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ahem. Why Lyssie needed tequila. SG-1 fic. Dark. Nasty.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: So not for the kiddies. This is fairly dark, fairly violent, rather disutrbing.
Pairings: Sam/Jack, Sam/Pete.
Set: Season eight, post-Affinity. No real spoilers.
Archiving: ...someone is going to actually want this?
Warnings: Domestic violence. Sex.
Notes: Inspired by a lot of the recent discussions on Love Making Everything All Right. The title is stolen from the Pet Shop Boys' "To Speak Is a Sin" but I think I've already named a fic that before. Thus, this title.
Bless The Time Or Weather
by ALC Punk!
"You're mine," he likes to say as he fucks her over the desk. Hand on her back holding her down while he pounds in with little disregard for whether she's enjoying the experience or not. And yet she always has some sick thrill at the way it feels. "Mine." His teeth nip her shoulder, his hand twists in her hair, and he comes, shuddering and pressing her down into the wood as he subsides. "Samantha."
The first time she objected, he pushed her into the wall, left teeth marks in her chest and bruises on her legs.
She told Brightman they were gotten running from a jaffa patrol. Slipped and fell on rocks. The doctor looked at her disbelievingly, but let it pass.
"I love you," he whispers into the skin of her neck when she's curled in a ball, aching from need unfulfilled. And maybe that ends up being enough.
The second time she objected, he was more careful with his placement of bruises, a little more sadistic as he shoved his cock down her throat. Brightman merely tightened her lips and didn't ask.
*He* doesn't ask, either. And for that, she's grateful.
Although she's obscurely saddened that he doesn't notice the marks left on her body by another man.
Daniel asks her sometimes how things are going with Pete. "Just fine," she lies. Because they have to be going well with Pete, after all, she wouldn't be doing this to herself if they weren't. If she weren't just a little fucked in the head.
"I love you, Sam." He likes to say it in daylight, when the sun's shining and there are kids running around in the park.
Different from growls in the dark and fingers dragging her down, marking their territory.
The third time, she doesn't object, and he takes what he needs, getting her off later with two fingers and his teeth on her skin.
She wakes in the morning alone and bruised, aching, and wondering if this is worth it.
It has to be, she decides, the light catching the engagement ring on her finger. She loves him, after all.
Two planets later, and the chieftan's daughter is offered to Daniel. Daniel tries to turn her down, but Sam catches the desperation in her glance and accepts on his behalf. That night, the woman sleeps curled at Sam's back, shaking. Whispering that they would beat her if she wasn't taken, that they beat her anyway. That the lot of an unmarried woman is almost more than she can bear.
Sam takes her back to Earth with them.
Brightman brings up the domestic abuse at their conference with the General. The woman's bruises are consistant with those inflicted on battered women everywhere. For a moment, her gaze meets Sam's, then she looks away, back to the General, and finishes delivering her report in crisp tones.
"You don't know what you're implying."
"Don't I, Colonel?"
Sam has to look away, detatch. There's a crack on one wall of Janet's office. Brightman's now, and she keeps forgetting that. "Forget it, Doc."
"Colonel. There are hotlines--"
"I don't need help."
The fourth time he says she brought it on herself. That she caused him to lose his temper, to hurt her. And the bruises are livid on her pale skin.
She makes an appointment to tan the next morning. By afternoon, the bruising is mostly hidden beneath browned skin.
The chieftan's daughter settles in, quickly helping the linguistics department and catching the eye of the occasional airman. Sam tells her gently that she doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to.
"I know." is the girl's reply.
A week later, the girl walks out of the mountain and disappears.
They spend a month looking for her.
During that time, Sam juggles her two lovers, sleeping with one, then the other. Neither of them seem to realize they're being cuckholded.
She likes that by the eighth time she's expecting his fist in her gut. Relishes the pain as he smacks her ass, telling her she's a slut and a whore and she is *his* and better not have any others. She thinks she would once have been horrified to have these marks on her body. That she would have stood up to him and told him he could fuck off and die.
