I bet you all thought I forgot these....
Making porn....
Ok. Here's how this works. I don't have the energy to look back over most of these. But I'm posting anyway (or Claira will rant), and to hell with it. They're all pretty clearly labeled at the top as to the pairing/whatever. Lots of sex. Some death. Some guts.
Canth, you're never going to speak to me again, probably...
for the Sam Carter 100: Replicarter, Sam, bunchastuff:
Duct tape across her mouth, and she's got dishes to wash. Funny. She can taste the smell of grapefruit dishwashing liquid at the back of her throat.
Hands slide over her face, the scarf settles over her eyes.
"This isn't real." Can't be real.
A purring coo in her ear, and the replicator is pressed against her back. "It's always real."
Electrical wire yanks at the skin of her wrists.
Next time it will be roller skates and pink tutus and bumblebees that don't fly.
She prays there won't be a next time as the fingers slide into her brain.
Random quote:
'But if you have big ideas, you have to use big words to express them, haven't you?'
NakedToes: SG-1, Snorkel (ok, so there's no snorkel)
He thinks he could breathe.
It's not like last time, when he knew he couldn't breathe, and he knew he would be sustained.
This time there's no symbiote to sustain him as he falls into a coma (sleep, he thinks now. It's like a deep sleep).
Jaffa aren't supposed to dream.
The water closed over his head too long ago, and he can tell he's stopped thrashing because his lungs aren't aching anymore (maybe he's already breathing).
His dreams have haunted him of late. He's seen Ishta and Rya'c die horrible, terrible deaths and he wakes gasping for breath. Panting, wanting to scream. He knows they're not real during the day (when it's day, he can't see the sun for the concrete hanging over his head). Knows that they're alive and well on the planet the SGC found for them.
Colonel Carter once told him that dreams were a way for the mind to recover itself from the losses of the day.
The last time, he had certainty that he would return, that his body would recover (albeit with time).
This time, there's only the cold, and the water slowly filling his lungs.
It no longer hurts he decides as black drags him down as swiftly as the current. Perhaps he will meet Rya'c and Ishta.
Or perhaps they are still alive.
Bantha: Starbuck/Apollo/Helo: I shouldn't have driven, you shouldn't have driven, but we got there, had a good time
This should feel wrong, Lee decides as something he wasn't expecting happens. Has to be wrong. Helo's mouth closes on him, and he arches automatically, and groans. And wants it to be wrong.
It started with a bet. No, that's wrong, he decides as his gaze strays to the side, where Kara is lazily watching them, her mouth swollen from kisses, several spots on her chest suckered red from two over-enthusiastic mouths. She was arching between them not that long ago, almost begging. Lee likes remembering that.
As if sensing his gaze, she shifts and trails one hand down her torso to play between her legs. His breath catches.
Lee thinks watching Kara Thrace finger herself is the hottest thing he's ever seen. Almost.
The mouth on his dick tightens, teeth scrape gently, and he doesn't fight the moan that leaves his lips.
"Feels good, huh?" He doesn't notice her getting closer until her lips brush his ear. She chuckles as he groans again, then kisses him. Lips and tongue, and he didn't think she kissed like that.
It started with a bet. With Cally mocking Starbuck. "You can't take both of them at once."
"Oh can't I?" Had been her arch reply.
Lee is still disturbed at how much the idea turned him on. But then, it meant having Kara Thrace naked in his arms, shuddering in orgasm as Helo's tongue did things Lee wasn't entirely sure he'd ever done.
"You know, Lee," she says as she pulls back and moves to straddle his hips while Helo backs off. Expert fingers unroll a condom onto him and then she's sliding down, taking him in with one sharp movement that makes them both gasp.
"Know what?" He manages to ask as she begins riding him.
"You need," her mouth closes on his, then pulls away again, "to learn to loosen up."
"That's great advice."
"Ain't it?" She smirks and tightens, then turns her head and kisses Helo.
And Lee groans, because he's beginning to think that watching Kara Thrace do anything involving sex is the hottest thing he's ever seen--even when she's kissing another man.
There was a bet. And mockery. And enough ambrosia that he knows he'll have a headache in the morning. But Kara was dragging him into unused quarters and Helo was locking the door and both of them decided to make her scream first.
She hasn't screamed yet.
He groans as she twists her hips a certain way and her nails rake down his chest. The stimulation is enough. More than enough as she arches back, taking him in deeper, and it's far too much and feels too right and his vision whites out.
"You didn't--" he breaks off when she tightens around him, wresting another groan. He slips out.
Helo moves behind her, urging her forwards slightly. Lee can feel the other pilot kneeling between his legs, and then both shift.
Her head falls forward with a grunt and she kisses him as Helo slides into her from behind. At least, Lee is assuming that's what's happening. His brain is beginning to overload with the feel of Kara, the taste of her, and his hands fill themselves with her breasts before he thinks about it.
One of her hands worms between them, and he can feel her nails scrape him. He groans and gets his own hand down there. Their fingers tangle for a moment, before she chuckles and moves her hand away.
He brings his thumb firmly against her clitoris, sliding back and forth as Helo thrusts in and out.
Kara stiffens, and then pushes back, grinding into his hand as Helo grabs her hips and holds her for a deeper penetration. And then she's dragging her mouth from his and arching and crying out with her hands braced on his chest and her whole body shaking.
The sound still echoes as she collapses against him, and he continues stroking her as Helo leans forward and grunts his own climax.
Kara kisses him again, and Lee decides that not thinking is good. Not thinking is great. Because if this is wrong, then he's pretty much never going to be right again. And he thinks he might be ok with that.
Jara: Chiana/Sikozu (for the record, I will write the others another time. Although, dude, I'm already your bitch...)
Weaker species.
"You wouldn't be here if you didn't like this." Chiana is taunting her. Chiana is always taunting her.
Sikozu pushes against the hand manipulating her and growls out an order that ends on a gasp, "Shut up."
"No." Chiana bites at her skin, giggling when a frustrated moan escapes Sikozu.
"I am Sikozu Shanu--"
"Yep, I know your name, princess." The teeth change places, torturing a nipple.
And Sikozu arches, begs with body if not her mouth. The lips on her skin smile, and the hand twists just right, and the fingers and the tongue--her world becomes a million seperate moments.
The fingers slide away, the teeth remove themselves, and Chiana dots careful licks and kisses until she reaches Sikozu's face. "Feel all better now?"
"Ye-yes."
"Good." With a move only someone with Chiana's agility could produce, the nebari girl slides off the bed and heads to the door. She looks at Sikozu, and half-smils. "I told you you'd like it."
"You did." Sikozu wonders why she feels... different.
Chiana smirks, and Sikozu knows she knows. "Just, y'know, ask. Any time you feel the need."
The need. Which she couldn't fulfill herself. "Yes."
Sikozu tends to term everyone she meets as a weaker species. She's beginning to wonder if she's wrong about who's weaker.
for me: Sam/Jack
She's getting used to this, or thinks she is. Unfortunately, he always seems to choose right when she's in the middle of something fascinating.
Here she is, typing away on her report for the base commander, and there are suddenly arms around her, a mouth on her neck and hands up her shirt. "Ja-ack."
"Hrm?"
Damn, those lips are good. Her eyes close and her head tilts and he knows right where she wants his lips and complies. Her breath hitches. "I'm busy, you know." Sound business-like. Even if she's leaning back in her chair, hands moving to grip the edge of her desk.
His left hand gets inside her bra and she stops thinking about calculations and naquadah densities. "I'm not your--" his fingers pinch a nipple and she gasps. "--personal sex toy."
Abruptly, he stops. Hands stilling, pulling away, even. His lips come off her neck.
Instinctively, her body shifts, pressing into his hands.
"You were saying?"
"Shut up."
Surreal: Daniel masturbation
He has half-remembered memories of parochial school (not all orphans are this lucky, they used to tell him), where they told him it was bad. Said it was dirty and wrong, and you would go to hell if you did it.
Daniel Jackson has been to hell. He's pretty sure masturbation isn't anything more than a physical release. But even now, after more than twenty years, he still remembers endless lectures. Of course, one of his classmates was caught in the bathroom, which made them write the punishments large on the wall for his entire year.
