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Dear flist,
That was a hint. I want porn. *eyes*
I tried to write porn and it went post-apocalyptic on me.
Work. is boring. hrm.
Have I mentioned that I can't actually listen to music here? No. Instead, I'm treated to a never-ending mentally-imbalanced playlist....
hrm...
I tried to write porn and it went post-apocalyptic on me.
Work. is boring. hrm.
Have I mentioned that I can't actually listen to music here? No. Instead, I'm treated to a never-ending mentally-imbalanced playlist....
hrm...
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I just spent like an hour reading my poetry textbook so anything I actually write my turn out *really* weird, though.
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WORK SUCKS. WAH.
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*snip*
They hadn't meant for it to happen. Flushed and drunk from beer and Daniel's return, they'd all spent the night reminicing about before, filling Daniel on what had happen since (things had been left out. It was a night for celebration, not recriminations and sadness.) Teal'c had driven back to the base with a still sober Jonas in tow. Janet had called Cassie and then retired to the fold-out sofa in the den while both she and the Colonel had dragged Daniel into the bed in the spare room.
She'd collapsed on the couch, and he'd slumped down next to her. The sofa springs were old, worn, comfortable, and they'd sort of slumped together without meaning to, her head on his shoulder. They'd sat there, enjoying the silence, until he'd spoken.
"Just like old times, eh?" she'd looked up then, and knew what he meant, but she remebered seeing him from this angle from other times, and suddenly it was those other times, those times she'd sworn she'd forgotten, that he was talking about.
It balloned up out of no where, swelling and filling the air, making her skin feel like there was static electricity crackling along it. She wouldn't have been surprised to see her hair standing on end.
She didn't make the move, but then again she's pretty sure he didn't either, but suddenly her lips were on his, and he was kissing her, warm and soft and solid, a gentle glide right, then left, and he was pulling away. Except her hand was wrapping around the back of his neck, and she was leaning forward, opening her mouth, tracing his lips with her tongue, and he was groaning, just a little, and then his mouth opened and she was lost.
She's not sure how long they sat there, doing little more than kissing. Not really crossing any lines, (she'll cling to that one for as long as she lives) just remembering what it was like to feel another person. And as much as she loves him, loved him at that moment, such a large part of it was that he was warm and solid and real.
Finally, finally, a hand slid under her shirt, rough skin on sensitive flesh, and she stopped, pulled back just a little and met his eyes. No questions, no words, just eye contact. She wasn't sure how to tell him she wanted this without saying it, but maybe saying it made the whole situation just a little too real. So instead she didn't move, just stared back at him, made sure not to make any motion that would be considered disagreement.
He seemed to understand, didn't speak either, just reached out and kissed her once more, then stood, offered her his hand and led her to his room.
It had been slow and quiet. No words, no moans, few groans. Pleasure expressed through gasps, though the swift intake of breath, both well aware of the two other people asleep not twenty feet away. No lights, because she wan't sure this was real, and he didn't seem to believe it was happeneing and light made it all too real, made it too easy to know it was happening.
His hands on the buttons on her shirt, hers pushing his sweater up and over his head. Lips, again, and just a moment to enjoy the feel of skin on skin, of someone else's warmth. Deep, slow kisses that seemed to go on forever until he slid a hand into the waist of her jeans, undid button and zipper, followed the seam on the side of her panties, down to the lace edge, traced that route down down down and under, hesitating just for a minute. A slight gasp of encouragment and one finger parting her, sliding in to find her.
Her head, suddenly unbearably heavy, dropped to his shoulder and she caught the briefest glimpse of them in the mirror over his dresser. Him dark, her silvered by the faint moonlight coming in the open window. She squeezed her eyes closed and buried her face in his neck, a little at the motion of his hand but mostly at the contrast of their skin in the mirror, the reminder of who they were and what they were finally doing.
