fic: six stolen kisses (rpf: stargate: atlantis)
end of year clearance challenge response
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: It's a fleeting thought and it mostly disappears with her.
RATING: NC17
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
FOR: phrenitis, amatia, medie, venom69, tater_mae
WORDS: 4,557
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; February 2007.
* * * * *
Six Stolen Kisses by anr
* * * * *
i. it's all complicated
Joe doesn't mean to kiss Torri at Comic Con -- it just sort of happens. He's not even a hundred percent sure how it happens because one minute they're fielding questions about any influence they might have on possible new storylines, and the next he's tugging her into his arms and dipping her back in her chair. Not exactly what he'd call a seamless transition.
Still, nobody seems to mind. The fans cheer, their co-workers laugh, and as soon as he lets them up again, Torri continues answering questions without missing a beat. It's almost impressive how quickly the moment passes.
Afterwards, though, afterwards he can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about all the ways it was silly, and unnecessary, and kinda inappropriate. Pranks are for on the set with friends and crew, not for on a stage in front of a hundred or so fans. He feels like he should apologise or something, only he's not exactly sure to whom because nobody else seems to mind and that, more than anything, is what might be weirding him out the most.
A couple of weeks later he gets a call from his agent confirming his upcoming appearance in Chicago, and when she runs through the list of attendees for him again, he's surprised to hear that Torri is rumoured to be a surprise guest.
For reasons Joe doesn't care to think about, he tells her to cancel.
*
ii. come and go
Jason and Simmone invite everyone over for an end-of-summer barbeque and by twilight they're all kinda drunk. It's a little selfish of him, maybe, but Joe can't help feeling relieved that Kath's decided to stay home with the kids instead of coming. As much as he loves running around with his boys, there's something to be said for kicking back on Jase's lounge with a bottle of beer in one hand, and an xbox controller in the other, adult conversation and laughter wafting from room to room.
Torri wanders in and drops down beside him. "Punch?" she asks, holding up her glass.
"Nah. Thanks."
"Good. More for me." She drains the glass, and places it on the ground before curling into his side, legs tucked up beneath her and her head on his shoulder.
He glances down at her. "You know it's spiked, right?"
She nods. "Heavily, I'm hoping."
He laughs and goes back to his game, and if it takes him a little longer than usual to win each stage, well, he'll just put that down to the alcohol he's consumed and the way she is pressed against him, almost restricting his elbow room.
She watches him progress through four levels in silence, stealing sips of his beer when she thinks he's too preoccupied to notice. Eventually, though, the bottle runs dry and he hits pause as she sits up, one hand resting on his thigh for balance and her upper body leaning in close.
"I need more booze," she says, very seriously, and he smiles.
"Somehow, I doubt that," he says, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from her mouth, "but okay."
She grins, and starts to push herself up and away, and when her neck and shoulder pass too close as she moves he can't resist, he can't stop himself, he leans forward just enough to press his lips to her throat. She giggles, and says, "sorry," as he does, probably assuming the touch is her fault, so he doesn't really think it counts as a kiss even if he can smell pineapple and rum and Torri in the moments before she's out of reach and gone.
He watches her wander out of the room and thinks about maybe following her, just because, but it's a fleeting thought and it mostly disappears with her.
He turns back to his game.
*
iii. you see this
Weir doesn't get to go off world very often so it's rare for Torri to be at a location shoot. Rare, but not unheard of, so Joe's not that surprised when he ducks into the crew trailer on a break and finds her towel-drying her hair.
"Hey," he says, "just visiting?"
She smiles. "Yeah. Lunch with Rach." She nods at the open door behind him. "How's it going?"
He makes a face and moves further into the trailer. "Take a guess," he says dryly, running a hand through his own hair and flicking away water.
"Sunny skies all round?" She's perfectly deadpan, a boom of thunder punctuating her words.
He chuckles. "Something like that, yeah." He glances behind him briefly and then looks back. "Rachel should be over soon," he says, as Torri starts to move, towel in hand. "I'm pretty sure Will's gonna call it quits until the storm passes --" He takes an automatic step back, out of her way. "-- seeing as how --"
The towel lands on his head.
"Uh, Tor?"
"Hmm?" He feels her step closer to him, her thighs pressing lightly against his. He can't see her anymore but he can sense her arms, her hands, rising up towards his head.
"Whatcha doing?"
She dries his hair slowly, fingers massaging his scalp in a way that makes him kinda glad the towel is hiding his face. "Playing golf."
"Oh." Her fingers slip across the back of his neck, just under the edge of the towel, and he tenses. "How're you doing?"
"Pretty good, I think." Her hands smooth over his head and down, dragging fabric with them until his face is free and he can see again. She holds onto the ends of the towel as it drapes around his neck and smiles up at him. "You?"
His hands have moved to rest upon her hips; he wonders when that happened. "I don't play golf."
"Mmm," she says. "Shame that."
"Yeah." She doesn't seem to be in any hurry to step away and he wonders about that too. "Hey, Tor?"
"Yeah?"
He leans in and kisses her forehead; his lips lingering on her skin just long enough for it to be too long. "Thanks."
She's still smiling and when she says, "no problem," her words ghost across his collarbone.
He shudders and lets her go.
