Never (Sam/Jack) ADULT
I committed Sam/Jack pr0n.
BUT! I had to edit the shit out of my original little ficlet to fit the character limit for comments. So I'm posting it here in its full form for your reading enjoyment. I had to edit a lot of the emotional stuff out over there, so read this one instead.
Never
Sam/Jack, word prompt- 'never'
Episode tag to Death Knell, because I've always wanted to write one, but it's been done. And done well. So it was never at the top of my list. It was nice to finally write one.
++
"You wanna get up?"
She doesn't even look at him. "I... just need to rest for a minute."
Sam sits on the locker room bench staring at the floor. The super-soldier is still dead, her body is still tired, and she still can't see anything outside of her ordeal. Forty-eight hours in the infirmary has put her leg on the road to recovery, but her mind isn't so easily soothed. She'd accepted the hugs and the good wishes passively, appreciative, but her eyes still saw a thousand yards beyond...
"Carter?"
She doesn't turn as he walks up behind her. It's late, and she'd thought everybody had gone. He stands behind her, silently, and she knows he's studying her, looking inside of her the way he always does. Jack O'Neill has a presence that she'll never not feel. His hand settles on her shoulder. He can't seem to stop touching her; not since he saved her from the dead and she refused to get up for the first time in her life. "Did you call Pete to come get you?" he asks.
She swallows, hard. She really should have... "No," she whispers. "I just... he won't... I don't want him."
Jack's hand drops from her shoulder, and he stands silently again until she can feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. She wishes she'd just stayed quiet until, suddenly, his hand is back; but this time it's his long, lean fingers sliding through her hair, tugging as they comb down and settle against the bare skin of her nape. "Sam..." he says, unexpectedly, voice low, and he brushes his thumb through the soft, downy hair at her scalp line. It's so much more than a friendly gesture that it stops the breath in her lungs.
"Come here," he orders, softly.
She goes.
He drives her to his house, not to hers. Jack’s house is quiet at night. There’s just the occasional dry creak of the house, and the soft shushing of the trees outside as the leaves rub together in the wind. He doesn't help her as she limps into his bedroom, and she realizes that this is her consent. She's willingly walking into a situation that could end her career. And his. And he needs to be sure.
Once she's standing next to his bed though, he's right there. He doesn't kiss her at first. He stands close, head tilted down so she can feel his breath against her face. His hands are gingerly pulling her T-shirt up out of her pants so they can slide underneath, warm and smooth against her bare back. She looks up at him, and it feels like the first time she's looked directly at anything, or anyone, for years.
"Things won't change as much as you think they will," he says quietly.
She isn't sure exactly what he means, but then she doesn't care because he's kissing her. He slides one hand up to cup the back of her head, and his mouth slips against hers, lips parting to taste her. He's slow with her, languid, because she's still being held together with stitches and gauze, but he knows that her body is the least broken thing she owns now. He knows because he's been there.
He kisses her slow and deep and long, like he has all the time in the world, and yet he has to keep stopping to exhale, breath just a little shaky. It's momentous, so why not? They're not just bending the regs; they're shattering them. Then they're ripping apart her commitment to another man for good measure. Yet she couldn't stop if her life depended on it.
She isn't sure why, after so many years and so many life-threatening situations, this one is different. Why, after she's finally let him go and tried to get on with her life, he's decided to stop waiting. She needs him; it might be that simple. His loyalty is something she's always been awed by.
His thumb catches her chin and angles it up so his mouth, warm and wet and eager, can settle on her throat. He sucks slowly, drawing the heat up into her skin. She feels it through the numbness and the haze and the lingering pain in her leg and her head. His hands are still sliding around her waist, making her shiver.
He's careful as he strips her, but his mouth follows his hands. She can hear her own breath as he slips down her body and his breath puffs out against the crease between thigh and hip. His fingers slide against her, and then his mouth comes in warmly, and the pleasure pools low and deep inside of her, building. He isn't performing so much as he's tasting and testing and touching, and it makes her ache for him. He holds her leg down protectively, even as her hips are arching up off the bed and she forgets the pain.
She comes on a low, powerful, rolling wave that leaves her breathless for long, long minutes.
He gives a grunt of protest when she pulls him up, mindful of her leg, but he goes when she slides a smooth hand over the rigid, heated shaft of his cock. His movements are controlled, but she strokes the pad of her thumb over the tip and feels the slick evidence of his splintering restraint.
He pushes slowly inside of her, hand gripping her hip like iron, eyes closed as the breath bursts out of him. Her fingers follow the sparse line of hair on his stomach, and he sinks deeper, eyes fluttering open to stare down at her. It feels amazing. His dog tags click together quietly, the plastic edges of the silencers just brushing the swell of her breasts. She grabs the chain and tugs him down.
He kisses her as he moves, slowly at first but he soon falters and his thrusts quicken. He's losing it, and the knowledge sends a sharp, aching tendril of emotion through her. The numbness inside cracks wide open and is swallowed by longing. She rubs circles on his nape with her fingertips and whispers against his collarbone as he rocks above her. "Jack..."
He groans in broken breaths and presses her down hard as he comes. His wave seems as long as hers was as he pants against her neck and thrusts lazily through the aftermath, drawing it out.
He doesn't pass out next to her, he stays on top of her, elbows braced on the bed on either side of her head, body carefully angled away from her injured thigh. He kisses her jaw and then her mouth, and then he lifts his head.
"You didn't give up on me," she says, and she's not sure if she means that he never gave up his search for her at the destroyed Alpha site, or if she means Jack and her and the long years of forbidden, complicated attraction she'd tried to give up for a normal life.
He doesn't ask her to clarify. He simply looks her in the eye and holds her gaze with intent. "Never."
