fic post: Sam/Wesley
Title:"The Last One-Night Stand Before He Reached LA"
Fandom: Angel crossed with Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Wesley Wyndam Pryce
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Timeline: Set pre-"Parting Gifts" and somewhere in S3 'Gate
Summary: Wesley and Sam have sex. And it's hot.
Notes: Uh, see the summary? Yeah. I figured if one hot geek on a motorcycle was unbearably hot, two hot motorcycle-riding geeks riding each other would be even hotter. And I was right.
Wordcount: 1600
The Last One Night Stand Before He Reached LA
Wesley didn't know it yet, but he was headed back to California. His legs stretched over the seat of the motorcycle he'd bought with the last of his money, and he traced a wayward path across the country in pursuit of a particularly nasty demon. He told himself romantic tales about the life of the rogue demon hunter, fighting evil and slaying beasts wherever he found them, and he'd worked himself into a state of happy self-pitying melancholy when he saw a headlight in his rearview mirror, signifying another rider. If it was a vampire, he thought, it was going to be in for a rude surprise when it caught up to him, and, content with that thought, he slowed down and pulled into the shoulder of the road.
The other rider pulled up as well, about a mile from where he'd first spotted it, and started to remove its helmet. Wesley reached for the stake he kept in the front pocket of his leather pants, then put it back when the rider removed her helmet, revealing a beautiful blonde halo. Wesley realized that her leather jacket curved around some very shapely breasts.
"Hey there," she said. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"
Wesley longed to tell the beautiful woman in front of him about his life of mystery and lonely battles, but she was a civilian, could never know. "It's classified," he said.
"Authorization six bar delta star one?" she said with a smile. He stuttered in response. "I happen to know a little bit about classified information, myself."
He nodded helplessly, and she smiled at him and, with a wink, she gave him directions to the nearest hotel. He nodded mutely, watched her swing one leather-covered leg over the seat of her bike, wave to him, then ride off. He found his way back to his own machine and followed her at a distance.
They pulled into the hotel's parking lot within minutes of each other, and, walking over to him, she asked, "So, you wanna ride," gesturing at her bike, "or do you want to ride?" Before Wesley could drag his tongue off the ground long enough to respond, she laughed and said, "God, I can't believe I said that."
Her nervousness gave him courage enough to overcome his own, and, reaching for her arm, he said, "Shall we?" They walked into the hotel together and booked a room in her name, which turned out to be Major Carter.
"What branch?" he asked.
"Air Force," she said with a rueful sigh. "My whole life, my dad before me."
"Ah," he said, then, "I suppose I'm also following in my father's footsteps." His words were awkward; he wasn't sure how much he wanted to divulge.
"Doing what?" she asked.
"Er, well, very important things, let me assure you, but it's --"
"Classified," she said, and smiled. "I know what that's like, really I do."
They'd reached their room, and the woman slid the credit card key into the lock, then held the door open for Wesley. The room was like every low-priced hotel room he'd stayed in during the past few months of demon-hunting, except inhabited by a beautiful Air Force Major.
"Say," he said, "shall I call you 'Major' in bed, or have you got a given name?"
"I wouldn't object to being called Major," she said with a laugh, "But if you want to be casual, it's Sam."
"Wesley," he said, realizing his stupidity in not telling her sooner. "I'm Wesley."
"Well, Wesley, come here, and let's see what you're made of."
The awkward small talk was over, and Wesley was glad of it. The reason he'd spent most of his free nights over the past several months in gay bars was to avoid the awkwardness that women involved, but Sam had all the grace of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen without any of the awkward need for conversation. He bent over to kiss her, and found her lips pliable and warm, and her arms snaked around his chest, deepening their embrace.
He spread her lips open with his tongue, and she moved her knee between his legs, forcing them apart. He felt himself grow hard at the insistent touch, and he ground against her knee. She led them both backwards to the bed, which they toppled onto, tongues still intertwined, legs pressing against groins. He struggled to remove her tight leather pants without breaking the kiss, and she helped him, her hands darting from her pants to his groin, still encased in leather.
They rolled over, once, twice, till they were on the other edge of the bed, and, with one fluid motion, Sam removed the last of her lower clothing, broke their kiss with a decisive smack of her lips, and slid Wesley onto the floor, lowering his head till his mouth was against her crotch.
