Fic | Strange What Desire | Sam/Baal (SG1) [FRM]

[obsessivemuch1]

Fandom: Stargate SG1
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRM
Written for: citrus_taste
Prompt: #48 - Meet me in the back
Warnings: Outdoor sex and angst
Word Count: 4,400


Sam meets Carl Henderson at the bike repair shop. She admires his Blackbird, sitting outside the workshop, then his leather-clad ass when he walks over. He's a little taller than her, with light-brown hair and hazel eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

He does this as he gives her the once-over, apparently liking what he sees as much as she does. She says hi, he responds, and they get chatting about bikes and good lanes to ride and before she knows it, he's offering her a lift home.

When he asks her out, she doesn't hesitate to say yes.

She wears blue to the restaurant; a long dress that reveals enough cleavage to make Carl stare. Over a dinner of chicken on rice, they talk more. Carl is an engineer and usually fixes his own bike, but work has been demanding of late, hence the repair shop. Sam gives the usual spiel about deep space telemetry and tries not to feel guilty at lying to him.

A waiter delivers a bottle of white wine, which they finish in short measure after discovering a mutual love for musical theatre. It's going well enough that Sam begins to think she should invite him home for coffee, but then the waiter reappears at her elbow.

“Ma'am,” he says and hands her a piece of paper, folded neatly in half. She thanks him and unfolds it and the room goes still around her.

Three words and a letter are written in black ink: Rear garden. Now. B and then a scrawled symbol that causes her heart to lodge in her throat.

Sam can't decide if she's annoyed or unnerved or turned on. It's typical, she thinks, that he should choose now of all times to interrupt, wonders if he's been watching her. She snorts: of course he has. Bastard.

“Everything okay?” Carl asks. She smiles brightly at him and screws up the note.

“Everything's fine. Now, where were we?”

Only ignoring the written command is hard. Her eyes drift from Carl's face to the crumpled paper. What does he want? She can't shake it off. She swallows another mouthful of wine, hoping that will help.

Carl's chatter is beginning to tail off, as if he knows her mind is elsewhere. She looks up from the paper to find him staring at it.

“Look, do you want to deal with that?” he says. “Cos it's obviously getting to you.”

“No, I...” Her fingers brush it. “It's nothing,” she says, trying to make herself believe that.

“Ex?” Carl asks and she snorts a laugh.

“God, no. It's just...” Far more complicated that that. “Someone I know messing with my head. I should tell him to go fuck himself.”

Carl looks unconvinced. Sam feels the evening slipping away from her and silently curses over-eager Goa'ulds with boundary issues. But while this is hanging over her head, she can't concentrate on anything else, and Carl needs to know it's dealt with, so...

Sighing, Sam gets to her feet. “Give me five minutes,” she says and smiles at him. “And I want a slice of that sinful chocolate cake they have on the menu.”

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Well, there goes that night of passion, she thinks as she stalks to the back door. She'll be lucky if he's there when she gets back.

Fury rides her through the door and across a shadow-darkened patio. She spots a dark silhouette lounging against a tree and fists her hands.

“What the hell are you playing at?” she says, trying to keep her voice down. No matter how angry she is with him, she doesn't want the entire restaurant to know about it.

Baal stares over her head. “Has he gone?”

“Probably, no thanks to you. What was that?”

“An attempt to get your attention, which quite clearly worked.”

His gaze drops to her face. The look in his eyes makes her quail a little but she'll be damned before she lets him see that. She folds her arms across her chest to stop herself from hitting him.

“What do you want?” Her tone is terse but she doesn't care.

An eyebrow arches. “You.”

“Oh, and I'm supposed to drop everything to pander to your whim?”

“See? I knew you'd understand.”

The crack of flesh on flesh sounds before Sam even realises she's unwound her arms. Her palm stings and a darker shadow blooms over his left cheek.

Everything goes still. Cold. Sam can't move, can't tear her eyes off his face. It's not the first time she's slapped him, but this was hard and they were already on dangerous ground.

Her instinct is to run, but she clamps down on it. She draws herself straighter and pushes her horror and fear to one side. He isn't doing this to her. Not now and never again.

