seven smutty drabbles
[Stargate: SG-1. Sam/Daniel. Telepathy. S6. For azarsuetre]
Dream Weaver
Daniel tried again to dream her. He started with her cheekbones and her lips. He imagined the tilt of her head and her tears, the curve of her lip under his thumb. His thoughts were all I love you, and Sam's body was all strength. He thought of melting around her, honeyed and bright. He thought of the inside of her thighs. Dream me. This was supposed to be easy -- was, when Jack was captive, when it mattered. But Sam's mind closed itself to penetration, and she never turned towards him, never let him hallow her nighttimes with himself.
[Mona Lisa Smile. Giselle/Betty. Enlightenment. Pre-series. For sangerin.]
Learning
"Why does it matter, anyhow? They're all dead now, aren't they?"
"Giselle, be quiet. I'm studying."
"I know," Giselle said forlornly, following the path of Betty's finger over a page of names and dates. When she mouthed John Locke, Betty looked like she would kiss someone. And Giselle really wished she hadn't had that thought, hadn't thought about Betty throwing down her book and rolling her eyes and crooking a finger and making Giselle crawl over to her on hands and knees and put her head where the textbook was, put her mouth around Betty's sex, get her off.
[Harry Potter. Harry/Ron. Broomstick. Post-OoTP. For lilydandelion.]
Gotten
You got a broomstick for Christmas, you could tell. Harry loved that, loved waking up and seeing it beside his bed and knowing someone had gotten him what he wanted most, even if it did remind him a little of Sirius. Still, a broomstick! "Thanks!" he said, before he even started tearing away the wrapping.
"Sure," said Ron, pushing his way into Harry's bed.
"Ron. You couldn't afford it."
"Couldn't I?" Ron's hand was dangerously close to Harry's morning erection. "Really?"
"Where'd you get...?"
"Doesn't matter. I've got you now, haven't I?" Now his hand was on Harry.
"Guess so."
[Stargate: SG-1. Jack/Sam. Comfortable. For poisontaster.]
Inquiry
"You sure you don't hurt?" Jack wasn't exactly what you'd call solicitous, but he tried, at least occasionally, to make sure Sam was okay. But it was always when she was doing okay, when she was doing so monumentally okay that for once she didn't want to talk about it, except maybe to borrow some phrases from Jack's not-very-well-hidden Playboys and say "harder faster please."
"I'm gasp sure."
"Okay," he said, and went with the unspoken agenda of hard and fast and good and, if Sam had had the mental energy to admit it, painful and perfect, wide open ecstasy.
[Buffy: the Vampire Slayer. Willow/Tara. Spirals. S4. For invisionary.]
Like Headrush Only Stronger
Willow wants to know why. She doesn't want to walk the spiral with Tara and find herself getting further in and further down, deeper and deeper into a place where words don't mean anything and reason doesn't mean anything and you have to rely on your instincts to survive. She walks the spiral clutching Tara's hand, praying in spite of herself, choking on the heavy steam of incense that's stronger than anything she's used herself. It clouds her head and makes it hard to think, makes her cling to Tara's side for protection and draw power from her kisses' strength.
[West Wing. CJ/Simon Donovon. Soft. S3. For malnpudl.]
Untaught Skill
There's friction in her fantasy. He'd be gentle, want to kiss her first and fuck second. She'd want to do it all at once. If he kissed her, she thought, if he kissed her she wouldn't be able to keep her hands away from him, wouldn't keep everything above-the-waist and fair and honest and noble. If they kissed, that would be the end of nobility.
There's friction between her fingers and clit; she thinks of Simon's hands guiding hers, helping her touch herself. She imagines not needing to teach him how to make her come. Her finger slips; she sighs.
[House M.D. House/Cuddy. Hard. S1. For 1827.]
A Few Of Her Favorite Things
They use the cane.
This would disgust his team if they knew, so he kind of hopes they find out. Cuddy doesn't loathe it as much as he hates that it's part of him, as much an organ as, well. You know.
"You think with it; you might as well call it by name."
"I don't see you naming the things you like to do in bed."
"And I don't see you doing them. Can we fix that?"
