Like You Mean It, Sammy
Title: Like You Mean It, Sammy
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairings: Sam Anders/Kara Thrace.
Rating: NC-17.
Notes: The first night Kara and Sam fall madly in bed. Shameless smut.
The moment Sam met Kara, he knew she was going to be a pain in his ass.
She sharpened her words until they were as lethal as the spear on her back, criticized every out-of-place stitch in their patchy (though, in Sam’s opinion, admirable) effort at a resistance, and strutted around like she was some sort of goddess that everyone should bow down and kneel before.
And Sam couldn’t remember the last time he was so godsdamned turned on.
He’d spent so much time quaking with insecurity and hugging a gun to his chest that he’d almost forgotten the singular clarity of lust. He almost didn’t make it off the Pyramid court, even though he’d softened her blows and let her win. Their game of chicken didn’t leave the court; he took her back to his room, where he sacrificed the last of his ambrosia just to keep her around and finally claimed her mouth with his own. And she grinned against his lips because she probably wasn’t used to men making the first move with her, but Sam was nothing if not desperate, shameless, and courageous when he had to be. After all. It was only the end of the world.
But she didn’t let him win. Not right then and there. Because now the stakes were set and he’d make the mistake of showing his hand too early. She got him to break out a deck of cards and they played strip triad (because if he had to earn it, maybe she wouldn’t seem to easy). Kara shrugged out of clothes with easy abandon and all the grace of a one-legged stripper. But hell if that taunting smirk didn’t make his pants too-tight.
They were both too competitive for their own good and when they ran out of clothes, they worked their way to favors. But as soon as Sam’s head nestled between Kara’s thighs, they both gave up their hands. Kara had no intention of being quiet, and he could hear her guttural swears as she held his hair tight, keeping him in place, occasionally directing him, higher…slower…frak, don’t stop-
Despite his own growing need, begging to be satisfied, he found himself easily lost in the smell and taste of sex. In her throaty groans. In his unquenchable desire to feel this unyielding and relentless woman cave under his tongue.
Eventually, impatience won out, and once she grabbed his hair and yanked him back up, Sam found himself wrapped up in Kara, her thighs clutching his hips, her nails clawing up his back as she growled, Frak me like you mean it, Sammy. And his breath came hot and fast in the curve of her shoulder as she clutched him hard, body throbbing tight around his, even demanding in her orgasms. And Sam called out her name as he came-something he rarely did-but she’d come into his life a self-proclaimed goddess and had finally trained him to treat her like one. He wouldn’t say he fell in love with her that first night, but frak if she wasn’t exactly what he needed.
Not once during the night did either of them think about Caprica, or cylons, or the war. Which was the point, really. They didn’t so much fall asleep as eventually pass out from exhaustion, when the sun leaked through the windows of the old high school and warmed them in a rare, early morning glow.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairings: Sam Anders/Kara Thrace.
Rating: NC-17.
Notes: The first night Kara and Sam fall madly in bed. Shameless smut.
The moment Sam met Kara, he knew she was going to be a pain in his ass.
She sharpened her words until they were as lethal as the spear on her back, criticized every out-of-place stitch in their patchy (though, in Sam’s opinion, admirable) effort at a resistance, and strutted around like she was some sort of goddess that everyone should bow down and kneel before.
And Sam couldn’t remember the last time he was so godsdamned turned on.
He’d spent so much time quaking with insecurity and hugging a gun to his chest that he’d almost forgotten the singular clarity of lust. He almost didn’t make it off the Pyramid court, even though he’d softened her blows and let her win. Their game of chicken didn’t leave the court; he took her back to his room, where he sacrificed the last of his ambrosia just to keep her around and finally claimed her mouth with his own. And she grinned against his lips because she probably wasn’t used to men making the first move with her, but Sam was nothing if not desperate, shameless, and courageous when he had to be. After all. It was only the end of the world.
But she didn’t let him win. Not right then and there. Because now the stakes were set and he’d make the mistake of showing his hand too early. She got him to break out a deck of cards and they played strip triad (because if he had to earn it, maybe she wouldn’t seem to easy). Kara shrugged out of clothes with easy abandon and all the grace of a one-legged stripper. But hell if that taunting smirk didn’t make his pants too-tight.
They were both too competitive for their own good and when they ran out of clothes, they worked their way to favors. But as soon as Sam’s head nestled between Kara’s thighs, they both gave up their hands. Kara had no intention of being quiet, and he could hear her guttural swears as she held his hair tight, keeping him in place, occasionally directing him, higher…slower…frak, don’t stop-
Despite his own growing need, begging to be satisfied, he found himself easily lost in the smell and taste of sex. In her throaty groans. In his unquenchable desire to feel this unyielding and relentless woman cave under his tongue.
Eventually, impatience won out, and once she grabbed his hair and yanked him back up, Sam found himself wrapped up in Kara, her thighs clutching his hips, her nails clawing up his back as she growled, Frak me like you mean it, Sammy. And his breath came hot and fast in the curve of her shoulder as she clutched him hard, body throbbing tight around his, even demanding in her orgasms. And Sam called out her name as he came-something he rarely did-but she’d come into his life a self-proclaimed goddess and had finally trained him to treat her like one. He wouldn’t say he fell in love with her that first night, but frak if she wasn’t exactly what he needed.
Not once during the night did either of them think about Caprica, or cylons, or the war. Which was the point, really. They didn’t so much fall asleep as eventually pass out from exhaustion, when the sun leaked through the windows of the old high school and warmed them in a rare, early morning glow.