Stargate SG-1: Penelope
Title: Penelope
Author: tarimanveri
Summary: "She is certainly not that kind of woman now."
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual content
Spoilers: "Undending"
Word Count: 229
Beta: amyheartssiroc
Recipient: I freely bestow this upon no one
Originally archived at: tarimanveri_fic
Author's Notes: My answer to all the "everyone must have been getting it on during "Unending" on the Odyssey" commentary. And umm, yeah, this one sort of clawed its way out of my brain. I've done creepy things with stringed instruments and I'm sorry. But not that sorry.
Penelope
Nights on the Odyssey, Sam slides her fingers down between her thighs, taking herself apart so her mind is clear and she can sleep. Sometimes it works, and sometimes she can’t come hard enough to forget that she’s expected to do the impossible, and she gets up and washes her hands. Those nights she plays for hours, the team’s quarters now drifted so far apart that there’s no one around for her to disturb. The throb of the cello between her legs fills her somehow in ways no man ever has.
Maybe Sam was never the kind of woman who would wait for a knight on a white horse to sweep her off her feet and give her an orgasm. She is certainly not that kind of woman now. Teal’c is infinitely patient; his trust in her is too absolute. Daniel and Vala are fragile and awestruck and lost in each other. She may never be ready to test herself against the jagged edges of Cameron’s frustration. But her fingers are clever, growing callused now with her increasing mastery of bow and strings. She presses them against the neck of her cello. She presses them up into herself where she is warm and alive and suspended in time and space as she explodes and knits herself back together into something that is stronger and prepared to face each day.
Author: tarimanveri
Summary: "She is certainly not that kind of woman now."
Rating: R
Warnings: sexual content
Spoilers: "Undending"
Word Count: 229
Beta: amyheartssiroc
Recipient: I freely bestow this upon no one
Originally archived at: tarimanveri_fic
Author's Notes: My answer to all the "everyone must have been getting it on during "Unending" on the Odyssey" commentary. And umm, yeah, this one sort of clawed its way out of my brain. I've done creepy things with stringed instruments and I'm sorry. But not that sorry.
Penelope
Nights on the Odyssey, Sam slides her fingers down between her thighs, taking herself apart so her mind is clear and she can sleep. Sometimes it works, and sometimes she can’t come hard enough to forget that she’s expected to do the impossible, and she gets up and washes her hands. Those nights she plays for hours, the team’s quarters now drifted so far apart that there’s no one around for her to disturb. The throb of the cello between her legs fills her somehow in ways no man ever has.
Maybe Sam was never the kind of woman who would wait for a knight on a white horse to sweep her off her feet and give her an orgasm. She is certainly not that kind of woman now. Teal’c is infinitely patient; his trust in her is too absolute. Daniel and Vala are fragile and awestruck and lost in each other. She may never be ready to test herself against the jagged edges of Cameron’s frustration. But her fingers are clever, growing callused now with her increasing mastery of bow and strings. She presses them against the neck of her cello. She presses them up into herself where she is warm and alive and suspended in time and space as she explodes and knits herself back together into something that is stronger and prepared to face each day.