ficpost: "Made To Be Broken" Sam/Daniel [backdated]
Title: "Made To Be Broken"
Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Daniel
Spoilers: Through "Forever in a Day"
Notes: Written for seimaisin in the (first, original!) SG-1 flashfic (since deleted). Her request was Sam/Daniel, first-time romance. Thanks to gvambat for the beta. [Backdate is approximate!]
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Daniel makes Sam break all the rules.
Made To Be Broken
One: Thou Shalt Not Stay Up All Night
Scientist. Soldier. When Sam was with Colonel O'Neill, she felt very much like a scientist, precise, logical, rational, exact, every word she said carefully calculated for him. But with Daniel, she felt that those same qualities were as unscientific as possible. Daniel's approach to science was wide-eyed and brilliant, translating whole sections of text in sudden flashes of inspiration. Daniel spoke a language that no one else understood, besides the twenty-three that he boasted fluency in, and Sam felt a sort of vicarious pride when she managed to interpret for him, when the part of her brain that hadn't been molded by the Air Force managed to sneak out for a quick romp in the laboratory.
She'd hated that part of herself when she'd been in high school. She'd hated a lot of things in high school--the stupidity of her classmates, the profanity of the boys her were her ostensible friends, the bitter unfairness of the universe that rendered the former concerns insignificant when her mother died--but mostly she'd hated herself for thinking too much, for knowing all the answers and never how she'd come up with them. So she'd learned.
She'd learned the rules for proving theorems, she'd learned Euclid and Newton and Air Force Regulations (and they were all the same). Sam led a healthy lifestyle, ate the right foods, didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't stay up all night solving differential equations.
Until there was Daniel. Daniel had never met a rulebook that he hadn't left coffee stains on; Daniel had never met a deadline that couldn't be pushed back at least a few hours. Daniel was a paradox of grief and enthusiasm, of leaps of intuition and careful, methodical translation. Daniel knew everything and what he didn't know, he asked Sam, and what the two of them couldn't figure out together was officially unsolvable.
So when she was ready to call it a night, because it would have been the right thing to do, Daniel was just warming up. He bought a coffeemaker for Sam's lab because sometimes going downstairs to his office was too much effort, and he insisted that she stay. So, impulsively, Sam stayed, and night after night, she didn't get enough sleep, and Daniel's grins when they figured something out at three in the morning made it worth it.
Two: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's husband.
Nice girls didn't, and Sam had to be a nice girl. She didn't even consider that she didn't want to be nice all the time, that there were times when she wanted to screw morals and propriety and just go get fucked, but when you're an Air Force officer, you don't always--okay, you don't ever--have a choice. So Sam didn't. And by the time Daniel crossed her path, she didn't even have to ask herself. She knew she didn't want him, not like that, because she couldn't, because he was Sha're's.
So if she was extra-careful always to think of him in those terms, if she went out of her way to ask him about his wife, perhaps she was just establishing the boundaries for herself, making sure that the beast, who lurked just below the façade of kept rules, was thoroughly subdued and made to understand that Sam would never sleep with a married man, no matter how attractive, no matter how-Sam had only seen Sha're very briefly, but she had embedded the image in her mind. Daniel's wife. Sha're had Daniel's soul, and Sam could only possibly, ever, hope for his libido.
She hated herself when she thought that. She hated herself when Hathor gave Daniel a haircut and she decided she liked his hair better like this. It was as if she'd thought of Mark like that. There were some boundaries Sam just wouldn't cross.
But those were moments, and the truth was, mostly Sam didn't hate herself, and she knew that Daniel didn't hate her, not when he rested gentle, comforting hands on her shoulders or when he brought her coffee, or when he offered her a bite of chocolate as nonchalantly as if they'd grown up sharing food. Colonel O'Neill loved to make her blush when they were off-duty; Daniel never did. The Colonel was unattached; Daniel wasn't. That was what made all the difference. Sam never analyzed this, never thought about it, until Sha're died.
She hated herself when Sha're died. She hated the part of her whose first thought was "Finally."
At the funeral, she didn't touch Daniel. It was painful not to; he looked so broken, ready for tears but not crying, because he was Daniel, after all, and Daniel didn't cry. She turned the corners of her mouth upwards and looked at him sadly, and he looked right through her. And then she knew what it meant when the Hebrews said that God's law was engraved on their hearts.
Daniel belonged to Sha're.
