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Entry tags:
igotobednow, SG-1: Porn, Crumbling, S/J, S/P, R
Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: R/NC17. Sex. Language.
Notes: Here, nos', Watching fic.
Pairing: Sam/Pete, Sam/Jack.
Season 7.
Crumbling
by ALC Punk!
She doesn't remember anymore when she first noticed it.
It's nondescript, and she likes to think that it was left over from Orlin's visit (which it probably is, but she's never going to ask about it), tucked into a corner of her bedroom. If she watches it long enough, she can almost see it silently running, endlessly capturing everything she does.
Using SGC equipment, she surreptitiously checked it, one day. It was still filming and broadcasting on a frequency she couldn't quite find until one night when they were all arguing over the remote and Daniel had thrown it at Teal'c, which started a pillow fight, and she stepped on it and her bedroom was suddenly on the Colonel's tv.
Daniel and Teal'c never noticed, but she was unusually silent for the rest of the evening, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.
They've never talked about it.
They never talk about anything, so she supposes she should be used to that.
A part of her knows she should find it creepy, that she should be reporting him for things like invasion of privacy, stalking, and probably half a dozen other things that Pete would be able to tell her about.
But she doesn't always remember it's there. Although, once she knew she was so very careful when she masturbated or stripped.
Until she got tired of being careful (and maybe she was tired of his restraint).
She knows the first time she sprawled naked and wanton, uncaring whether he was watching (and hoping he was) as her fingers slid across her damp flesh, that she came harder than normal. And the next time, too.
In the beginning, she wasn't vocal. Too afraid of what she might say, and later, certain of what she would say and unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
Pete changed that.
With Pete there, sliding his tongue across her, or twisting his fingers inside of her, she can pretend the things she says and moans and screams are directed at Pete. And not the camera.
Pete never seems to care that she always has to have the light on.
There are so many things he doesn't notice about her. But she doesn't blame him, even as she uses him to taunt a man she doesn't speak to anymore.
She knows it's crass, but she thinks they both deserve it by now.
Unfortunately, she doubts that he knows that Pete is her revenge for the camera, for allowing her to lock it in the room all this time. Not that she isn't also to blame. Too frightened of something that might not last to reach out for it and hold on with both hands.
So she has Pete, his lips, tongue and dick driving her to distraction. Making her arch and writhe and moan, putting on a performance every night. Just for him. Just for her.
And he's sweet, and he's nice, and he's good at making her come.
But she knows it won't last.
One night, she's going to forget. And she's going to scream someone else's name when he fucks her into oblivion. And in the morning he'll be cold and distant, and it will be time to say goodbye.
And then it will be just her and the camera again.
She's planning ahead, ordering toys and batteries. If nothing else, maybe his restraint will finally snap.
-f-
Notes: Here, nos', Watching fic.
Pairing: Sam/Pete, Sam/Jack.
Season 7.
Crumbling
by ALC Punk!
She doesn't remember anymore when she first noticed it.
It's nondescript, and she likes to think that it was left over from Orlin's visit (which it probably is, but she's never going to ask about it), tucked into a corner of her bedroom. If she watches it long enough, she can almost see it silently running, endlessly capturing everything she does.
Using SGC equipment, she surreptitiously checked it, one day. It was still filming and broadcasting on a frequency she couldn't quite find until one night when they were all arguing over the remote and Daniel had thrown it at Teal'c, which started a pillow fight, and she stepped on it and her bedroom was suddenly on the Colonel's tv.
Daniel and Teal'c never noticed, but she was unusually silent for the rest of the evening, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.
They've never talked about it.
They never talk about anything, so she supposes she should be used to that.
A part of her knows she should find it creepy, that she should be reporting him for things like invasion of privacy, stalking, and probably half a dozen other things that Pete would be able to tell her about.
But she doesn't always remember it's there. Although, once she knew she was so very careful when she masturbated or stripped.
Until she got tired of being careful (and maybe she was tired of his restraint).
She knows the first time she sprawled naked and wanton, uncaring whether he was watching (and hoping he was) as her fingers slid across her damp flesh, that she came harder than normal. And the next time, too.
In the beginning, she wasn't vocal. Too afraid of what she might say, and later, certain of what she would say and unwilling to give him the satisfaction.
Pete changed that.
With Pete there, sliding his tongue across her, or twisting his fingers inside of her, she can pretend the things she says and moans and screams are directed at Pete. And not the camera.
Pete never seems to care that she always has to have the light on.
There are so many things he doesn't notice about her. But she doesn't blame him, even as she uses him to taunt a man she doesn't speak to anymore.
She knows it's crass, but she thinks they both deserve it by now.
Unfortunately, she doubts that he knows that Pete is her revenge for the camera, for allowing her to lock it in the room all this time. Not that she isn't also to blame. Too frightened of something that might not last to reach out for it and hold on with both hands.
So she has Pete, his lips, tongue and dick driving her to distraction. Making her arch and writhe and moan, putting on a performance every night. Just for him. Just for her.
And he's sweet, and he's nice, and he's good at making her come.
But she knows it won't last.
One night, she's going to forget. And she's going to scream someone else's name when he fucks her into oblivion. And in the morning he'll be cold and distant, and it will be time to say goodbye.
And then it will be just her and the camera again.
She's planning ahead, ordering toys and batteries. If nothing else, maybe his restraint will finally snap.
-f-
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*smooches*
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Wait.
Eh, YAY!
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;)
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*looks at shards of brain*
*gives up and goes to read porn*
:P
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*eg*
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Freaky, hot, cute, dumb OTP. But so good.
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And Jack SO wants it!
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Not that you have to write it, or write it like that. :) I'm just saying.. It would be good however it was written.
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Thanks.
*eyes Jack* Y'know, this is both of your faults. So quit giving me that pouty look.
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Great fic <3
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Thank you. :)
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Thankyou. ;)
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purple vibrator with or without sparklies?
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Mmm. EEEK!
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*snuggles*
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*cuddles*
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More, please.