Still, it gives him pause every time he begins.
At first, he'd do it secretively. Hide it even from himself with sheets and towels. Then, of course, his insatiable curiosity meant that he started doing it with the light on. Eventually, he moved to sitting and watching as his fingers worked over himself.
Lightly coated with lube, they're almost tantalizing.
Not that he doesn't miss women. He just doesn't think they're entirely necessary (he's lying to himself, of course. He's just tired of getting hurt. So tired of losing everyone who comes close enough to touch).
His hand tightens, and the distraction is enough to veer onto other topics. For a brief moment, he considers thinking about the translations SG-12 need by the day after tomorrow. But thinking about work was what got him so damned tense in the first place. And physical release while fantasizing about languages is just too wrong.
Jack would never let him hear it down.
Not that Daniel would ever tell him. But even thinking about it makes him shudder, and he quickly jumps to thinking about other things. Women.
Yes, women. Dark hair, light hair, in-between hair. Short, long, braided... okay, maybe he was thinking about hair too much. With a sigh, Daniel opens his eyes and stares vacantly at his wall, fingers moving quickly. Repetitiously. He knows this like the back of his hand.
First this, then that. One hand cupping his balls, the other working his dick over until his hips are arching.
Lips, he thinks, women's lips, closing around the head, tightening and releasing, tongue swirling and--
Yep. That did it.
As he cleans himself up, wiping his hands dry and checking that he didn't get any on the couch, Daniel wonders if this is normal. If the rest of SG-1 practice the safest sex imaginable.
Probably.
Belle: Ducky/Abby
"They'd never suspect that we were freaky like this."
"No, I suppose not, my dear," he agreed as he slid his finger just so.
"I mean, seriously, Ducky. Can you imagine Tony's face? Or Gibbs?" Abby chuckled as she used her own fingers.
"Mmm. Yes. Jethro might get a little disturbed. Still, I don't think he'd be too upset."
"Upset?" She stopped, and put her hand on her hips, not noticing that she got pain on her black jeans. "Ducky, we're painting grafitti on walls. With our fingers."
The medical examiner smiled, "You know, Abby, I seem to recall doing something like this during my student years. It all began when Hubbel, a classmate--"
She shook her head, black pigtails bouncing, chuckled again, and went back to painting. After all, listening to Ducky tell a story while painting "Gibbs Rulez" in bright green and pink on a warehouse wall was definitely a good waste of her time.
Canth: Sheppard/Ford/Zelenka/Bates.
Ford didn't think about it until later, with Bates in one hand and Zelenka in the other. Sheppard's blood was sweet in all their nostrils. Lust filled him and he thrust upwards feeling the scrape of Zelenka's teeth on his cock.
This is wrong.
But he didn't think it until later, when Sheppard was dead, his guts spilled (and Aden never remembered if he ate the heart or if it was Bates. Bates, who tasted so sweet when he screamed beneath the blades) for their supper.
Pale skin, red blood, spilling on the dark floor of an ancient city. John Sheppard's blue eyes begging, pleading.
The Wraith, Teyla had once said (before she was dead, but Aden doesn't remember eating her), can make you see many things, *feel* many things. Feel the blood pound in your veins and your vision shift to red until you just want to bite and chew, scratch and rend.
So he does that. Bites and scratches, chews until his jaw aches.
Bates isn't even noticing, his head thrown back, eyes wide as Ford's hand fists on his cock, pumping hard while his mouth sucks at his shoulder.
The lips around him tighten, and Ford thrusts into Zelenka's mouth, grunting.
It goes quicker than he expects. The scent of blood drive him (them) ever onwards, and he tightens his hand on Bates.
He's a gentleman, after all, like his grandparents always taught him. Bates comes first.
And then Ford's mouth settles on his neck and Zelenka bites harder, and everything tinges red.
Zak Adama/Gaius Baltar/Six.
"Look, when I asked you to diagnose me, I didn't ask you to diagnose me as pregnant."
Gaius just stared at her. "I'm not that kind of doctor."
She snorted, arms on her hips. "Well, you are now, Gaius."
"Anyone seen where I put my gun? I can't find my gun."
Now it was her turn to look sideways at someone, and Baltar knew this was more than wrong. He stared at the young man, trying to place him.
"It's in your bra." Her again.
"What the hell is going on here?"
"I'm not wearing a bra, ma'am." The kid grinned, but he didn't seem too upset at her nakedness.
"Look, this is my brain, and I think you both should leave."
"It doesn't work like that, Gaius." Her lips ghosted along his jaw.
"Well, it should."
"And I'm still pregnant, Gaius."
"Sex outside of marriage is a sin."
Now he knew he was dreaming. "That's good, coming from you."
The kid chuckled, "I'll be going now."
Warin: DW, any pairing: Seriously...if you Time Lords can make a TARDIS larger on the inside then on the outside...explain this..."
Adric had never understood. Hard to make him get it. That she was tired of being a little girl, considered not a woman. With Tegan nearby, the comparison had always been inevitable. Tegan was a woman. Nyssa was a girl.
Still, Adric hadn't understood that was why she slid into his bed. Why she claimed him with her mouth and made him gasp out things he didn't think he knew.
Once, she'd tried to explain. And he'd laughed it off, telling her she was being silly.
Tegan hadn't overheard, but she'd been talking to the Doctor, teasing him about something. "Seriously...if you Time Lords can make a TARDIS larger on the inside then on the outside...explain this..."
And Adric had slipped away from her, gone to see what the fuss was about.
Now, of course, it doesn't matter. Adric was gone, dead and turned into so much ash by an explosion.
And now, of course, Turlough is there.
He understands.
When she wasn't paying attention, when Tegan was elsewhere and the Doctor was buried in some experiment, Turlough cornered her. "You're a pretty girl."
"I'm not a child."
"No." He'd looked at her oddly for a moment, then smirked, "You're definitely not."
Turlough kissed her with passion, precision, something she wasn't sure she wanted to name (hate). It was enough. More than enough. With his hands gripping her hips and the wall at her back, she'd discovered that she was a woman.
He'd been adept at making her beg, at making her lose her hard-won control until her nails scraped down his back and her teeth marked his shoulders.
Sitting in her quarters on Terminus, Nyssa wonders if Adric would have understood.
And decides that he wouldn't.
Rsr: Travis/Zhaan, sex but no actual intercourse, and along the AFD theme, the quote
"The fool deserved to die."
She doesn't contradict him. That would be pointless. Besides, she's much more interested in kissing his shoulder. Zhaan long ago figured out that pleasure was the easiest of things to evoke. And so she does it here, and now. And with this man she doesn't know.
A shift, and he shoves her back, all dark energy and anger bottled for so very long. "Are you listening?"
"Yes." She smiles and touches his cheek, running her fingers up to his eyepatch. "I always listen."
"Good." He jerks back and she follows, kissing him.
"No."
"All right."
Travis sighs as she settles against his side. But he says nothing more.
He doesn't have to.
SecBus: Oh go on. 2nd Romana on herself. Thinking about whatever you like.
"Now that was something she hadn't considered before..."
It wasn't often that she surprised herself. Usually, it was routine. One finger, two, a little wrist action. Thumb sliding up and around and over.
Her back arched. Oh, she was good. Very good.
So close, circle, press, slip--
"Romana, are you in there?"
Her concentration shattered, she stared venomously at the door to her quarters.
"If only she'd had a dictionary to hand."
She might have thrown it at him. Hard.
Kat: Scully/Skinner
"....two out of three ain't bad...."
He says it while she's dressing.
A hundred responses slice through her mind, but only one remains. "Sir?" How wrong to call him 'sir' while she's still pulling her pants up.
"Agent Scully."
There's something cold in his voice, something impersonal she doesn't want to name. It suddenly doesn't matter what he was implying. She just needs to get dressed and get out. She buttons her shirt wrong and has to start over.
"Was there something you objected to?"
No. "No, sir." There. Buttons done right. Her shoes, where the fuck are her--there. Bending down, moving, trying to ignore the stiffness in her muscles (great sex always leaves her feeling worn down), she pulls them out from under the desk chair. Steps into them.