“I'm going back inside,” she says, somehow managing to keep her voice level. “With any luck he'll still be there and I can finish what has otherwise been a very nice evening.” Lifting her chin, she glares at him. “As to what you do... I frankly don't care. You can go to hell.”

She's halfway to the restaurant before realising that what she expected hasn't happened. He's not stopped her. Her steps slow. No, keep going, she thinks. Leave it. But the silence behind her pulls and she does what she knows she shouldn't.

She looks back.

He hasn't even moved. She wonders why, then wonders why it bothers her. It's not like they have a relationship. Hell, she never sees him unless he wants something. Not that the sex isn't good, but...

A defeated sigh escapes her. Carl is normal, Carl is nice. Carl wouldn't interrupt a dinner date with the expectation she'd drop her panties just because he wanted her to. Carl is also probably long gone and the suspicion that this isn't dealt with nags at her.

“Why?” It's the only question that matters. “You had to know interfering was going to piss me off, so why did you do it?”

“You... look fabulous tonight.” His voice is low and only just carries. “But it wasn't for me.”

She blinks. Jealousy hadn't been a consideration.

“I didn't know you were bothered about that. Usually you're just getting me out of my clothes as fast as is physically possible.”

He doesn't answer that. Sam steps closer, wary of his temper but drawn by the bewildered hurt she can see on his face. It dawns on her that he's aware of overstepping the line, but not where the line was. Over-confidence has been his undoing, and not for the first time.

How can someone so intelligent also be so clueless? She doesn't know, but it's oddly appealing. She lets go of her anger with another sigh and goes to him.

“You were jealous.”

His mouth twists and he huffs. But then he catches her eyes as she gazes at him. The denial dies unspoken. Sam watches him war with himself, arrogant godling verses very human male. She wants to say something, but keeps quiet and just waits him out.

After a moment, his shoulders drop. He looks up and her heart breaks a little at the expression on his face. Reaching out, she traces the edge of her earlier handiwork, regret churning her stomach. Emotions flicker in his eyes; wariness one moment, distance the next. Inch be painful inch, she senses him relax the iron control and lets himself feel.

“What do you want?” she asks softly, not wanting to push him but needing to know. “Really.”

“I...” He catches himself, fights a moment longer, then gives up with a sigh. “You,” he says and gives her a look that melts her bones. “I want you.”

She knows he means more than sex. It's on his face, in his low voice. She's no idea why he's been so tangled up about it, but right now she doesn't care.

Because she wants him too. In every way possible, any way he'll let her. The distance between them evaporates like it never existed and she's in his arms, hers around his neck as she presses a kiss to the hollow of his neck.

He shudders and she chuckles. “Hm, so you do.”

“Sam...”

She shakes her head. “Not now, Baal,” she says. “And anyway, I know.”

“No, you don't.”

“Does it matter?”

“Enough to make you slap me.”

Embarrassment heats her cheeks and she toys with the collar of his shirt. “You pissed me off,” she says with a shrug. “I'm not your slave and I'm not going to come running when you click your fingers.”

His grin vanishes. “No, I know. I was just...” His left shoulder hitches. “You were with him and looking so wonderful. So happy and carefree and I know you'd never be that way if I was sat opposite you.”

She flinches. “That's not fair. I'm not ashamed of you.”

“Aren't you? Maybe you should be, considering.”

“Considering what?” she says, then realises. “Oh.”

But she doesn't think of that any more. He's just... Baal, and has been for a while. Not that he'd like that if she told him it, so she cups his unblemished cheek and leans closer. “I am not ashamed of you,” she says, punctuating the sentence with soft kisses. “I can take you in there and prove, if you'd like.”

His eyes lift to the restaurant. His lips twitch and he shakes his head.

“Not right now,” he says and threads a hand into her hair. “What I want isn't on their menu.”

Sam giggles at that, but then his mouth is on her and God but she wants him, too. His tongue teases her lips apart, then slips just between her teeth. She nips and he jerks back with a grunt, but then groans deep and rough in his throat as she plunders his mouth.

