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hrm. untitled SG-1 porn.
This one almost qualifies as porn by numbers. (hey Meyer, it's not quite what you wanted, but I tried. I just... have difficulty with tears)
Don't own 'em. really.
She's exhausted.
Scratch that. She's filthy and covered in mud and blood and death, and she hasn't slept for two days. But she isn't exhausted. She's wired.
They made a sergeant drive her home, and walking from her door to her living room, her brain can't remember if she waved goodbye to him. She wants a shower, a bath, something hot that will wash the last three days from her skin. If she'd stayed on base, she could have had all that, but it felt better, more human, to strip off her bdus and pull on the clothes she'd left there two weeks ago. A simple blouse and skirt, and she felt almost human again.
"Carter."
Instead she gets him, and all she can do is watch as he approaches, striding calmly from her kitchen (she can smell coffee, but that isn't what makes her step back). "Sir?"
He looks almost as filthy as she is, and she vaguely remembers that he was there, too.
Dirt and mud, flying debris, and the screams of the dying. And she doesn't want to remember that even as her back slams into the wall and she realizes he is not stopping as he steps into her personal space. "Sir?"
"Shut up."
There's a split in his lip, but he doesn't seem to care as he kisses her, hands to either side of her, body pressing into hers.
She was buzzed before, now she's reeling. Sensory overload.
He tastes like coffee and smells like dirt and sweat and blood.
A tiny part of her brain is jumping up and down, screaming that she's supposed to shove at him, to push him away. They don't do this. Kissing is bad, kissing causes infractions. She ignores that tiny part as his hands slide under her shirt and a moan escapes her.
His hands seem to know exactly what they're doing, and she's practically begging him when he pull her leg up, slides her underwear aside and slides a finger into her.
"More," she manages after several minutes of begging soundlessly.
The thrust is swift, almost flawless as he moves into her, and she utters a gutteral moan of pleasure as her head drops back to bang on the wall. This. This was what she needed.
What he needed, too, if his grunts are anything to go by.
His hands move to hold her hip and she hooks one leg around him before giving in and whimpering again.
She doesn't care what this is doing to his knees.
The thrusts deepen, quicken, and she cries out as she comes, the world fading away for an instant, then rushing back in. Her skin is sweat-soaked and gritty, and she wants a shower again.
He suddenly grunts, burying his face against her neck, and she bites down on his shoulder.
They sag into the wall, and she grabs onto the nearby doorjamb to keep them stable as he leans into her, pressing her back into the paint-covered plaster. The intensity has left her nerves dancing, and she can feel the picture that's digging into her right shoulder, every centimeter of frame, the way the wall is slightly cold on her sweat-soaked back, the throbbing spot where she slammed her head into the wall.
Her skirt is bunched awkwardly, and she has a feeling he ripped buttons off her blouse at some point, and isn't really sure she cares. It's trivial compared to fucking her commanding officer in her front hallway.
"Shower," he mumbles against her neck.
"Yeah."
They slowly disentangle themselves, and he grabs her hand, dragging her into the bedroom. Her clothes follow his to the floor and then he's kissing her again. She backs him into the bathroom, then lets him break away to start the water, taking the moment to enjoy the view.
Hot water and soap wash away mingled dirt and sweat, and she takes full advantage to look him over gracelessly. He returns the favor, eyes tracing the lines of old scars and new, unerringly finding the jagged tear in her thigh from the Alpha Site, and other things he knows she's endurred.
Suddenly exhausted at the thousand and one memories spilling through her mind, she exits the shower and begins drying off. Jack isn't far behind, and she wonders if he's as tired as she is.
By the time she climbs into bed, her vision is graying, and she knows sex against a wall was a waste of valuable energy. As his arm slides around her waist, and his mouth claims her shoulder, she decides it wasn't.
Even if, in the cold light of day, she hates them both, she has this moment.
Don't own 'em. really.
She's exhausted.
Scratch that. She's filthy and covered in mud and blood and death, and she hasn't slept for two days. But she isn't exhausted. She's wired.
They made a sergeant drive her home, and walking from her door to her living room, her brain can't remember if she waved goodbye to him. She wants a shower, a bath, something hot that will wash the last three days from her skin. If she'd stayed on base, she could have had all that, but it felt better, more human, to strip off her bdus and pull on the clothes she'd left there two weeks ago. A simple blouse and skirt, and she felt almost human again.
"Carter."
Instead she gets him, and all she can do is watch as he approaches, striding calmly from her kitchen (she can smell coffee, but that isn't what makes her step back). "Sir?"
He looks almost as filthy as she is, and she vaguely remembers that he was there, too.
Dirt and mud, flying debris, and the screams of the dying. And she doesn't want to remember that even as her back slams into the wall and she realizes he is not stopping as he steps into her personal space. "Sir?"
"Shut up."
There's a split in his lip, but he doesn't seem to care as he kisses her, hands to either side of her, body pressing into hers.
She was buzzed before, now she's reeling. Sensory overload.
He tastes like coffee and smells like dirt and sweat and blood.
A tiny part of her brain is jumping up and down, screaming that she's supposed to shove at him, to push him away. They don't do this. Kissing is bad, kissing causes infractions. She ignores that tiny part as his hands slide under her shirt and a moan escapes her.
His hands seem to know exactly what they're doing, and she's practically begging him when he pull her leg up, slides her underwear aside and slides a finger into her.
"More," she manages after several minutes of begging soundlessly.
The thrust is swift, almost flawless as he moves into her, and she utters a gutteral moan of pleasure as her head drops back to bang on the wall. This. This was what she needed.