"This is the last time." No question, because he suddenly sounds as exhausted as she feels. "I can't--"
"I'm sorry, sir." Dana moves to the door, grasps the knob before turning. "Please don't make me give this up." She hates begging. But if she doesn't beg, she'll be lost, no anchor, nothing but this endless quest for Mulder.
And she can't have that. She's Special Agent Dana Scully, she's supposed to be strong and collected. Not zealous and lost in obsession.
Skinner slowly nods, shoulders slumping. "All right."
Her eyes close and she opens the door and leaves.
It's either that or collapse into nothing.
Liz: Errrr..... SAM/JACK!!! or REPLICARTER/anyone!!! Ummm... JACK RESCUES SAM, damnit. I want that fic!!! :) (already wrote Sam/Jack. And the rescue fic will have to be longer. *sulks as prefers Jack as the damsel in distress*)
'you taste like honey, honey' - Matchbox 20, 'Disease'
It's so easy to slide into his mind as he pants above her. To slip fingers along his temple and fall into his memories while his body pounds away in animal lust. She sees flickers there, of others. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, every color imaginable. A lot of them are blondes.
He has a weakness for them.
You're not supposed to be here. The voice is lush, yet cold.
The replicator smiles up at the man mindlessly fucking her, and whispers back, I'm not?
No.
A flash of blonde hair again, and then an angel stands in a white dress, blocking access to more memories.
The location has changed. Eight recognizes a generic opera house. Something that Sam Carter's memories finds aesthetically beautiful (but she'd prefer molecules or physics dancing to her whim).
"What are you?"
"So we can speak here." Eight smiles sweetly, then shrugs. "Guess, honey."
A frown mars the beautifully-sculpted features. "I can't... Are you alive?"
"Technically..." Stepping forwards, Eight grabs the other woman's shoulder. "This feel real to you?"
"I said alive," a smile slides up the woman's face. "Do you live and breathe and die, do you have a soul?"
"Probably not." Eight feels small pieces of herself glide across the woman's skin as she inspects it minutely. "Of course, I might share Sam Carter's soul. You'd have to ask her."
A fist impacts her jaw, and she rolls with it, letting her head snap back. The movement lengthens her arm as the nanites stay connected.
"What the--" the blonde stares at her. "What the hell are you?"
"Better."
"Wha--" The blonde froze in place, eyes turning blank as the replicator nanites slide along her code, caressing it, destroying it, replacing it with their own code.
"So, Six of Twelve," Eight says, her tone conversational as she retrieves the pieces of her soul. "What do you do for fun around here?"
"Frak Gaius."
"Ah."
The mindscape slides away and she has enough time to match her responses to his as he arches and cries out. Then he's collapsing on her, stroking her shoulder absently.
"Beautiful," he whispers into her neck.
"So are you." She tightens her legs. "I think, Dr. Baltar, that we're going to make history." And she smiles, staring up at the empty sky. You haven't won, Samantha Carter. I still live.
A.j.: Liz/John, "Hey, that's MY bagel!" and... um. A shoe!
"You sure about that?"
It was inherently unfair that Elizabeth Weir knew that John Sheppard's mental processes went into OFF mode when she moved a certain way. Especially when she was naked. Now, John knew he was supposed to be saying something like, "Yes!" but couldn't get past the naked woman eating his bagel. A strangled sound escaped him.
"After all," Elizabeth moved again, wandering back to where he'd been trying to collect his brain, "it doesn't have your name on it."
She had a point. Of course she did. Liz always had a point. That didn't mean she was right. But John was fast-discovering he didn't care because she was crawling back into bed with him, bagel left on the night stand.
However, a moment later, his pride rallied (even while she was sliding up his body, that little smirk on her lips), and he shifted, rolling them. And bringing him next to the night stand.
Legs tangled with his, she wriggled, still smirking.
John fought down a grown. "This," he grabbed it, waving it at her, "is still my bagel."
Her hand slid between them and began doing obscene things. "You sure about that, Major?"
"Guh-wha?"
The smirk on her lips deepened, "The bagel."
Hastily, he set it down before dropping it. "What--oh, god--about it?"
"Is it yours?"
A sound escaped him that sounded suspiciously like a squeak. Deciding that he had no dignity left, he replied, his voice wriggling up and down the register, "Can I get back to you on that?"
"Sure." Her head came up, lips brushing his chin.
"Good." Firmly grabbing her hand, he shifted, pinning her. "Because right now, I'm going to--"
Her other hand made him squeak. "John? Shut up."
Always good at following orders, Major Sheppard complied.
Livilla: You can have my first born if you do Adama/Roslin for me. With Kara mockage.
'listening to the dark. listening to jealousy' - Emma Townsend, 'The Last Time I Saw Sadie'
It's a small thing, she thinks as he closes the hatch. Most probably wouldn't even consider it an off movement. Wouldn't step back as his hand hit the light switch.
Laura restrains herself from the instinctive movement as he closes the distance, the only light in the room now coming from a tiny lamp on his desk. His hands catch her shoulders and pull her inwards. Inevitably, she thinks this is something she shouldn't allow. This is the commander of the Fleet and the President.
He kisses her gently, almost as if asking her permission.
And she can't help but give it, because she knows that right here and now might be all she has left. The Fleet is moving ever onwards for Earth, the administrative tasks many. And the drugs she's taking are not enough (never enough, and the doc only allowed one overdose) to stop the pain. But somehow, he does.
She thinks it's a trick of her endorphins. Raised enough to silence the nerve endings that ache into the night.
They're both business-like as they undress (she, especially, has to keep her attire impeccable. Keeping up appearances and all that rot), and she folds her skirt onto the desk and then stands there, shivering.
His hands trace her, delicately. And she doesn't want delicate, suddenly.
Before she can think, she's moving. Pushing him back onto the desk (the papers she was going to look over go flying, as do pens and a book), she wraps her fingers around him, stroking quickly. He gasps into her mouth, then settles further onto the desk.
And she is moving, climbing on top of the desk, a pencil digging into her knee as she straddles him.
He clutches at her hips as she slides onto him. The feeling almost hurts (there hasn't been enough foreplay), but she welcomes it as different from the ache in her skin.
She tries to move, and he stops her. Reaching up and caressing her breasts, causing her to gasp as he pinches one, then both nipples. Then he moves, pushing upwards with his hips until she responds, her legs already beginning to ache from the stretch.
Almost slick now, she moves, frantic to build up to orgasm. So that just for an instant there is no pain.
No past and no future, only this.
His hands continue stroking her, fingers sliding across sweat-slick skin, one slipping between them as she arches back. There's no finesse in the way his thumb presses into her clitoris.
Doesn't matter.
Laura shifts her angle, pressing into him, whimpering as his finger and thumb twist a nipple. Her mouth opens in a soundless scream as she comes. And for that split-second, with her body shaking there is no pain.
He catches her as she sags down onto his chest, catches and strokes her back.
There is no demand in him while he waits for her to recover. And then she shifts again, and begins riding him with careful, precise movements.
Her movements are quickly ragged, the pain skittering along her nerves almost unbearable. And she dreads the next dose as he orgasms, clutching her hips. She's going to have to remember there will be bruises.
The sweat cools on their skin as they lay there.
Eventually, she shifts and slides off of him, wincing as the feeling comes back into her legs.
In silence, they move around. He hands her a handful of cloth and she cleans herself, not watching as he does the same. Ner clothes feel wrong as she pulls them on. Crisp, when she wants something soft. He cleans up the papers, careful to avoid the pile of rags in the center.
She moves to the hatch and turns on the lights, blinking. And then they settle down to work.
(erm, sorry. No Kara mocking)
Bev: Rogue/Dakota (Bev is tryin' ta kill me, I haven't written either of them in a long time)
Rogue always thought of herself as a lady. Not the la-di-da type, but one who knew how to react in any given situation. Even with her shirt ripped, her pants gone, and half the X-Men either staring or covering their eyes. She crossed her arms, and proceeded to glare.
They all swiftly looked the other way, except for one. Dakota simply smirked.
"Sugah."
Apparently the threatening tone was enough. Although he still winked, and said, "Not like I ain't seen it before."
"Uh-huh." Rogue snorted and reached down to pick up the cape Storm had tossed her, slinging it around her waist and tucking the end in.