*
iv. every now and then
Even though they wrap a good hour or so beforehand, everyone hangs back to watch the last shot of Stargate being filmed. It's a milestone, Joe thinks, and everywhere he looks people seem to being voicing variations of the same. The mood about the set is ranging from sombre, to happy, to nostalgic and back again, and Joe's not sure which emotion fits him best because he can empathise with them all.
"One door closes," says Torri quietly. They're standing off to one side, watching as the original cast laughs and embraces and maybe even cries a little while the set crews around them slowly start shutting everything down.
"Yeah." He wants to say something clever or funny like, well, at least our window has a great view, but he's not sure he's up to any more acting today. He can't shake the feeling that they're on borrowed time now, that everything from today on is just another last -- last Stargate episode, last combined wrap party, last winter hiatus...
Spin-off's rarely survive their predecessors for very long.
David wanders back over from where he's been chatting with James and Dan. "People are starting to head over to the trailers -- the caterers have apparently laid out a bon voyage spread." He chucks a thumb over his shoulder. "You guys in?"
"Sure," says Torri.
Joe nods. "On our way."
They watch as David moves away again, stopping briefly at another knot of people, but make no move to follow him. One of the lighting guys brushes by to fiddle with a nearby klieg and when Torri steps out of his way, Joe can feel the warmth of her skin as her arm presses against his.
There's a crack as the lighting guy turns off the klieg, an echo appearing as another one follows suit on the opposite side of the set. Somewhat closer, Chris and Michael are teasing Amanda and Rick about a previous scene, and Joe knows he should get the references but it's from well before his time on this lot.
We should probably go, he thinks. "Still flying out on Wednesday?" he asks instead.
Torri nods. "Soon as post gives me the all clear." She looks up at him. "You staying in town this time?"
"For the most part, yeah." He and Kath will take the kids over to New York to visit her family at some point but that's about it. Gus is too young for any extended travelling and god knows they need to focus on regaining some normality in their lives, in their relationship. Coop and the guys have been great about trying to give him as much family time as possible the past few weeks but things have been understandably crazy.
SG1 walks past them, caught up in their own little world, and with most of the lights off now and shadows spreading across the set, Joe feels strangely invisible. Torri's fingers brush against his.
"Well," she says, voice suddenly animated. "In case this is the last time I see you --" She turns and wraps her arms around him, holding on tight as his hands press against her back.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Yeah."
She starts to pull back and his sudden reluctance to do the same catches him off-guard. Before she can go too far he kisses her cheek; feels her skin move beneath his lips when she smiles. He wishes --
The last klieg goes out.
*
v. begin to describe it
Joe doesn't really want to go to Brad's for new year's but there are only so many excuses that fly when your boss says, come, and, unfortunately, I don't feel like it, isn't one of them.
It's not that he doesn't like new year's celebrations -- he does; some of the best parties he can remember have been on new year's eve -- it's more that he doesn't really put much stock in any new year's eve traditions. Like nearly everyone he knows, the only words he can remember to Auld Lang Syne are, should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, and he can never think of anything significant to give up, much keep a resolution longer than a couple of days. In fact, the only tradition he even sporadically bothers with these days is the one that his girlfriends over the years have drummed into him: if you're going to bother kissing anyone at midnight, then that anyone should at least be the person you want to spend the rest of the year kissing.
"Hey," he says, tapping David on the arm, "you seen my better half?"
"Eighteen!" says David cheerfully, glass already raised. "Seventeen!"
Joe rolls his eyes and Jane takes pity on him, leaning around her drunken boyfriend and pointing towards the glass doors on the other side of the room. "I think I saw her on the decking," she says and Joe grins, squeezing her shoulder warmly in thanks, as he steps away.
The den is crowded and only getting more so as people start coming in from other parts of the house and yard to watch the countdown on the projector system Brad's set up. Joe perseveres though, and soon he's across the room and stepping outside. Behind him, he can hear others starting to take up David's countdown. Ten! Nine!
There's almost no one left on the decking, just a few stragglers like Amanda and Rick, who nod hello to him as they enter the house, but when he turns to go back -- maybe Kath's already gone inside? -- he catches sight of a familiar form. She's half-hidden in the shadows, leaning against the railing, and he smiles as he walks over.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself," she says.
Seven! Six! The countdown continues inside, a little muffled now that someone's closed the doors again, but Torri's smile is warm and he steps closer to it. "Almost time," he says, nodding behind him. "You going in?"
She takes a sip of her drink and shrugs. "Maybe in a minute. You?"
He matches her shrug. "Yeah."
Four!
"Any resolutions?" she asks, as she sets her bottle of beer on the railing.
Three!
He shakes his head. "Nothing to give up," he admits and she laughs.
Two!
"Me either." She tilts her head to the side, obviously listening to shouts inside, and then grins. "Happy New Year, Joe," she says.
His hand brushes against her hip; settles there as he moves closer. "Happy New Year, Tor," he says and he's going to kiss her, yeah, but that's okay, because he can keep it friendly and platonic -- all the things they're meant to be -- and it's not like it's going to mean anything. He honestly believes that.