What he needed, too, if his grunts are anything to go by.
His hands move to hold her hip and she hooks one leg around him before giving in and whimpering again.
She doesn't care what this is doing to his knees.
The thrusts deepen, quicken, and she cries out as she comes, the world fading away for an instant, then rushing back in. Her skin is sweat-soaked and gritty, and she wants a shower again.
He suddenly grunts, burying his face against her neck, and she bites down on his shoulder.
They sag into the wall, and she grabs onto the nearby doorjamb to keep them stable as he leans into her, pressing her back into the paint-covered plaster. The intensity has left her nerves dancing, and she can feel the picture that's digging into her right shoulder, every centimeter of frame, the way the wall is slightly cold on her sweat-soaked back, the throbbing spot where she slammed her head into the wall.
Her skirt is bunched awkwardly, and she has a feeling he ripped buttons off her blouse at some point, and isn't really sure she cares. It's trivial compared to fucking her commanding officer in her front hallway.
"Shower," he mumbles against her neck.
"Yeah."
They slowly disentangle themselves, and he grabs her hand, dragging her into the bedroom. Her clothes follow his to the floor and then he's kissing her again. She backs him into the bathroom, then lets him break away to start the water, taking the moment to enjoy the view.
Hot water and soap wash away mingled dirt and sweat, and she takes full advantage to look him over gracelessly. He returns the favor, eyes tracing the lines of old scars and new, unerringly finding the jagged tear in her thigh from the Alpha Site, and other things he knows she's endurred.
Suddenly exhausted at the thousand and one memories spilling through her mind, she exits the shower and begins drying off. Jack isn't far behind, and she wonders if he's as tired as she is.
By the time she climbs into bed, her vision is graying, and she knows sex against a wall was a waste of valuable energy. As his arm slides around her waist, and his mouth claims her shoulder, she decides it wasn't.
Even if, in the cold light of day, she hates them both, she has this moment.
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*loves you*
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Read this one, printed out the other, off to work. Thanks much.
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*smoohces*
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Lyssie!Porn (even of the paint by numbers variety) makes me happy.
Loved it, thank you :o)
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Thank you. :)
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;)
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*loves you*
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Thank you. ;) *lovesback*
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*snuggles*
Dude, are you hiding from AIM again? *sobs* (Btw, Kara and Sam are cracking me up right now *highly amused*)
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And Kara and Sam are continually amusing in that they are completely co-dependent, and refuse to admit it. And, thus, Lee is amused, and the Doc keeps rolling his eyes.
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*snickers* Lee should be careful because Kara and Sam will mock him no matter what. =oP And that doc, I don't know what to think of him.
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See, usually it's on 12 hour days when work SUCKS that I get wonderful Lyssie!fluff to get me through.
This time it's only an 8 hour day, but it's the evening kind... and I'm sick :-(
How do you know when I need good fic to get me going?????
*LOVES*
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*cuddlescritches and offers tea*
Thank you. =)
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I'm with
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*smooches* (dude, it's all about the porn)
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Also? GUH.
As usual: loved it. Nobody does porn as well as you.
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Good. :)
Thank you. =)
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More please? :)
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You know, re: the alpha!Jack discussion... of all the authors who write Sam/Jack, I think you get the closest to that scenario. Your Jack pretty much just accepts and knows he'll do anything for Sam, whether that's breaking the regs if she wants it or helping her hide a body. (loved that one, btw)
So, even though you don't really show him making the concious decision to break the regs and just go after Sam, there IS a little of that in there anyway when you show them simply giving each other what they need.
Or... am I completely off mark here? Wouldn't be the first time. ;)
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See... Jack is never going to do something she doesn't want. And I don't just mean in the "He knows everything she thinks!Special Connection!" sense. I mean in the, "If she doesn't want him to do something, like kiss her, she's going to smack him." way.
Er. But that could also just be me, and the way I see her.
But as to the regs, if she gave *any* indication, he'd be ignoring them. Er, well, seasons 4-7 Jack, anyway. Season 8 Jack is kind of doing the "I shall be strong and let you move on" crap.
*coughs* But then, in my head, they are always having sex.
In my head, Jack is kind of in the "If she wants me I'll happily go to hell" state. As far as he's concerned, if he can KILL HER while still caring for her, there's nothing else to make it worse...
erm. Anyway.
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God, I'm really dying to see the rest of the season now. :)
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The sex should really be mind-blowing... and yet... how nervous would you be after waiting 8 years? I just keep imagining a 'sir' slipping out.
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*snicker* I just made an icon with "Stupid!cute OTP does not equal SMART OTP"...
sigh. Damn them.
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Yeah, I watch the show and I see it as Jack keeping the 'ship from setting sail. If he caved, Sam would be right there. Of course, in "untitled birthday smut," you had Sam making the first move on Jack (oh, the locker room and shower), and you had me convinced that it could happen because Sam got fed up with waiting.
Either way, they're having sex and I love it when you write about it.
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I'm beginning to suspect you're kind of preaching to the choir, with me, as Sam and Jack have been having sex in various incarnations in my head since day, er, three.
And I've never considered Jack anything other than alpha-ey. But so is Sam, and thus, they kind of take turns, except that there's lazy morning sex, because they woke up and cuddled, and... er, anyway. I am also of the school where it's not the best sex ever each time, and sometimes it is, and... I confuse myself.
Images grab me. I was all set to do Jack visiting Sam, when it was her all filthy and buzzed, and Jack was just *there*.
I also have a hard time making Sam cry. Carter's don't cry is one of the things I say a lot.
*eg*