Pray
Title: Pray
Author: rolleson
Fandom: SG-1
Rating: Adult
Character/Pairing: Sam/Jacob
Spoilers: Better The Devil You Know
Warnings: Sex, Incest
Summary: Better The Devil You Know insert.
Notes: Roughly 1234 words. No apologies. I gotta pair Sam with everyone.
The Blood of Sokar still flowed through her mind as she was dragged back to the pit by two half naked men with more muscles than sense, she assumed.
Or would have had she been conscious.
As it were she was stuck in her past, in a blue dress, so nicely ironed by herself now mom was dead, her bow limp and sad like she was feeling and her fathers dress blues pressed by the Air force, a different way every time. She wanted to reach out and straighten his tie but didn't, she kept her hands on her lap instead, holding onto her pieces of paper. Prayers for the funeral. The only time she'd ever really prayed was when her mother had died.
It was surreal, being an adult is this dress, this room, this memory and it was all a little hazy, more than a little confusing and she wasn't going to fall for it.
No way.
Except they weren't talking, just sitting and she had already beaten Apophis down hadn't she? Mentally at least.
It was hard to be certain and she shook her head, as if the physical motion would clear the cobwebs away.
"Everything okay?" her father asked.
"No, no, I don't think so."
"Let me help."
He leaned over and brushed some of the longer strands of blonde hair away, tucking them behind her ears, she wasn't sure what this was supposed to accomplish, how this would help and then he kissed her. On the cheek, then on the lips and she froze when it transformed from a chaste kiss to something else, to the kind of kiss she hadn't had since that guy in the bar last year. And he had been drunk, and so had she, and she was kissing back with the same fevor as then but this was her father and she was never going to be drunk enough for this.
When he pulled at the bow at the top of her dress and pulled the white collar open she pulled away, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her adult self in a kid's dress, the swollen lips of a slut.
It was wrong and she should be feeling sick, and why didn't she feel sick?
"It's not real Sam."
"Still wrong," she said, shuffling further along the bed away from him, noting his tie was even more crooked now and how on the day, in the actual memory she had straightened it.
She wasn't going anywhere near him now.
"I know you want this."
"I don't want this."
His hand slipped up the skirt of her blue dress, over her bare legs and his big hand wrapped around her thigh, pulling her forward as if she wore nothing, as if she were thirteen again but in the mirror she still saw her adult self in the child's dress, being pulled towards her father whose expressions didn't fit properly.
"D-dad."
It was an effort to say the word, to call him that when he was doing this. Then he was running his hand up her thigh and leaning over her, he was going to kiss her again, she knew he was and it froze her because this was her father.
"Da-"
Her words were cut off this time when his his fingers brushed over her parties and briefly she wondered if she was wearing the same underwear as back then. That thought was thrown aside with gasp of pleasure when Jacob's fingers pressed down on her centre.
"See," he said, voice calm, seductive. It was familiar, a tone she'd heard him use with her mother in low voices when he thought she and her brother couldn't hear them. When he was inviting her up for a early night.
More pressure, more pleasure, she squirmed away from him but with his free hand he reached out and grabbed her other leg to hold her still. Hold her down, and she was sure, sure she could get away, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to because her father's fingers were touching her just right, and there was something terribly wrong with that thought, she knew, but couldn't quite figure it out.
"You used to listen to us at night," he muttered, his fingers slipping beneath the cotton and pressing down on her clit, making her cry out, "used to wonder what I did at night to cause your mother so much pleasure."
"No I didn't," she squeaked, his fingers moving, delving into the slick heat and she couldn't bare this but still wanted more.
"You used to touch yourself, thinking about it, about me."
"No!" she cried. The accusation almost as bad as the current act. Her own moral sensibility would never let her enjoy this. Eyes closed she saw her father and her thirteen year old self. Eyes open she saw her father and her adult self. It was wrong, good, and she was going to come on her father's hand, as he pushed a finger into her body.
"Tell me what I want to know, and I will give you want you want, what you need," Jacob whispered, his thumb resting over her clit, just touching. She couldn't help but arch her hips up into his hand, most of her body was riding on instinct, and she wanted more, more of him, of her father.
Oh God.
With all the energy she could muster, she pulled her entire body away from his hands, rolling over and falling off the bed and onto the floor. She hit her head on the bedside cabinet and everything went black.
z
She woke up in the pit, groggy, groaning.
"Dad?"
"He's, uh...not so good," she heard Daniel say before turning to look around, "but he's still with us."
"Apophis, said he'd kill him, and then he..." she trailed off, unsure she could say what had happened, in her mind.
"No, he, ah brought you back, then took Jack."
She looked over at her father, covered in dirt and sweat, a million miles away from the man in the bedroom of her thirteen year old self. She was more than just weirded out, and feeling sick, but she was still worried. They were still in danger.
"Are you okay?"
She looked over at Martouf, away from her father, glad of the distraction for a second, cause this was going to be on her mind for so long, this she was taking to the grave, almost coming on her father's fingers. She shifted and groaned again.
"They gave me something called, uh, the blood of Sokar."
"It is legendary," Martouf replied, and her eyes drifted back to the heap that was her sick father. "A strong narcotic that can cause very realistic hallucinations."
"Tell me about it," she mumbled under her breath, then louder said, "I'm pretty sure I didn't give anything up."
Jacob spoke then, called out her name on the end of a low groan and she went over to him without hesitation, still fighting the disgust. With herself and him, even though it wasn't real, she still felt it, and could only hope it would fade
"I'm here. I'm here," she said, unable to really smile.
Could only pray it would fade.
