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Entry tags:
BSG fic: Kara/Sam, Cogitation Improved by Contact, PG13
disclaimer: not mine
rating: PG13, language, suggestive language, sex references, kissing, groping
length: 1600
pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
genre: AU
notes: this is the same AU as 'Momma Was an Opium Smoker', but earlier in the timeline. It was originally supposed to be porn but then my brain decided it was too similar to Lizardbeth's pirate fic and changed it (don't ask how pirates = cops, I don't know, either) This is also for the increasingly inaptly-named 12 Days challenge at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
pyramidofdreams (day six was AUs)
Cogitation Improved by Contact
by ALC Punk!
Kara had discovered that the problem with sleeping with your partner--the big one, that no one ever talked about (they talked about compromising each other and power imbalances and sexual harassment suits a lot)--was that sitting across from the man who liked to nuzzle his way down your belly every morning was disconcerting. It wasn't that she was unprofessional, that she couldn't get her mind off sex; it was just that her body was still jumping every time Sam Anders brushed a hand against hers when passing over the coffee.
And she hated it; the over-hyped awareness had to go away soon. She'd heard that relationships had stages, that they passed from the "can't stop fucking" to the "bored with sex" stage pretty quickly. Kara wasn't really sure how long that could take, she'd never been one for long relationships, preferring one-night stands and no strings.
It made Sam Anders a fluke, and Kara hated flukes almost as much as she hated bad guys. Zak had been a fluke, too, but Kara tried not to think about him. Comparing Sam to Zak wouldn't get her to a good place, and reminding herself of Zak was usually a recipe for a bottle of tequila and a long weekend of pretending her phone and doorbell were broken (last time, Karl had almost broken her door down after he'd snuck past the building's doorman).
The problem was, the intensity was ridiculous. And stupid. And distracting.
Kara certainly shouldn't be staring across the desk, her eyes fastened on the pen Sam had clamped between his lips while he read over the Casini file. It was his lips that did it, the way she knew how they felt sliding down her skin. She groaned and grabbed for her coffee, not caring that it was cold.
"Something wrong?"
"No. Yes. God--" she threw her pen down and made a face at the horrible taste in her mouth. "I'm not getting anywhere on these witness statements. I feel like I'm missing something." (the chance to throw him down on the desk and screw him senseless, for instance)
Sam's lips quirked a little, "Maybe you've been reading them for too long. Everything's blurring into one long, endless nothing?"
"Yeah. That." Kara scowled and slumped back in her chair before stretching. It occurred to her that she should have left the squad room hours ago; it was near-empty, the day shift completely packed up and the night shift working across the hall. They'd shared an office once, until both sides had complained about too many files being moved and no one having their own desk. There still weren't any single desks, but most of the partners shared the slightly longer desks and dealt with the lack of space by using the floor (or their partner and his chair).
Tossing down his pen, Sam stood up, "I'll go see if there's anything left in the coffee pot."
"Thanks." Kara shoved her mug at him, then slumped even further and watched him walk away through half-open eyes. She could appreciate this view of him, even if his slacks weren't exactly molded to his ass. Clapping a hand over her eyes, she rubbed them, trying to get the sudden image of him naked and bent over the desk out of her head.
"Just a little, but it might be sludge." Sam set her mug down and raised his eyebrows, "Headache?"
Kara groaned again, "Yeah," she fibbed, stretching again and then arching to crack her back with a wince. "Long day."
"Yeah."
Pausing in mid-stretch, Kara realized that Sam was staring at her chest. She glanced down and realized that the buttons she'd undone earlier were gaping, giving him a nice view of the top of her black lace bra. It was practical, if scratchy on occasion. Kara had convinced herself she wasn't buying it to impress anyone, even if lace was supposed to add spice or something. "Sam."
"Hrm?"
"Sit down."
He seemed to shake himself, then did, tossing her a slight grin, "Guess I'm more tired than I thought."
"Yeah?" Kara grabbed the mug and sniffed the contents. She shrugged and sipped it, grimacing at the taste. "You looked like you were enjoying the view."
Kara had never been a woman to beat around the bush.
That little quirk tugged Sam's lips up on one side, "I'm a guy."
"So I've noticed." Kara got to her feet and shot a glance around the office. Satisfied, she bent forward, hands flat on the desk. "You know one of the things I've always fantasized about?" Work wasn't getting them anywhere, anyway. Maybe this would get their minds back on track.