Except that he can't, and it does, and this is Torri, her lips soft under his, her body warm where she's leaning up against him, and before he knows it his senses are spinning, spinning, and her mouth tastes like beer, and sugar, and everything he knows he's not meant to want, but he does, he does, he wants this, wants her, and when she moans, just softly, just low enough for only him to hear, he wants to --
Someone slides open the glass doors, noise and reality crashing down on them in a split second, and he lets her go and steps back so quickly it actually hurts.
Fuck.
Looking away, he runs a hand over his face, through his hair; tries to think of something to say that won't sound like a cliche, or a bad line, or -- worse -- a lie.
Without a word, Torri brushes past him to greet whoever it is that's stepped outside, and Joe stares at the beer bottle she's left behind on the railing and thinks, maybe, just maybe, he might need a new year's resolution after all.
*
vi. you'll still be
Joe comes to the Wolf convention with absolutely no intention to kiss anyone. In fact, he's pretty sure that if he had a con 'to do' list, no kissing would be right there between be funny, and iron pants and shirt.
"I hate you."
She laughs, bright and cheerful. "Nonsense," she says, nudging his shoulder with hers as they walk down the corridor to their hotel rooms. "You love me."
"Love you?" he repeats. "Trust me, Tor -- love is about the last thing I'm feeling right now."
"Aww." He watches her unlock her door and hold it open for him. "And after all the affection the fans showed you just now?" She clucks her tongue in faux disappointment. "How sad."
"Hate you," he says, brushing past her. "Really, really, really hate you."
She laughs again and follows him inside. "Oh, come on," she says, tossing her bag down onto the bed. "It wasn't that bad."
"Maybe not for you." He heads straight for her mini bar and grabs a bottle of water, draining almost a third of it in one go. "For me, though?" He shudders. "I think one of those ladies actually faked a moan." At least, he's hoping it was faked.
"One of the guys, too," she says, grinning.
He points the water bottle at her like it's a weapon. "Hate."
She takes it from him and sits down on the bed. "Don't believe you."
"Believe it."
"Nope."
He's pacing, he realises, and he forces himself to stop. Leaning back against the edge of the dresser, he crosses his arms and stares at her pointedly. "You turned my autograph panel into a kissing booth."
She grins. "I know."
"I had people kissing me for two hours straight! My cheek got more of a workout than my signature!"
She snickers and passes him back the water. "At least we made some money," she says, digging into her pocket and removing a wad of crumpled bills. "Looks like dinner tonight is on the fans."
Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back. "Jesus." He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. "We're halfway across the world and my co-star is now my pimp. Un-fucking-believable."
"Oh, would you relax," she says, and when he looks down again he finds her counting out the money. "So a few fans got a little close. So what? No harm was done and everyone had a great time."
"Says who?"
"Says me," she says firmly, and then shakes her head. "Fuck, Joe -- it's not like you had to make out with them. Most of them probably didn't even count as kisses anyway."
"Their lips were on my skin. I'd say that counts."
"Oh, for --" With an aggravated noise, she pushes off the bed and moves to stand in front of him. Plucking the water bottle out of his hands, she places it on the dresser behind him and then reaches up to frame his face between her palms. "This is a kiss," she says, and that's all the warning he has before her lips touch his.
At first it's just like when Weir had to kiss Sheppard on the show, so he doesn't really think this is proving her point -- that was just contact too, just her lips on his, but it was still most definitely considered a kiss -- but then her tongue touches his bottom lip and he forgets to think at all. His mouth parts, allowing her in, and she slides her fingers off his face and into his hair, holding him to her. His tongue slips against hers, tastes her and returns for more. His hands move from his sides to her waist and shoulder, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt.
Can't think, almost can't breathe. She starts to pull away and it's too soon, he's not ready for this to end, so he follows her and curls his tongue into her mouth. Moves his hand from her hip to the small of her back and pushes until she's plastered against him. Her arms link behind his head and her hips shift into his. He groans.
Holding onto her, he turns them around so that it's her against the dresser and him leaning in, and she makes a sound that might be a whimper and it's almost too much and not nearly enough and, god, he just can't stop kissing her. He can't. His hands return to her waist and grip tightly, lifting her up so that she's perched on the edge of the dresser, her legs parting to curl around his hips.
God. Torri's hands leave his shoulders, her fingers running down his arms. She moves her hands to his hips and slips them underneath his shirt, palms warm on his skin, and he flinches into her. She smiles into the kiss, lips almost breaking from his, so he retaliates as best he can, skimming the backs of his fingers up her sides until he's spanning her ribs, thumbs brushing the curve of her breasts. She arches into the caress and he smiles, smiles and deepens the kiss as his palms move up, cupping her breasts.
She moans and digs her nails into his back, and he's distracted by the sting, by the gentle weight of her breasts and the wet heat of her mouth, so he doesn't even notice her hands moving again until it's too late. His jeans unfastened, she works her hand into his boxers and wraps her fingers around his dick.
"Fuck," he breathes out, panting against her mouth, and she laughs, stroking him again, and he's lost, unable to concentrate, his body jerking into her touch and the world fast dissolving into pure sensation.
She licks at his upper lip, teasing him, and thankfully a measure of his control snaps back.