Hands skim down her sides, settle on her hips. His grip is tight enough to leave marks, just the right side of painful. She smiles against his lips, but then he shoves her away and round and she stumbles in her heels.

A gasp is forced from her lungs as her back hits the tree. Baal gives her no time to recover, is there immediately to demand more from her mouth. She clutches at him, breathless and dizzy, needing his strength to keep from sliding to the grass.

In the flick of a switch, his whole demeanour has altered. Gone is the confused hurt, to be replaced by desire and demand. If he were anyone else, Sam would believe his hurt to have been an act, but she knows how quickly he can change. He lives for the moment, never carrying a second of guilt or anger that he doesn't need.

She's part envious, part curious of how much is down to the need to keep moving and not think about the past. But she can't think either, not when he pressing close like that, not when the hard lump of his erection is jammed against her pubic bone.

Over his shoulder, the lights of the restaurant are bright spots in the dark that reach out into the shadows. There's enough illumination that anyone looking out would know what they were doing, even if their identities remain secret.

“Someone could see,” she says, words faint as he hitches the hem of her dress up. “We shouldn't.”

“No, we shouldn't.” His eyes gleam mischief in the darkness. “But we are going to, regardless of that.”

Sam knows Baal never makes a threat that he's not prepared to carry through. Now is no exception and she flinches as she hears fabric rip.

“You're paying for those,” she tells him. He shrugs and shoves her torn panties into his pocket. Grins when she arches an eyebrow and she groans. “Oh, I don't even want to know.”

“Memento,” he says, making her cringe. Then his fingers slid up the inside of her thigh and make her feel something else entirely.

He teases her clit and she bites her bottom lip. A low chuckle rumbles against her neck, where his lips still work the hollow of her throat. She trembles and drops her head back against the tree trunk, closing her eyes and giving herself over to sensation.

It is utter bliss. He isn't hurrying, which is insane given their location. Light, steady strokes brush over her sex, delve just inside until she quivering with need.

“Will you just...” Despite her impatience, she can't say it. Ridiculous, since she'd said worse and a lot louder. But she's scared of being heard, of being caught. But thrilled by the risk.

“Will I what?”

Baal's tone is smug and his thumb presses her clit. She gasps, grasps him tighter. Waits for the world to stop spinning. She wants to be angry, because she knows he's manipulating her, but she's hot and wet and she needs him closer.

Shaking her head, she takes control and hold of his trousers. And eases the zipper down. Revenge is sweet as he muffles a moan against her hair. Her fingers are cool, or his cock is warm. Whichever: the result is the same and he jolts with shock. She gives a dirty chuckle.

“Problem?” she asks, all innocence.

“Not at all.”

Given her fingers are working his length, she's not surprised. Altering her grip just so, she digs her nails into sensitive flesh. A rough curse is muttered in a different language and voice. She chuckles against, victorious.

Then moans aloud as his fingers plunge inside her.

His mouth crushes her, tongue aping the motion of his fingers; in and out, in and out. She whimpers, grasping at the back of his collar to balance herself as she hooks a leg around his waist.

It's a precarious position and she's half afraid of falling. Half far beyond caring. She doubts he'll let her fall. Unless he wants to. Trusting him is often a two-edged sword.

“Samantha?” His voice has a lilt that's somewhere between amused and annoyed. She manages a grunt in response and he adds, “Stop thinking.”

His fingers curl and hit her g-spot and she can't do anything but cling and try to remember how to breathe. She's not sure if she cried out, or just moaned, or what day it is. Only that the orgasm came left of field and her legs are like jello.

“Fuck,” she mutters and he laughs.

“I was getting to that, yes.”

She's glad he's so entertained. Really she is. She's stood in the garden of a packed restaurant, her dress around her waist and her panties in his pocket, held up between a tree and an overly smug bastard of a Goa'uld and what's left of her determination to to end up in a heap on the dew-damp grass.

Baal slides his fingers out. They curl, damp and warm, around her wrist, remove her hand from his cock. She vaguely remembers she was supposed to be doing something with that, but it seems he has another purpose in mind.