Sam was doing his best to keep his eyes on hers, but he kept flicking little gazes down to where her shirt gaped open, revealing her breasts nestled in that silly bra. "Fantasy?" He asked, voice not exactly cracking, but rising just a little.
Pleased at her effect on him, Kara smirked. "Fantasy, Sam." She leaned even further forward, feeling the backs of her thighs complain a little, but ignoring them. "You," she murmured, "naked and bent over this desk." If she was going to be distracted, she might as well screw with his brain, too.
"Me." He looked surprised and leaned back in his chair, mind working to figure out the logistics of that.
"I considered handcuffs once, but you'd be a good boy for me, wouldn't you?" Straightening, Kara began shutting her laptop down and pushing the crap on her desk into the shallow top drawer. She didn't really store much stuff there, anyway.
"Kara?"
"Start shutting down--either you're going to fuck me over this desk, or we are leaving," she ordered. It was always good to be decisive about these things, and they'd been getting fuck-all accomplished, anyway. A night's sleep and a fresh start in the morning would help things make more sense.
He snickered, but did as she'd suggested while Kara put her laptop on the chair and hoisted herself onto the space she'd cleared on her desk, swinging her legs. She'd ended up wearing a skirt that day, and it amused her to think that it made it easy access for Sam. "This will be so much less annoying."
"You don't say," he drawled, rounding the desk and stepping right up to her. "Aren't there cameras in here?"
"Mmm. Maybe."
He bent and kissed her, apparently not caring cameras, either. Sam was a good kisser, one of the best Kara had ever had. Kissing him was a pleasure, one that sent little sparks through her body down to her toes when she was really horny. Right now, it just made her wriggle and tug at the collar of his shirt.
"Impatient," he whispered against her lips, hands slowly pulling her skirt up as he pressed closer.
She laughed as he moved his mouth to her neck, "God, this is so much more interesting than reading the same god-damned thing in every single statement."
Saying it aloud made the little niggle at the back of her brain pounce, as though on a mouse scurrying up the side of her mind. Between her legs, Sam stilled, his mouth leaving her skin.
"Kara."
He'd got it, too. "They all sound the same," Kara whispered. "Shit. How did we all miss that?"
"We weren't looking for it; the uniforms were on the scene seconds after it happened." Sam pulled away from her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
Kara let him go. She could still feel the fire of his touch, but her brain was churning, her instincts screaming at her. She climbed off the desk and followed him around to where he was logging back in, his laptop still open. "They all said they'd never met before--"
"But the same phrases--"
They both stopped talking as he opened statement after statement, and they found the same wording, the same descriptions. It was a fact that no witness statement was ever the same as another. There would always be differences: either the perpetrator was tall or short, fat or skinny, blonde or brown. "This doesn't tell us who the killer is."
"No. No, it doesn't," Sam agreed, "But it does mean they knew each other. They had this planned."
It was a frightening thought. "They all did it?"
Seven people had watched a girl get gunned down and then had claimed they were strangers. Kara rubbed a hand over her face and moved away, pacing around the desk and wishing there had still been coffee. "How would they have done it?"
"The coroner's report says she was shot seven times from a distance that indicates a moving car--" Sam stood and leaned over to find the report from the scatter of paperwork still on their desk. "What if they all took a shot?"
"But why the fuck would they do it?"
"She was dying," waving the discovered report, Sam read it then looked at her. "There's a letter from her family doctor: she had a degenerative neurological condition and three months to live."
"That's a shitty way to die."
"So's getting shot seven times," Sam replied grimly. He tossed the report on the desk and shoved both hands through his hair. "How do we break them?"
"We don't--not yet, anyway. Look, this is all just a theory, Sam. We go running out there and hit the pavement, roust these people out of bed..." Pausing with a frown, Kara leaned against the desk, staring at nothing. "...we'll knock them off-balance. Maybe they didn't all do it, maybe only one of them did. Maybe she begged them to do it. We don't know."
Reaching for the phone, Sam said, "I'm calling the Captain."
"You'll wake her."
"She wants the case solved."
It was a fair point. Kara moved away from his side of the desk and booted up her laptop, dropping into her chair with a sigh. That sex was going to have to wait. Besides, solving a case always made them extra passionate, like the triumph and ego combined to make the orgasms extra special. A smirk crossed her lips. She was going to have to get onto surveillance and find out how hard it was to keep off-camera in here: sex in the office was hot, sex in the office getting caught on tape and sold on the Internet was not.