Author: rolleson
Fandom: SG-1
Rating: Adult
Character/Pairing: Sam/Jacob
Spoilers: Better The Devil You Know
Warnings: Sex, Incest
Summary: Better The Devil You Know insert.
Notes: Roughly 1234 words. No apologies. I gotta pair Sam with everyone.
The Blood of Sokar still flowed through her mind as she was dragged back to the pit by two half naked men with more muscles than sense, she assumed.
Or would have had she been conscious.
As it were she was stuck in her past, in a blue dress, so nicely ironed by herself now mom was dead, her bow limp and sad like she was feeling and her fathers dress blues pressed by the Air force, a different way every time. She wanted to reach out and straighten his tie but didn't, she kept her hands on her lap instead, holding onto her pieces of paper. Prayers for the funeral. The only time she'd ever really prayed was when her mother had died.
It was surreal, being an adult is this dress, this room, this memory and it was all a little hazy, more than a little confusing and she wasn't going to fall for it.
No way.
Except they weren't talking, just sitting and she had already beaten Apophis down hadn't she? Mentally at least.
It was hard to be certain and she shook her head, as if the physical motion would clear the cobwebs away.
"Everything okay?" her father asked.
"No, no, I don't think so."
"Let me help."
He leaned over and brushed some of the longer strands of blonde hair away, tucking them behind her ears, she wasn't sure what this was supposed to accomplish, how this would help and then he kissed her. On the cheek, then on the lips and she froze when it transformed from a chaste kiss to something else, to the kind of kiss she hadn't had since that guy in the bar last year. And he had been drunk, and so had she, and she was kissing back with the same fevor as then but this was her father and she was never going to be drunk enough for this.
When he pulled at the bow at the top of her dress and pulled the white collar open she pulled away, caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her adult self in a kid's dress, the swollen lips of a slut.
It was wrong and she should be feeling sick, and why didn't she feel sick?
"It's not real Sam."
"Still wrong," she said, shuffling further along the bed away from him, noting his tie was even more crooked now and how on the day, in the actual memory she had straightened it.
She wasn't going anywhere near him now.
"I know you want this."
"I don't want this."
His hand slipped up the skirt of her blue dress, over her bare legs and his big hand wrapped around her thigh, pulling her forward as if she wore nothing, as if she were thirteen again but in the mirror she still saw her adult self in the child's dress, being pulled towards her father whose expressions didn't fit properly.
"D-dad."
It was an effort to say the word, to call him that when he was doing this. Then he was running his hand up her thigh and leaning over her, he was going to kiss her again, she knew he was and it froze her because this was her father.
"Da-"
Her words were cut off this time when his his fingers brushed over her parties and briefly she wondered if she was wearing the same underwear as back then. That thought was thrown aside with gasp of pleasure when Jacob's fingers pressed down on her centre.
"See," he said, voice calm, seductive. It was familiar, a tone she'd heard him use with her mother in low voices when he thought she and her brother couldn't hear them. When he was inviting her up for a early night.
More pressure, more pleasure, she squirmed away from him but with his free hand he reached out and grabbed her other leg to hold her still. Hold her down, and she was sure, sure she could get away, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to because her father's fingers were touching her just right, and there was something terribly wrong with that thought, she knew, but couldn't quite figure it out.
"You used to listen to us at night," he muttered, his fingers slipping beneath the cotton and pressing down on her clit, making her cry out, "used to wonder what I did at night to cause your mother so much pleasure."
"No I didn't," she squeaked, his fingers moving, delving into the slick heat and she couldn't bare this but still wanted more.
"You used to touch yourself, thinking about it, about me."
"No!" she cried. The accusation almost as bad as the current act. Her own moral sensibility would never let her enjoy this. Eyes closed she saw her father and her thirteen year old self. Eyes open she saw her father and her adult self. It was wrong, good, and she was going to come on her father's hand, as he pushed a finger into her body.
"Tell me what I want to know, and I will give you want you want, what you need," Jacob whispered, his thumb resting over her clit, just touching. She couldn't help but arch her hips up into his hand, most of her body was riding on instinct, and she wanted more, more of him, of her father.
Oh God.
With all the energy she could muster, she pulled her entire body away from his hands, rolling over and falling off the bed and onto the floor. She hit her head on the bedside cabinet and everything went black.
z
She woke up in the pit, groggy, groaning.
"Dad?"
"He's, uh...not so good," she heard Daniel say before turning to look around, "but he's still with us."
"Apophis, said he'd kill him, and then he..." she trailed off, unsure she could say what had happened, in her mind.
"No, he, ah brought you back, then took Jack."
She looked over at her father, covered in dirt and sweat, a million miles away from the man in the bedroom of her thirteen year old self. She was more than just weirded out, and feeling sick, but she was still worried. They were still in danger.
"Are you okay?"
She looked over at Martouf, away from her father, glad of the distraction for a second, cause this was going to be on her mind for so long, this she was taking to the grave, almost coming on her father's fingers. She shifted and groaned again.
"They gave me something called, uh, the blood of Sokar."
"It is legendary," Martouf replied, and her eyes drifted back to the heap that was her sick father. "A strong narcotic that can cause very realistic hallucinations."
"Tell me about it," she mumbled under her breath, then louder said, "I'm pretty sure I didn't give anything up."
Jacob spoke then, called out her name on the end of a low groan and she went over to him without hesitation, still fighting the disgust. With herself and him, even though it wasn't real, she still felt it, and could only hope it would fade
"I'm here. I'm here," she said, unable to really smile.
Could only pray it would fade.