But he loves her.
And the storybooks say love conquers all.
Brightman corners her two months after Ariana has disappeared. The locker room is empty, and Sam feels oddly vulnerable, returning from the shower in nothing but a towel. Brightman crosses her arms, "Colonel."
"Doc."
Impatient, the woman grabs her arm, drags her in front of the mirrors and yanks the towel off, "Colonel, look at yourself. Those are not the kind of bruises a woman should have."
"I ran into a door."
"Don't fuck with me, Sam, I know exactly what you're wearing on your body. Why are you letting him do this to you? Is your fiance that great a man?"
Sam shrugs, "He loves me."
"Love doesn't hurt you, Colonel."
Angry, Sam turns, "How would you know? Love hurts, Doc. Love hurts a hell of a lot. And you know what? This is none of your fucking business, so you can just stay out of it from now on. Is that CLEAR?"
"Fine." The flat tone should have warned her.
It's the thirteenth time. She thinks there's something coincidental about that as his fist impacting her jaw spins her around into the wall. "Nice goin', Carter."
"I don't--" she barely manages before his hands haul her against him, then slam her back into the wall.
"Domestic abuse. I read Brightman's report. She suggests you be removed from active duty until the situation is sorted out." He smirks, "You're going to have to leave that pansy-ass fiance of yours."
"I didn't tell her, sir." She whispers, eyes wide. "Not about us, I--"
"That's ok." His hand strokes her cheek, "I'll just have to be more careful from now on." He hauls her up by her hair and nips her earlobe, chuckling, "The Iraqis taught me some very fun nerve techniques. All you have to do is stop making me angry."
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to."
"You never do. That's why I love you."
She wonders, as he shoves her face down over his desk, and yanks her clothing down, whether this was simply inevitable. Or if love could conquer all.
"Mine." He informs her before pushing into her, voice happy. "All mine."
-f-
Someone told me they found it hot.
Rating: So not for the kiddies. This is fairly dark, fairly violent, rather disutrbing.
Pairings: Sam/Jack, Sam/Pete.
Set: Season eight, post-Affinity. No real spoilers.
Archiving: ...someone is going to actually want this?
Warnings: Domestic violence. Sex.
Notes: Inspired by a lot of the recent discussions on Love Making Everything All Right. The title is stolen from the Pet Shop Boys' "To Speak Is a Sin" but I think I've already named a fic that before. Thus, this title.
Bless The Time Or Weather
by ALC Punk!
"You're mine," he likes to say as he fucks her over the desk. Hand on her back holding her down while he pounds in with little disregard for whether she's enjoying the experience or not. And yet she always has some sick thrill at the way it feels. "Mine." His teeth nip her shoulder, his hand twists in her hair, and he comes, shuddering and pressing her down into the wood as he subsides. "Samantha."
The first time she objected, he pushed her into the wall, left teeth marks in her chest and bruises on her legs.
She told Brightman they were gotten running from a jaffa patrol. Slipped and fell on rocks. The doctor looked at her disbelievingly, but let it pass.
"I love you," he whispers into the skin of her neck when she's curled in a ball, aching from need unfulfilled. And maybe that ends up being enough.
The second time she objected, he was more careful with his placement of bruises, a little more sadistic as he shoved his cock down her throat. Brightman merely tightened her lips and didn't ask.
*He* doesn't ask, either. And for that, she's grateful.
Although she's obscurely saddened that he doesn't notice the marks left on her body by another man.
Daniel asks her sometimes how things are going with Pete. "Just fine," she lies. Because they have to be going well with Pete, after all, she wouldn't be doing this to herself if they weren't. If she weren't just a little fucked in the head.
"I love you, Sam." He likes to say it in daylight, when the sun's shining and there are kids running around in the park.
Different from growls in the dark and fingers dragging her down, marking their territory.