"Glasses off, maybe?" she said, plucking them from his face and leaning back. He took a few tentative licks, and, dissatisfied, she sat up again and moved her fingers till they were gently massaging her own clitoris. "Lick me, please, Wesley," she said, and her please was more demanding than the roughest order would have been. He starting licking in earnest, finding his own erection increasingly difficult to bear the deeper he probed between her lips.
Sam moaned, and groaned, and her fingers seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but finally she dragged Wesley back onto the bed and removed his clothes with far more ease than he'd removed hers. "Would you like to, you know, fuck me?" she said, and for the first time, Wesley got the impression that maybe this wasn't the kind of thing she did very often, either.
"Yes, very much so," he said, surprised by his own moan. She pulled his underpants off and tossed them aside someplace, rolled him onto his back, and lowered herself onto his dick.
He moaned and hadn't any idea how he was able to keep from climaxing for as long as he did. As long as she stayed perfectly still, he could contain himself, but as soon as she started thrusting, ever so gently, he know it would be over soon. Sure enough, he found himself coming inside her, and dammit, dammit, dammit all, he'd forgotten to use protection of any sort at all, and that killed the mood right there. He watched her crawl off of him, circle her clit a few more times with her thumb until she appeared to climax, and then he sat up, searching for his trousers -- no, he hadn't any trousers, only the ridiculous leather pants.
"We forgot --"
"I know."
"I'm on the Pill," said miserably.
"I think I'm clean."
"Me too. I haven't actually had much --"
"I have," he said, equally miserable. "Men, mostly."
"Ah."
"I'm terribly sorry."
"No, it's... I'm sorry. I don't know what I was doing, trying to pick up a stranger."
"It's really not safe," he agreed, and realized, with relief, that she did indeed have a pulse; he'd felt it with his tongue and with his dick, throbbing around him.
Sam sighed. "Since we've got the room, we might as well make use of it. Unless you'd rather go out together, the back of my bike?"
"Will I have to hang onto you?"
She nodded, and smiled wryly.
He closed his eyes and decided that they really might as well make the best of the situation.
Riding, as always, helped clear his head, and it was surprising how little he had to think when he was simply clinging to Sam's leather jacket, his fingers interlocked just below her breasts. The night was cool, the ride was smooth, and the stars seemed to suggest that they were on the cusp of a new epoch. Moreover, the hum of the motorcycle combined with road noises made it far too loud for conversation, so he could be alone with thoughts and with the sensation of the bike humming against him, of leather pressed to leather pressed to torso.
When they swerved back into the hotel parking lot, Wesley found himself feeling better, if still slightly worried that he'd infected this lovely, innocent woman with some dreadful disease. Still, he was usually so careful, this was a one-time thing; surely horrible things couldn't happen to people who were usually careful.
They walked to their hotel room again and stripped, but calmly this time. Wesley didn't think they could possibly be naked comfortably together, but felt oddly at ease when he slipped under the sheets beside Sam. He even felt brave enough to venture a closed-mouth kiss, short and sweet. He felt Sam smile beneath his lips.
"So, Sam, what do you do -- other than classified Air Force work?"
"I'm a physicist," she said. "Theoretical astrophysics."
"Ah. I've got a passing knowledge in physics -- it's not my passion, but I get by."
"It's fascinating," said Sam. "If you're me. I've been told that it's not the most exciting field, but, uh, by such people who are inclined to be biased."
There was a story in there Wesley knew Sam was as reluctant about sharing as he was about detailing life with Father, so he let it pass, listening to the rhythm of her heart instead. It was good that she was breathing. He wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to sleep with a vampire, but he'd heard horrors about demon brothels, and he wasn't ready to try that yet.
He slept with an arm draped over her chest, hand cupping a small, warm breast. When they parted ways in the morning, after a continental breakfast and lots of very hot coffee for her, lukewarm tea for him, they kissed once more, and Wesley felt that with a woman like this, he could learn passion for physics.
He rode away to the West, where the sun would be setting in twelve hours, and he wore a smile so embarrassingly broad he was glad the helmet hid it.
