FIC: Not Since Netu Sam(Jolinar/Martouf)
Title: Not Since Netu
Author: rysler
Primary Character(s): Sam Carter
'Ship to be Included: Jolinar/Martouf
Prompt: Late at night, in bed alone, the memories of Jolinar become her own.
Notes: R. Spoilers through Season 5.
Not Since Netu:
Sam had the same dream each night she slept on base. She had tried hard pillows and soft mattresses, sleeping nude, sleeping in uniform, and even, when pushed to the brink of despair, sleeping with the lights on. The dream still came.
First the Stargate filled her mind, inert and cold, and then spinning and shining, fragmented between spans of stage four sleep. Then bright lights--not the decals, not the event horizon, not its soothing pool of blue that she dipped her hand into, that she pressed her face against, seeing past eternity.
No, it was a hot light. Yellow, almost orange, like the fires she had seen on Netu. A man came through the bright, hot gate--no, a woman--no, wait, a man--and then there was nothing but the light, and the answering pull within her body, toward the gate.
"Magnets," Jack's voice distantly echoed, but that was the wrong science, naquadah wasn't iron.
Besides, she'd done the science over and over while awake. She'd been afraid to step through the Stargate, wondering if he were on the other side, or in the eternity between, waiting.
"Magnets," the echo came again, and she felt the answering tug inside her.
And then he was there.
He stood before her, with tender eyes and thin lips and an earnest look; She'd never seen him really smile, not even in her dreams. He reached toward her. Her limbs uncoiled. Her arms stretched toward him. Her body rebelled against her, controlled by something else, something inside her, aching for him, betraying her.
She wet her lips. He looked concerned. "Lantash," she whispered.
His eyes flashed white.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but she felt the answering pulse within her. Her body was responding to him, as it had a hundred times before--no, it never had, not once, she wasn't--
"Sam," he said. Martouf's voice, gentle and kind. "Sam."
Deep in her belly, she felt the strength of the pull. The Goa'uld usually settled at the base of the neck, but she'd swallowed this one, it had rooted in her, sprouted in her, had taken over her body, made her ache for the man in front of her. She kept reaching for him. The need for him was deep inside her, and spreading outward.
"Jolinar," came the vibrating voice. Martouf called again, "Sam."
"No!" She sat up in bed, thrashing, trying to push him away from her.
He wasn't there. The room was silent and empty and dark. Still, her skin was sensitized, her need pulsed without relief. She ached for him, and the shame of it welled up inside her. He wasn't hers. She was alone.
She breathed in and out, let her chest expand and contract. Beyond the grey walls and the cement bunkers and the armed guards stood the Stargate of her dreams, silent. Lifeless. Made of the same cold naquadah in her blood.
Jolinar had died in her, was buried inside her, a part of her blood. Sometimes she thought Jolinar must have loved her to do that. And Martouf, he had loved her too, before she'd shot him. And Lantash--she wondered what she would say to him, when he had regained ears to hear. The love and regret that stayed in the pit of her stomach, that fused the vertebrae at the top of her spine, welled to the surface whenever she stayed too long with the Stargate.
She had found only one way to quell the ache, to put it back to dreamless sleep again. Through experimentation, she'd eliminated pathways, variables, one by one. She'd slept closer to the Stargate, she'd tried exercising and pills and writing to the Tok'ra and reading mission reports until her eyes crossed. Janet had taken her by the shoulder and said, "Give in."
Give in.
You know you want it.
She fell back onto the pillow and braced her feet on the bed. "Jolinar," she called in her mind, and the force inside her became stronger. She imagined her eyes flashing white, becoming Jolinar's, and she slid her hand into her boxers, and saw what Jolinar longed to see.
Martouf, before her, naked, standing on the surface of P34-353J. Then Sam couldn't see him anymore. He moved too close. Jolinar remembered his touches. How his hands felt on Rosha's skin. How his mouth pressed against her lips. Sam touched herself, using her fingers to urge Jolinar's memories. Jolinar laughed at what it was like to be aroused as a human, blindly groping, stroking through wetness, fast enough and hard enough that her hand hurt. Trembled against her own skin. She showed Sam what symbiotes felt, consumed by their hosts, surrounded, squeezed, communicating through veins and muscle and voice and smell to each other.
Alien though the memories were, the heat was the same. Sam touched it with her fingers and felt it at the base of her spine. It became just Jolinar and her, and then her alone, rubbing herself to a crescendo.
She came. Her gasp filled the silence in her quarters. The orgasm shuddering through her was louder still. Blood pounded in her ears. She panted and licked at her dry lips. Then, slowly, she freed her arm and pulled herself to the side of the bed. Hand sanitizer took the smell from her fingers. Her heartbeat slowed. She couldn't sense the Stargate anymore, though she knew it still stood, close by. Jolinar and Martouf were quiet inside her mind.
Lantash and Rosha, on distant worlds, did not call for her.
The air circulation pump wiffed above her head. She rolled onto her back. Sleep was coming, creeping up on her slowly. Not the exhaustion that brought on the nightmares, just a peaceful settling, and the anticipation of the next mission. 1100 hours, to coincide with the sunlight on a distant planet, gave her enough time to rest.
Rest. Like Jolinar. She closed her eyes.
If the dreams came again, she'd simply soothe them away the same way. It was the best sex she could get since Nasya.
Since Netu.
Since the Zatarc.
She didn't really mind being a part of their lives, even though she hated being caught up in their deaths. Trapped between the four of them, she felt their longing, settling into her stomach, burning like a symbiote, but behind that, deeply alien, purely human--their love. She carried it, touched it, made her hers, too.
