Fic: Today There is Triumph (Companion piece to Tomorrow There Is Truth) Jack/Sam FRM/R
This is a present for the astonishing and splendid m_ravensblood. As some of you know, I write most of my fic in the BTVS fandom, where I have become known for writing companion pieces which tell the same story from the perspectives of each party. I have decided to try my hand at that in this fandom for the first time. I hope m_ravensblood enjoys her second prezzie and that the rest of you do as well.
Title: Today There Is Triumph (Companion piece to Tomorrow There Is Truth)
Author: Gabrielle
Fandom: Profiler
Rating: FRM/R
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Word Count: 832
Summary: *Sam stays with Jack instead of being "rescued" during Reunion* He is her lover, her teacher, her God. (This piece is from Jack's POV)
Feedback: Please
Distribution: skewedbelievers, profiler_fans, my LJ, and my site only.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Sanders/Moses, NBC, and a bunch of other people who are not now and have never been me.
Author's Notes: Written for the splendid and wonderful m_ravensblood for the Secret Santa 2007 Exchange. I hope with all my heart that she enjoys it and that the rest of you do as well.
Today There Is Triumph
He won’t kill her old friends
He knows she misses them; he sees the way she caresses Angel’s sculpture, the one he stole and gave to her as a present the day she created the first art of her own; he’s mindful of the empty scotch bottles he often finds upon returning from errands on which he cannot take his Samantha, and he knows she’s been thinking of Bailey; he’ll see her hand idly tapping the computer keyboard and know that she’s thinking of George, who’s come closer than he knows to finding them (or maybe he does know and doesn’t care - likes having a secret all his own); he knows she thinks of Grace when the blades are long and sharp or when the sun is shining somewhere where cigars are still smoked in public; he’ll even hear one of John’s ridiculous attempts at wit quoted by his love from time to time.
But he won’t kill her friends.
It’s the fact that she still misses them that gives him the thrill of victory. If she’d had nothing worthwhile to lose, then winning her would mean nothing. He might well simply be an easy ticket out of dull mediocrity, and where’s the triumph in that? No, it’s the fact that there is still something she cares about that she gives up every day for him that makes their love such a glorious thing.
Right now, however, the game is of a different sort. Oh, like all their games, it’s still about flesh and torture, but of a far more carnal and intimate kind, the kind he only shares with his Samantha. He’s being slow with her tonight, taking her to the brink of ecstasy and refusing to push her over the edge. She loves it, hates it, is maddened and thrilled by it. Inch by inch - enter and withdraw - so cruel and slow and coldly passionate. She is his: lover, toy, creation, mate. He can do as he pleases and it always pleases her. She is his creature now, all his own design.
It took a long time to get here - too long, but then again, does that matter? He has her now and that’s all about all. He is the center of her universe, the one god who has driven out the many, made this little heathen his disciple, and he revels in her hard-won devotion.
Time for this deity to be merciful. He thrusts into her a bit more forcefully, touching her in all the right places, and she’s there - seeing the stars and lights and colours only he can make real for her. He sees them, too, reflected in her eyes. That intimate release becomes no one the way it becomes his Samantha.
She sighs in his embrace as she comes back to Earth.
“You’re happy, my Samantha.” It’s truth - pure, simple, and unadorned. He never asks questions of her. Why pretend that there is knowledge contained within her that he does not already possess within himself?
“I love you, Jack.” He knows that, too, but he loves the music those words make on her tongue. His true name is a hymn on her tongue, a hymn to the adoration she gives to him and no other: not to science or the VCTF. Thou shalt have no other gods before me and she does not.
He looks at her and thinks of the Mona Lisa, the way it’s really a portrait of the artist. That is true in many ways of his Samantha. Now she is so much more him than the girl she was the day he chose her, deemed her worthy and set about molding her into the form of perfection. Eve with no need of any lowly Adam to be her mate.
“I love you, Jack.” He never tires of hearing those four words. Were they all she ever spoke, they might well be enough. In her mouth they are poetry, art, song, devotion - everything. Ah, but her mouth is skilled at worshiping him in many ways.
As she takes that part of him that belongs only to her between those soft lips which have just caressed his name, he wonders for a moment if it’s time - time to remove that hideous reminder that someone else can still call her his by virtue of there being a living monument to his corrupt union with his Samantha. But there is time to think of that later. Now, he gives all of himself to his love.
She mirrors his own tormenting patience, always taking her instruction from his actions like a good girl. He revels in her skill and adoration as at last he lets go, spilling his seed inside her mouth, watching her face light up as she savours the taste of him.