He unbuttons her shirt but doesn't bother removing it -- can't, not with her hands caught in his clothing and on his body -- just leaves it hanging open and trails his fingers south. The muscles in her abdomen twitch under his fingers and he's grateful for that, relieved to find she's just as susceptible to his touch as he is to hers. He fumbles with the button on her jeans, with the zipper, and she lets him go so that she can slip forward, off the dresser, once more brushing up against him. His hands slide around her waist and down, past the denim waistband and into the soft cotton of her underwear, pushing the fabric off her hips and ass while she slips out of her shoes.
Lifting her back up onto the dresser, he helps her peel the jeans all the way off, shoving his own down almost in afterthought. His hands find her knees and smooth up, warm flesh under his palms, and he almost, almost wants to stop kissing her now -- wants to pull back and see this, see her half-naked and wanting him, his hands on her skin and the way she arches into them -- but then she tilts her head to the side, slanting her mouth more firmly over his, tongue snaking along the edge of his teeth, and he knows he's still not ready for that.
Burying a hand in her hair, he keeps his other on her thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns, higher, higher, and she moans into his mouth, low and needy sounding, fingernails on his shoulders now. He smiles. His hand moves between her thighs and finds the slick heat of her sex, his fingers slipping, testing, teasing, and when he grazes her clit she starts to babble, words like fuck and there and oh creating little pauses in their kiss.
Her fingers drag down his chest, lightly scratching through the fabric of his t-shirt, and she settles one hand on his hip as her other palms him again. He pushes into her hand, feels her do the same on his.
"Joe," she says against his lips, "Joe," and he hears now and yes and she's trying to make him move, her fingers digging into his hip, so he slides his hand out of the way and lets her shift them closer, closer.
His dick brushes against her, slipping over her flesh, and he thinks she did that on purpose because it happens again but slower, and he makes a noise that's not even close to being a real word. Both of his hands are on her waist now, gripping hard; his body tight with anticipation.
She sighs into his mouth. Sighs, and kisses him almost chastely, and then guides him into her, just a little, just barely, and moves her hands to his shoulders.
Torri, he thinks, Torri. His breathing rapid and shallow against her lips, he pushes inside her completely. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and the pressure helps him focus, helps him to keep things together as he pulls out and thrusts in again. She hums something unintelligible deep in her throat, and he moves a hand from her hip to push her bra out of the way; brushes his thumb over her nipple and feels her tighten around him in response.
She lifts her legs higher, wrapping them around his hips, and he bucks uncontrollably when her heel catches the back of his thigh, almost costing him his balance. Planting one hand on the dresser beside her, he moves his other to the small of her back and leans in, forcing her back until she's arched against him, her head falling to rest against the wall. Her arms link around his neck, keeping them close, and his mouth leaves hers to brush across her cheek, her forehead, her throat, still kissing.
Fractured words from both of them; nonsensical sentences. She tells him harder and coming and he's never heard her sound like this before, never realised until now that he's always wanted to. He says things he probably has no right to in return, admits things he knows he shouldn't. The air about them is thick and warm as his body moves against hers, into hers, in and out, in and out.
"Oh," she says, "oh," and she comes, and he feels it, her embrace locking him to her, holding him still as her body clenches and tightens around him, her breathing jagged. When she relaxes enough for him to move again, he pulls back and slides in, his mouth open on her collarbone, tasting skin and sweat and Torri. He thrusts again, and then again; lets go and comes with the scent and taste and feel of her surrounding him.
His heart is still racing when her arms loosen around his neck, fingers sliding into the hair at his nape and stroking softly. He breathes deeply and tries to gather his senses. After a moment he leans back and pulls out of her; keeps her in his arms as they straighten. He looks at her and she's smiling, her expression soft and happy, and he reaches up to brush a strand of hair off her cheek.
"I don't know," he says slowly, pieces of their previous conversation drifting back to him, "I don't think that was enough."
He's confused her, and he watches her smile dim as she tries to work out what he's saying. "What --?"
"I mean, that was, what, one kiss?" he continues. "While there were a hell of a lot of fans there today."
Her eyes widen for a moment; then, slowly, she nods. "You're right," she says, licking her lips. "You're right. It'd be unfair to compare one against fifty."
"Totally unfair." He traces his fingers across the curve of her cheek, along the edge of her jaw. "I'd never be able to forgive myself if I made a decision without doing the proper research."
She nods again. "That would be tragic," she says, perfectly deadpan.
"Just terrible," he agrees, but he can't stop grinning at her and now she's smiling again as well.
She laughs suddenly. "You're crazy," she says, skimming her nails down the back of his neck. "You know that, right?"
He moves to take one of her hands in his; brings her palm to his mouth and kisses it, kisses her fingers. "Possibly," he admits.
"Definitely." Pulling her hand free, she reaches up and presses her lips to his, kissing him again. It's slower this time, languid, and he sighs against her mouth. Pulling back, she raises an eyebrow. "So," she says. "Still hate me?"
"Hmm." He pretends to think about it. "Of course," he says eventually, and she slaps at his chest lightly.
"Liar," she says, laughing, "I don't believe you."
He grins. "Believe it."
She shakes her head. "Nope," she says, smoothing her hands across his shoulders and down his chest. "Never."
He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and drops a quick kiss on her nose. "Good," he says, smiling, and leans in to steal another kiss.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*
STATUS: Complete
SUMMARY: It's a fleeting thought and it mostly disappears with her.
RATING: NC17
CLASSIFICATIONS: Torri/Joe
ARCHIVING: Do not archive. Please ask.
