertain myself, and only myself. Part One. Part Two.

You wake to the sound of Sam’s voice—how’d he get here? Squatting beside you, he’s speaking into the receiver of his phone, smiling softly at you.

“There’s my girl, good morning sunshine.” His hand is on your face, brushing the hair back from your eyes. You falter underneath him, letting your eyes close as he strokes your face. “Someone forgot their alarm this morning, huh?”

Your alarm? Oh fuck.

Your eyes open wide, blinking quickly as you take in the sight before you fully. Sam’s beside your bed, watching you, holding your spare key in hand with his phone. When had you given him your spare? Behind him, your alarm clock is sitting quietly, the digital face reading 8:33, a full half hour after you were supposed to be up. Double fuck.

You sit up, brushing off his hand as you throw the covers off of yourself. You’ve got a meeting this morning. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Yeah, ninth floor. Bring her coffee with you.” Sam hangs up the phone, sliding it into his pocket before taking a closer look at you. You’re rubbing your eyes, trying to organize yourself.

It’s 8:30. You’ve got a meeting in forty five minutes. A meeting you cannot be late for. In a gravely morning voice, you tell Sam as much.

“You guys do meetings?” He raises a brow, moving to the side as you scramble off your bed, wondering briefly if you have enough clean underwear as you make for the bathroom.

“It’s for Ja’Marr’s hip. Treatment plan.” You call over your shoulder, tugging your sleep shirt over your head.

“I thought the medical team did that stuff?” He’s trailing after you, flicking on the light as he walks into the bathroom behind you.

“Yeah, but now his workouts have to change, his warmups and cool downs.”

Stepping out of your underwear you reach for your toothbrush, finding yourself disappointed when you look in the mirror. Your hair is a disaster. You’ll have to shower.

Before you can reach the faucet, Sam is turning it on for you, waving you back to the sink. “I’ve got this, you do that.”

“Where are y’all at?” The sound of your front door shutting echoes through the apartment, followed by the sound of Joe moving through your living room. You watch in the mirror as Sam leans out the bathroom door, waving his arm.

Looking over your shoulder, you watch as Sam moves along the wall behind you to make room for Joe in the small space. The moment the blond appears, you blush. He walks in whistling, eyes wide when he sees you. “Good morning.”

“She look this good when you woke her up?” He leans against the door frame, brow raised as he questions Sam.

“Better. Wearing your shirt.” He points to the crumpled garment on the floor. You blush deeper, turning back to the mirror.

“And you made it all the way to the bathroom in one piece?” Joe raises his brows higher, smirking at your reflection.

“She’s got a meeting.”

“They do meetings?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you wipe a hand across your mouth and move towards the shower. Later, if you can remember, you’ll explain your job title to them, in full. For now, Sam’s got you covered.

“Something about Ja’Marrs hip.” He says, holding the curtain open for you as you step into the water. “What’s next, baby?”

“Clothes. My water bottle.” You squint underneath the stream of water, second guessing yourself as you speak. “My ipad. I’m not sure if I charged it.”

“I’m on iPad duty. Joey, you got clothes?”

“On it.”

Water rushing over your head, you shut your eyes, sighing with a shaking sense of relief as you listen to them shuffle out of the bathroom. Moments later, as you rinse your face, relief turns into laughter. Joe can’t decide on underwear.

“I’ve got a thong and then, regular I guess!” He’s screaming from your bedroom, and the thought of him standing in front of your dresser trying to decide makes you giggle.

“Thong!” You and Sam both answer, his deep voice drowning out the watery sound of your own.

“Sick. What about a bra?”

Shutting off the water, you reach beyond the curtain for a towel, trying to decide for yourself. It’s a meeting, so a regular bra is probably better for the top you had in mind, but you’re hitting the gym after.

Towel wrapped securely around your chest, you lean into the short hall that divides your bedroom from the living space. Before you can even part your lips to answer, Sam slips into view, pecking at your lips as he walks by with your iPad in hand.

“Regular!” You squeal against him, caught off guard by the rush around you.

Trapped in the buzz of them moving through your space, you stand motionless in the doorway. On your left, you can hear Joe opening and closing drawers, humming at what he finds in each one. To your right, you can hear the fridge opening in your kitchen, followed by loud cursing from Sam.

“Your Brittas empty!”

“Leggings?”

“It’s a meeting!” Sam yells from your kitchen, scoffing as he turns on your kitchen sink.

“So pants?”

“Obviously!”

“Everything looks like leggings!”

“Check my closet!” You interject, heart pounding in your chest as the chaos mounts on both sides of you.

“Jesus!” The sound of stuff falling echoes from your room. There goes that shitty rack. You wince at the sound, wishing you’d remembered to put in that maintenance request the last time it had fallen on you, trapping you under a pile of hangers and tangled clothes.

“Sorry!”

“Don’t worry about him. Let's worry about you, what’s next?” Sam is in front of you again, taking the towel you’ve been clinging to. “It’s 8:50.”

“Fuck, um, hair. Hair and makeup.” You turn to catch yourself in the mirror. Hair, definitely.

“I’m gonna need a brush. You gotta hairdryer?”

You nod, turning your back to him as you rummage through the cluttered countertop until you finally find what you need. You pass him the brush first, fingers grazing him as you hand it over your shoulder. The hairdryer follows, handed back by the barrel.

Without instruction, Sam takes over the room, taking control off your mind as he starts at the root of your head. His hands are firm, and shockingly sure. He’s watching you in the mirror, working off some kind of muscle memory as he dries you off, section by section.

