#ndhqtask20

Just as he suspected, Nerds and Java was packed. But, that wasn’t surprising, considering the prize at stake. It was one thing to toss a gift certificate someone’s way, but four-day all access passes to Comic Con? Sam couldn’t pass it up. There were people there dressed in all kinds of costumes, taking up every bit of space on the comics side of the shop and spilling over into the attached coffeehouse, milling around the tables and waiting for the competition to begin.

Leave it to a bunch of nerds to take this seriously. Sam squeezed past a group of people, all in various Avenger getups poring over their phones, no doubt boning up on wiki articles about influential comic book artists of the last century.

It wasn’t that serious, not for him. If he won, great. If not, he could always find a good livestream of the panels and wait for the trailers with every other unlucky bastard, as he’d done for years. But it seemed foolish to waste the opportunity, at least now that he was living in California and a few blocks away from a place offering free tickets that, at any point prior, the cost would have cleaned out his bank account.

The flyer had been pretty vague about the kind of competition, and as he sipped his coffee from the insulated to-go cup and leaned against a shelf piled high with Hellboy serials, he watched the others and guessed that the general consensus seemed to be a trivia challenge. Those, he was always spotty on. It wasn’t a goal for him to be the most well-versed in multiverses. He liked what he liked and if he didn’t know something, he didn’t bullshit as if otherwise.

But judging from the din of voices rising in arguments about issues and powers, and which X-Men had actually become an Omega level mutant in which year and the preferred brand of  ink pen for a famous comic artist, he was certain his laidback approach was the exception, not the rule.

Not even ten minutes later, one of the workers announced the start of the competition and anyone looking to sign up, there was a sheet, but with a limited number of spots, over at the checkout area. And while Sam reasoned they probably could have handled it better, but as luck would have it, he was actually standing the closest to the checkout counter and it was a matter of a slight pivot, grinning as he met the surprised laughter of the girl behind said counter who congratulated him on his luck as the din of scraped chairs and hurried footsteps increased behind him.

First on the list, in the top spot with ten overall, Sam was able to settle back in his leaning position against the shelf. The air of nonchalance persisted, even through yet another announcement for the competitors to meet up at the long table towards the back of the shop, where a stack of sketchbooks and packs of drawing pens and pencils greeted them. And Sam couldn’t help but laugh, even as the guy beside him groaned audibly.

The books were passed around and he plucked a pencil from one of the packs. Long fingers ghosted over the cover of his sketchbook, feeling the rush that typically came to him at the feel of new art supplies. Memorization and trivia and all that fanboy posturing wouldn’t help much in an impromptu art show. Thirty minutes to design a comic panel featuring characters of their own creation and while that kind of pressure seemed to unnerve at least half the people sitting at the table, Sam was relaxed. Perhaps it was the coffee, or just the excitement of getting to draw on the fly. He hadn’t experienced something so off the cuff since art school. It was these things that made him fall in love with the process.

Sometimes it was fun to simply shut off his thoughts and see where his creativity could wander. His character didn’t have a name but she had a killer suit and was versed in hand to hand combat and questionable puns. It was a little rough, considering the time constraint and the lack of proper coloring, but the finished result, a four-panel short about a baker by day, badass by night who defeated evil with cupcake bombs and magic kitchen cookery was a clever hit. ‘Sweet Justice’ was the name, silly and sugar laden but an hour later Sam was walking out with Comic Con passes safely tucked in an envelope and a renewed sense of energy and confidence in his artwork.

In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the best idea. On the Sam scale of bad ideas this might have landed somewhere between the time he got his legs waxed and the time he decided driving from Fort Worth to Austin on 30 minutes of sleep and five cups of coffee seemed like a ‘fun thing to do’.

So, ridiculous. Possibly a little questionable, but nothing to warrant an intervention.

Calling someone up nearly a month after getting their number wasn't entirely sleazy. At least that’s how he’d silently justified dialing a number he’d insisted on deleting but never actually did and maybe he was glad to because they’d met at Nerds and Java again. She was wearing yellow again and an even  brighter smile that certainly lived up to her name.

Sunny.

