(no subject)
Title: For Old Times Sake
Author: rolleson
Fandom: SG-1
Rating: R
Character/Pairing: Sam/Pete
Spoilers: Season Four SGA
Warnings: Sex, non graphic
Summery: All he had wanted to do was ask her how things were
Notes: Written for prompt_in_a_box round #2. 1111 words.
All he had wanted to do was ask her how things were, if she was okay. Was she seeing anyone? Still at the SGC? Still a major? So he had an litany of questions for her but none of them had been voiced when he saw her, smiling shyly at him. He'd managed 'hey' and 'I like your hair' (which is was going to blame later, when his partner Marlow pumped him for information). A pony tail, loose pink skirt, white peasant blouse and she had never looked so beautiful and his stomach lurched.
He wasn't over her.
Damn, his girlfriend as going to kill him but he leant into her warmth and kissed her on the lips. Then all thoughts of Christine were gone as she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. They were going to skip the rest of the awkward catch up conversation he realised and go right to the sex-to-with-your-ex. Which was fine by him, he'd told him all she needed to know, and he could ask later, after she'd finished kissing him back, flicking her tongue over his lips. He pulled her closer, hands sliding down to her ass so he could just feel and remember and he knew this was going to her hotel room and no further but when she moaned softly and circled her hips ever so slightly, he really, really didn't care.
"Really bad idea," she mumbled against his lips, her body betraying her words.
"I don't care Sam," he said, "I've missed you."
All she'd done was ask him the same questions he wanted to ask her, standing on a street in Denver, talking about his life, listening to him like she had all the time in the world for him. Listening to him like she cared.
Thing was, he knew she still did care.
"I'm in the Westin."
"Nice."
"Decided to treat myself." She kissed him again, fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
He wished he was drunk, because alcohol would subdue his subconscious, his conscience. He'd been on the way to a bar though, bumping Sam on her way to dinner.
Neither would be meeting their friends just yet.
She led him through her hotel by hand, and he followed, he often had done, watching the way her hair swished from side to side. She smiled at him as she slowly walked him into her room, looking so sweet for someone he was about to have sex with and the doubts kicked in. This wasn't going to change anything, he knew that, it was probably going to break his heart all over again, and destroy a perfectly good relationship with Christine but it was Sam.
She kissed him again, slipping her hands under his jumper, pushing back again the locked door of her plush site. He would've protested if she didn't taste as good as she looked, as he remembered. He'd walk away if he could stop himself from pushing his hips into hers, the beginnings of an erection stirring, his stomach dancing. He loved this woman. Still.
"Sam," he whispered into her neck, nipping at the skin there, his fingers fiddling with the buttons of her blouse, "Sam?"
"What?" she asked, almost impatient and he wanted to laugh, she knew exactly what expression she wore, and he had missed that too. He kissed a line up to her ear.
"This is just sex, right, for old times sake," he said, "right?"
"Yeah," she hissed, he remembered everything about her, every spot that made her hiss, whimper, moan and cry out his name. He wanted to find all those places again, seek them out and re-commit them to his memory, because sex with your ex was a really bad idea, and he doubt this would happen again.
"Cause I can't let you break my heart again Sam," he said, pulling her blouse open. He knew his words could make her stop this, and he didn't want that, he could feel his heart breaking already, the depression starting all over again and already hear Marlow muttering curses against 'that damn girl' but he didn't care, because she was still perfect and he was still pathetic.
"It's just sex, Pete," she gasped his name when he dipped his head to pull at her nipple through her bra, "please," she whimpered, and he forgot about his reservations and pulled her over to the bed.
*****
When he woke, happy and aching (inside), he found Sam watching him, smiling at him.
"Hey," she mumbled, her face was covered in sleep lines, telling him she'd slept deeply, she'd felt safe next to him. Just sex, he reminded himself, just sex.
"Mornin'."
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Sure?" she asked, "I mean, this was a bad idea, and you have a girlfriend."
"Had," he clarified, "this is a pretty good way to ruin a relationship."
"Sorry," she sighed dropping her eyes down.
"No, it's not your fault Sam," he lifted her chin up, "I wanted this just as much."
"Just sex," she reminded him.
"I know, I'm just saying....I don't know what I'm saying." She huffed out a little laughter. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay."
"Sure?" Part of him wanted her to say no, but Sam, Sam was fine, he could tell. When she was depressed, she worked until her fingers were bleeding. When she was happy, she made herself happier. The sex had been good and her fingers were in great shape.
"Yeah, got a promotion, good assignment, new friends," she smiled again, "I'm good."
"Good." She laughed again. "I miss you."
"I know." No such declaration of her own, but he knew better than to expect that from her, even if she felt it. This was just sex, for old times sake, and once she got her emotions involved, things would get complicated. Well, more complicated.
"You paying for breakfast?" he asked, she grinned and passed him the phone.
"Order up what you like," she said, rising from the bed with more grace than he remembered her having, "I'm taking a shower."
"Can I join you?"
"If you get my breakfast order right," he laughed. Easy, he thought, Sam Carter hadn't changed what she ate for breakfast in twelve years, she told him that during their first few months together, and it was unlikely it was going to change in the last three.
"You want coffee?" he asked.
"For asking a stupid question," she said, smiling from the bathroom door, "you can shower on your knees." He laughed.
"Whatever you say Sam."
"Colonel," she told him, and his heart ached again.