NOTES: This story is RPF (real person fiction). If that bothers you, turn away now.
FOR: phrenitis, amatia, medie, venom69, tater_mae
WORDS: 4,557
DISCLAIMER: Not mine. Don't sue.
Copyright anr; February 2007.
* * * * *
Six Stolen Kisses by anr
* * * * *
i. it's all complicated
Joe doesn't mean to kiss Torri at Comic Con -- it just sort of happens. He's not even a hundred percent sure how it happens because one minute they're fielding questions about any influence they might have on possible new storylines, and the next he's tugging her into his arms and dipping her back in her chair. Not exactly what he'd call a seamless transition.
Still, nobody seems to mind. The fans cheer, their co-workers laugh, and as soon as he lets them up again, Torri continues answering questions without missing a beat. It's almost impressive how quickly the moment passes.
Afterwards, though, afterwards he can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about all the ways it was silly, and unnecessary, and kinda inappropriate. Pranks are for on the set with friends and crew, not for on a stage in front of a hundred or so fans. He feels like he should apologise or something, only he's not exactly sure to whom because nobody else seems to mind and that, more than anything, is what might be weirding him out the most.
A couple of weeks later he gets a call from his agent confirming his upcoming appearance in Chicago, and when she runs through the list of attendees for him again, he's surprised to hear that Torri is rumoured to be a surprise guest.
For reasons Joe doesn't care to think about, he tells her to cancel.
*
ii. come and go
Jason and Simmone invite everyone over for an end-of-summer barbeque and by twilight they're all kinda drunk. It's a little selfish of him, maybe, but Joe can't help feeling relieved that Kath's decided to stay home with the kids instead of coming. As much as he loves running around with his boys, there's something to be said for kicking back on Jase's lounge with a bottle of beer in one hand, and an xbox controller in the other, adult conversation and laughter wafting from room to room.
Torri wanders in and drops down beside him. "Punch?" she asks, holding up her glass.
"Nah. Thanks."
"Good. More for me." She drains the glass, and places it on the ground before curling into his side, legs tucked up beneath her and her head on his shoulder.
He glances down at her. "You know it's spiked, right?"
She nods. "Heavily, I'm hoping."
He laughs and goes back to his game, and if it takes him a little longer than usual to win each stage, well, he'll just put that down to the alcohol he's consumed and the way she is pressed against him, almost restricting his elbow room.
She watches him progress through four levels in silence, stealing sips of his beer when she thinks he's too preoccupied to notice. Eventually, though, the bottle runs dry and he hits pause as she sits up, one hand resting on his thigh for balance and her upper body leaning in close.
"I need more booze," she says, very seriously, and he smiles.
"Somehow, I doubt that," he says, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from her mouth, "but okay."
She grins, and starts to push herself up and away, and when her neck and shoulder pass too close as she moves he can't resist, he can't stop himself, he leans forward just enough to press his lips to her throat. She giggles, and says, "sorry," as he does, probably assuming the touch is her fault, so he doesn't really think it counts as a kiss even if he can smell pineapple and rum and Torri in the moments before she's out of reach and gone.
He watches her wander out of the room and thinks about maybe following her, just because, but it's a fleeting thought and it mostly disappears with her.
He turns back to his game.
*
iii. you see this
Weir doesn't get to go off world very often so it's rare for Torri to be at a location shoot. Rare, but not unheard of, so Joe's not that surprised when he ducks into the crew trailer on a break and finds her towel-drying her hair.
"Hey," he says, "just visiting?"
She smiles. "Yeah. Lunch with Rach." She nods at the open door behind him. "How's it going?"
He makes a face and moves further into the trailer. "Take a guess," he says dryly, running a hand through his own hair and flicking away water.
"Sunny skies all round?" She's perfectly deadpan, a boom of thunder punctuating her words.
He chuckles. "Something like that, yeah." He glances behind him briefly and then looks back. "Rachel should be over soon," he says, as Torri starts to move, towel in hand. "I'm pretty sure Will's gonna call it quits until the storm passes --" He takes an automatic step back, out of her way. "-- seeing as how --"
The towel lands on his head.
"Uh, Tor?"
"Hmm?" He feels her step closer to him, her thighs pressing lightly against his. He can't see her anymore but he can sense her arms, her hands, rising up towards his head.
"Whatcha doing?"
She dries his hair slowly, fingers massaging his scalp in a way that makes him kinda glad the towel is hiding his face. "Playing golf."
"Oh." Her fingers slip across the back of his neck, just under the edge of the towel, and he tenses. "How're you doing?"
"Pretty good, I think." Her hands smooth over his head and down, dragging fabric with them until his face is free and he can see again. She holds onto the ends of the towel as it drapes around his neck and smiles up at him. "You?"
His hands have moved to rest upon her hips; he wonders when that happened. "I don't play golf."
"Mmm," she says. "Shame that."
"Yeah." She doesn't seem to be in any hurry to step away and he wonders about that too. "Hey, Tor?"
"Yeah?"
He leans in and kisses her forehead; his lips lingering on her skin just long enough for it to be too long. "Thanks."
She's still smiling and when she says, "no problem," her words ghost across his collarbone.
He shudders and lets her go.