The other wandered off, back to whatever they'd been doing before Rogue had lost her clothing. She made a face at the wood pile. The splinters gave brilliant testimony to her body's powers of invulnerability. Even her clothes were ripped before her skin.
"Rogue?"
She glanced at the one man who'd stayed and sighed, "'Kota."
"Want me to kiss it and make it all better?" He smirked.
She narrowed her eyes, "Maybe."
"C'mon," he stepped closer, leering, "I'm sure I know juuuust the right--"
He definitely knew the right way, she decided, kissing him hard. Then a thought occured to her, and she pulled back, smirking herself. "Y'know, sugah, I don't think I've ever flown with you."
"Flown?"
Rogue kicked off, hanging onto Dakota with ease. "Flown."
"Er, Rogue, you sure this is safe? Not that I mind being held tightly by a beautiful woman, but..."
She smirked and kissed him again, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Don't worry, sugah. I won't drop ya."
"Good to know."
Rogue had always kind of liked kissing Dakota. Not that she had a large amount of experience, what with the whole can't touch people thing (which was one of the reasons she loved Dakota's healing factor). But she considered him a pretty good kisser.
He made HER happy, at least.
It wasn't until his hands were groping her ass that it occured to her that not having pants might be a good thing.
Of course, having sex in the middle of the sky might not be all that great a plan. She could, for instance, lose her grip on Dakota. And while it would be amusing to hear him shriek as he fell, she kind of liked him in one piece. "Time to move this elsewhere," she mumbled as he got his hand under the cape and groped more.
He stopped kissing her neck and blinked while she flew back down. "Er, Rogue?"
"Don't distract me," she said and then dropped into the middle of a grove of trees. "I could hit something."
He smirked and groped her ass some more. "I'd rather you not hit."
Setting them down carefully in the grass, with Dakota on the bottom, Rogue smirked and shifted, rubbing against him. "I could do lots of other things, sugah."
"Guh." He replied, eyes glazing over.
Chuckling, Rogue reached between them and undid his pants. And the prodded at his hips until he raised up enough that she could slide them down.
"My ass is in the grass."
"Complain later." She said, adjusting her position and fiddling to get him in the right spot before sinking down onto him with a sigh.
He grunted.
Rogue adjusted, leaning forward to kiss him, then began moving. It didn't take long before his hands were happily groping every inch of naked flesh he could reach (and then some) while his tongue did things to her mouth and neck that made her whimper.
"You're," she managed at one point as he shifted, and the angle changed for the better, "a very talented man."
His answer was to thrust against her.
She decided talking was over-rated.
And then he shifted again, using his knees, and got his mouth on one of her breasts. A sound escaped her that she wasn't really expecting, but didn't have time to even consider as he did it again, tongue sliding around her nipple while her hips twisted against him.
Rogue fisted a hand in his hair and dragged his mouth to hers as the pleasure slammed into her and she came, cry swallowed in their kiss.
It didn't take long for her to return the favor, and he grunted and spasmed within her almost silently.
"See?"
"What?"
He smirked, flexing his hips against her, "I said I knew fun things to do."
anr: Sheppard/Weir, with an emphasis on their hands (ie, LOTS of touching), will make me love you forever and ever and ever. (yeah, but will you love me after this?)
John always finds himself distracted by her hands. They're beautiful, really. Slim and graceful, efficient. He thinks she could kill a man with them if she tried, but he's never asked.
They do other things, too. Write neatly (and he knows his own writing makes her groan--McKay once mocked him, but Rodney's handwriting is worse), draws small glyphs, makes careful gestures during negotiations. And they slide along his skin softly, dexterously.
Did, he has to correct himself. Even now, when he can see them cold and still, he has to remind himself that they're not going to move again.
He wonders, as he listens to the Athosian priestess declaim the rituals, if she knew how much he loved her hands.
Christi: NCIS/SG-1 (no cheating by pulling the Tony and Kate conversation)
His eyes told more stories than she wanted to know. Was pretty sure she didn't want to know, at least. He actually reminded her a bit of Gibbs, something about the way he moved like he was expecting something.
Not an alert movement, though. More the type a kicked puppy gets after a while.
"So. You come here often?" Okay. Not the best pick-up line ever, but she was tired. And Tony had been teasing her all week about losing the last guy to some stripper. Not that she had.
He looked up from his drink, and for a moment his blue eyes were fathomless. Then he half-smiled, "Actually, no. I'm kind of new."
"Oh?" She took his talking for invitation and sat on the stool next to him, shaking her head and raising the appletini she'd ordered earlier when the bartender glanced her way. "So, where are you from?"
"Colorado Springs."
"Ah." Floundering for a moment, Kate tried to think of something, anything. She suddenly rather desperately wanted to continue this conversation. Either that or Tony was rubbing off on her. "I'm Kate, by the way."
"Daniel." He tipped a cracker at her. "I don't mean to be rude, but... Why are you talking to me?"
"What, I have to have a reason?" Damn. Tony was rubbing off on her. She even had that half-cheesy grin on her face. She stopped smiling and looked at her drink.
He chuckled. "Good enough. So, what do you do, Kate?"
"I work for NCIS." Next time, she needed to think before talking. Maybe lie. Say she was a candy striper, or something. This guy was probably thinking something stupid.
"Navy Criminal Investigative Services. Interesting."
Maybe he wasn't. "You know, you're one of the first people I've ever--met," not picked up in a bar, Kate, "who knew what that was."
"I have a good memory for things." He replied.
"Ah. So..." Now she felt oddly rude about asking him what he did.
"I'm an... well, I was an archeologist." He took a sip of his drink, half-smiled. "Now I consult with the Air Force about their Deepspace Radar Telemetry project in Cheyenne Mountain."
"Sounds, ah, fun."
"Maybe." Abruptly, he stood. "Look, I, ah..."
"I don't want to be alone tonight." Oh, dear god. Had she really just said that cliche? She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to bang her head on the bar.
"All right."
Kate looked up to meet his eyes. They were oddly empty. "So..."
A smile touched his lips and he reached out to run a finger over her lips, "Just... don't later get yourself kidnaped."
"Been there, done that."
"Good."
Maybe she should rethink this. But then he was leaning in and kissing her, very gently. And she stopped wanting to rethink.
GD: BSG, any het, no Lee or Kara AT ALL. Not even mentioned in the story. (duuude...)
He's quick, she has to give him that. But she wonders as he expertly makes her come on his cock, if he even knows her name. He certainly doesn't say it as he follows her a few moments later, shuddering in her arms.
But then, she doesn't suppose the vaunted Dr. Gaius Baltar remembers the names of any of the women he's frakked in random restrooms.
Probably left a string of them across the colonies.
Well, she smirks into his shoulder as she holds him. They're all dead now. Even if he doesn't remember her name, she'll remember his.
Maybe it was worth leaving her underwear off.
(I don't remember her name either)
NCIS, what Abby and McGee are REALLY up to off-base
"You're good."
"I am?" He looked like a happy little puppy, all bright-eyed and cute.
Abby rolled her eyes, "Yes, McGee."
"Cool."
She wriggled, sliding her feet back and forth. "Wanna race?"
"Er..."
"C'mon," she casually smacked his ass. "I know you're up for it, McGee." She smirked as he reddened slightly. "Just to that corner and back."
"All right."
With a sigh, he looked at her.
"Ready, set, GO!"
Abby laughed as she took off, feeling exhileration in her movements. The wind in her hair, the sun in her eyes (not that she was fond of the sun, happy little goth, but McGee liked it). Her skates made chuk, chuk noises as she pulled ahead of McGee. To the corner, she thought, then back.
Nearly there, she glanced back to see McGee skating with determination, even though he wobbled slightly.
"C'mon!"
"I am."
She giggled and turned at the corner, passing him with a twirl. "You can catch me, McGee!"
Actually, he couldn't. But she wasn't going to tell him that as she reached the starting point and looked back to find him pinwheeling wildly towards her.
"Look out!"
They went down in a tangle of skates and limbs, and Abby was supremely grateful for the grass. "Ow."
"Ow."
She began giggling.
"I told you I sucked at this."
"Yes." She leaned up and kissed him.
"Ok..."
"Sshhh."
-END-
OMFG. END.