Author: rolleson
Fandom: SG-1
Rating: R
Character/Pairing: Sam/Pete
Spoilers: Season Four SGA
Warnings: Sex, non graphic
Summery: All he had wanted to do was ask her how things were
Notes: Written for prompt_in_a_box round #2. 1111 words.
All he had wanted to do was ask her how things were, if she was okay. Was she seeing anyone? Still at the SGC? Still a major? So he had an litany of questions for her but none of them had been voiced when he saw her, smiling shyly at him. He'd managed 'hey' and 'I like your hair' (which is was going to blame later, when his partner Marlow pumped him for information). A pony tail, loose pink skirt, white peasant blouse and she had never looked so beautiful and his stomach lurched.
He wasn't over her.
Damn, his girlfriend as going to kill him but he leant into her warmth and kissed her on the lips. Then all thoughts of Christine were gone as she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. They were going to skip the rest of the awkward catch up conversation he realised and go right to the sex-to-with-your-ex. Which was fine by him, he'd told him all she needed to know, and he could ask later, after she'd finished kissing him back, flicking her tongue over his lips. He pulled her closer, hands sliding down to her ass so he could just feel and remember and he knew this was going to her hotel room and no further but when she moaned softly and circled her hips ever so slightly, he really, really didn't care.
"Really bad idea," she mumbled against his lips, her body betraying her words.
"I don't care Sam," he said, "I've missed you."
All she'd done was ask him the same questions he wanted to ask her, standing on a street in Denver, talking about his life, listening to him like she had all the time in the world for him. Listening to him like she cared.
Thing was, he knew she still did care.
"I'm in the Westin."
"Nice."
"Decided to treat myself." She kissed him again, fingers playing with the hairs on the nape of his neck.
He wished he was drunk, because alcohol would subdue his subconscious, his conscience. He'd been on the way to a bar though, bumping Sam on her way to dinner.
Neither would be meeting their friends just yet.
She led him through her hotel by hand, and he followed, he often had done, watching the way her hair swished from side to side. She smiled at him as she slowly walked him into her room, looking so sweet for someone he was about to have sex with and the doubts kicked in. This wasn't going to change anything, he knew that, it was probably going to break his heart all over again, and destroy a perfectly good relationship with Christine but it was Sam.
She kissed him again, slipping her hands under his jumper, pushing back again the locked door of her plush site. He would've protested if she didn't taste as good as she looked, as he remembered. He'd walk away if he could stop himself from pushing his hips into hers, the beginnings of an erection stirring, his stomach dancing. He loved this woman. Still.
"Sam," he whispered into her neck, nipping at the skin there, his fingers fiddling with the buttons of her blouse, "Sam?"
"What?" she asked, almost impatient and he wanted to laugh, she knew exactly what expression she wore, and he had missed that too. He kissed a line up to her ear.
"This is just sex, right, for old times sake," he said, "right?"
"Yeah," she hissed, he remembered everything about her, every spot that made her hiss, whimper, moan and cry out his name. He wanted to find all those places again, seek them out and re-commit them to his memory, because sex with your ex was a really bad idea, and he doubt this would happen again.
"Cause I can't let you break my heart again Sam," he said, pulling her blouse open. He knew his words could make her stop this, and he didn't want that, he could feel his heart breaking already, the depression starting all over again and already hear Marlow muttering curses against 'that damn girl' but he didn't care, because she was still perfect and he was still pathetic.
"It's just sex, Pete," she gasped his name when he dipped his head to pull at her nipple through her bra, "please," she whimpered, and he forgot about his reservations and pulled her over to the bed.
*****
When he woke, happy and aching (inside), he found Sam watching him, smiling at him.
"Hey," she mumbled, her face was covered in sleep lines, telling him she'd slept deeply, she'd felt safe next to him. Just sex, he reminded himself, just sex.
"Mornin'."
"You okay?"
"Yeah."
"Sure?" she asked, "I mean, this was a bad idea, and you have a girlfriend."
"Had," he clarified, "this is a pretty good way to ruin a relationship."
"Sorry," she sighed dropping her eyes down.
"No, it's not your fault Sam," he lifted her chin up, "I wanted this just as much."
"Just sex," she reminded him.
"I know, I'm just saying....I don't know what I'm saying." She huffed out a little laughter. "How are you doing?"
"I'm okay."
"Sure?" Part of him wanted her to say no, but Sam, Sam was fine, he could tell. When she was depressed, she worked until her fingers were bleeding. When she was happy, she made herself happier. The sex had been good and her fingers were in great shape.
"Yeah, got a promotion, good assignment, new friends," she smiled again, "I'm good."
"Good." She laughed again. "I miss you."
"I know." No such declaration of her own, but he knew better than to expect that from her, even if she felt it. This was just sex, for old times sake, and once she got her emotions involved, things would get complicated. Well, more complicated.
"You paying for breakfast?" he asked, she grinned and passed him the phone.
"Order up what you like," she said, rising from the bed with more grace than he remembered her having, "I'm taking a shower."
"Can I join you?"
"If you get my breakfast order right," he laughed. Easy, he thought, Sam Carter hadn't changed what she ate for breakfast in twelve years, she told him that during their first few months together, and it was unlikely it was going to change in the last three.
"You want coffee?" he asked.
"For asking a stupid question," she said, smiling from the bathroom door, "you can shower on your knees." He laughed.
"Whatever you say Sam."
"Colonel," she told him, and his heart ached again.