They can fix most things, most days, except each other. She can't heal his leg. But she lets him use the cane.
Dream Weaver
Daniel tried again to dream her. He started with her cheekbones and her lips. He imagined the tilt of her head and her tears, the curve of her lip under his thumb. His thoughts were all I love you, and Sam's body was all strength. He thought of melting around her, honeyed and bright. He thought of the inside of her thighs. Dream me. This was supposed to be easy -- was, when Jack was captive, when it mattered. But Sam's mind closed itself to penetration, and she never turned towards him, never let him hallow her nighttimes with himself.
[Mona Lisa Smile. Giselle/Betty. Enlightenment. Pre-series. For sangerin.]
Learning
"Why does it matter, anyhow? They're all dead now, aren't they?"
"Giselle, be quiet. I'm studying."
"I know," Giselle said forlornly, following the path of Betty's finger over a page of names and dates. When she mouthed John Locke, Betty looked like she would kiss someone. And Giselle really wished she hadn't had that thought, hadn't thought about Betty throwing down her book and rolling her eyes and crooking a finger and making Giselle crawl over to her on hands and knees and put her head where the textbook was, put her mouth around Betty's sex, get her off.
[Harry Potter. Harry/Ron. Broomstick. Post-OoTP. For lilydandelion.]
Gotten
You got a broomstick for Christmas, you could tell. Harry loved that, loved waking up and seeing it beside his bed and knowing someone had gotten him what he wanted most, even if it did remind him a little of Sirius. Still, a broomstick! "Thanks!" he said, before he even started tearing away the wrapping.
"Sure," said Ron, pushing his way into Harry's bed.
"Ron. You couldn't afford it."
"Couldn't I?" Ron's hand was dangerously close to Harry's morning erection. "Really?"
"Where'd you get...?"
"Doesn't matter. I've got you now, haven't I?" Now his hand was on Harry.
"Guess so."
[Stargate: SG-1. Jack/Sam. Comfortable. For poisontaster.]
Inquiry
"You sure you don't hurt?" Jack wasn't exactly what you'd call solicitous, but he tried, at least occasionally, to make sure Sam was okay. But it was always when she was doing okay, when she was doing so monumentally okay that for once she didn't want to talk about it, except maybe to borrow some phrases from Jack's not-very-well-hidden Playboys and say "harder faster please."
"I'm gasp sure."
"Okay," he said, and went with the unspoken agenda of hard and fast and good and, if Sam had had the mental energy to admit it, painful and perfect, wide open ecstasy.
[Buffy: the Vampire Slayer. Willow/Tara. Spirals. S4. For invisionary.]
Like Headrush Only Stronger
Willow wants to know why. She doesn't want to walk the spiral with Tara and find herself getting further in and further down, deeper and deeper into a place where words don't mean anything and reason doesn't mean anything and you have to rely on your instincts to survive. She walks the spiral clutching Tara's hand, praying in spite of herself, choking on the heavy steam of incense that's stronger than anything she's used herself. It clouds her head and makes it hard to think, makes her cling to Tara's side for protection and draw power from her kisses' strength.
[West Wing. CJ/Simon Donovon. Soft. S3. For malnpudl.]
Untaught Skill
There's friction in her fantasy. He'd be gentle, want to kiss her first and fuck second. She'd want to do it all at once. If he kissed her, she thought, if he kissed her she wouldn't be able to keep her hands away from him, wouldn't keep everything above-the-waist and fair and honest and noble. If they kissed, that would be the end of nobility.
There's friction between her fingers and clit; she thinks of Simon's hands guiding hers, helping her touch herself. She imagines not needing to teach him how to make her come. Her finger slips; she sighs.
[House M.D. House/Cuddy. Hard. S1. For 1827.]
A Few Of Her Favorite Things
They use the cane.
This would disgust his team if they knew, so he kind of hopes they find out. Cuddy doesn't loathe it as much as he hates that it's part of him, as much an organ as, well. You know.
"You think with it; you might as well call it by name."
"I don't see you naming the things you like to do in bed."
"And I don't see you doing them. Can we fix that?"
They can fix most things, most days, except each other. She can't heal his leg. But she lets him use the cane.