The third time, she doesn't object, and he takes what he needs, getting her off later with two fingers and his teeth on her skin.
She wakes in the morning alone and bruised, aching, and wondering if this is worth it.
It has to be, she decides, the light catching the engagement ring on her finger. She loves him, after all.
Two planets later, and the chieftan's daughter is offered to Daniel. Daniel tries to turn her down, but Sam catches the desperation in her glance and accepts on his behalf. That night, the woman sleeps curled at Sam's back, shaking. Whispering that they would beat her if she wasn't taken, that they beat her anyway. That the lot of an unmarried woman is almost more than she can bear.
Sam takes her back to Earth with them.
Brightman brings up the domestic abuse at their conference with the General. The woman's bruises are consistant with those inflicted on battered women everywhere. For a moment, her gaze meets Sam's, then she looks away, back to the General, and finishes delivering her report in crisp tones.
"You don't know what you're implying."
"Don't I, Colonel?"
Sam has to look away, detatch. There's a crack on one wall of Janet's office. Brightman's now, and she keeps forgetting that. "Forget it, Doc."
"Colonel. There are hotlines--"
"I don't need help."
The fourth time he says she brought it on herself. That she caused him to lose his temper, to hurt her. And the bruises are livid on her pale skin.
She makes an appointment to tan the next morning. By afternoon, the bruising is mostly hidden beneath browned skin.
The chieftan's daughter settles in, quickly helping the linguistics department and catching the eye of the occasional airman. Sam tells her gently that she doesn't have to do anything she doesn't want to.
"I know." is the girl's reply.
A week later, the girl walks out of the mountain and disappears.
They spend a month looking for her.
During that time, Sam juggles her two lovers, sleeping with one, then the other. Neither of them seem to realize they're being cuckholded.
She likes that by the eighth time she's expecting his fist in her gut. Relishes the pain as he smacks her ass, telling her she's a slut and a whore and she is *his* and better not have any others. She thinks she would once have been horrified to have these marks on her body. That she would have stood up to him and told him he could fuck off and die.
But he loves her.
And the storybooks say love conquers all.
Brightman corners her two months after Ariana has disappeared. The locker room is empty, and Sam feels oddly vulnerable, returning from the shower in nothing but a towel. Brightman crosses her arms, "Colonel."
"Doc."
Impatient, the woman grabs her arm, drags her in front of the mirrors and yanks the towel off, "Colonel, look at yourself. Those are not the kind of bruises a woman should have."
"I ran into a door."
"Don't fuck with me, Sam, I know exactly what you're wearing on your body. Why are you letting him do this to you? Is your fiance that great a man?"
Sam shrugs, "He loves me."
"Love doesn't hurt you, Colonel."
Angry, Sam turns, "How would you know? Love hurts, Doc. Love hurts a hell of a lot. And you know what? This is none of your fucking business, so you can just stay out of it from now on. Is that CLEAR?"
"Fine." The flat tone should have warned her.
It's the thirteenth time. She thinks there's something coincidental about that as his fist impacting her jaw spins her around into the wall. "Nice goin', Carter."
"I don't--" she barely manages before his hands haul her against him, then slam her back into the wall.
"Domestic abuse. I read Brightman's report. She suggests you be removed from active duty until the situation is sorted out." He smirks, "You're going to have to leave that pansy-ass fiance of yours."
"I didn't tell her, sir." She whispers, eyes wide. "Not about us, I--"
"That's ok." His hand strokes her cheek, "I'll just have to be more careful from now on." He hauls her up by her hair and nips her earlobe, chuckling, "The Iraqis taught me some very fun nerve techniques. All you have to do is stop making me angry."
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to."
"You never do. That's why I love you."
She wonders, as he shoves her face down over his desk, and yanks her clothing down, whether this was simply inevitable. Or if love could conquer all.
"Mine." He informs her before pushing into her, voice happy. "All mine."
-f-
Someone told me they found it hot.