~end~
Angsty hurt/comfort. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
BUT! I had to edit the shit out of my original little ficlet to fit the character limit for comments. So I'm posting it here in its full form for your reading enjoyment. I had to edit a lot of the emotional stuff out over there, so read this one instead.
Never
Sam/Jack, word prompt- 'never'
Episode tag to Death Knell, because I've always wanted to write one, but it's been done. And done well. So it was never at the top of my list. It was nice to finally write one.
++
"You wanna get up?"
She doesn't even look at him. "I... just need to rest for a minute."
Sam sits on the locker room bench staring at the floor. The super-soldier is still dead, her body is still tired, and she still can't see anything outside of her ordeal. Forty-eight hours in the infirmary has put her leg on the road to recovery, but her mind isn't so easily soothed. She'd accepted the hugs and the good wishes passively, appreciative, but her eyes still saw a thousand yards beyond...
"Carter?"
She doesn't turn as he walks up behind her. It's late, and she'd thought everybody had gone. He stands behind her, silently, and she knows he's studying her, looking inside of her the way he always does. Jack O'Neill has a presence that she'll never not feel. His hand settles on her shoulder. He can't seem to stop touching her; not since he saved her from the dead and she refused to get up for the first time in her life. "Did you call Pete to come get you?" he asks.
She swallows, hard. She really should have... "No," she whispers. "I just... he won't... I don't want him."
Jack's hand drops from her shoulder, and he stands silently again until she can feel his eyes boring into the back of her head. She wishes she'd just stayed quiet until, suddenly, his hand is back; but this time it's his long, lean fingers sliding through her hair, tugging as they comb down and settle against the bare skin of her nape. "Sam..." he says, unexpectedly, voice low, and he brushes his thumb through the soft, downy hair at her scalp line. It's so much more than a friendly gesture that it stops the breath in her lungs.
"Come here," he orders, softly.
She goes.
He drives her to his house, not to hers. Jack’s house is quiet at night. There’s just the occasional dry creak of the house, and the soft shushing of the trees outside as the leaves rub together in the wind. He doesn't help her as she limps into his bedroom, and she realizes that this is her consent. She's willingly walking into a situation that could end her career. And his. And he needs to be sure.
Once she's standing next to his bed though, he's right there. He doesn't kiss her at first. He stands close, head tilted down so she can feel his breath against her face. His hands are gingerly pulling her T-shirt up out of her pants so they can slide underneath, warm and smooth against her bare back. She looks up at him, and it feels like the first time she's looked directly at anything, or anyone, for years.
"Things won't change as much as you think they will," he says quietly.
She isn't sure exactly what he means, but then she doesn't care because he's kissing her. He slides one hand up to cup the back of her head, and his mouth slips against hers, lips parting to taste her. He's slow with her, languid, because she's still being held together with stitches and gauze, but he knows that her body is the least broken thing she owns now. He knows because he's been there.
He kisses her slow and deep and long, like he has all the time in the world, and yet he has to keep stopping to exhale, breath just a little shaky. It's momentous, so why not? They're not just bending the regs; they're shattering them. Then they're ripping apart her commitment to another man for good measure. Yet she couldn't stop if her life depended on it.
She isn't sure why, after so many years and so many life-threatening situations, this one is different. Why, after she's finally let him go and tried to get on with her life, he's decided to stop waiting. She needs him; it might be that simple. His loyalty is something she's always been awed by.
His thumb catches her chin and angles it up so his mouth, warm and wet and eager, can settle on her throat. He sucks slowly, drawing the heat up into her skin. She feels it through the numbness and the haze and the lingering pain in her leg and her head. His hands are still sliding around her waist, making her shiver.
He's careful as he strips her, but his mouth follows his hands. She can hear her own breath as he slips down her body and his breath puffs out against the crease between thigh and hip. His fingers slide against her, and then his mouth comes in warmly, and the pleasure pools low and deep inside of her, building. He isn't performing so much as he's tasting and testing and touching, and it makes her ache for him. He holds her leg down protectively, even as her hips are arching up off the bed and she forgets the pain.
She comes on a low, powerful, rolling wave that leaves her breathless for long, long minutes.
He gives a grunt of protest when she pulls him up, mindful of her leg, but he goes when she slides a smooth hand over the rigid, heated shaft of his cock. His movements are controlled, but she strokes the pad of her thumb over the tip and feels the slick evidence of his splintering restraint.
He pushes slowly inside of her, hand gripping her hip like iron, eyes closed as the breath bursts out of him. Her fingers follow the sparse line of hair on his stomach, and he sinks deeper, eyes fluttering open to stare down at her. It feels amazing. His dog tags click together quietly, the plastic edges of the silencers just brushing the swell of her breasts. She grabs the chain and tugs him down.
He kisses her as he moves, slowly at first but he soon falters and his thrusts quicken. He's losing it, and the knowledge sends a sharp, aching tendril of emotion through her. The numbness inside cracks wide open and is swallowed by longing. She rubs circles on his nape with her fingertips and whispers against his collarbone as he rocks above her. "Jack..."
He groans in broken breaths and presses her down hard as he comes. His wave seems as long as hers was as he pants against her neck and thrusts lazily through the aftermath, drawing it out.
He doesn't pass out next to her, he stays on top of her, elbows braced on the bed on either side of her head, body carefully angled away from her injured thigh. He kisses her jaw and then her mouth, and then he lifts his head.
"You didn't give up on me," she says, and she's not sure if she means that he never gave up his search for her at the destroyed Alpha site, or if she means Jack and her and the long years of forbidden, complicated attraction she'd tried to give up for a normal life.
He doesn't ask her to clarify. He simply looks her in the eye and holds her gaze with intent. "Never."
~end~
Angsty hurt/comfort. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.