With the big, dark curls and wide, dark eyes. And it was easy to write off the previous awkwardness at being recognized as a slight overreaction. Besides, Sunny hadn’t really known it was him when she’d initially sat down, and while he didn’t know much about the young woman outside of those ‘getting to know you’ basics, she didn’t strike him as deceptive.

It wasn’t being hypocritical. At least it’s what he said to himself when Sunny invited him to her apartment to check out an art piece she’d recently purchased at a show, and he accepted the offer. 

There was, at least, some hesitation. Some silent deliberation with himself and the feeling that lingered, the one about sleeping with fans, or anyone who’d seen his work in some capacity. He reasoned that since Sunny was upfront, admitting she’d only seen a few videos but undoubtedly was attracted to him and his vibe, that it would be--if anything--a slight bending of the unspoken rule.

At least that’s what he told himself. The resounding rumble of thunder that’d greeted them once they’d stepped outside of the coffee shop seemed to support his reasoning. Dark clouds formed, quickly overtaking the bright blue he was so used to seeing as the city geared up for what looked to be one hell of a rainstorm, and by the time the first drops started to fall, a decision had been made.

Because as he climbed the steps to her surprisingly spacious downtown loft, he’d already knew what would happen.

And maybe, he definitely wanted it.

That want, that felt instinctual. Felt like what he’d been missing those last few weeks with the monotony of the day to day tugging at him. If felt less like the job, but not quite like sex with someone new. Someone who hadn’t seen him naked. After all, she only knew Samson, or had some vague idea of him. But this would be different. New, but not new. Something to prove, but not entirely a fantasy to fulfill. 

And perhaps it was all what he needed to convince his brain to shut down, to shift into base desire and satisfy the need that seemingly intensified on their wet walk to her loft. Clothes dripping from the downpour, it only served as motivation to strip down, the lack of nerves seemingly gone as both used the silent explanation of shedding soaked clothes to get naked.

The rush returned, cresting hard as hands gripped and tugged and stroked dipped between warm thighs to rub exactly where she wanted. Her skin held a faint trace of fresh rain, blended with the sheen of sweat as she moved against his diligent fingers, pressed between his frame and a small table that creaked with each slow roll of her hips.

Perhaps he could blame that on the rain too, the shift of their kisses from hesitant to a heated kind of boldness, a mess of tongues and moans and there was no intention of making it anywhere but where they’d landed, on the hardwood floor behind her couch, pausing long enough to roll on a condom before sinking into her with a renewed sense of energy.

It’d been too long, since he felt a purpose in fucking besides what needed to be done for the cameras.

And he tamped down on the initial instinct of wanting to show off. It felt unnecessary, considering the little she knew about him, as Samson or otherwise.  So he channeled his energy elsewhere, setting in the moment, the feel of it all, of her,  hands ghosting over soft copper-colored skin, gripping softer thighs and kissing full lips in a way that made her coo and writhe beneath him, meeting driving strokes with fluid thrusts of her own.

And maybe it was selfish, fucking himself out of a slump with a stranger he did actually vibe with but he soothed that thought with another, that it was wanted.  And it didn’t need to be anything more than it was. The lack of expectation, in needing to be Samson, or Sam. Just the body, hard-muscled and determined hands, meeting hers, soft curves and eager fingers lost in his hair, gripping hard and her cries rang out and he thrust over and over.

The viewers always seemed to enjoy a live stream. They were always begging for her to do one, anyway, and from the comments CeCe had read on other people’s uploads, it wasn’t something limited to only her viewers. Having been begged for days now to “go live” though, she’d finally caved, and now she found herself sitting in the bath tub, chest on full display and camera set up in the room with her. The downside to live streams was the fact that CeCe always tended to blank on what to do, because she’d be too busy reading the comments, people asking her to touch herself here and there, and it would get overwhelming. So, she’d made this one a little different.

Before going live, she’d asked her viewers what they wanted her to do, to give her a specific request, one that she could use as a strict guide. She wouldn’t even have her computer in the room with her, just her camera, so it didn’t matter what the viewers were typing away, telling her to do, she’d just be blissfully unaware in her bathroom, following the guide she’d been given beforehand. The winner had been one asking her to do a bath scene, where she’d touch herself while laid in the tub. Kind of tame, she figured, but it’d been one of the more realistic ones, especially for a live. So that was how CeCe had gotten here, small amount of bubbles surrounding her, and tan skin beaded with small droplets from the water beneath her.