Fandom: Angel crossed with Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Sam Carter/Wesley Wyndam Pryce
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Timeline: Set pre-"Parting Gifts" and somewhere in S3 'Gate
Summary: Wesley and Sam have sex. And it's hot.
Notes: Uh, see the summary? Yeah. I figured if one hot geek on a motorcycle was unbearably hot, two hot motorcycle-riding geeks riding each other would be even hotter. And I was right.
Wordcount: 1600
The Last One Night Stand Before He Reached LA
Wesley didn't know it yet, but he was headed back to California. His legs stretched over the seat of the motorcycle he'd bought with the last of his money, and he traced a wayward path across the country in pursuit of a particularly nasty demon. He told himself romantic tales about the life of the rogue demon hunter, fighting evil and slaying beasts wherever he found them, and he'd worked himself into a state of happy self-pitying melancholy when he saw a headlight in his rearview mirror, signifying another rider. If it was a vampire, he thought, it was going to be in for a rude surprise when it caught up to him, and, content with that thought, he slowed down and pulled into the shoulder of the road.
The other rider pulled up as well, about a mile from where he'd first spotted it, and started to remove its helmet. Wesley reached for the stake he kept in the front pocket of his leather pants, then put it back when the rider removed her helmet, revealing a beautiful blonde halo. Wesley realized that her leather jacket curved around some very shapely breasts.
"Hey there," she said. "What's a guy like you doing in a place like this?"
Wesley longed to tell the beautiful woman in front of him about his life of mystery and lonely battles, but she was a civilian, could never know. "It's classified," he said.
"Authorization six bar delta star one?" she said with a smile. He stuttered in response. "I happen to know a little bit about classified information, myself."
He nodded helplessly, and she smiled at him and, with a wink, she gave him directions to the nearest hotel. He nodded mutely, watched her swing one leather-covered leg over the seat of her bike, wave to him, then ride off. He found his way back to his own machine and followed her at a distance.
They pulled into the hotel's parking lot within minutes of each other, and, walking over to him, she asked, "So, you wanna ride," gesturing at her bike, "or do you want to ride?" Before Wesley could drag his tongue off the ground long enough to respond, she laughed and said, "God, I can't believe I said that."
Her nervousness gave him courage enough to overcome his own, and, reaching for her arm, he said, "Shall we?" They walked into the hotel together and booked a room in her name, which turned out to be Major Carter.
"What branch?" he asked.
"Air Force," she said with a rueful sigh. "My whole life, my dad before me."
"Ah," he said, then, "I suppose I'm also following in my father's footsteps." His words were awkward; he wasn't sure how much he wanted to divulge.
"Doing what?" she asked.
"Er, well, very important things, let me assure you, but it's --"
"Classified," she said, and smiled. "I know what that's like, really I do."
They'd reached their room, and the woman slid the credit card key into the lock, then held the door open for Wesley. The room was like every low-priced hotel room he'd stayed in during the past few months of demon-hunting, except inhabited by a beautiful Air Force Major.
"Say," he said, "shall I call you 'Major' in bed, or have you got a given name?"
"I wouldn't object to being called Major," she said with a laugh, "But if you want to be casual, it's Sam."
"Wesley," he said, realizing his stupidity in not telling her sooner. "I'm Wesley."
"Well, Wesley, come here, and let's see what you're made of."
The awkward small talk was over, and Wesley was glad of it. The reason he'd spent most of his free nights over the past several months in gay bars was to avoid the awkwardness that women involved, but Sam had all the grace of the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen without any of the awkward need for conversation. He bent over to kiss her, and found her lips pliable and warm, and her arms snaked around his chest, deepening their embrace.
He spread her lips open with his tongue, and she moved her knee between his legs, forcing them apart. He felt himself grow hard at the insistent touch, and he ground against her knee. She led them both backwards to the bed, which they toppled onto, tongues still intertwined, legs pressing against groins. He struggled to remove her tight leather pants without breaking the kiss, and she helped him, her hands darting from her pants to his groin, still encased in leather.
They rolled over, once, twice, till they were on the other edge of the bed, and, with one fluid motion, Sam removed the last of her lower clothing, broke their kiss with a decisive smack of her lips, and slid Wesley onto the floor, lowering his head till his mouth was against her crotch.