Three: Thou Shalt Not Tell A Lie
Daniel rarely volunteered information, so Sam was surprised when he came into her lab one day, leaned against the wall, and said, "I have a confession to make." Sam didn't have anything to work on that night, and she longed desperately for the phone to ring, for an excuse not to have this conversation. She had a pretty fair idea of what was coming. But she nodded for Daniel to continue.
"I'm not very good at this," he said, and Sam held her breath and counted to ten. Right on cue, "I don't think I can be on SG-1 anymore."
Should she put him out of his misery? Part of her wanted to, but there was that part of her, so carefully hidden away, that Daniel had brought out in her, the part that broke rules, Sam's inner bitch queen who delighted in breaking hearts. Somehow, Daniel brought out all that was cruel in her as well as all that was good, as if every emotion she'd suppressed since adolescence hadn't been eradicated, merely locked away, and Daniel had found the key. "Why?" she asked, not nastily.
"Because I have-feelings-that aren't-appropriate."
Sam wanted to kiss him. The cold, writhing demon inside her wanted to reach across the table and pull Daniel to her, but that thought brought an image of Sha're unbidden to the foreground of her mind, Sha're claiming Daniel in front of the whole tribe, marking him as hers, and Sam, who hadn't known but who would have loved Sha're, was jealous enough to say, "What sort of feelings?"
She thought that would cow him, but he continued bravely on, saying, "Romantic feelings," and even then she could have simply given up, but that was even more frightening, so she said, dangerously pleasant, "For who? Is it Colonel O'Neill? God, how embarrassing."
But she'd overstepped this time; no one could be that naïve, and Daniel was laughing at her. "You knew, didn't you?"
So easy to say no. So, so easy, and she'd been training for this moment all her life, for the moment when she could throw away every chance at happiness with one carefully placed jab. So easy to demolish the man who was baring his heart to her.
But she didn't. She turned away, a little shyly, and said, "I've known for awhile. It's okay. It's really okay."
Neither of them said anything for awhile after that, and Sam wondered what was going on in Daniel's head. She couldn't think, was mentally factoring polynomials to get the taste of honesty out of her mouth.
Finally the silence was too long and Sam couldn't think of anything to say except, "It's getting late," so she said that and then, "Let's go home."
She hadn't intended it to be a proposition, really, but Daniel's shocked--but not unhappy--look informed her of her blunder, and she tried to blush, but she felt like being shameless tonight.
"Okay," said Daniel, and that was that.
Four: Thou Shalt Not Lose Control
As soon as they got through Sam's front door, she ran out of ideas. She'd never gotten this far in her plans, never gotten further, in fact, than saying, "No." Most of her contingency plans also involved the liberal application of the word no. What if Colonel O'Neill asked her to sleep with him? She'd say no. What if he offered to retire again for her? She'd say no. What if Daniel asked her? She'd say no. And if she accidentally said yes? Then she'd say no as soon as she came to her senses, dammit, because she wasn't going to jeopardize their friendship for something as silly as sleeping together.
Daniel had other ideas. Daniel pushed his glasses up, and suddenly glasses were the sexiest accessory in the world, and he locked the door behind him and suddenly she was very aware of the three inches that separated the top of her head from the top of his. This was not the Daniel of late laboratory nights, the coffee-drinking, easy-going man she had learned to call friend.
This was Daniel in General Hammond's office, uninvited and unwelcome, voice rising in anger as he said, "Why isn't finding my wife a priority? I've done more for this program than anyone else here, and I think it's about damn time I got something in return." Sam shook away that memory, and tried to imagine hugging Daniel after a frightening mission, glad that he was alive.
Daniel's embrace was very warm, and firm, and Sam was wrapped in a pair of arms that were too strong. She struggled to get free, to find the space to breathe, and instantly she was released. "Are you okay?" asked Daniel, worry creasing his face, all hints of desire gone.
Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "Bedroom?"
"Have you done this before?" Daniel asked, suddenly awkward again.
"Had sex with a member of my team? Actually, no, I haven't."
"I mean--oh. You're not a…?"
"Daniel. I'm coming up on the wrong side of forty. I've had sex before."
"Right. I could have figured that out."
"Clever, aren't you?" Sam was forgetting something intensely important, but she didn't know what it was until Daniel was sitting on her bed, shirt off, testing the bounciness. The bed was rather bouncy, and good for lovemaking. Which, no, she didn't know from experience. Yet.