As she begun, the usual way that she cupped and grabbed at her breast to get herself worked up enough to really start the video, she looked directly into the camera. Dark eyes would stare at whoever was watching through the screen as she touched her body, like they were right there with her, like they were the ones guiding her, touching her. Her nipples had always been a sensitive area for her, even more so since she’d gotten them pierced a while back, so they soon stood to attention, a feeling of need spreading between her legs. Like she needed to be touched, whether by herself or somebody else. The latter wasn’t in the guide, though. This was a solo stream, just her alone in the bathtub, and CeCe wasted no time in dipping her hand under the water, fingers stroking against her clit. Immediately, she reacted with a quiet moan, eyes closing as she sank back against the surface.

To be honest, CeCe had been feeling kind of.. sexy all day. And now that she was laying here with her fingers circling her clit, chest rising and falling a little faster, more deliberately, she really wished she wasn’t alone here. She wished this scene had called for a partner, because as much as she loved to touch herself, she liked it when other people did it for her, too. Through her moaning and twisted expression, orgasm underway, an idea crept into her head, and forcing herself to stop, she pulled her hand out of the water, a little breathless, body tingling, craving that touch again. No, the guide hadn’t called for two people, but where was it specified that her own fingers had to be what got her off?

With that in mind, CeCe knelt up in the water. It was shallow enough that if she kneeled straight, everything was on display, water running from her skin as she moved toward the taps. The way the tub was set up; free standing in the middle of the room, CeCe was able to lift her legs up and drape them over the side, taps in between them as the backs of her knees rested on the cool surface of the white tub. Her entire body still felt sensitive, so when CeCe turned on the water and it began to stream down between her legs, hips pushing forward a little to make sure it trickled onto her clit, it sparked something inside of her immediately, her stomach tensing and her hips moving to make sure the water touched all of the right places, the pressure causing another loud moan to fall from her lips.

Although the good stuff was obviously hiding underneath, it seemed that people had a thing for the fabric of a girl’s underwear. For example, if she just wore regular old cotton panties, CeCe was sure she’d hear a bunch of comments telling her to “take them off” right away. Lace and silk, though? The viewers appreciated them. They talked about how good they looked on her, how they wished they could peel them off of her slowly, sensually. As she stared at her reflection in the full length mirror, red laced panties and no bra, covered over with a short silk robe, she knew she looked good, she knew she’d be giving the audience what they wanted.

Camera set up and recording in front of her, CeCe sat herself down at the right angle, relaxing back into the couch as if this was just a regular evening at home. For a porn star, it was, but she wasn’t supposed to be a porn star right now; she was supposed to be just a regular woman sitting here in her silk and lace, the urge to touch herself too much to resist. Beginning the act, she brushed her long hair back from her face with her fingers, beginning to fan herself. “It’s so hot in here,” she said in a soft voice, as if saying it to herself. Fingertips met with silk as she peeled back the robe to reveal her bare chest, pierced nipples on full display.

For a short moment longer, she used her hand to fan herself, though soon it’d come into contact with her body, and CeCe found herself cupping at her breast, the exhibitionist inside of her immediately aroused by the camera and the thought of those watching once this was all done and edited. Bud hardening beneath her touch, CeCe’s eyes flickered shut, sucking in a deeper breath as she used the tip of her thumb and finger to grasp at the area, rolling it between the two. A soft, barely audible whimper rose in her throat—this was all about the reaction, after all—as she lifted her other hand to palm her other breast, soon enough tweaking her nipple the same way she had the first.

Her breaths became deeper, the way her chest rose making it obvious, and while CeCe’s finger continued to play with her hardened nipple, the other hand began to slide down her body, stomach tensing beneath her own touch. The panties she wore were see-through enough that parting her legs the way she just had would give the viewers enough for now, and as her hand dipped inside of the fabric, finger immediately coming into contact with her clit, she let out a small moan, partially for the camera, partially because she really had turned herself on already.

Finger immediately coated in her arousal, CeCe stroked against the sensitive bud beneath her panties, another whimper rolling off her tongue in response as she began to move the tip of her finger slowly, soon enough stroking circles against her clit.