I know you're scared the most...
Title: Unglamourous Love Scene
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: P for Porn (NC-17)
Word Count: 725 words or thereabouts.
Notes: Sam/Annie. Pretty much PWP. My first het sex scene. Um. I have no idea where this came from, but I wrote it in the thick of night. That's encouraging, isn't it? ;)
*
Love is not some object you can put in a box and store away for later. It’s more like a living, breathing animal, crawling around a cage. Your rib cage, maybe. Perhaps your head. He’s not sure. Love’s this entity which bends and shifts with time. He wishes he could explain it, but it’s as mysterious as time travel.
See, he thought he loved Maya. No, he knows he loved Maya. With good reason. She was so vital - hopefully is so vital - and she tried to understand him. They had fun. Lots of fun. In the beginning. But that love… well, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but he’s not sure he agrees. For him, it’s more like absence has made the heart freeze colder - at least where Maya’s concerned.
He thought he was done with love, after that. He thought it had decided to go find some other prey to stalk. Apparently not. Apparently he’s managed to fall head over heels. And for a woman who thinks he’s just slightly mad. A woman who may or may not be real. He wishes he had a box. It wouldn’t have to be big. It wouldn’t have to look different from any other.
*
Sam moves arrhythmically, his hands on Annie’s hips. She’s wrapped her legs around him. It’s awkward. They giggle. They fall off the cot. It’s better on the floor, there’s more room. Sam presses his lips to the junction between Annie’s neck and shoulder. Annie attempts to grab onto Sam’s hair. They rock into each other, finding a rhythm, hitching their breaths as their bodies slide and slope.
Annie’s eyelashes flutter as Sam bucks into her, his hands caressing down her sides, his lips lazily trailing over her collarbone, down her chest to one of her nipples. He swirls his tongue around as he continues to surge forward, tilting just a little to the left to gain leverage. He’s always been good at multi-tasking.
Her moans are low, a cadence Sam has never heard before. He can feel that she’s close. He increases pace until the moment comes when every muscle in her body tenses for a moment and she’s momentarily lost to him, off in her own singular experience of 1973. It only takes several more seconds and he’s gone too, in waves and spasms, coming and not caring about anything else in the world.
*
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be touched and have there be emotion attached to it. Annie curls up against him with a protective sense of entitlement that both amuses and baffles him. He can see, quite clearly in her expression, a serenity that’s more than just endorphins.
He’s given up trying to convince her he’s from another time. She either trusts him or she doesn’t. He thinks she probably trusts him, even if she doesn’t admit it out loud. He’s managed to convince himself that what just occurred wasn’t merely wish fulfillment with a side-order of mental wankery. His imagination’s never really been that grand, and if it were all in his mind, he’d probably have omitted the part where Annie got her hair caught in his zip.
He smiles as he gazes at her. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face. When she opens her eyes and looks at him with a lazy contentment, he leans forward and hums softly against her forehead.
“Love you,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper.
“Oh, I know you do,” Annie replies. Sam pulls back and levels her with a stare.
“You do, do you?”
“Yeah. Course. Only true love could withstand that.”
Sam grins. “We got there in the end. We just need more practice.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world. You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Good. Come closer.”
“I’m close as it is.”
“Not close enough.”
*
Love’s not an object. It’s not an animal. It’s its own strange, wonderful, terrifying mass of confusions and paradoxes. And he’s glad for that, really, because it means he still believes in things he could have given up on a long time ago.
He’s even happier that he doesn’t have to store his love away anywhere, that he can be open and honest with Annie and know that she will understand, even if she doesn’t realise it.
Fandom: Life on Mars
Rating: P for Porn (NC-17)
Word Count: 725 words or thereabouts.
Notes: Sam/Annie. Pretty much PWP. My first het sex scene. Um. I have no idea where this came from, but I wrote it in the thick of night. That's encouraging, isn't it? ;)
*
Love is not some object you can put in a box and store away for later. It’s more like a living, breathing animal, crawling around a cage. Your rib cage, maybe. Perhaps your head. He’s not sure. Love’s this entity which bends and shifts with time. He wishes he could explain it, but it’s as mysterious as time travel.
See, he thought he loved Maya. No, he knows he loved Maya. With good reason. She was so vital - hopefully is so vital - and she tried to understand him. They had fun. Lots of fun. In the beginning. But that love… well, they say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but he’s not sure he agrees. For him, it’s more like absence has made the heart freeze colder - at least where Maya’s concerned.
He thought he was done with love, after that. He thought it had decided to go find some other prey to stalk. Apparently not. Apparently he’s managed to fall head over heels. And for a woman who thinks he’s just slightly mad. A woman who may or may not be real. He wishes he had a box. It wouldn’t have to be big. It wouldn’t have to look different from any other.
*
Sam moves arrhythmically, his hands on Annie’s hips. She’s wrapped her legs around him. It’s awkward. They giggle. They fall off the cot. It’s better on the floor, there’s more room. Sam presses his lips to the junction between Annie’s neck and shoulder. Annie attempts to grab onto Sam’s hair. They rock into each other, finding a rhythm, hitching their breaths as their bodies slide and slope.
Annie’s eyelashes flutter as Sam bucks into her, his hands caressing down her sides, his lips lazily trailing over her collarbone, down her chest to one of her nipples. He swirls his tongue around as he continues to surge forward, tilting just a little to the left to gain leverage. He’s always been good at multi-tasking.
Her moans are low, a cadence Sam has never heard before. He can feel that she’s close. He increases pace until the moment comes when every muscle in her body tenses for a moment and she’s momentarily lost to him, off in her own singular experience of 1973. It only takes several more seconds and he’s gone too, in waves and spasms, coming and not caring about anything else in the world.
*
He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be touched and have there be emotion attached to it. Annie curls up against him with a protective sense of entitlement that both amuses and baffles him. He can see, quite clearly in her expression, a serenity that’s more than just endorphins.
He’s given up trying to convince her he’s from another time. She either trusts him or she doesn’t. He thinks she probably trusts him, even if she doesn’t admit it out loud. He’s managed to convince himself that what just occurred wasn’t merely wish fulfillment with a side-order of mental wankery. His imagination’s never really been that grand, and if it were all in his mind, he’d probably have omitted the part where Annie got her hair caught in his zip.
He smiles as he gazes at her. He brushes a strand of hair away from her face. When she opens her eyes and looks at him with a lazy contentment, he leans forward and hums softly against her forehead.
“Love you,” he says, his voice hardly above a whisper.
“Oh, I know you do,” Annie replies. Sam pulls back and levels her with a stare.
“You do, do you?”
“Yeah. Course. Only true love could withstand that.”
Sam grins. “We got there in the end. We just need more practice.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world. You’re not planning on going anywhere, are you?”
“Certainly not.”
“Good. Come closer.”
“I’m close as it is.”
“Not close enough.”
*
Love’s not an object. It’s not an animal. It’s its own strange, wonderful, terrifying mass of confusions and paradoxes. And he’s glad for that, really, because it means he still believes in things he could have given up on a long time ago.
He’s even happier that he doesn’t have to store his love away anywhere, that he can be open and honest with Annie and know that she will understand, even if she doesn’t realise it.