*
iv. every now and then
Even though they wrap a good hour or so beforehand, everyone hangs back to watch the last shot of Stargate being filmed. It's a milestone, Joe thinks, and everywhere he looks people seem to being voicing variations of the same. The mood about the set is ranging from sombre, to happy, to nostalgic and back again, and Joe's not sure which emotion fits him best because he can empathise with them all.
"One door closes," says Torri quietly. They're standing off to one side, watching as the original cast laughs and embraces and maybe even cries a little while the set crews around them slowly start shutting everything down.
"Yeah." He wants to say something clever or funny like, well, at least our window has a great view, but he's not sure he's up to any more acting today. He can't shake the feeling that they're on borrowed time now, that everything from today on is just another last -- last Stargate episode, last combined wrap party, last winter hiatus...
Spin-off's rarely survive their predecessors for very long.
David wanders back over from where he's been chatting with James and Dan. "People are starting to head over to the trailers -- the caterers have apparently laid out a bon voyage spread." He chucks a thumb over his shoulder. "You guys in?"
"Sure," says Torri.
Joe nods. "On our way."
They watch as David moves away again, stopping briefly at another knot of people, but make no move to follow him. One of the lighting guys brushes by to fiddle with a nearby klieg and when Torri steps out of his way, Joe can feel the warmth of her skin as her arm presses against his.
There's a crack as the lighting guy turns off the klieg, an echo appearing as another one follows suit on the opposite side of the set. Somewhat closer, Chris and Michael are teasing Amanda and Rick about a previous scene, and Joe knows he should get the references but it's from well before his time on this lot.
We should probably go, he thinks. "Still flying out on Wednesday?" he asks instead.
Torri nods. "Soon as post gives me the all clear." She looks up at him. "You staying in town this time?"
"For the most part, yeah." He and Kath will take the kids over to New York to visit her family at some point but that's about it. Gus is too young for any extended travelling and god knows they need to focus on regaining some normality in their lives, in their relationship. Coop and the guys have been great about trying to give him as much family time as possible the past few weeks but things have been understandably crazy.
SG1 walks past them, caught up in their own little world, and with most of the lights off now and shadows spreading across the set, Joe feels strangely invisible. Torri's fingers brush against his.
"Well," she says, voice suddenly animated. "In case this is the last time I see you --" She turns and wraps her arms around him, holding on tight as his hands press against her back.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Yeah."
She starts to pull back and his sudden reluctance to do the same catches him off-guard. Before she can go too far he kisses her cheek; feels her skin move beneath his lips when she smiles. He wishes --
The last klieg goes out.
*
v. begin to describe it
Joe doesn't really want to go to Brad's for new year's but there are only so many excuses that fly when your boss says, come, and, unfortunately, I don't feel like it, isn't one of them.
It's not that he doesn't like new year's celebrations -- he does; some of the best parties he can remember have been on new year's eve -- it's more that he doesn't really put much stock in any new year's eve traditions. Like nearly everyone he knows, the only words he can remember to Auld Lang Syne are, should auld acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, and he can never think of anything significant to give up, much keep a resolution longer than a couple of days. In fact, the only tradition he even sporadically bothers with these days is the one that his girlfriends over the years have drummed into him: if you're going to bother kissing anyone at midnight, then that anyone should at least be the person you want to spend the rest of the year kissing.
"Hey," he says, tapping David on the arm, "you seen my better half?"
"Eighteen!" says David cheerfully, glass already raised. "Seventeen!"
Joe rolls his eyes and Jane takes pity on him, leaning around her drunken boyfriend and pointing towards the glass doors on the other side of the room. "I think I saw her on the decking," she says and Joe grins, squeezing her shoulder warmly in thanks, as he steps away.
The den is crowded and only getting more so as people start coming in from other parts of the house and yard to watch the countdown on the projector system Brad's set up. Joe perseveres though, and soon he's across the room and stepping outside. Behind him, he can hear others starting to take up David's countdown. Ten! Nine!
There's almost no one left on the decking, just a few stragglers like Amanda and Rick, who nod hello to him as they enter the house, but when he turns to go back -- maybe Kath's already gone inside? -- he catches sight of a familiar form. She's half-hidden in the shadows, leaning against the railing, and he smiles as he walks over.
"Hey."
"Hey yourself," she says.
Seven! Six! The countdown continues inside, a little muffled now that someone's closed the doors again, but Torri's smile is warm and he steps closer to it. "Almost time," he says, nodding behind him. "You going in?"
She takes a sip of her drink and shrugs. "Maybe in a minute. You?"
He matches her shrug. "Yeah."
Four!
"Any resolutions?" she asks, as she sets her bottle of beer on the railing.
Three!
He shakes his head. "Nothing to give up," he admits and she laughs.
Two!
"Me either." She tilts her head to the side, obviously listening to shouts inside, and then grins. "Happy New Year, Joe," she says.
His hand brushes against her hip; settles there as he moves closer. "Happy New Year, Tor," he says and he's going to kiss her, yeah, but that's okay, because he can keep it friendly and platonic -- all the things they're meant to be -- and it's not like it's going to mean anything. He honestly believes that.
