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Disclaimer: Not mine. Rating: R/NC17. Sex. Character Death. Sam/Jack.
Set: Season 7. I suppose.
Notes: This one was a nos' request. Title swiped from Garbage's "Medication" Cut to the Bone by ALC Punk! Sam didn't know when it stopped being about Daniel and started being about them. She did know that it had started because of Daniel. That they'd come back from yet another mission to find that he'd died on a routine dig. That without them, he had simply ceased to be. Others were dead, the toll higher because there were larval goa'uld on the planet. They had been supposed to stay on base while Daniel was off being an archeologist, but something had come up. A mission that only they could handle, so they went. Of course the mission had gone well, of course they had stopped another goa'uld from becoming a system lord. But Daniel was dead. There was a bitter irony in him dying without them. Maybe she was deluding herself. Maybe it always had been about them, and Daniel was merely the excuse they had used. Or the catalyst. He would have liked that. These are the kinds of things that go through her mind. The thoughts that she can't block out when Jack O'Neill is thrusting into her, her back to the cold stone of Daniel's grave. There's something vaguely sacrilegious about this, but she doesn't care. She doesn't think Daniel would have, either. They'd missed the funeral, days late on their mission, and so it was a silent sojourn to stand at the grave side, looking at the earth which was already beginning to grow grass. Sam had put her dress blues on, scrimping and using thigh-highs because there wasn't time to buy new pantyhose. Standing there, in the slight chill of a Colorado Springs May afternoon, she felt the breeze brush her legs. Easy access. The phrase made so much more sense now. She wasn't sure which of them turned to the other. Who initiated the kiss that was full of desperation and other things was never an issue. A kiss that shoved her against the cold of the stone while his hands were busy sliding her panties down her legs. He was still kissing her when sliding his fingers into her until she was crying out beneath the onslaught and wondering if God looked down from his heaven and shook his head at them for having sex on Daniel's grave. Or maybe Daniel looked down. But she didn't want to think about that as the Colonel pulled his hand from between her legs and licked his fingers clean. She kissed him again, dragging his mouth to hers and whimpering as he dragged her leg up and slipped between her thighs. Her own hand positioned him and then she gave a sharp cry as he penetrated her in one hard thrust. As he fucked her, with harsh, fast strokes, she stopped thinking about the fact that she was having sex with her commanding officer on the grave of her dead friend. There were other considerations. Light and sound, depth of the angle, and the way his mouth moved on her neck, his free hand tangling with her bra before assaulting her breasts. He made her come again, mouth stretching into a smirk against her skin before pushing her harder against the stone. "I hate you." The words exit her mouth and echo in the silent air around them. "Yeah. Me too." He shuddered against her, cock spasming inside of her as he came, mouth closing on her neck, teeth scraping delicate skin. She sighed as he leaned into her, the only thing keeping them from falling over the gravestone digging into her back. "We're..." She leaned her head back as he bit her again, and groaned. "Sir." "I know." Slowly he pulled away, slipping out of her and leaving her standing on her own two feet. "This didn't happen." Didn't. Didn't. Did not. Could not. Couldn't happen again. Ever. Because it wasn't about them, it was about Daniel. It was always about Daniel. "No." He handed her a handkerchief before cleaning himself with a second one. "It can't happen again." "Yup." She stared at the mess of fluids coating the fabric. "I should have worn pants." -f- © 2005 ALC Punk! |