-f-
rating: PG13, language, suggestive language, sex references, kissing, groping
length: 1600
pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
genre: AU
notes: this is the same AU as 'Momma Was an Opium Smoker', but earlier in the timeline. It was originally supposed to be porn but then my brain decided it was too similar to Lizardbeth's pirate fic and changed it (don't ask how pirates = cops, I don't know, either) This is also for the increasingly inaptly-named 12 Days challenge at
pyramidofdreams (day six was AUs)Cogitation Improved by Contact
by ALC Punk!
Kara had discovered that the problem with sleeping with your partner--the big one, that no one ever talked about (they talked about compromising each other and power imbalances and sexual harassment suits a lot)--was that sitting across from the man who liked to nuzzle his way down your belly every morning was disconcerting. It wasn't that she was unprofessional, that she couldn't get her mind off sex; it was just that her body was still jumping every time Sam Anders brushed a hand against hers when passing over the coffee.
And she hated it; the over-hyped awareness had to go away soon. She'd heard that relationships had stages, that they passed from the "can't stop fucking" to the "bored with sex" stage pretty quickly. Kara wasn't really sure how long that could take, she'd never been one for long relationships, preferring one-night stands and no strings.
It made Sam Anders a fluke, and Kara hated flukes almost as much as she hated bad guys. Zak had been a fluke, too, but Kara tried not to think about him. Comparing Sam to Zak wouldn't get her to a good place, and reminding herself of Zak was usually a recipe for a bottle of tequila and a long weekend of pretending her phone and doorbell were broken (last time, Karl had almost broken her door down after he'd snuck past the building's doorman).
The problem was, the intensity was ridiculous. And stupid. And distracting.
Kara certainly shouldn't be staring across the desk, her eyes fastened on the pen Sam had clamped between his lips while he read over the Casini file. It was his lips that did it, the way she knew how they felt sliding down her skin. She groaned and grabbed for her coffee, not caring that it was cold.
"Something wrong?"
"No. Yes. God--" she threw her pen down and made a face at the horrible taste in her mouth. "I'm not getting anywhere on these witness statements. I feel like I'm missing something." (the chance to throw him down on the desk and screw him senseless, for instance)
Sam's lips quirked a little, "Maybe you've been reading them for too long. Everything's blurring into one long, endless nothing?"
"Yeah. That." Kara scowled and slumped back in her chair before stretching. It occurred to her that she should have left the squad room hours ago; it was near-empty, the day shift completely packed up and the night shift working across the hall. They'd shared an office once, until both sides had complained about too many files being moved and no one having their own desk. There still weren't any single desks, but most of the partners shared the slightly longer desks and dealt with the lack of space by using the floor (or their partner and his chair).
Tossing down his pen, Sam stood up, "I'll go see if there's anything left in the coffee pot."
"Thanks." Kara shoved her mug at him, then slumped even further and watched him walk away through half-open eyes. She could appreciate this view of him, even if his slacks weren't exactly molded to his ass. Clapping a hand over her eyes, she rubbed them, trying to get the sudden image of him naked and bent over the desk out of her head.
"Just a little, but it might be sludge." Sam set her mug down and raised his eyebrows, "Headache?"
Kara groaned again, "Yeah," she fibbed, stretching again and then arching to crack her back with a wince. "Long day."
"Yeah."
Pausing in mid-stretch, Kara realized that Sam was staring at her chest. She glanced down and realized that the buttons she'd undone earlier were gaping, giving him a nice view of the top of her black lace bra. It was practical, if scratchy on occasion. Kara had convinced herself she wasn't buying it to impress anyone, even if lace was supposed to add spice or something. "Sam."
"Hrm?"
"Sit down."
He seemed to shake himself, then did, tossing her a slight grin, "Guess I'm more tired than I thought."
"Yeah?" Kara grabbed the mug and sniffed the contents. She shrugged and sipped it, grimacing at the taste. "You looked like you were enjoying the view."
Kara had never been a woman to beat around the bush.
That little quirk tugged Sam's lips up on one side, "I'm a guy."
"So I've noticed." Kara got to her feet and shot a glance around the office. Satisfied, she bent forward, hands flat on the desk. "You know one of the things I've always fantasized about?" Work wasn't getting them anywhere, anyway. Maybe this would get their minds back on track.
Sam was doing his best to keep his eyes on hers, but he kept flicking little gazes down to where her shirt gaped open, revealing her breasts nestled in that silly bra. "Fantasy?" He asked, voice not exactly cracking, but rising just a little.