Ok. Here's how this works. I don't have the energy to look back over most of these. But I'm posting anyway (or Claira will rant), and to hell with it. They're all pretty clearly labeled at the top as to the pairing/whatever. Lots of sex. Some death. Some guts.
Canth, you're never going to speak to me again, probably...
for the Sam Carter 100: Replicarter, Sam, bunchastuff:
Duct tape across her mouth, and she's got dishes to wash. Funny. She can taste the smell of grapefruit dishwashing liquid at the back of her throat.
Hands slide over her face, the scarf settles over her eyes.
"This isn't real." Can't be real.
A purring coo in her ear, and the replicator is pressed against her back. "It's always real."
Electrical wire yanks at the skin of her wrists.
Next time it will be roller skates and pink tutus and bumblebees that don't fly.
She prays there won't be a next time as the fingers slide into her brain.
Random quote:
'But if you have big ideas, you have to use big words to express them, haven't you?'
NakedToes: SG-1, Snorkel (ok, so there's no snorkel)
He thinks he could breathe.
It's not like last time, when he knew he couldn't breathe, and he knew he would be sustained.
This time there's no symbiote to sustain him as he falls into a coma (sleep, he thinks now. It's like a deep sleep).
Jaffa aren't supposed to dream.
The water closed over his head too long ago, and he can tell he's stopped thrashing because his lungs aren't aching anymore (maybe he's already breathing).
His dreams have haunted him of late. He's seen Ishta and Rya'c die horrible, terrible deaths and he wakes gasping for breath. Panting, wanting to scream. He knows they're not real during the day (when it's day, he can't see the sun for the concrete hanging over his head). Knows that they're alive and well on the planet the SGC found for them.
Colonel Carter once told him that dreams were a way for the mind to recover itself from the losses of the day.
The last time, he had certainty that he would return, that his body would recover (albeit with time).
This time, there's only the cold, and the water slowly filling his lungs.
It no longer hurts he decides as black drags him down as swiftly as the current. Perhaps he will meet Rya'c and Ishta.
Or perhaps they are still alive.
Bantha: Starbuck/Apollo/Helo: I shouldn't have driven, you shouldn't have driven, but we got there, had a good time
This should feel wrong, Lee decides as something he wasn't expecting happens. Has to be wrong. Helo's mouth closes on him, and he arches automatically, and groans. And wants it to be wrong.
It started with a bet. No, that's wrong, he decides as his gaze strays to the side, where Kara is lazily watching them, her mouth swollen from kisses, several spots on her chest suckered red from two over-enthusiastic mouths. She was arching between them not that long ago, almost begging. Lee likes remembering that.
As if sensing his gaze, she shifts and trails one hand down her torso to play between her legs. His breath catches.
Lee thinks watching Kara Thrace finger herself is the hottest thing he's ever seen. Almost.
The mouth on his dick tightens, teeth scrape gently, and he doesn't fight the moan that leaves his lips.
"Feels good, huh?" He doesn't notice her getting closer until her lips brush his ear. She chuckles as he groans again, then kisses him. Lips and tongue, and he didn't think she kissed like that.
It started with a bet. With Cally mocking Starbuck. "You can't take both of them at once."
"Oh can't I?" Had been her arch reply.
Lee is still disturbed at how much the idea turned him on. But then, it meant having Kara Thrace naked in his arms, shuddering in orgasm as Helo's tongue did things Lee wasn't entirely sure he'd ever done.
"You know, Lee," she says as she pulls back and moves to straddle his hips while Helo backs off. Expert fingers unroll a condom onto him and then she's sliding down, taking him in with one sharp movement that makes them both gasp.
"Know what?" He manages to ask as she begins riding him.
"You need," her mouth closes on his, then pulls away again, "to learn to loosen up."
"That's great advice."
"Ain't it?" She smirks and tightens, then turns her head and kisses Helo.
And Lee groans, because he's beginning to think that watching Kara Thrace do anything involving sex is the hottest thing he's ever seen--even when she's kissing another man.
There was a bet. And mockery. And enough ambrosia that he knows he'll have a headache in the morning. But Kara was dragging him into unused quarters and Helo was locking the door and both of them decided to make her scream first.
She hasn't screamed yet.
He groans as she twists her hips a certain way and her nails rake down his chest. The stimulation is enough. More than enough as she arches back, taking him in deeper, and it's far too much and feels too right and his vision whites out.
"You didn't--" he breaks off when she tightens around him, wresting another groan. He slips out.
Helo moves behind her, urging her forwards slightly. Lee can feel the other pilot kneeling between his legs, and then both shift.
Her head falls forward with a grunt and she kisses him as Helo slides into her from behind. At least, Lee is assuming that's what's happening. His brain is beginning to overload with the feel of Kara, the taste of her, and his hands fill themselves with her breasts before he thinks about it.
One of her hands worms between them, and he can feel her nails scrape him. He groans and gets his own hand down there. Their fingers tangle for a moment, before she chuckles and moves her hand away.
He brings his thumb firmly against her clitoris, sliding back and forth as Helo thrusts in and out.
Kara stiffens, and then pushes back, grinding into his hand as Helo grabs her hips and holds her for a deeper penetration. And then she's dragging her mouth from his and arching and crying out with her hands braced on his chest and her whole body shaking.
The sound still echoes as she collapses against him, and he continues stroking her as Helo leans forward and grunts his own climax.
Kara kisses him again, and Lee decides that not thinking is good. Not thinking is great. Because if this is wrong, then he's pretty much never going to be right again. And he thinks he might be ok with that.
Jara: Chiana/Sikozu (for the record, I will write the others another time. Although, dude, I'm already your bitch...)
Weaker species.
"You wouldn't be here if you didn't like this." Chiana is taunting her. Chiana is always taunting her.
Sikozu pushes against the hand manipulating her and growls out an order that ends on a gasp, "Shut up."
"No." Chiana bites at her skin, giggling when a frustrated moan escapes Sikozu.
"I am Sikozu Shanu--"
"Yep, I know your name, princess." The teeth change places, torturing a nipple.
And Sikozu arches, begs with body if not her mouth. The lips on her skin smile, and the hand twists just right, and the fingers and the tongue--her world becomes a million seperate moments.
The fingers slide away, the teeth remove themselves, and Chiana dots careful licks and kisses until she reaches Sikozu's face. "Feel all better now?"
"Ye-yes."
"Good." With a move only someone with Chiana's agility could produce, the nebari girl slides off the bed and heads to the door. She looks at Sikozu, and half-smils. "I told you you'd like it."
"You did." Sikozu wonders why she feels... different.
Chiana smirks, and Sikozu knows she knows. "Just, y'know, ask. Any time you feel the need."
The need. Which she couldn't fulfill herself. "Yes."
Sikozu tends to term everyone she meets as a weaker species. She's beginning to wonder if she's wrong about who's weaker.
for me: Sam/Jack
She's getting used to this, or thinks she is. Unfortunately, he always seems to choose right when she's in the middle of something fascinating.
Here she is, typing away on her report for the base commander, and there are suddenly arms around her, a mouth on her neck and hands up her shirt. "Ja-ack."
"Hrm?"
Damn, those lips are good. Her eyes close and her head tilts and he knows right where she wants his lips and complies. Her breath hitches. "I'm busy, you know." Sound business-like. Even if she's leaning back in her chair, hands moving to grip the edge of her desk.
His left hand gets inside her bra and she stops thinking about calculations and naquadah densities. "I'm not your--" his fingers pinch a nipple and she gasps. "--personal sex toy."
Abruptly, he stops. Hands stilling, pulling away, even. His lips come off her neck.
Instinctively, her body shifts, pressing into his hands.
"You were saying?"
"Shut up."
Surreal: Daniel masturbation
He has half-remembered memories of parochial school (not all orphans are this lucky, they used to tell him), where they told him it was bad. Said it was dirty and wrong, and you would go to hell if you did it.
Daniel Jackson has been to hell. He's pretty sure masturbation isn't anything more than a physical release. But even now, after more than twenty years, he still remembers endless lectures. Of course, one of his classmates was caught in the bathroom, which made them write the punishments large on the wall for his entire year.
Still, it gives him pause every time he begins.