Author: rysler
Primary Character(s): Sam Carter
'Ship to be Included: Jolinar/Martouf
Prompt: Late at night, in bed alone, the memories of Jolinar become her own.
Notes: R. Spoilers through Season 5.
Not Since Netu:
Sam had the same dream each night she slept on base. She had tried hard pillows and soft mattresses, sleeping nude, sleeping in uniform, and even, when pushed to the brink of despair, sleeping with the lights on. The dream still came.
First the Stargate filled her mind, inert and cold, and then spinning and shining, fragmented between spans of stage four sleep. Then bright lights--not the decals, not the event horizon, not its soothing pool of blue that she dipped her hand into, that she pressed her face against, seeing past eternity.
No, it was a hot light. Yellow, almost orange, like the fires she had seen on Netu. A man came through the bright, hot gate--no, a woman--no, wait, a man--and then there was nothing but the light, and the answering pull within her body, toward the gate.
"Magnets," Jack's voice distantly echoed, but that was the wrong science, naquadah wasn't iron.
Besides, she'd done the science over and over while awake. She'd been afraid to step through the Stargate, wondering if he were on the other side, or in the eternity between, waiting.
"Magnets," the echo came again, and she felt the answering tug inside her.
And then he was there.
He stood before her, with tender eyes and thin lips and an earnest look; She'd never seen him really smile, not even in her dreams. He reached toward her. Her limbs uncoiled. Her arms stretched toward him. Her body rebelled against her, controlled by something else, something inside her, aching for him, betraying her.
She wet her lips. He looked concerned. "Lantash," she whispered.
His eyes flashed white.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but she felt the answering pulse within her. Her body was responding to him, as it had a hundred times before--no, it never had, not once, she wasn't--
"Sam," he said. Martouf's voice, gentle and kind. "Sam."
Deep in her belly, she felt the strength of the pull. The Goa'uld usually settled at the base of the neck, but she'd swallowed this one, it had rooted in her, sprouted in her, had taken over her body, made her ache for the man in front of her. She kept reaching for him. The need for him was deep inside her, and spreading outward.
"Jolinar," came the vibrating voice. Martouf called again, "Sam."
"No!" She sat up in bed, thrashing, trying to push him away from her.
He wasn't there. The room was silent and empty and dark. Still, her skin was sensitized, her need pulsed without relief. She ached for him, and the shame of it welled up inside her. He wasn't hers. She was alone.
She breathed in and out, let her chest expand and contract. Beyond the grey walls and the cement bunkers and the armed guards stood the Stargate of her dreams, silent. Lifeless. Made of the same cold naquadah in her blood.
Jolinar had died in her, was buried inside her, a part of her blood. Sometimes she thought Jolinar must have loved her to do that. And Martouf, he had loved her too, before she'd shot him. And Lantash--she wondered what she would say to him, when he had regained ears to hear. The love and regret that stayed in the pit of her stomach, that fused the vertebrae at the top of her spine, welled to the surface whenever she stayed too long with the Stargate.
She had found only one way to quell the ache, to put it back to dreamless sleep again. Through experimentation, she'd eliminated pathways, variables, one by one. She'd slept closer to the Stargate, she'd tried exercising and pills and writing to the Tok'ra and reading mission reports until her eyes crossed. Janet had taken her by the shoulder and said, "Give in."
Give in.
You know you want it.
She fell back onto the pillow and braced her feet on the bed. "Jolinar," she called in her mind, and the force inside her became stronger. She imagined her eyes flashing white, becoming Jolinar's, and she slid her hand into her boxers, and saw what Jolinar longed to see.
Martouf, before her, naked, standing on the surface of P34-353J. Then Sam couldn't see him anymore. He moved too close. Jolinar remembered his touches. How his hands felt on Rosha's skin. How his mouth pressed against her lips. Sam touched herself, using her fingers to urge Jolinar's memories. Jolinar laughed at what it was like to be aroused as a human, blindly groping, stroking through wetness, fast enough and hard enough that her hand hurt. Trembled against her own skin. She showed Sam what symbiotes felt, consumed by their hosts, surrounded, squeezed, communicating through veins and muscle and voice and smell to each other.
Alien though the memories were, the heat was the same. Sam touched it with her fingers and felt it at the base of her spine. It became just Jolinar and her, and then her alone, rubbing herself to a crescendo.
She came. Her gasp filled the silence in her quarters. The orgasm shuddering through her was louder still. Blood pounded in her ears. She panted and licked at her dry lips. Then, slowly, she freed her arm and pulled herself to the side of the bed. Hand sanitizer took the smell from her fingers. Her heartbeat slowed. She couldn't sense the Stargate anymore, though she knew it still stood, close by. Jolinar and Martouf were quiet inside her mind.
Lantash and Rosha, on distant worlds, did not call for her.
The air circulation pump wiffed above her head. She rolled onto her back. Sleep was coming, creeping up on her slowly. Not the exhaustion that brought on the nightmares, just a peaceful settling, and the anticipation of the next mission. 1100 hours, to coincide with the sunlight on a distant planet, gave her enough time to rest.
Rest. Like Jolinar. She closed her eyes.
If the dreams came again, she'd simply soothe them away the same way. It was the best sex she could get since Nasya.
Since Netu.
Since the Zatarc.
She didn't really mind being a part of their lives, even though she hated being caught up in their deaths. Trapped between the four of them, she felt their longing, settling into her stomach, burning like a symbiote, but behind that, deeply alien, purely human--their love. She carried it, touched it, made her hers, too.