Pleased at her effect on him, Kara smirked. "Fantasy, Sam." She leaned even further forward, feeling the backs of her thighs complain a little, but ignoring them. "You," she murmured, "naked and bent over this desk." If she was going to be distracted, she might as well screw with his brain, too.
"Me." He looked surprised and leaned back in his chair, mind working to figure out the logistics of that.
"I considered handcuffs once, but you'd be a good boy for me, wouldn't you?" Straightening, Kara began shutting her laptop down and pushing the crap on her desk into the shallow top drawer. She didn't really store much stuff there, anyway.
"Kara?"
"Start shutting down--either you're going to fuck me over this desk, or we are leaving," she ordered. It was always good to be decisive about these things, and they'd been getting fuck-all accomplished, anyway. A night's sleep and a fresh start in the morning would help things make more sense.
He snickered, but did as she'd suggested while Kara put her laptop on the chair and hoisted herself onto the space she'd cleared on her desk, swinging her legs. She'd ended up wearing a skirt that day, and it amused her to think that it made it easy access for Sam. "This will be so much less annoying."
"You don't say," he drawled, rounding the desk and stepping right up to her. "Aren't there cameras in here?"
"Mmm. Maybe."
He bent and kissed her, apparently not caring cameras, either. Sam was a good kisser, one of the best Kara had ever had. Kissing him was a pleasure, one that sent little sparks through her body down to her toes when she was really horny. Right now, it just made her wriggle and tug at the collar of his shirt.
"Impatient," he whispered against her lips, hands slowly pulling her skirt up as he pressed closer.
She laughed as he moved his mouth to her neck, "God, this is so much more interesting than reading the same god-damned thing in every single statement."
Saying it aloud made the little niggle at the back of her brain pounce, as though on a mouse scurrying up the side of her mind. Between her legs, Sam stilled, his mouth leaving her skin.
"Kara."
He'd got it, too. "They all sound the same," Kara whispered. "Shit. How did we all miss that?"
"We weren't looking for it; the uniforms were on the scene seconds after it happened." Sam pulled away from her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
Kara let him go. She could still feel the fire of his touch, but her brain was churning, her instincts screaming at her. She climbed off the desk and followed him around to where he was logging back in, his laptop still open. "They all said they'd never met before--"
"But the same phrases--"
They both stopped talking as he opened statement after statement, and they found the same wording, the same descriptions. It was a fact that no witness statement was ever the same as another. There would always be differences: either the perpetrator was tall or short, fat or skinny, blonde or brown. "This doesn't tell us who the killer is."
"No. No, it doesn't," Sam agreed, "But it does mean they knew each other. They had this planned."
It was a frightening thought. "They all did it?"
Seven people had watched a girl get gunned down and then had claimed they were strangers. Kara rubbed a hand over her face and moved away, pacing around the desk and wishing there had still been coffee. "How would they have done it?"
"The coroner's report says she was shot seven times from a distance that indicates a moving car--" Sam stood and leaned over to find the report from the scatter of paperwork still on their desk. "What if they all took a shot?"
"But why the fuck would they do it?"
"She was dying," waving the discovered report, Sam read it then looked at her. "There's a letter from her family doctor: she had a degenerative neurological condition and three months to live."
"That's a shitty way to die."
"So's getting shot seven times," Sam replied grimly. He tossed the report on the desk and shoved both hands through his hair. "How do we break them?"
"We don't--not yet, anyway. Look, this is all just a theory, Sam. We go running out there and hit the pavement, roust these people out of bed..." Pausing with a frown, Kara leaned against the desk, staring at nothing. "...we'll knock them off-balance. Maybe they didn't all do it, maybe only one of them did. Maybe she begged them to do it. We don't know."
Reaching for the phone, Sam said, "I'm calling the Captain."
"You'll wake her."
"She wants the case solved."
It was a fair point. Kara moved away from his side of the desk and booted up her laptop, dropping into her chair with a sigh. That sex was going to have to wait. Besides, solving a case always made them extra passionate, like the triumph and ego combined to make the orgasms extra special. A smirk crossed her lips. She was going to have to get onto surveillance and find out how hard it was to keep off-camera in here: sex in the office was hot, sex in the office getting caught on tape and sold on the Internet was not.
-f-
no subject
The title was a last-minute "I HATE TITLES" moment. It is awesome that it fits. =D
no subject
and hee, office sex tape on the 'net!
no subject
Heheheh. I'm tempted to do crack for this universe about 'net sex tapes.
Thank you =D
work, meet sex; sex, meet work
Re: work, meet sex; sex, meet work
Thank you =D
no subject
no subject
Thank you.