Daniel kicked his shoes off and slid closer to where Sam was sitting, till she could actually smell his coffee-flavored breath as it touched her skin. She leaned away from him instinctively, and he pulled her closer to him.
He had her shirt off before the first kiss.
The kiss itself was deep and wet, Sam leaning into Daniel's mouth, both of them struggling for the upper hand. Sam was winning when Daniel's hand, the hand that wasn't playing with her right breast, suddenly slipped down the back of Sam's carefully pressed white slacks.
And then she was flat on her back. She didn't know how it had happened, and she didn't like that it had happened, and she considered suspiciously that Daniel had learned some of those moves from wrestling with Teal'c, but she was lying on her back and Daniel was carefully, tenderly, playing with her. She stopped breathing, terrified, excited, and Daniel looked at her, again questioned her. "You okay?"
She nodded, and then he was kissing her, and she found that she didn't want him to stop, and then he wasn't kissing her, and then he was driving every thought of the Air Force out of her head, fuck the Air Force, fuck astrophysics, oh God, Daniel, please fuck me. She was desperate, so turned on that it hurt, and she thought she would never be full. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed in form, from compassion into love, and love into desire, and desire into a whirlwind of sensations, sparking along her chest as Daniel's fingers skittered over her ribs, smearing her arousal over her skin, tracing glyphs onto her breasts. She was too needy for it to really feel good, and if she'd stopped to think, she'd have realized she was terrified, but she could only think about the empty aching place between her legs. Daniel had found a condom somewhere, and he'd rolled onto his now-hard dick. Sam sighed, twisted, hated herself for wanting him so badly, hated herself for clenching the walls of her vagina around him the minute he touched her, hated him for doing this.
She loved him so much it hurt.
When he came, he rolled over softly, fingers still lingering, taunting, flitting over her clit, once, twice, and then she came. She sighed. Not a wild, thrashing orgasm, just a shudder, finally, of release. "Thank you," she whispered, then buried herself in the blankets, her back to Daniel, her brain refusing to shut down.
When she reached backwards, she could feel the solid mass that was Daniel, unfamiliar in her double bed. Tomorrow would come the negotiation of boundaries; tomorrow there would be pain. But at the moment, Daniel was in her bed, his kisses still warm in her mouth, and she was in love, and the klaxons at the SGC were quiet, and the rulebooks were gathering dust under the bed.
Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Daniel
Spoilers: Through "Forever in a Day"
Notes: Written for seimaisin in the (first, original!) SG-1 flashfic (since deleted). Her request was Sam/Daniel, first-time romance. Thanks to gvambat for the beta. [Backdate is approximate!]
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Daniel makes Sam break all the rules.
Made To Be Broken
One: Thou Shalt Not Stay Up All Night
Scientist. Soldier. When Sam was with Colonel O'Neill, she felt very much like a scientist, precise, logical, rational, exact, every word she said carefully calculated for him. But with Daniel, she felt that those same qualities were as unscientific as possible. Daniel's approach to science was wide-eyed and brilliant, translating whole sections of text in sudden flashes of inspiration. Daniel spoke a language that no one else understood, besides the twenty-three that he boasted fluency in, and Sam felt a sort of vicarious pride when she managed to interpret for him, when the part of her brain that hadn't been molded by the Air Force managed to sneak out for a quick romp in the laboratory.
She'd hated that part of herself when she'd been in high school. She'd hated a lot of things in high school--the stupidity of her classmates, the profanity of the boys her were her ostensible friends, the bitter unfairness of the universe that rendered the former concerns insignificant when her mother died--but mostly she'd hated herself for thinking too much, for knowing all the answers and never how she'd come up with them. So she'd learned.
She'd learned the rules for proving theorems, she'd learned Euclid and Newton and Air Force Regulations (and they were all the same). Sam led a healthy lifestyle, ate the right foods, didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't stay up all night solving differential equations.
Until there was Daniel. Daniel had never met a rulebook that he hadn't left coffee stains on; Daniel had never met a deadline that couldn't be pushed back at least a few hours. Daniel was a paradox of grief and enthusiasm, of leaps of intuition and careful, methodical translation. Daniel knew everything and what he didn't know, he asked Sam, and what the two of them couldn't figure out together was officially unsolvable.
So when she was ready to call it a night, because it would have been the right thing to do, Daniel was just warming up. He bought a coffeemaker for Sam's lab because sometimes going downstairs to his office was too much effort, and he insisted that she stay. So, impulsively, Sam stayed, and night after night, she didn't get enough sleep, and Daniel's grins when they figured something out at three in the morning made it worth it.
