Ficathon 2007 Entry: Knowing is not as good as Loving
Title: Knowing is not as good as Loving
Author: petametermaid
Rating: Brown Cortina
Notes: Sam/Annie het. This is written for chelseagirl47 for Life on Mars Ficathon 2007. Thanks once again to the wonderful Linda for beta-reading.
Word Count: 1035 words.
Summary: He winds his arms around her and it’s painful, but she welcomes the pain, relishes it, because at least it’s something other than numb.
Sam always stares at her with haunted eyes now, the ghost of fear and anxiety on his face. He’s said he’s sorry more than once. She doesn’t know what he has to be sorry for. It wasn’t his fault. She’s told him. She’s talked patiently, voice hushed, eyes wide and earnest and forced him into realising that he’s not to blame. She’s not as good at forcing as the others around them because he still stares at her, in that way. And he doesn’t know that it makes her feel worse, more inadequate, less complete - how could he? But it does.
He winds his arms around her and it’s painful, but she welcomes the pain, relishes it, because at least it’s something other than numb. He holds her like he’s holding onto his last shred of sanity, gripping tight and cocooning fiercely. She holds him back, she’s not limp in his arms, she grips like he grips and buries her head between his neck and shoulder. There are no tears. There were never any tears. She thinks that might be why he apologises so often.
It’s been six weeks, four days. They talk to each other; Sam insists on that, saying that he’s made the mistake too many times to fall into the trap. It always seems like they’re saying the same words, but with different meanings. Speaking in homonyms. Annie talks about emptiness and it’s so obvious Sam’s mind skips to the literal definition. Sam talks about responsibility and she doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend why he would think that.
She pulls away and gazes at him, seeing familiar fleeting awkwardness and a manifestation of - God, she hopes it isn’t pity - and steels herself with resolve.
She grazes her hand against his thigh, over denim that is coarse, but comforting. Sam’s expression changes to more than mere confusion - finally changes, for the first time since the words were spoken. It’s the right time and the right place, Annie knows it is.
And it’s not about reclaiming something that was stolen. It’s not about filling an empty casing. It’s about needing to feel more than pain and anesthetic. About needing to see something else in his eyes. She thinks she can wear it all away, with the ebb and flow of movement, ease at sand-roughened skin and life-roughened heart.
She puts her hand at the back of his neck and rubs, gently, drawing her mouth close to his and speaking soft words before pressing at the corner of his lips. It’s the kind of touch they’ve avoided. Oh, there’s been constant touching, but nothing with fire, nothing that sparks. The kiss builds up, wet and warm, tongues and teeth; it’s not delicate, like it has been, not tender, it’s almost vicious.
She slides her hand up under his shirt, bringing her fingertips into contact with a chest that’s rising and falling. She helps him remove it, button by button. He starts to pull away again, she lets him at first, watching concern and puzzlement, but urges him back into movement with a quick shake of her head. This is not the time for his persistent need for analysis. She pulls at his belt as he removes her blouse and bra, is gratified that he is still human, beneath all of that apprehension, as her hand comes to cup him. He’s hard and moves into her touch, hands drifting up and down her back, kissing her lips, her neck, her breasts, tongue swirling around her nipples.
She remembers what it used to be like, holding on and not letting go, going slightly mad as he brought her to an edge she wasn’t even aware of. How she’d never thought it could be like this, let alone like this so frequently. But she doesn’t remember for long, because Sam teases her into the present as he removes the final barrier of clothes between them.
The heat in her is intense, more than she thought it could be. Sam’s regained his ability to focus on more than one thing, because his lips are travelling over her body as his hand is between her thighs, and the sensation is intoxicating. Sam’s rubbing circles against her clit, muttering incoherently about missing and needing and knowing, but loving, and Annie’s grasping hold of his too-short hair and feeling. She’s wet and hot and needs him, now, needs him there, so she yanks his head up, not caring about the pain it must cause. She stares into his eyes and doesn’t have to say a word.
Sam steadies himself between her legs, resting all of his weight on wiry arms. His eyes never leave Annie’s. He enters her and fills her, flexing forward. And it’s not tentative, or careful, it’s passionate and forceful and right, exactly what Annie’s been craving all this time, to have Sam give her pain and pleasure. Sam pulls back and surges forward, sweat on his brow. And he’s still gazing into her eyes as he moves; as she rocks up to meet his thrusts, fast and hard and in sync. He pushes and she pulls, he pulls and she pushes, they dwell in movement and nothing else.
His breathing becomes erratic, his thrusts become erratic, but Annie soon takes no notice, because he changes angle and she loses herself, loses everything but them. She’s tipped into a consciousness that is made up of everything that has gone between them. The uncertainty, the confusion, the insanity and perfection. She lets go of it all. She knows she shouts something, but she doesn’t know what it is, and soon Sam joins her in the noise and fury, tensing up, stilling within her, and collapsing on top of her with weakened arms.
He rolls off and encloses her in his arms again, slick and warm, hair damp-curled and clinging to his forehead. He’s smiling, properly smiling, relaxed and sated, and she commends herself once more for having the strength to surrender control, to drive Sam into surrendering control.
This isn’t what they had, before. But it’s good. Sam loves her and she loves Sam and they will get through it, together. Solve it, together. And this is when Annie cries.