"Glasses off, maybe?" she said, plucking them from his face and leaning back. He took a few tentative licks, and, dissatisfied, she sat up again and moved her fingers till they were gently massaging her own clitoris. "Lick me, please, Wesley," she said, and her please was more demanding than the roughest order would have been. He starting licking in earnest, finding his own erection increasingly difficult to bear the deeper he probed between her lips.
Sam moaned, and groaned, and her fingers seemed to know exactly what they were doing, but finally she dragged Wesley back onto the bed and removed his clothes with far more ease than he'd removed hers. "Would you like to, you know, fuck me?" she said, and for the first time, Wesley got the impression that maybe this wasn't the kind of thing she did very often, either.
"Yes, very much so," he said, surprised by his own moan. She pulled his underpants off and tossed them aside someplace, rolled him onto his back, and lowered herself onto his dick.
He moaned and hadn't any idea how he was able to keep from climaxing for as long as he did. As long as she stayed perfectly still, he could contain himself, but as soon as she started thrusting, ever so gently, he know it would be over soon. Sure enough, he found himself coming inside her, and dammit, dammit, dammit all, he'd forgotten to use protection of any sort at all, and that killed the mood right there. He watched her crawl off of him, circle her clit a few more times with her thumb until she appeared to climax, and then he sat up, searching for his trousers -- no, he hadn't any trousers, only the ridiculous leather pants.
"We forgot --"
"I know."
"I'm on the Pill," said miserably.
"I think I'm clean."
"Me too. I haven't actually had much --"
"I have," he said, equally miserable. "Men, mostly."
"Ah."
"I'm terribly sorry."
"No, it's... I'm sorry. I don't know what I was doing, trying to pick up a stranger."
"It's really not safe," he agreed, and realized, with relief, that she did indeed have a pulse; he'd felt it with his tongue and with his dick, throbbing around him.
Sam sighed. "Since we've got the room, we might as well make use of it. Unless you'd rather go out together, the back of my bike?"
"Will I have to hang onto you?"
She nodded, and smiled wryly.
He closed his eyes and decided that they really might as well make the best of the situation.
Riding, as always, helped clear his head, and it was surprising how little he had to think when he was simply clinging to Sam's leather jacket, his fingers interlocked just below her breasts. The night was cool, the ride was smooth, and the stars seemed to suggest that they were on the cusp of a new epoch. Moreover, the hum of the motorcycle combined with road noises made it far too loud for conversation, so he could be alone with thoughts and with the sensation of the bike humming against him, of leather pressed to leather pressed to torso.
When they swerved back into the hotel parking lot, Wesley found himself feeling better, if still slightly worried that he'd infected this lovely, innocent woman with some dreadful disease. Still, he was usually so careful, this was a one-time thing; surely horrible things couldn't happen to people who were usually careful.
They walked to their hotel room again and stripped, but calmly this time. Wesley didn't think they could possibly be naked comfortably together, but felt oddly at ease when he slipped under the sheets beside Sam. He even felt brave enough to venture a closed-mouth kiss, short and sweet. He felt Sam smile beneath his lips.
"So, Sam, what do you do -- other than classified Air Force work?"
"I'm a physicist," she said. "Theoretical astrophysics."
"Ah. I've got a passing knowledge in physics -- it's not my passion, but I get by."
"It's fascinating," said Sam. "If you're me. I've been told that it's not the most exciting field, but, uh, by such people who are inclined to be biased."
There was a story in there Wesley knew Sam was as reluctant about sharing as he was about detailing life with Father, so he let it pass, listening to the rhythm of her heart instead. It was good that she was breathing. He wondered, vaguely, what it would be like to sleep with a vampire, but he'd heard horrors about demon brothels, and he wasn't ready to try that yet.
He slept with an arm draped over her chest, hand cupping a small, warm breast. When they parted ways in the morning, after a continental breakfast and lots of very hot coffee for her, lukewarm tea for him, they kissed once more, and Wesley felt that with a woman like this, he could learn passion for physics.
He rode away to the West, where the sun would be setting in twelve hours, and he wore a smile so embarrassingly broad he was glad the helmet hid it.