Two: Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor's husband.
Nice girls didn't, and Sam had to be a nice girl. She didn't even consider that she didn't want to be nice all the time, that there were times when she wanted to screw morals and propriety and just go get fucked, but when you're an Air Force officer, you don't always--okay, you don't ever--have a choice. So Sam didn't. And by the time Daniel crossed her path, she didn't even have to ask herself. She knew she didn't want him, not like that, because she couldn't, because he was Sha're's.
So if she was extra-careful always to think of him in those terms, if she went out of her way to ask him about his wife, perhaps she was just establishing the boundaries for herself, making sure that the beast, who lurked just below the façade of kept rules, was thoroughly subdued and made to understand that Sam would never sleep with a married man, no matter how attractive, no matter how-Sam had only seen Sha're very briefly, but she had embedded the image in her mind. Daniel's wife. Sha're had Daniel's soul, and Sam could only possibly, ever, hope for his libido.
She hated herself when she thought that. She hated herself when Hathor gave Daniel a haircut and she decided she liked his hair better like this. It was as if she'd thought of Mark like that. There were some boundaries Sam just wouldn't cross.
But those were moments, and the truth was, mostly Sam didn't hate herself, and she knew that Daniel didn't hate her, not when he rested gentle, comforting hands on her shoulders or when he brought her coffee, or when he offered her a bite of chocolate as nonchalantly as if they'd grown up sharing food. Colonel O'Neill loved to make her blush when they were off-duty; Daniel never did. The Colonel was unattached; Daniel wasn't. That was what made all the difference. Sam never analyzed this, never thought about it, until Sha're died.
She hated herself when Sha're died. She hated the part of her whose first thought was "Finally."
At the funeral, she didn't touch Daniel. It was painful not to; he looked so broken, ready for tears but not crying, because he was Daniel, after all, and Daniel didn't cry. She turned the corners of her mouth upwards and looked at him sadly, and he looked right through her. And then she knew what it meant when the Hebrews said that God's law was engraved on their hearts.
Daniel belonged to Sha're.
Three: Thou Shalt Not Tell A Lie
Daniel rarely volunteered information, so Sam was surprised when he came into her lab one day, leaned against the wall, and said, "I have a confession to make." Sam didn't have anything to work on that night, and she longed desperately for the phone to ring, for an excuse not to have this conversation. She had a pretty fair idea of what was coming. But she nodded for Daniel to continue.
"I'm not very good at this," he said, and Sam held her breath and counted to ten. Right on cue, "I don't think I can be on SG-1 anymore."
Should she put him out of his misery? Part of her wanted to, but there was that part of her, so carefully hidden away, that Daniel had brought out in her, the part that broke rules, Sam's inner bitch queen who delighted in breaking hearts. Somehow, Daniel brought out all that was cruel in her as well as all that was good, as if every emotion she'd suppressed since adolescence hadn't been eradicated, merely locked away, and Daniel had found the key. "Why?" she asked, not nastily.
"Because I have-feelings-that aren't-appropriate."
Sam wanted to kiss him. The cold, writhing demon inside her wanted to reach across the table and pull Daniel to her, but that thought brought an image of Sha're unbidden to the foreground of her mind, Sha're claiming Daniel in front of the whole tribe, marking him as hers, and Sam, who hadn't known but who would have loved Sha're, was jealous enough to say, "What sort of feelings?"
She thought that would cow him, but he continued bravely on, saying, "Romantic feelings," and even then she could have simply given up, but that was even more frightening, so she said, dangerously pleasant, "For who? Is it Colonel O'Neill? God, how embarrassing."
But she'd overstepped this time; no one could be that naïve, and Daniel was laughing at her. "You knew, didn't you?"
So easy to say no. So, so easy, and she'd been training for this moment all her life, for the moment when she could throw away every chance at happiness with one carefully placed jab. So easy to demolish the man who was baring his heart to her.
But she didn't. She turned away, a little shyly, and said, "I've known for awhile. It's okay. It's really okay."
Neither of them said anything for awhile after that, and Sam wondered what was going on in Daniel's head. She couldn't think, was mentally factoring polynomials to get the taste of honesty out of her mouth.
Finally the silence was too long and Sam couldn't think of anything to say except, "It's getting late," so she said that and then, "Let's go home."
She hadn't intended it to be a proposition, really, but Daniel's shocked--but not unhappy--look informed her of her blunder, and she tried to blush, but she felt like being shameless tonight.