Minutes later, when you’re leaning into the mirror for your eyeliner, and Sam is twisting the brush through the ends of your hair to get a loose curl—what had he said, something about a sister—Joe’s reflection appears behind Sam’s. He’s holding a pair of khakis and a bright pink shirt.

“Are you dressing your mini me? What are those?” Sam raises his brows, hands stopped as he turns to get a better look at what Joe has picked out.

“It’s the pink isn’t it? I second guessed myself. I’ll be back.” Joe shakes his head, shuffling back out of view.

A moment later he returns, this time holding a black quarter zip, looking proud of himself. “I was thinking black shoes?”

“Much better.” Sam nods in approval, and pulls the brush through your hair a final time before shutting off the hairdryer. Can every morning be this easy?

“Perfect. I’ve got these for you.” Joe moves into the room, your outfit draped over his arm as he clutches your thong in one hand and your bra in the other.

“I’m gonna get her water then, if you’ve got this?” Sam drags a hand across your back as he steps away, nodding with approval when Joe gives him a thumbs up.

Moving to the side as Sam exits the bathroom, Joe holds out your thong, smirking. “For you, milady.”

You blush, looking at the floor as you take it from him. Feeling his eyes on you as you pull it up, you blush deeper, cheeks bright pink when you reach for your bra next.

“Fuck, I cannot wait to get those off you later.” Joe groans, sounding strained as he holds out your khakis. “You really wore my shirt to bed?”

Of course, you think. Could hardly bring yourself to take it off after they brought you home from the bar in it, Sam handing back your beer soaked shirt as he kissed you goodnight.

“Sorry, for spilling on you in there.” He’d said as he watched you take off the dirty shirt in the front seat of Joe’s car. “You did look really good in Guinness, though.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Joe had answered for you, eyes locked on your chest as you changed into one of his spare workout tees.

“Every night this week.” You answer him with a smug face, tugging the pants over your ass before putting out a hand for your zip up.

By the time you pop your head out of the collar a long minute later, he’s half hard and swallowing slowly when you catch his eye.

“Black shoes, you said?” Reaching up on your tiptoes, you brush your lips across his, trying not to smirk at him when your hand shifts over the front of his shorts. Was he that big in your hand the last time? The first time?

“I put them by your purse.” His voice is tight. Striking you swiftly on the ass, he shifts from your path to let you out of the room before him. With a shrill giggle, you run into the hall, beyond his reach as he begins to pull his hand back a second time.

Bounding into the kitchen, you run almost head on into Sam’s chest. Wrapping his arms around your middle, he catches you mid stride, preventing the collision.

“Ready?” One hand holding you by the arm, he lifts the other to your chin, tilting your face to his, catching the spark in your eye. “What’d I miss?”

“I—we—are gonna fuck her stupid after this meeting of hers.”

“So much for taking it slow, then.” Sam laughs over your head, hugging you to his chest. This is slow? They’re organized like a Nascar pit crew. And they’d fucked you before the first date. Was that a date? You’re sleeping in Joe’s shirt–this is not slow.

“It's 9:07 now.” Sam’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He glances at his watch, smirking when he looks up. Behind you, Joe is standing with his chest pressed against your back, heat pouring from between his legs. “You think you can live, what, an hour and a half without her?”

Grunting, Joe lets out a sound that's neither a yes or a no. Nuzzling his nose against your ear, you feel him breathing on your neck, the spot quickly covered by his mouth as he nips at you. This isn’t slow, but fuck that feels good.

“I’m supposed to be there by now!” You squeal, shivering between the two of them. It’s not that important, is it?

Joe groans against you, finally coughing slightly as he picks his head up behind you. “Hour and a half.”

“Hour and a half.” Sam parrots him, grinning at the two of you. “Let’s get going.”

Gently, he guides you both to the door, checking over your belongings as he ushers the two of you into the hall. He’s got your iPad and your purse, Joe’s on water bottle and key duty. All you’ve got to do is hold Joe’s hand and look pretty, Sam says to you, a glint in his eye. There's an innuendo in his words, but you’re out of time to dwell on it for now.

Later, on the walk into the training facilities, you’ll spend the spare minute going over it in your mind, blushing inappropriately by the time you step into the conference room. For now, you do as he says, letting Joe wrap his large hand over yours as he locks up the door to your apartment, using your keys instead of the spare you’d seen earlier. The spare.

You look to Sam in front of you, wondering where he’s put it. You watch him closely as he presses the button for the elevator, left hand shifting inside the pocket of his shorts.

“You want this back on your lanyard?” The gold key dangles from his ring finger as he pulls his hand free.

He’s not looking at you, rather over you, at Joe.

Joe squeezes your hand. “Nah, you keep it.” He had it? “I’ll make a copy of it later, if that's okay with you, baby.”

The memory floods your mind when you look up at him. “You gotta spare? Make it easier for me to help get you out of here in the mornings.” Sam’s hand is out, gesturing to the keyring in your hand.

You don’t give out keys, as a rule. It keeps things tidy. But he’s looming over you, seeming so earnest. It’s like you make the sales pitch for him. They’ve been coming to get you for work in the mornings for nearly a week, carrying your bags to the car, holding your hand in the elevator. It would make it easier, if you didn’t have to buzz one or both of them in each time. What a great idea.

“Yes.” You say, eyes lost in his as you lean against the door, mesmerized.

“Sure.” You say now to Joe, the word sounding so easy on your tongue. “Makes things easier.”

A/N: Part four is here.

#i think I'm funny #i think I'm very funny #does this beat the uber pool joke?#no but i peaked with that #chattahoochiecoochie writes #joe burrow #sam hubbard #joe burrow x reader #sam hubbard x reader #joe burrow and sam hubbard #bengals #joe burrow fic #nfl fic

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