She lets her head fall against his shoulder as he pushes in. The aftershocks of her climax are still running through her and, shallow though the amount of penetration is at this angle, every small stroke stirs the embers.

A second so soon after the first will make her scream. She knows that. He knows that, which is undoubtedly why he's grinding against her like that.

“Oh god,” she whimpers. She can't stop him, isn't entirely sure she wants to. “Baal.”

“Watching you come undone...” He sighs and tugs her head back. Her vision is hazy from darkness and lust, and his face is shadow, but there's something there she's not seen before. “You are incredible,” he finishes.

She blinks, the compliment even more unexpected than her orgasm. Her forehead furrows as she tried to decipher his intention, given the fact he's already fucking her. What more is there?

“What else do you want?” she says, voice breathless. His thrusts slow.

“Nothing that I can have,” he replies and then rams in harder.

Sam fights the pleasure down. He's distracting her, and she needs to concentrate and oh god, he needs to stop doing that first. A moan surges from her stomach and she drops her head back again.

No. He said... she needs to think... oh, but this is so, so good and what does he want? She doesn't want anything but this, to come again, to feel the shudder of his climax.

“You... have me,” she gasps.

He snorts.

“Do I?”

Well, of course he does. Stupid question.

Only... Sam freezes. Baal goes still, but he's too close, face hidden against her cheek. Her hair stirs at his harsh breathing, but the tension that roils through his shoulders seem different, somehow.

Carl. It comes back to her, sharp and clarity-bright. Why she came out here, the reason for the argument. Jealous might be an ugly emotion, but it's existence could hint at another one. Could it? Could he? No, it's not... but it is. She knows all too well that it is possible.

When the hell had this become that complicated?

It dawns on her that neither of them made any rules. They've not discussed what they're doing, just kept going ahead and doing it despite the consequences. She's not realised they could become their own collateral damage.

She thinks it over. Her conclusion is that while Carl was normal and nice, he'd also have bored her to death. She knows that's why she didn't walk away from Baal. He's not normal and sure as hell isn't nice. He's not safe, but he's not boring either.

But is it more than that? She has the terrible suspicion there is.

Pushing him back, she looks him in the eye. “Do you... care about me?”

He huffs and rolls his eyes. But he's careful to avoid hers. It's a telling sign.

“You know I like you, don't you? I mean, be fairly stupid fucking you otherwise. It's a lot to risk for a meaningless fumble in the dark.”

“You... like me,” he says and now he does look at her. She flinches at his expression and the derision in his tone.

Desire cools as if she was plunged into cold water. Why is this going wrong?

“What do you want from me? God's sake, Baal, you're not giving me much to go on here!”

He pulls back, leaving her cold and aching. She lets her dress fall. Follows it down, unable to hold herself up. Unable to hold herself together.

“You've no idea what this is doing to me,” she tells him.

“Oh, and you know how it's affecting me? Watching you flirt with another man? Knowing that you'll settle for that?” His fury is back with a vengeance. But it's not just anger; she sees the same hurt she did earlier, only more because he's stopped hiding it.

She bites back her angry response, breathes and tries to figure out what he's not saying.

“Why does it bother you? I didn't promise you exclusive access.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. There's another struggle, only it seems both sides are losing. He shakes his head and her heart aches at the resignation on his face.

“Of course you didn't. And why should you?”

“I don't know.” She presses as gently as she can. “Is there a reason?”

“Yes!” He looks startled, clearly not meaning to say that. To let that slip. He throws her a look and sighs. “I thought that you might be intelligent enough to work it out, Sam.”

She chews her bottom lip and thinks.

It's obvious that he cares more than he's been letting on, otherwise Carl wouldn't have bothered him. But why hasn't he told her that? It's not down to the military - hell knows he doesn't give a damn about the SGC or the IOA. It's not her being less intelligent or female or... Her thoughts grind to a halt.

She's human. He... isn't. Not entirely. The recollection of Cam teasing her about the age difference hits her like a slap. She'd laughed it off at the time, but looking at Baal now, it's not funny any more.

What has he seen over the hundreds of years he's lived? Half human, there had to have been a family. Long gone.