Tomorrow, he thinks, will be a special day. Tomorrow they will pay a call on Tom’s parents. Samantha is ready to become...to evolve...to perfect herself.
She cares nothing for Chloe, anyway.
The End.
Title: Today There Is Triumph (Companion piece to Tomorrow There Is Truth)
Author: Gabrielle
Fandom: Profiler
Rating: FRM/R
Pairing: Jack/Sam
Word Count: 832
Summary: *Sam stays with Jack instead of being "rescued" during Reunion* He is her lover, her teacher, her God. (This piece is from Jack's POV)
Feedback: Please
Distribution: skewedbelievers, profiler_fans, my LJ, and my site only.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs to Sanders/Moses, NBC, and a bunch of other people who are not now and have never been me.
Author's Notes: Written for the splendid and wonderful m_ravensblood for the Secret Santa 2007 Exchange. I hope with all my heart that she enjoys it and that the rest of you do as well.
Today There Is Triumph
He won’t kill her old friends
He knows she misses them; he sees the way she caresses Angel’s sculpture, the one he stole and gave to her as a present the day she created the first art of her own; he’s mindful of the empty scotch bottles he often finds upon returning from errands on which he cannot take his Samantha, and he knows she’s been thinking of Bailey; he’ll see her hand idly tapping the computer keyboard and know that she’s thinking of George, who’s come closer than he knows to finding them (or maybe he does know and doesn’t care - likes having a secret all his own); he knows she thinks of Grace when the blades are long and sharp or when the sun is shining somewhere where cigars are still smoked in public; he’ll even hear one of John’s ridiculous attempts at wit quoted by his love from time to time.
But he won’t kill her friends.
It’s the fact that she still misses them that gives him the thrill of victory. If she’d had nothing worthwhile to lose, then winning her would mean nothing. He might well simply be an easy ticket out of dull mediocrity, and where’s the triumph in that? No, it’s the fact that there is still something she cares about that she gives up every day for him that makes their love such a glorious thing.
Right now, however, the game is of a different sort. Oh, like all their games, it’s still about flesh and torture, but of a far more carnal and intimate kind, the kind he only shares with his Samantha. He’s being slow with her tonight, taking her to the brink of ecstasy and refusing to push her over the edge. She loves it, hates it, is maddened and thrilled by it. Inch by inch - enter and withdraw - so cruel and slow and coldly passionate. She is his: lover, toy, creation, mate. He can do as he pleases and it always pleases her. She is his creature now, all his own design.
It took a long time to get here - too long, but then again, does that matter? He has her now and that’s all about all. He is the center of her universe, the one god who has driven out the many, made this little heathen his disciple, and he revels in her hard-won devotion.
Time for this deity to be merciful. He thrusts into her a bit more forcefully, touching her in all the right places, and she’s there - seeing the stars and lights and colours only he can make real for her. He sees them, too, reflected in her eyes. That intimate release becomes no one the way it becomes his Samantha.
She sighs in his embrace as she comes back to Earth.
“You’re happy, my Samantha.” It’s truth - pure, simple, and unadorned. He never asks questions of her. Why pretend that there is knowledge contained within her that he does not already possess within himself?
“I love you, Jack.” He knows that, too, but he loves the music those words make on her tongue. His true name is a hymn on her tongue, a hymn to the adoration she gives to him and no other: not to science or the VCTF. Thou shalt have no other gods before me and she does not.
He looks at her and thinks of the Mona Lisa, the way it’s really a portrait of the artist. That is true in many ways of his Samantha. Now she is so much more him than the girl she was the day he chose her, deemed her worthy and set about molding her into the form of perfection. Eve with no need of any lowly Adam to be her mate.
“I love you, Jack.” He never tires of hearing those four words. Were they all she ever spoke, they might well be enough. In her mouth they are poetry, art, song, devotion - everything. Ah, but her mouth is skilled at worshiping him in many ways.
As she takes that part of him that belongs only to her between those soft lips which have just caressed his name, he wonders for a moment if it’s time - time to remove that hideous reminder that someone else can still call her his by virtue of there being a living monument to his corrupt union with his Samantha. But there is time to think of that later. Now, he gives all of himself to his love.
She mirrors his own tormenting patience, always taking her instruction from his actions like a good girl. He revels in her skill and adoration as at last he lets go, spilling his seed inside her mouth, watching her face light up as she savours the taste of him.
Tomorrow, he thinks, will be a special day. Tomorrow they will pay a call on Tom’s parents. Samantha is ready to become...to evolve...to perfect herself.
She cares nothing for Chloe, anyway.
The End.