#🎟 // uncharted

[fabricated-misslieness]

pairing: Sam Drake x male reader

req: no | wc: 1k

summary: Sam Drake has four little birds tattooed on his neck. He hadn't thought about what that might mean for his lovers.

warnings: suggestive, making out, neck kissing, neck biting, feminization (at Sam, just a nickname)

a/n: i finished uncharted 4 yesterday

Sam's meaning for the four little birds on his neck was freedom. Though their blue coloring had long since faded and their black outlines were beginning to thin out, the meaning still held true for him. Freedom was, unequivocally, one of his defining values.

It was the reason he got the tattoo something over a decade ago. The birds and their freedom were his hope, and sometimes, they were his wish.

Although Sam Drake liked to remain amorous and flirtatious, he hadn't thought about that romantic kind of aspect when getting the tattoo.

Except... he wasn't so sure this was specifically romantic.

The dim streetlights barely shined through the shoddy motel blinds, leaving hardly anything perceivable to vision in the room. Sam didn't need them anyway, and clearly, neither did you. He was mighty excited to test his new freedom, and you were just perfect for it.

"You're–" You're interrupted mid-sentence as Sam steals another kiss, pressing himself closer to you. "eager."

"Believe it or not," The time spent apart from your lips was infuriating, but he supposed he could settle for the warmth and skin to skin contact as he spoke. To say he was "all up on you" was an understatement. Everywhere he could touch, he did. His hands were wrapped around you midriff and one of his legs 'round your waist. "I just broke out of prison."

You scoff into the next kiss.

The light switch was right next to the door, but it was barely opened until it was slammed shut again, and slammed against it, another body.

The dim lights left everything up for imagination, except for the parts that shined. Sam's neck was one.

It's not long before the long, passionate kisses turn sloppy and not any longer until your hands begin to wander. Sam catches one of them as it sinks below his shirt. It's cold from the brisk air of the night and it's such a contrast against his positively burning skin. Regardless of his flaming vigor, he catches it in his hand. "Are you sure–"

"Yes."

Your kisses lead down his stubbled chin and towards his neck, where, finally, you catch sight of his tattoo. "Four little birds." You breathe out.

"Yeah." Sam's eyes are trained on your lips. They're rosy and swollen, slightly parted. They, and the skin around them, shines under the light. He wants to kiss you... but he also wants you to kiss him. "Do you like 'em?"

You press a kiss to one in reply. "Does that tell you anything?"

"It tells me a lot," His breath hitches when you dare to nip at the blue bird. The rest of his sentence comes out rushed. "of things."

It was amusing how easy it was to make him break simple speech. "Like?"

"Well..." Sam takes a moment to think, but it doesn't last long before his mind becomes jumbled in love. The nip, using only your lips, turns into a lick. The saliva chills the spot on his neck, turns it cool against the heat radiating between you two. When some semblance of coherence even returns to his mind, your teeth make a mark against neck.

""Well" what?"

He gulps. The movement of his Adam's apple is loud and clear within your view, and though very attractive, it wasn't your focus. "You like it."

"What's it?" The next bird is much too clean, untainted. You press a kiss to it as you await an answer, a real answer, from your lover boy.

"Nipping." In response to that, you nip at the blue bird. Sam leans his head back against the wooden door with an unmeditated caution, causing a noticeable thud to ring out within the room.

Sam doesn't acknowledge it, but you do. "Are you alright, princess?"

He groans pleasedly at the nickname, threading multiple fingers through your hair and leaving them tangled. A blush sprouts at the edges of his cheeks as he registers the sound. "Y-Yes."

You, too, seem pleased at the sound as you make another rewarding mark on the second blue bird.

Sam moans again, less shameful about it now. Still, he keeps his gaze away from you, afraid of facing those eyes of yours and ending this moment too quickly. His hand clenches yours instinctually, and suddenly you're reminded of its position.

Your hand's chill has turned into a warmth now, against his hot skin. You bring it slowly up his side, no doubt causing shivers to run down his spine. To him, it feels like more than just pleasure. The roughness of your fingers running across the expanse of his smooth skin causes pleasure and shivers and goosebumps and shockwaves. His body reacts absolutely animalistically, causing his hips to buck forward.

"Is there anything more to tell?" You press a small peck against the next bird.

He smiles down at you, finally finding the courage to look into your eyes. They burn, bright even in this dark room, and he can tell they're half-lidded. "You're amazing with your tongue."

A chuckle escapes your lips, quickly followed by your hot tongue darting between them to wet the third bird tattooed on his supple neck. Sam quirks his head at you with a look undoubtedly covered in love and lust, but most of all pleading. You obey him without a price, marking him for the third time.

Sam laughs, the divine rasp of the thousand cigarettes under his lifetime belt unhidden. Ecstasy rises in its tone along with it.

"Anything–?"

The next thing he says is already well thought out in his mind. "You like them, those blue little birds."

"You're wrong," Sam, at first, gasps when you skip nip and lick and go straight into bite. Your teeth are harsh and rough against his delicate, aging skin but he's utterly in love; he lets that love show in clear, beautiful, breathy moans worthy of a princess. "I love them."

Your hand slides down his side, much wilder, much faster, and he doesn't have the time to prepare himself.