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His finger inside her, then tracing its way up to find her clit, circling it, not quite touching, teasing her just a little. She'd once had the idle thought that he'd be a tease, and she's a little disapointed to find out she'd been right. It'd be easier if nothing about this night met her expectations. His finger moves away and down again, traces her opening and she sighs. His finger gathers the moisture there and moves back up to her clit, slipping and sliding easily, and it doesn't take him long to figure out what she likes tonight. Little circles that pull at the skin, circles that create an equal mix of pleasurable tension and sweet pain in that bundle of neves.
Her orgasm is slow and easy, much like the entire night so far. She shudders against him, sways a little on weak knees, wraps both arms around his neck and exhales into his collar bone. They stay like that, his hand still between her legs, caressing softly, her hands running though his hair, (she has always loved his hair) briefly playing over his ears.
He pulls back, looks down at her, seems to be searching for regret. She wants to tell him he is wonderful, is kind, a good man, all the things he believes he isn't, but instead pulls his face back down to hers, kisses him, then pushes him towards the edge of the bed. Pause to remove her pants and underwear, then his, and then lets him turn her, lets him softly push her down onto the bed, scoots back a little so she is resting against the pillows, spreads her legs just enough to be considered an invitation, looks up at him, still standing at the side of the bed, naked and aroused.
She'd tell him it's okay but she's sure that if she says anything he'll bolt, run from the room and head straight for Hammond, with or without pants. Instead she meets his eyes, keeps her gaze steady and level, lets him decide and hopes he'll make the same decision she has.
Fianlly, finally he moves, breaks the impasse as he sits down on the edge of the bed, crawls up to hover over her. She leans up, kisses him with less passion and more reassurance.
She breaks the kiss and he reaches down, positions himself and slides slowly in. He pauses and she lets herself relax, tries not to think about what they've done at the same time as she thinks how incredible it feels to have him inside her after all this time.
He pants softly against her neck, and she tilts her chin back, offering herself to him. He bites softly at the skin on the side of the hollow of her throat, then slowly pulls himself out of her, then thrusts back in.
She wraps her legs around him, pulls him closer, deeper, puts her chin down and kisses him, long and slow and deep, like the way he is fucking her. There's a lot here that's about love but there's a lot that's not. She can't seperate what's what, just knows she loves the feel of him inside her and the sensation of his hands in her hair, on her breasts, between her legs.
When they're not kissing, he keeps his head burried in her neck, breathing deeply. He balances himself on one elbow, skirts a hand down her side and reaches in, tries to help her along. She bats his fingers away, pulls his hand up to her neck, into her hair, and she can smell herself on his fingers and it turns her on even more. She's not going to come again, but she can make it good for him.
She spreads her legs a little further, uses her abdominal muscles to pull herself up to meet him, and he increases his tempo just enough. She can feel him squeezing his eyes shut, lashes gently brushing her neck, and she pulls his face up so she can kiss him once more.
His movements get a little faster, a little deeper, and he pulls away from her mouth, gasping, and she watches and feels as he comes inside her, frozen for what seems like forever, then lowers himself gently back onto her.
They stay like that, locked together, until he rolls over and pulls her with him. She settles her head back on his shoulder, in the same place it was when this started. She runs her hand absentmindedly over his chest, through the crinkly hairs there until he takes her hand and kisses her finger tips, then places their linked fingers over his heart.
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It's a lovely gesture, and if she didn't feel quite so good, quite so relaxed, quite like she'd just been fucked slowly and well, she'd panic, because that one little display was a close to words as they'd been so far. The insitinct to get up, to leave, is palpiatable in the air around her, but she ignores it, chosing instead to close her eyes and lean into his warmth. The regret, the panic would wake her in a few hours, and she would leave then. Now she would enjoy the feeling of another body, any body, his body, in the bed next to her.
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and. Hrm... I'm kind of open to suggestion as long as it isn't Jack/Daniel.
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no!1! Han/Sam/Scully.
Mm.... Pardon me...
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That was EXACTLY what I needed.
That was lovely and hot and all those little things I like about good porn. And I love the silence! That was fabulous.
*bounces*
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I will never write again after that. I SUCK.
*applauds you*
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*pets porn, smugly*
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You do not suck.
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What she said. *nods and whacks*