At first, he'd do it secretively. Hide it even from himself with sheets and towels. Then, of course, his insatiable curiosity meant that he started doing it with the light on. Eventually, he moved to sitting and watching as his fingers worked over himself.
Lightly coated with lube, they're almost tantalizing.
Not that he doesn't miss women. He just doesn't think they're entirely necessary (he's lying to himself, of course. He's just tired of getting hurt. So tired of losing everyone who comes close enough to touch).
His hand tightens, and the distraction is enough to veer onto other topics. For a brief moment, he considers thinking about the translations SG-12 need by the day after tomorrow. But thinking about work was what got him so damned tense in the first place. And physical release while fantasizing about languages is just too wrong.
Jack would never let him hear it down.
Not that Daniel would ever tell him. But even thinking about it makes him shudder, and he quickly jumps to thinking about other things. Women.
Yes, women. Dark hair, light hair, in-between hair. Short, long, braided... okay, maybe he was thinking about hair too much. With a sigh, Daniel opens his eyes and stares vacantly at his wall, fingers moving quickly. Repetitiously. He knows this like the back of his hand.
First this, then that. One hand cupping his balls, the other working his dick over until his hips are arching.
Lips, he thinks, women's lips, closing around the head, tightening and releasing, tongue swirling and--
Yep. That did it.
As he cleans himself up, wiping his hands dry and checking that he didn't get any on the couch, Daniel wonders if this is normal. If the rest of SG-1 practice the safest sex imaginable.
Probably.
Belle: Ducky/Abby
"They'd never suspect that we were freaky like this."
"No, I suppose not, my dear," he agreed as he slid his finger just so.
"I mean, seriously, Ducky. Can you imagine Tony's face? Or Gibbs?" Abby chuckled as she used her own fingers.
"Mmm. Yes. Jethro might get a little disturbed. Still, I don't think he'd be too upset."
"Upset?" She stopped, and put her hand on her hips, not noticing that she got pain on her black jeans. "Ducky, we're painting grafitti on walls. With our fingers."
The medical examiner smiled, "You know, Abby, I seem to recall doing something like this during my student years. It all began when Hubbel, a classmate--"
She shook her head, black pigtails bouncing, chuckled again, and went back to painting. After all, listening to Ducky tell a story while painting "Gibbs Rulez" in bright green and pink on a warehouse wall was definitely a good waste of her time.
Canth: Sheppard/Ford/Zelenka/Bates.
Ford didn't think about it until later, with Bates in one hand and Zelenka in the other. Sheppard's blood was sweet in all their nostrils. Lust filled him and he thrust upwards feeling the scrape of Zelenka's teeth on his cock.
This is wrong.
But he didn't think it until later, when Sheppard was dead, his guts spilled (and Aden never remembered if he ate the heart or if it was Bates. Bates, who tasted so sweet when he screamed beneath the blades) for their supper.
Pale skin, red blood, spilling on the dark floor of an ancient city. John Sheppard's blue eyes begging, pleading.
The Wraith, Teyla had once said (before she was dead, but Aden doesn't remember eating her), can make you see many things, *feel* many things. Feel the blood pound in your veins and your vision shift to red until you just want to bite and chew, scratch and rend.
So he does that. Bites and scratches, chews until his jaw aches.
Bates isn't even noticing, his head thrown back, eyes wide as Ford's hand fists on his cock, pumping hard while his mouth sucks at his shoulder.
The lips around him tighten, and Ford thrusts into Zelenka's mouth, grunting.
It goes quicker than he expects. The scent of blood drive him (them) ever onwards, and he tightens his hand on Bates.
He's a gentleman, after all, like his grandparents always taught him. Bates comes first.
And then Ford's mouth settles on his neck and Zelenka bites harder, and everything tinges red.
Zak Adama/Gaius Baltar/Six.
"Look, when I asked you to diagnose me, I didn't ask you to diagnose me as pregnant."
Gaius just stared at her. "I'm not that kind of doctor."
She snorted, arms on her hips. "Well, you are now, Gaius."
"Anyone seen where I put my gun? I can't find my gun."
Now it was her turn to look sideways at someone, and Baltar knew this was more than wrong. He stared at the young man, trying to place him.
"It's in your bra." Her again.
"What the hell is going on here?"
"I'm not wearing a bra, ma'am." The kid grinned, but he didn't seem too upset at her nakedness.
"Look, this is my brain, and I think you both should leave."
"It doesn't work like that, Gaius." Her lips ghosted along his jaw.
"Well, it should."
"And I'm still pregnant, Gaius."
"Sex outside of marriage is a sin."
Now he knew he was dreaming. "That's good, coming from you."
The kid chuckled, "I'll be going now."
Warin: DW, any pairing: Seriously...if you Time Lords can make a TARDIS larger on the inside then on the outside...explain this..."
Adric had never understood. Hard to make him get it. That she was tired of being a little girl, considered not a woman. With Tegan nearby, the comparison had always been inevitable. Tegan was a woman. Nyssa was a girl.
Still, Adric hadn't understood that was why she slid into his bed. Why she claimed him with her mouth and made him gasp out things he didn't think he knew.
Once, she'd tried to explain. And he'd laughed it off, telling her she was being silly.
Tegan hadn't overheard, but she'd been talking to the Doctor, teasing him about something. "Seriously...if you Time Lords can make a TARDIS larger on the inside then on the outside...explain this..."
And Adric had slipped away from her, gone to see what the fuss was about.
Now, of course, it doesn't matter. Adric was gone, dead and turned into so much ash by an explosion.
And now, of course, Turlough is there.
He understands.
When she wasn't paying attention, when Tegan was elsewhere and the Doctor was buried in some experiment, Turlough cornered her. "You're a pretty girl."
"I'm not a child."
"No." He'd looked at her oddly for a moment, then smirked, "You're definitely not."
Turlough kissed her with passion, precision, something she wasn't sure she wanted to name (hate). It was enough. More than enough. With his hands gripping her hips and the wall at her back, she'd discovered that she was a woman.
He'd been adept at making her beg, at making her lose her hard-won control until her nails scraped down his back and her teeth marked his shoulders.
Sitting in her quarters on Terminus, Nyssa wonders if Adric would have understood.
And decides that he wouldn't.
Rsr: Travis/Zhaan, sex but no actual intercourse, and along the AFD theme, the quote
"The fool deserved to die."
She doesn't contradict him. That would be pointless. Besides, she's much more interested in kissing his shoulder. Zhaan long ago figured out that pleasure was the easiest of things to evoke. And so she does it here, and now. And with this man she doesn't know.
A shift, and he shoves her back, all dark energy and anger bottled for so very long. "Are you listening?"
"Yes." She smiles and touches his cheek, running her fingers up to his eyepatch. "I always listen."
"Good." He jerks back and she follows, kissing him.
"No."
"All right."
Travis sighs as she settles against his side. But he says nothing more.
He doesn't have to.
SecBus: Oh go on. 2nd Romana on herself. Thinking about whatever you like.
"Now that was something she hadn't considered before..."
It wasn't often that she surprised herself. Usually, it was routine. One finger, two, a little wrist action. Thumb sliding up and around and over.
Her back arched. Oh, she was good. Very good.
So close, circle, press, slip--
"Romana, are you in there?"
Her concentration shattered, she stared venomously at the door to her quarters.
"If only she'd had a dictionary to hand."
She might have thrown it at him. Hard.
Kat: Scully/Skinner
"....two out of three ain't bad...."
He says it while she's dressing.
A hundred responses slice through her mind, but only one remains. "Sir?" How wrong to call him 'sir' while she's still pulling her pants up.
"Agent Scully."
There's something cold in his voice, something impersonal she doesn't want to name. It suddenly doesn't matter what he was implying. She just needs to get dressed and get out. She buttons her shirt wrong and has to start over.
"Was there something you objected to?"
No. "No, sir." There. Buttons done right. Her shoes, where the fuck are her--there. Bending down, moving, trying to ignore the stiffness in her muscles (great sex always leaves her feeling worn down), she pulls them out from under the desk chair. Steps into them.