Author: petametermaid
Rating: Brown Cortina
Notes: Sam/Annie het. This is written for chelseagirl47 for Life on Mars Ficathon 2007. Thanks once again to the wonderful Linda for beta-reading.
Word Count: 1035 words.
Summary: He winds his arms around her and it’s painful, but she welcomes the pain, relishes it, because at least it’s something other than numb.
Sam always stares at her with haunted eyes now, the ghost of fear and anxiety on his face. He’s said he’s sorry more than once. She doesn’t know what he has to be sorry for. It wasn’t his fault. She’s told him. She’s talked patiently, voice hushed, eyes wide and earnest and forced him into realising that he’s not to blame. She’s not as good at forcing as the others around them because he still stares at her, in that way. And he doesn’t know that it makes her feel worse, more inadequate, less complete - how could he? But it does.
He winds his arms around her and it’s painful, but she welcomes the pain, relishes it, because at least it’s something other than numb. He holds her like he’s holding onto his last shred of sanity, gripping tight and cocooning fiercely. She holds him back, she’s not limp in his arms, she grips like he grips and buries her head between his neck and shoulder. There are no tears. There were never any tears. She thinks that might be why he apologises so often.
It’s been six weeks, four days. They talk to each other; Sam insists on that, saying that he’s made the mistake too many times to fall into the trap. It always seems like they’re saying the same words, but with different meanings. Speaking in homonyms. Annie talks about emptiness and it’s so obvious Sam’s mind skips to the literal definition. Sam talks about responsibility and she doesn’t understand, can’t comprehend why he would think that.
She pulls away and gazes at him, seeing familiar fleeting awkwardness and a manifestation of - God, she hopes it isn’t pity - and steels herself with resolve.
She grazes her hand against his thigh, over denim that is coarse, but comforting. Sam’s expression changes to more than mere confusion - finally changes, for the first time since the words were spoken. It’s the right time and the right place, Annie knows it is.
And it’s not about reclaiming something that was stolen. It’s not about filling an empty casing. It’s about needing to feel more than pain and anesthetic. About needing to see something else in his eyes. She thinks she can wear it all away, with the ebb and flow of movement, ease at sand-roughened skin and life-roughened heart.
She puts her hand at the back of his neck and rubs, gently, drawing her mouth close to his and speaking soft words before pressing at the corner of his lips. It’s the kind of touch they’ve avoided. Oh, there’s been constant touching, but nothing with fire, nothing that sparks. The kiss builds up, wet and warm, tongues and teeth; it’s not delicate, like it has been, not tender, it’s almost vicious.
She slides her hand up under his shirt, bringing her fingertips into contact with a chest that’s rising and falling. She helps him remove it, button by button. He starts to pull away again, she lets him at first, watching concern and puzzlement, but urges him back into movement with a quick shake of her head. This is not the time for his persistent need for analysis. She pulls at his belt as he removes her blouse and bra, is gratified that he is still human, beneath all of that apprehension, as her hand comes to cup him. He’s hard and moves into her touch, hands drifting up and down her back, kissing her lips, her neck, her breasts, tongue swirling around her nipples.
She remembers what it used to be like, holding on and not letting go, going slightly mad as he brought her to an edge she wasn’t even aware of. How she’d never thought it could be like this, let alone like this so frequently. But she doesn’t remember for long, because Sam teases her into the present as he removes the final barrier of clothes between them.
The heat in her is intense, more than she thought it could be. Sam’s regained his ability to focus on more than one thing, because his lips are travelling over her body as his hand is between her thighs, and the sensation is intoxicating. Sam’s rubbing circles against her clit, muttering incoherently about missing and needing and knowing, but loving, and Annie’s grasping hold of his too-short hair and feeling. She’s wet and hot and needs him, now, needs him there, so she yanks his head up, not caring about the pain it must cause. She stares into his eyes and doesn’t have to say a word.
Sam steadies himself between her legs, resting all of his weight on wiry arms. His eyes never leave Annie’s. He enters her and fills her, flexing forward. And it’s not tentative, or careful, it’s passionate and forceful and right, exactly what Annie’s been craving all this time, to have Sam give her pain and pleasure. Sam pulls back and surges forward, sweat on his brow. And he’s still gazing into her eyes as he moves; as she rocks up to meet his thrusts, fast and hard and in sync. He pushes and she pulls, he pulls and she pushes, they dwell in movement and nothing else.
His breathing becomes erratic, his thrusts become erratic, but Annie soon takes no notice, because he changes angle and she loses herself, loses everything but them. She’s tipped into a consciousness that is made up of everything that has gone between them. The uncertainty, the confusion, the insanity and perfection. She lets go of it all. She knows she shouts something, but she doesn’t know what it is, and soon Sam joins her in the noise and fury, tensing up, stilling within her, and collapsing on top of her with weakened arms.
He rolls off and encloses her in his arms again, slick and warm, hair damp-curled and clinging to his forehead. He’s smiling, properly smiling, relaxed and sated, and she commends herself once more for having the strength to surrender control, to drive Sam into surrendering control.
This isn’t what they had, before. But it’s good. Sam loves her and she loves Sam and they will get through it, together. Solve it, together. And this is when Annie cries.