"Okay," said Daniel, and that was that.
Four: Thou Shalt Not Lose Control
As soon as they got through Sam's front door, she ran out of ideas. She'd never gotten this far in her plans, never gotten further, in fact, than saying, "No." Most of her contingency plans also involved the liberal application of the word no. What if Colonel O'Neill asked her to sleep with him? She'd say no. What if he offered to retire again for her? She'd say no. What if Daniel asked her? She'd say no. And if she accidentally said yes? Then she'd say no as soon as she came to her senses, dammit, because she wasn't going to jeopardize their friendship for something as silly as sleeping together.
Daniel had other ideas. Daniel pushed his glasses up, and suddenly glasses were the sexiest accessory in the world, and he locked the door behind him and suddenly she was very aware of the three inches that separated the top of her head from the top of his. This was not the Daniel of late laboratory nights, the coffee-drinking, easy-going man she had learned to call friend.
This was Daniel in General Hammond's office, uninvited and unwelcome, voice rising in anger as he said, "Why isn't finding my wife a priority? I've done more for this program than anyone else here, and I think it's about damn time I got something in return." Sam shook away that memory, and tried to imagine hugging Daniel after a frightening mission, glad that he was alive.
Daniel's embrace was very warm, and firm, and Sam was wrapped in a pair of arms that were too strong. She struggled to get free, to find the space to breathe, and instantly she was released. "Are you okay?" asked Daniel, worry creasing his face, all hints of desire gone.
Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "Bedroom?"
"Have you done this before?" Daniel asked, suddenly awkward again.
"Had sex with a member of my team? Actually, no, I haven't."
"I mean--oh. You're not a…?"
"Daniel. I'm coming up on the wrong side of forty. I've had sex before."
"Right. I could have figured that out."
"Clever, aren't you?" Sam was forgetting something intensely important, but she didn't know what it was until Daniel was sitting on her bed, shirt off, testing the bounciness. The bed was rather bouncy, and good for lovemaking. Which, no, she didn't know from experience. Yet.
Daniel kicked his shoes off and slid closer to where Sam was sitting, till she could actually smell his coffee-flavored breath as it touched her skin. She leaned away from him instinctively, and he pulled her closer to him.
He had her shirt off before the first kiss.
The kiss itself was deep and wet, Sam leaning into Daniel's mouth, both of them struggling for the upper hand. Sam was winning when Daniel's hand, the hand that wasn't playing with her right breast, suddenly slipped down the back of Sam's carefully pressed white slacks.
And then she was flat on her back. She didn't know how it had happened, and she didn't like that it had happened, and she considered suspiciously that Daniel had learned some of those moves from wrestling with Teal'c, but she was lying on her back and Daniel was carefully, tenderly, playing with her. She stopped breathing, terrified, excited, and Daniel looked at her, again questioned her. "You okay?"
She nodded, and then he was kissing her, and she found that she didn't want him to stop, and then he wasn't kissing her, and then he was driving every thought of the Air Force out of her head, fuck the Air Force, fuck astrophysics, oh God, Daniel, please fuck me. She was desperate, so turned on that it hurt, and she thought she would never be full. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed, only changed in form, from compassion into love, and love into desire, and desire into a whirlwind of sensations, sparking along her chest as Daniel's fingers skittered over her ribs, smearing her arousal over her skin, tracing glyphs onto her breasts. She was too needy for it to really feel good, and if she'd stopped to think, she'd have realized she was terrified, but she could only think about the empty aching place between her legs. Daniel had found a condom somewhere, and he'd rolled onto his now-hard dick. Sam sighed, twisted, hated herself for wanting him so badly, hated herself for clenching the walls of her vagina around him the minute he touched her, hated him for doing this.
She loved him so much it hurt.
When he came, he rolled over softly, fingers still lingering, taunting, flitting over her clit, once, twice, and then she came. She sighed. Not a wild, thrashing orgasm, just a shudder, finally, of release. "Thank you," she whispered, then buried herself in the blankets, her back to Daniel, her brain refusing to shut down.
When she reached backwards, she could feel the solid mass that was Daniel, unfamiliar in her double bed. Tomorrow would come the negotiation of boundaries; tomorrow there would be pain. But at the moment, Daniel was in her bed, his kisses still warm in her mouth, and she was in love, and the klaxons at the SGC were quiet, and the rulebooks were gathering dust under the bed.