"This is the last time." No question, because he suddenly sounds as exhausted as she feels. "I can't--"
"I'm sorry, sir." Dana moves to the door, grasps the knob before turning. "Please don't make me give this up." She hates begging. But if she doesn't beg, she'll be lost, no anchor, nothing but this endless quest for Mulder.
And she can't have that. She's Special Agent Dana Scully, she's supposed to be strong and collected. Not zealous and lost in obsession.
Skinner slowly nods, shoulders slumping. "All right."
Her eyes close and she opens the door and leaves.
It's either that or collapse into nothing.
Liz: Errrr..... SAM/JACK!!! or REPLICARTER/anyone!!! Ummm... JACK RESCUES SAM, damnit. I want that fic!!! :) (already wrote Sam/Jack. And the rescue fic will have to be longer. *sulks as prefers Jack as the damsel in distress*)
'you taste like honey, honey' - Matchbox 20, 'Disease'
It's so easy to slide into his mind as he pants above her. To slip fingers along his temple and fall into his memories while his body pounds away in animal lust. She sees flickers there, of others. Blondes, brunettes, redheads, every color imaginable. A lot of them are blondes.
He has a weakness for them.
You're not supposed to be here. The voice is lush, yet cold.
The replicator smiles up at the man mindlessly fucking her, and whispers back, I'm not?
No.
A flash of blonde hair again, and then an angel stands in a white dress, blocking access to more memories.
The location has changed. Eight recognizes a generic opera house. Something that Sam Carter's memories finds aesthetically beautiful (but she'd prefer molecules or physics dancing to her whim).
"What are you?"
"So we can speak here." Eight smiles sweetly, then shrugs. "Guess, honey."
A frown mars the beautifully-sculpted features. "I can't... Are you alive?"
"Technically..." Stepping forwards, Eight grabs the other woman's shoulder. "This feel real to you?"
"I said alive," a smile slides up the woman's face. "Do you live and breathe and die, do you have a soul?"
"Probably not." Eight feels small pieces of herself glide across the woman's skin as she inspects it minutely. "Of course, I might share Sam Carter's soul. You'd have to ask her."
A fist impacts her jaw, and she rolls with it, letting her head snap back. The movement lengthens her arm as the nanites stay connected.
"What the--" the blonde stares at her. "What the hell are you?"
"Better."
"Wha--" The blonde froze in place, eyes turning blank as the replicator nanites slide along her code, caressing it, destroying it, replacing it with their own code.
"So, Six of Twelve," Eight says, her tone conversational as she retrieves the pieces of her soul. "What do you do for fun around here?"
"Frak Gaius."
"Ah."
The mindscape slides away and she has enough time to match her responses to his as he arches and cries out. Then he's collapsing on her, stroking her shoulder absently.
"Beautiful," he whispers into her neck.
"So are you." She tightens her legs. "I think, Dr. Baltar, that we're going to make history." And she smiles, staring up at the empty sky. You haven't won, Samantha Carter. I still live.
A.j.: Liz/John, "Hey, that's MY bagel!" and... um. A shoe!
"You sure about that?"
It was inherently unfair that Elizabeth Weir knew that John Sheppard's mental processes went into OFF mode when she moved a certain way. Especially when she was naked. Now, John knew he was supposed to be saying something like, "Yes!" but couldn't get past the naked woman eating his bagel. A strangled sound escaped him.
"After all," Elizabeth moved again, wandering back to where he'd been trying to collect his brain, "it doesn't have your name on it."
She had a point. Of course she did. Liz always had a point. That didn't mean she was right. But John was fast-discovering he didn't care because she was crawling back into bed with him, bagel left on the night stand.
However, a moment later, his pride rallied (even while she was sliding up his body, that little smirk on her lips), and he shifted, rolling them. And bringing him next to the night stand.
Legs tangled with his, she wriggled, still smirking.
John fought down a grown. "This," he grabbed it, waving it at her, "is still my bagel."
Her hand slid between them and began doing obscene things. "You sure about that, Major?"
"Guh-wha?"
The smirk on her lips deepened, "The bagel."
Hastily, he set it down before dropping it. "What--oh, god--about it?"
"Is it yours?"
A sound escaped him that sounded suspiciously like a squeak. Deciding that he had no dignity left, he replied, his voice wriggling up and down the register, "Can I get back to you on that?"
"Sure." Her head came up, lips brushing his chin.
"Good." Firmly grabbing her hand, he shifted, pinning her. "Because right now, I'm going to--"
Her other hand made him squeak. "John? Shut up."
Always good at following orders, Major Sheppard complied.
Livilla: You can have my first born if you do Adama/Roslin for me. With Kara mockage.
'listening to the dark. listening to jealousy' - Emma Townsend, 'The Last Time I Saw Sadie'
It's a small thing, she thinks as he closes the hatch. Most probably wouldn't even consider it an off movement. Wouldn't step back as his hand hit the light switch.
Laura restrains herself from the instinctive movement as he closes the distance, the only light in the room now coming from a tiny lamp on his desk. His hands catch her shoulders and pull her inwards. Inevitably, she thinks this is something she shouldn't allow. This is the commander of the Fleet and the President.
He kisses her gently, almost as if asking her permission.
And she can't help but give it, because she knows that right here and now might be all she has left. The Fleet is moving ever onwards for Earth, the administrative tasks many. And the drugs she's taking are not enough (never enough, and the doc only allowed one overdose) to stop the pain. But somehow, he does.
She thinks it's a trick of her endorphins. Raised enough to silence the nerve endings that ache into the night.
They're both business-like as they undress (she, especially, has to keep her attire impeccable. Keeping up appearances and all that rot), and she folds her skirt onto the desk and then stands there, shivering.
His hands trace her, delicately. And she doesn't want delicate, suddenly.
Before she can think, she's moving. Pushing him back onto the desk (the papers she was going to look over go flying, as do pens and a book), she wraps her fingers around him, stroking quickly. He gasps into her mouth, then settles further onto the desk.
And she is moving, climbing on top of the desk, a pencil digging into her knee as she straddles him.
He clutches at her hips as she slides onto him. The feeling almost hurts (there hasn't been enough foreplay), but she welcomes it as different from the ache in her skin.
She tries to move, and he stops her. Reaching up and caressing her breasts, causing her to gasp as he pinches one, then both nipples. Then he moves, pushing upwards with his hips until she responds, her legs already beginning to ache from the stretch.
Almost slick now, she moves, frantic to build up to orgasm. So that just for an instant there is no pain.
No past and no future, only this.
His hands continue stroking her, fingers sliding across sweat-slick skin, one slipping between them as she arches back. There's no finesse in the way his thumb presses into her clitoris.
Doesn't matter.
Laura shifts her angle, pressing into him, whimpering as his finger and thumb twist a nipple. Her mouth opens in a soundless scream as she comes. And for that split-second, with her body shaking there is no pain.
He catches her as she sags down onto his chest, catches and strokes her back.
There is no demand in him while he waits for her to recover. And then she shifts again, and begins riding him with careful, precise movements.
Her movements are quickly ragged, the pain skittering along her nerves almost unbearable. And she dreads the next dose as he orgasms, clutching her hips. She's going to have to remember there will be bruises.
The sweat cools on their skin as they lay there.
Eventually, she shifts and slides off of him, wincing as the feeling comes back into her legs.
In silence, they move around. He hands her a handful of cloth and she cleans herself, not watching as he does the same. Ner clothes feel wrong as she pulls them on. Crisp, when she wants something soft. He cleans up the papers, careful to avoid the pile of rags in the center.
She moves to the hatch and turns on the lights, blinking. And then they settle down to work.
(erm, sorry. No Kara mocking)
Bev: Rogue/Dakota (Bev is tryin' ta kill me, I haven't written either of them in a long time)
Rogue always thought of herself as a lady. Not the la-di-da type, but one who knew how to react in any given situation. Even with her shirt ripped, her pants gone, and half the X-Men either staring or covering their eyes. She crossed her arms, and proceeded to glare.
They all swiftly looked the other way, except for one. Dakota simply smirked.
"Sugah."
Apparently the threatening tone was enough. Although he still winked, and said, "Not like I ain't seen it before."
"Uh-huh." Rogue snorted and reached down to pick up the cape Storm had tossed her, slinging it around her waist and tucking the end in.
