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Entry tags:
gah.
computers working faster. no time to write.
So I leave you with half-finished spam. Sam/Jack
After really good sex, Sam Carter likes to wake up gradually, as if the effect of orgasm makes even HER mind relax. So, really, it wasn't a surprise that she took her time waking up. As she did, her mind and body replayed the pleasant imagery (and twinges and aches) of rather athletic and orgasmic sex.
Very orgasmic.
Pete, she decided fuzzily, had been really on form. He'd outdone himself the night before.
He was also being cute and groping her, one hand casually laying on a breast, his arm draped over her somewhat possessively. It was kind of nice. And strange, since Pete generally didn't like cuddling. Snuggling closer, she let out a soft sigh.
Another breath, and something registered.
This was... wrong.
Dreading the result, Sam slowly opened her eyes.
Well. While the man cuddling her was gloriously nude (and for that, she was thankful, because it was a lovely view), it was not her boyfriend.
And just as that thought hit her, he opened his eyes.
They stared at each other for at least a good minute before she finally managed, "General..."
"Colonel..."
More silence.
He still hadn't removed his hand from her breast.
Of course, she still hadn't removed her breast from under his hand. So they were even.
She didn't want to move.
This was bad.
It was probably more a reflex, but his fingers twitched, caressing her nipple. The movement sent sparks shooting down her spine.
Damn.
This was *very* bad.
"Alien influence."
"Too much alcohol." She countered.
"Carter? Where the hell are we?"
She looked around at what she could see -- without moving, because she still hadn't managed it, and she was beginning to think that she really didn't want to. "I don't know. It's not my bedroom."
"Or mine." He confirmed.
The hand twitched again, and she couldn't completely stop the soft moan from escaping.
"Ah!" He yanked his hand away. "Sorry, Carter --"
She wanted to demand he put it back. It had been... nice. And his fingers were obviously suconsciously talented (not to mention that, if it was him who'd made her so exhausted and sated....). Instead, she shifted and dragged herself into a sitting position. Her hips protested mildly.
The room wasn't exactly plain, but it wasn't decadent, either. And studying the clock on the wall made her remember. She sighed, "Daniel's spare room, sir."
"Ah."
She looked down, "So. Too much alcohol."
"Right."
Before she could get into any sort of guilty feeling over sleeping with her commanding officer while she was dating another man, the door swung inwards, and Daniel peered in. "Oh, good, you're up."
Grabbing the sheet, Sam dragged it up over her breasts. Funny, she hadn't minded being naked with Jack there. The General. Damnit. "Daniel!"
"That's my name, don't wear it out."
"Daniel."
"Jack."
Irritated, she glared at him, "Daniel, how did we get here?"
"You walked." The archeologist replied mildly.
The General snorted, "We did, huh?"
His hand was idly stroking the skin of her back, and she wondered if he even noticed it. She hoped he didn't, because then he would stop. And there was that guilt again. "Daniel..."
A chuckle escaped the man in the doorway, and it was positively evil. "I don't think I shold tell you."
So I leave you with half-finished spam. Sam/Jack
After really good sex, Sam Carter likes to wake up gradually, as if the effect of orgasm makes even HER mind relax. So, really, it wasn't a surprise that she took her time waking up. As she did, her mind and body replayed the pleasant imagery (and twinges and aches) of rather athletic and orgasmic sex.
Very orgasmic.
Pete, she decided fuzzily, had been really on form. He'd outdone himself the night before.
He was also being cute and groping her, one hand casually laying on a breast, his arm draped over her somewhat possessively. It was kind of nice. And strange, since Pete generally didn't like cuddling. Snuggling closer, she let out a soft sigh.
Another breath, and something registered.
This was... wrong.
Dreading the result, Sam slowly opened her eyes.
Well. While the man cuddling her was gloriously nude (and for that, she was thankful, because it was a lovely view), it was not her boyfriend.
And just as that thought hit her, he opened his eyes.
They stared at each other for at least a good minute before she finally managed, "General..."
"Colonel..."
More silence.
He still hadn't removed his hand from her breast.
Of course, she still hadn't removed her breast from under his hand. So they were even.
She didn't want to move.
This was bad.
It was probably more a reflex, but his fingers twitched, caressing her nipple. The movement sent sparks shooting down her spine.
Damn.
This was *very* bad.
"Alien influence."
"Too much alcohol." She countered.
"Carter? Where the hell are we?"
She looked around at what she could see -- without moving, because she still hadn't managed it, and she was beginning to think that she really didn't want to. "I don't know. It's not my bedroom."
"Or mine." He confirmed.
The hand twitched again, and she couldn't completely stop the soft moan from escaping.
"Ah!" He yanked his hand away. "Sorry, Carter --"
She wanted to demand he put it back. It had been... nice. And his fingers were obviously suconsciously talented (not to mention that, if it was him who'd made her so exhausted and sated....). Instead, she shifted and dragged herself into a sitting position. Her hips protested mildly.
The room wasn't exactly plain, but it wasn't decadent, either. And studying the clock on the wall made her remember. She sighed, "Daniel's spare room, sir."
"Ah."
She looked down, "So. Too much alcohol."
"Right."
Before she could get into any sort of guilty feeling over sleeping with her commanding officer while she was dating another man, the door swung inwards, and Daniel peered in. "Oh, good, you're up."
Grabbing the sheet, Sam dragged it up over her breasts. Funny, she hadn't minded being naked with Jack there. The General. Damnit. "Daniel!"
"That's my name, don't wear it out."
"Daniel."
"Jack."
Irritated, she glared at him, "Daniel, how did we get here?"
"You walked." The archeologist replied mildly.
The General snorted, "We did, huh?"
His hand was idly stroking the skin of her back, and she wondered if he even noticed it. She hoped he didn't, because then he would stop. And there was that guilt again. "Daniel..."
A chuckle escaped the man in the doorway, and it was positively evil. "I don't think I shold tell you."