Except that he can't, and it does, and this is Torri, her lips soft under his, her body warm where she's leaning up against him, and before he knows it his senses are spinning, spinning, and her mouth tastes like beer, and sugar, and everything he knows he's not meant to want, but he does, he does, he wants this, wants her, and when she moans, just softly, just low enough for only him to hear, he wants to --
Someone slides open the glass doors, noise and reality crashing down on them in a split second, and he lets her go and steps back so quickly it actually hurts.
Fuck.
Looking away, he runs a hand over his face, through his hair; tries to think of something to say that won't sound like a cliche, or a bad line, or -- worse -- a lie.
Without a word, Torri brushes past him to greet whoever it is that's stepped outside, and Joe stares at the beer bottle she's left behind on the railing and thinks, maybe, just maybe, he might need a new year's resolution after all.
*
vi. you'll still be
Joe comes to the Wolf convention with absolutely no intention to kiss anyone. In fact, he's pretty sure that if he had a con 'to do' list, no kissing would be right there between be funny, and iron pants and shirt.
"I hate you."
She laughs, bright and cheerful. "Nonsense," she says, nudging his shoulder with hers as they walk down the corridor to their hotel rooms. "You love me."
"Love you?" he repeats. "Trust me, Tor -- love is about the last thing I'm feeling right now."
"Aww." He watches her unlock her door and hold it open for him. "And after all the affection the fans showed you just now?" She clucks her tongue in faux disappointment. "How sad."
"Hate you," he says, brushing past her. "Really, really, really hate you."
She laughs again and follows him inside. "Oh, come on," she says, tossing her bag down onto the bed. "It wasn't that bad."
"Maybe not for you." He heads straight for her mini bar and grabs a bottle of water, draining almost a third of it in one go. "For me, though?" He shudders. "I think one of those ladies actually faked a moan." At least, he's hoping it was faked.
"One of the guys, too," she says, grinning.
He points the water bottle at her like it's a weapon. "Hate."
She takes it from him and sits down on the bed. "Don't believe you."
"Believe it."
"Nope."
He's pacing, he realises, and he forces himself to stop. Leaning back against the edge of the dresser, he crosses his arms and stares at her pointedly. "You turned my autograph panel into a kissing booth."
She grins. "I know."
"I had people kissing me for two hours straight! My cheek got more of a workout than my signature!"
She snickers and passes him back the water. "At least we made some money," she says, digging into her pocket and removing a wad of crumpled bills. "Looks like dinner tonight is on the fans."
Closing his eyes, he tilts his head back. "Jesus." He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. "We're halfway across the world and my co-star is now my pimp. Un-fucking-believable."
"Oh, would you relax," she says, and when he looks down again he finds her counting out the money. "So a few fans got a little close. So what? No harm was done and everyone had a great time."
"Says who?"
"Says me," she says firmly, and then shakes her head. "Fuck, Joe -- it's not like you had to make out with them. Most of them probably didn't even count as kisses anyway."
"Their lips were on my skin. I'd say that counts."
"Oh, for --" With an aggravated noise, she pushes off the bed and moves to stand in front of him. Plucking the water bottle out of his hands, she places it on the dresser behind him and then reaches up to frame his face between her palms. "This is a kiss," she says, and that's all the warning he has before her lips touch his.
At first it's just like when Weir had to kiss Sheppard on the show, so he doesn't really think this is proving her point -- that was just contact too, just her lips on his, but it was still most definitely considered a kiss -- but then her tongue touches his bottom lip and he forgets to think at all. His mouth parts, allowing her in, and she slides her fingers off his face and into his hair, holding him to her. His tongue slips against hers, tastes her and returns for more. His hands move from his sides to her waist and shoulder, fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt.
Can't think, almost can't breathe. She starts to pull away and it's too soon, he's not ready for this to end, so he follows her and curls his tongue into her mouth. Moves his hand from her hip to the small of her back and pushes until she's plastered against him. Her arms link behind his head and her hips shift into his. He groans.
Holding onto her, he turns them around so that it's her against the dresser and him leaning in, and she makes a sound that might be a whimper and it's almost too much and not nearly enough and, god, he just can't stop kissing her. He can't. His hands return to her waist and grip tightly, lifting her up so that she's perched on the edge of the dresser, her legs parting to curl around his hips.
God. Torri's hands leave his shoulders, her fingers running down his arms. She moves her hands to his hips and slips them underneath his shirt, palms warm on his skin, and he flinches into her. She smiles into the kiss, lips almost breaking from his, so he retaliates as best he can, skimming the backs of his fingers up her sides until he's spanning her ribs, thumbs brushing the curve of her breasts. She arches into the caress and he smiles, smiles and deepens the kiss as his palms move up, cupping her breasts.
She moans and digs her nails into his back, and he's distracted by the sting, by the gentle weight of her breasts and the wet heat of her mouth, so he doesn't even notice her hands moving again until it's too late. His jeans unfastened, she works her hand into his boxers and wraps her fingers around his dick.
"Fuck," he breathes out, panting against her mouth, and she laughs, stroking him again, and he's lost, unable to concentrate, his body jerking into her touch and the world fast dissolving into pure sensation.
She licks at his upper lip, teasing him, and thankfully a measure of his control snaps back.
