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Entry tags:
stillatwork.
however. Porn. Little Red's fault. S/J.
He slides in and out of her. This is now, and this is real. And he doesn't want to stop. Her hands are tangled in his hair, her lips opening and closing as she moans and groans and growls--and dear GOD those sounds make him want to come *right now*, but she isn't there yet, and he is supposed to be fair in this.
At some level, he knows there is this whole tangle of duty and consequance and things they're not meant to do (fucking on the briefing room table being one of them), but right now?
Right now, he is buried inside Sam Carter, and she is moaning his name (and not 'sir' or 'colonel'. No, she's calling him 'Jack') against the skin of his neck.
For just this moment, she is his. He considers this as his hand slides between them, stroking the skin of her breasts and stomach and finally right there where they're joined and she is so very sensitive that her cry of completion startles him into stopping.
"Mine." The word echoes in the suddenly silent room and he fights the urge to prove that she is his and only stays there, still as she convulses around him.
Blue eyes stare up at him. "What was that?"
He flexes his hips, and sudddenly remembers that he was working his own way towards orgasm.
A soft mewl escapes her, and then she is pushing at his shoulder. "Roll over, Jack."
Without stopping, he complies. She lays there against him for a moment, completely limp. And then she sits up.
His eyes nearly roll back into his head, because his angle? This is what it's all about, and he is so *very* happy about this one. She rocks for a moment, and then moves.
Up. Down. The sensation triples as she tightens her inner muscles and bends over to nip at his chest, teeth and tongue leaving a trail of damp to be brushed with the cool air in the room. He moans, hands grabbing at her hips, pulling. "More."
"Yes." She hisses, and then there is more movement and heat and friction.
And it's enough. He comes, thrusting in hard that one last time.
Coming down, he feels her flop against his chest, lips at his ear. "Mine," she breathes.
Well. At least they're in agreement.
He slides in and out of her. This is now, and this is real. And he doesn't want to stop. Her hands are tangled in his hair, her lips opening and closing as she moans and groans and growls--and dear GOD those sounds make him want to come *right now*, but she isn't there yet, and he is supposed to be fair in this.
At some level, he knows there is this whole tangle of duty and consequance and things they're not meant to do (fucking on the briefing room table being one of them), but right now?
Right now, he is buried inside Sam Carter, and she is moaning his name (and not 'sir' or 'colonel'. No, she's calling him 'Jack') against the skin of his neck.
For just this moment, she is his. He considers this as his hand slides between them, stroking the skin of her breasts and stomach and finally right there where they're joined and she is so very sensitive that her cry of completion startles him into stopping.
"Mine." The word echoes in the suddenly silent room and he fights the urge to prove that she is his and only stays there, still as she convulses around him.
Blue eyes stare up at him. "What was that?"
He flexes his hips, and sudddenly remembers that he was working his own way towards orgasm.
A soft mewl escapes her, and then she is pushing at his shoulder. "Roll over, Jack."
Without stopping, he complies. She lays there against him for a moment, completely limp. And then she sits up.
His eyes nearly roll back into his head, because his angle? This is what it's all about, and he is so *very* happy about this one. She rocks for a moment, and then moves.
Up. Down. The sensation triples as she tightens her inner muscles and bends over to nip at his chest, teeth and tongue leaving a trail of damp to be brushed with the cool air in the room. He moans, hands grabbing at her hips, pulling. "More."
"Yes." She hisses, and then there is more movement and heat and friction.
And it's enough. He comes, thrusting in hard that one last time.
Coming down, he feels her flop against his chest, lips at his ear. "Mine," she breathes.
Well. At least they're in agreement.