The other wandered off, back to whatever they'd been doing before Rogue had lost her clothing. She made a face at the wood pile. The splinters gave brilliant testimony to her body's powers of invulnerability. Even her clothes were ripped before her skin.
"Rogue?"
She glanced at the one man who'd stayed and sighed, "'Kota."
"Want me to kiss it and make it all better?" He smirked.
She narrowed her eyes, "Maybe."
"C'mon," he stepped closer, leering, "I'm sure I know juuuust the right--"
He definitely knew the right way, she decided, kissing him hard. Then a thought occured to her, and she pulled back, smirking herself. "Y'know, sugah, I don't think I've ever flown with you."
"Flown?"
Rogue kicked off, hanging onto Dakota with ease. "Flown."
"Er, Rogue, you sure this is safe? Not that I mind being held tightly by a beautiful woman, but..."
She smirked and kissed him again, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Don't worry, sugah. I won't drop ya."
"Good to know."
Rogue had always kind of liked kissing Dakota. Not that she had a large amount of experience, what with the whole can't touch people thing (which was one of the reasons she loved Dakota's healing factor). But she considered him a pretty good kisser.
He made HER happy, at least.
It wasn't until his hands were groping her ass that it occured to her that not having pants might be a good thing.
Of course, having sex in the middle of the sky might not be all that great a plan. She could, for instance, lose her grip on Dakota. And while it would be amusing to hear him shriek as he fell, she kind of liked him in one piece. "Time to move this elsewhere," she mumbled as he got his hand under the cape and groped more.
He stopped kissing her neck and blinked while she flew back down. "Er, Rogue?"
"Don't distract me," she said and then dropped into the middle of a grove of trees. "I could hit something."
He smirked and groped her ass some more. "I'd rather you not hit."
Setting them down carefully in the grass, with Dakota on the bottom, Rogue smirked and shifted, rubbing against him. "I could do lots of other things, sugah."
"Guh." He replied, eyes glazing over.
Chuckling, Rogue reached between them and undid his pants. And the prodded at his hips until he raised up enough that she could slide them down.
"My ass is in the grass."
"Complain later." She said, adjusting her position and fiddling to get him in the right spot before sinking down onto him with a sigh.
He grunted.
Rogue adjusted, leaning forward to kiss him, then began moving. It didn't take long before his hands were happily groping every inch of naked flesh he could reach (and then some) while his tongue did things to her mouth and neck that made her whimper.
"You're," she managed at one point as he shifted, and the angle changed for the better, "a very talented man."
His answer was to thrust against her.
She decided talking was over-rated.
And then he shifted again, using his knees, and got his mouth on one of her breasts. A sound escaped her that she wasn't really expecting, but didn't have time to even consider as he did it again, tongue sliding around her nipple while her hips twisted against him.
Rogue fisted a hand in his hair and dragged his mouth to hers as the pleasure slammed into her and she came, cry swallowed in their kiss.
It didn't take long for her to return the favor, and he grunted and spasmed within her almost silently.
"See?"
"What?"
He smirked, flexing his hips against her, "I said I knew fun things to do."
anr: Sheppard/Weir, with an emphasis on their hands (ie, LOTS of touching), will make me love you forever and ever and ever. (yeah, but will you love me after this?)
John always finds himself distracted by her hands. They're beautiful, really. Slim and graceful, efficient. He thinks she could kill a man with them if she tried, but he's never asked.
They do other things, too. Write neatly (and he knows his own writing makes her groan--McKay once mocked him, but Rodney's handwriting is worse), draws small glyphs, makes careful gestures during negotiations. And they slide along his skin softly, dexterously.
Did, he has to correct himself. Even now, when he can see them cold and still, he has to remind himself that they're not going to move again.
He wonders, as he listens to the Athosian priestess declaim the rituals, if she knew how much he loved her hands.
Christi: NCIS/SG-1 (no cheating by pulling the Tony and Kate conversation)
His eyes told more stories than she wanted to know. Was pretty sure she didn't want to know, at least. He actually reminded her a bit of Gibbs, something about the way he moved like he was expecting something.
Not an alert movement, though. More the type a kicked puppy gets after a while.
"So. You come here often?" Okay. Not the best pick-up line ever, but she was tired. And Tony had been teasing her all week about losing the last guy to some stripper. Not that she had.
He looked up from his drink, and for a moment his blue eyes were fathomless. Then he half-smiled, "Actually, no. I'm kind of new."
"Oh?" She took his talking for invitation and sat on the stool next to him, shaking her head and raising the appletini she'd ordered earlier when the bartender glanced her way. "So, where are you from?"
"Colorado Springs."
"Ah." Floundering for a moment, Kate tried to think of something, anything. She suddenly rather desperately wanted to continue this conversation. Either that or Tony was rubbing off on her. "I'm Kate, by the way."
"Daniel." He tipped a cracker at her. "I don't mean to be rude, but... Why are you talking to me?"
"What, I have to have a reason?" Damn. Tony was rubbing off on her. She even had that half-cheesy grin on her face. She stopped smiling and looked at her drink.
He chuckled. "Good enough. So, what do you do, Kate?"
"I work for NCIS." Next time, she needed to think before talking. Maybe lie. Say she was a candy striper, or something. This guy was probably thinking something stupid.
"Navy Criminal Investigative Services. Interesting."
Maybe he wasn't. "You know, you're one of the first people I've ever--met," not picked up in a bar, Kate, "who knew what that was."
"I have a good memory for things." He replied.
"Ah. So..." Now she felt oddly rude about asking him what he did.
"I'm an... well, I was an archeologist." He took a sip of his drink, half-smiled. "Now I consult with the Air Force about their Deepspace Radar Telemetry project in Cheyenne Mountain."
"Sounds, ah, fun."
"Maybe." Abruptly, he stood. "Look, I, ah..."
"I don't want to be alone tonight." Oh, dear god. Had she really just said that cliche? She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to bang her head on the bar.
"All right."
Kate looked up to meet his eyes. They were oddly empty. "So..."
A smile touched his lips and he reached out to run a finger over her lips, "Just... don't later get yourself kidnaped."
"Been there, done that."
"Good."
Maybe she should rethink this. But then he was leaning in and kissing her, very gently. And she stopped wanting to rethink.
GD: BSG, any het, no Lee or Kara AT ALL. Not even mentioned in the story. (duuude...)
He's quick, she has to give him that. But she wonders as he expertly makes her come on his cock, if he even knows her name. He certainly doesn't say it as he follows her a few moments later, shuddering in her arms.
But then, she doesn't suppose the vaunted Dr. Gaius Baltar remembers the names of any of the women he's frakked in random restrooms.
Probably left a string of them across the colonies.
Well, she smirks into his shoulder as she holds him. They're all dead now. Even if he doesn't remember her name, she'll remember his.
Maybe it was worth leaving her underwear off.
(I don't remember her name either)
NCIS, what Abby and McGee are REALLY up to off-base
"You're good."
"I am?" He looked like a happy little puppy, all bright-eyed and cute.
Abby rolled her eyes, "Yes, McGee."
"Cool."
She wriggled, sliding her feet back and forth. "Wanna race?"
"Er..."
"C'mon," she casually smacked his ass. "I know you're up for it, McGee." She smirked as he reddened slightly. "Just to that corner and back."
"All right."
With a sigh, he looked at her.
"Ready, set, GO!"
Abby laughed as she took off, feeling exhileration in her movements. The wind in her hair, the sun in her eyes (not that she was fond of the sun, happy little goth, but McGee liked it). Her skates made chuk, chuk noises as she pulled ahead of McGee. To the corner, she thought, then back.
Nearly there, she glanced back to see McGee skating with determination, even though he wobbled slightly.
"C'mon!"
"I am."
She giggled and turned at the corner, passing him with a twirl. "You can catch me, McGee!"
Actually, he couldn't. But she wasn't going to tell him that as she reached the starting point and looked back to find him pinwheeling wildly towards her.
"Look out!"
They went down in a tangle of skates and limbs, and Abby was supremely grateful for the grass. "Ow."
"Ow."
She began giggling.
"I told you I sucked at this."
"Yes." She leaned up and kissed him.
"Ok..."
"Sshhh."
-END-
OMFG. END.