He unbuttons her shirt but doesn't bother removing it -- can't, not with her hands caught in his clothing and on his body -- just leaves it hanging open and trails his fingers south. The muscles in her abdomen twitch under his fingers and he's grateful for that, relieved to find she's just as susceptible to his touch as he is to hers. He fumbles with the button on her jeans, with the zipper, and she lets him go so that she can slip forward, off the dresser, once more brushing up against him. His hands slide around her waist and down, past the denim waistband and into the soft cotton of her underwear, pushing the fabric off her hips and ass while she slips out of her shoes.
Lifting her back up onto the dresser, he helps her peel the jeans all the way off, shoving his own down almost in afterthought. His hands find her knees and smooth up, warm flesh under his palms, and he almost, almost wants to stop kissing her now -- wants to pull back and see this, see her half-naked and wanting him, his hands on her skin and the way she arches into them -- but then she tilts her head to the side, slanting her mouth more firmly over his, tongue snaking along the edge of his teeth, and he knows he's still not ready for that.
Burying a hand in her hair, he keeps his other on her thigh, fingers tracing absent patterns, higher, higher, and she moans into his mouth, low and needy sounding, fingernails on his shoulders now. He smiles. His hand moves between her thighs and finds the slick heat of her sex, his fingers slipping, testing, teasing, and when he grazes her clit she starts to babble, words like fuck and there and oh creating little pauses in their kiss.
Her fingers drag down his chest, lightly scratching through the fabric of his t-shirt, and she settles one hand on his hip as her other palms him again. He pushes into her hand, feels her do the same on his.
"Joe," she says against his lips, "Joe," and he hears now and yes and she's trying to make him move, her fingers digging into his hip, so he slides his hand out of the way and lets her shift them closer, closer.
His dick brushes against her, slipping over her flesh, and he thinks she did that on purpose because it happens again but slower, and he makes a noise that's not even close to being a real word. Both of his hands are on her waist now, gripping hard; his body tight with anticipation.
She sighs into his mouth. Sighs, and kisses him almost chastely, and then guides him into her, just a little, just barely, and moves her hands to his shoulders.
Torri, he thinks, Torri. His breathing rapid and shallow against her lips, he pushes inside her completely. Her fingers dig into his shoulders and the pressure helps him focus, helps him to keep things together as he pulls out and thrusts in again. She hums something unintelligible deep in her throat, and he moves a hand from her hip to push her bra out of the way; brushes his thumb over her nipple and feels her tighten around him in response.
She lifts her legs higher, wrapping them around his hips, and he bucks uncontrollably when her heel catches the back of his thigh, almost costing him his balance. Planting one hand on the dresser beside her, he moves his other to the small of her back and leans in, forcing her back until she's arched against him, her head falling to rest against the wall. Her arms link around his neck, keeping them close, and his mouth leaves hers to brush across her cheek, her forehead, her throat, still kissing.
Fractured words from both of them; nonsensical sentences. She tells him harder and coming and he's never heard her sound like this before, never realised until now that he's always wanted to. He says things he probably has no right to in return, admits things he knows he shouldn't. The air about them is thick and warm as his body moves against hers, into hers, in and out, in and out.
"Oh," she says, "oh," and she comes, and he feels it, her embrace locking him to her, holding him still as her body clenches and tightens around him, her breathing jagged. When she relaxes enough for him to move again, he pulls back and slides in, his mouth open on her collarbone, tasting skin and sweat and Torri. He thrusts again, and then again; lets go and comes with the scent and taste and feel of her surrounding him.
His heart is still racing when her arms loosen around his neck, fingers sliding into the hair at his nape and stroking softly. He breathes deeply and tries to gather his senses. After a moment he leans back and pulls out of her; keeps her in his arms as they straighten. He looks at her and she's smiling, her expression soft and happy, and he reaches up to brush a strand of hair off her cheek.
"I don't know," he says slowly, pieces of their previous conversation drifting back to him, "I don't think that was enough."
He's confused her, and he watches her smile dim as she tries to work out what he's saying. "What --?"
"I mean, that was, what, one kiss?" he continues. "While there were a hell of a lot of fans there today."
Her eyes widen for a moment; then, slowly, she nods. "You're right," she says, licking her lips. "You're right. It'd be unfair to compare one against fifty."
"Totally unfair." He traces his fingers across the curve of her cheek, along the edge of her jaw. "I'd never be able to forgive myself if I made a decision without doing the proper research."
She nods again. "That would be tragic," she says, perfectly deadpan.
"Just terrible," he agrees, but he can't stop grinning at her and now she's smiling again as well.
She laughs suddenly. "You're crazy," she says, skimming her nails down the back of his neck. "You know that, right?"
He moves to take one of her hands in his; brings her palm to his mouth and kisses it, kisses her fingers. "Possibly," he admits.
"Definitely." Pulling her hand free, she reaches up and presses her lips to his, kissing him again. It's slower this time, languid, and he sighs against her mouth. Pulling back, she raises an eyebrow. "So," she says. "Still hate me?"
"Hmm." He pretends to think about it. "Of course," he says eventually, and she slaps at his chest lightly.
"Liar," she says, laughing, "I don't believe you."
He grins. "Believe it."
She shakes her head. "Nope," she says, smoothing her hands across his shoulders and down his chest. "Never."
He tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and drops a quick kiss on her nose. "Good," he says, smiling, and leans in to steal another kiss.
* * * * *
The End.
FEEDBACK: Always appreciated. *g*