He has been defensive. Over his emotions, his heart.

Oh God.

“There's nothing I can promise you,” she says and a hot tear slides down her cheek. “I won't and neither will you, and the difference...”

Crap. Crap, crap, crap. This is definitely not the way it was meant to be. She wasn't supposed to care. But she does and damn it all but she's falling for him.

She suspects he's similarly effected.

“What the hell do we do?”

“We could... go our separate ways,” he says, tone indicating what he thinks of that suggestion. “Or not.”

She rolls her eyes. “Thanks for that. Really helps.”

Baal sighs and joins her on the grass. “The risk is mine. I have struggled with it and I still can't decide. I want you now, but I know that it will...” He shrugs. “Unfortunately, I left it too late to avoid certain discomforts either way.”

“'Certain discomforts'?” Sam echoes with a shake of her head. “You mean pain. Heartache.”

“Those terms will suffice, I suppose.”

She hits his arm. “Stop that. This is why we're in this predicament, you pretending that it doesn't fucking matter when it quite clearly does.”

Outrage darkens his face, then vanishes as he sighs again. “True.”

“So it does matter? To you, I mean.”

He looks at her and her stomach flips. “You do, yes.”

She swallows hard. “This... wasn't supposed to happen.”

“I concur. However it has. I'm not sure that I am that upset by the development.”

Sam raises her eyebrows. He shrugs.

“Habit.”

“You could argue that I am as well,” she says, tone wry. Then rubs her forehead with two fingers. “I can't do something that's going to end in you being hurt. Not like that.”

“Isn't that choice mine?”

“Do you think I could live with the guilt?”

He sags. “No. Then... this is over?”

Pain lances through her. The impossibility is a perfect trap, no way out without one or both of them being injured. So much for intelligence.

“I'd rather it no be,” she confesses.

“Likewise.”

“So we're back to square one.” Helplessness swamps her. Baal shifts closer and she leans against his shoulder. “There has to be a solution,” she says. “Doesn't there?”

“There are a few.” He puts an arm around her waist. “One is that I go and never see you again. Another is that we ignore the unpleasantness and carry on.”

Not liking either of those options, she says, “Is there another one?”

“You take a symbiote.”

“Ah, no.”

“Or we contact the Tok'ra.”

She jolts, but his arms holds her in place. She stares at him. “You'd do that?”

“You asked for solutions. It is one.”

“That wasn't my question.”

He says nothing, but gazes off into the middle distance. Even as she considers it, Sam knows she could never let him do it. She's long accepted that the Goa'uld part of him is just that - a part. It's integral to who he is. To the whole she is rapidly falling in love with.

“No,” she breathes and he turns back. “Not an option.”

Surprise flickers over his face. “Why ever not?”

“Because you are who you are. That's what I... that's why I like you, despite everything that tells me I shouldn't. If that was taken away, you'd be different. And that's not what I want.”

“But I could stay on Earth. I could even work alongside you.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “As much as I would love that, it wouldn't be you. You're not made to live like that, Baal. And I don't want to be the reason you did. You'd hate me for that. You know you would.”

He hitches a shoulder, but doesn't deny it. She settles back against him and wonders what the solution is. She cannot give him up, but it makes her ache to think of what pain her death will cause.

“Without access to a sarcophagus, I will age. Slower than you, but still. You... know how this works.”

A memory surges. She pushes it down. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”

“I have no other answer, Samantha. It is a gamble, but then so is life.”

That he'll forego virtual immortality for her is a humbling thought. She knows he could still outlive her by a way. Or the symbiote could fail sooner and take him from her.

She swallows hard. “What do you want?”

“I already told you that,” he says and kisses her forehead. “Several times. I'm done fighting it. I'm old and tired and... I need you.”

Tears threaten again. She lifts her head, seeking and finding his mouth. He tastes bittersweet, or maybe that's her. She's not sure, like she's not sure about a lot of things. There is one thing that she is definite about though.

“I need you, too.” She glances over to the restaurant. Some of the lights have gone out now, the place closing down as the diners leave. She lays down on the grass, pulling him with her. “So finish what you started.”