Freedom of Will
by ALC Punk!

His mouth is devouring the skin of her neck, his hands are up her shirt tweaking her nipples, and the sounds escaping her mouth aren't quite human. It's a good thing Teal'c and the newest attempt at a replacement for Dr. Daniel Jackson are somewhere on the other side of the village. They won't hear them.

She thinks in another life they wouldn't be doing this.

The bootlaces on her right boot give out first, and she drags her own pants leg down while he fumbles with the zipper on his. The tree scrapes against her half-exposed back as he thrusts and misses, readjusts and thrusts again.

It comes to her in snatches of memory that they have done this before.

His knees have got to be killing him, but he isn't protesting as he pushes into her, fucking her with quick hard strokes that drag at her nerve-endings until she's almost mindless with the feel of him.

Back before this was all hard to keep careful, to keep emotions separate from duty.

A grunt warns her and she shoves against his hips with her own, feeling him spasm as he comes, holding onto her hips with fingers that she knows will leave bruises.

Before locked rooms and ice caves and "sir" as an epithet.

The sweat is slick on her skin, but she didn't come. Before she can say anything (not that she wants to) he is dropping to his knees, fingers dragging her underwear to the side, mouth latching onto her. She bangs her head against the tree and fleetingly considers the bugs that live beneath the bark.

This is wrong. Alien influence, alcohol, drugs, or just the fact that Daniel is dead and neither of them can talk about it.

His fingers slide into her, and his lips and tongue tug at her clit, and she screams as she comes, legs giving out. Sliding down the trunk, collapsing in front of him, she wonders if he sees her as weak.

Last time, he held her, he clung. She hadn't expected that sort of vulnerability from him.

"Carter."

They're not supposed to speak.

"Sir."

Or maybe they are.

He stares at her awkwardly, then his hand reaches out and touches her cheek. "I..."

"Alien influence," she whispers, fighting not to turn her head into his hand. The gesture makes her skin ache.

"Yeah."

The hand drops away, and she leans back into the tree and fights the urge to reclaim him.

"We should get back. I hear they're having cheese at their feast."

A smile touches her lips and she closes her eyes. "You go, sir. I'll just be a moment."

She hears him creak, joints snapping and muscles protesting as he stands. The movement of cloth while he rearranges his clothing and then the zipper. "Carter..."

"Just go."

When he's gone, she slowly stands and steps back into her pants leg, fighting it the right way out in growing frustration. By the time she realizes she can't tie her boot since he broke the laces, she's crying.

Sinking back against the base of the tree she fights for control and finally succeeds when her radio crackles. "Carter here."

"Major Carter," the voice of Dr. Inara Richards pours through the distance. "Colonel O'Neill requested that I contact you and inform you of the intoxicating nature of the villagers' special brew."

Swallowing the last of her tears, Sam clicks the talk button. "Thanks, Doc. Carter out."

They shouldn't have done this (again), but she knows it won't be on the report. Teal'c might figure it out, but she knows without asking that he'll be silent. Dr. Richards will be too busy exclaiming happily over the natives' tribal rituals to notice.

And if it does end up there, they have the perfect excuse.

Her back hurts as she stands, and she fleetingly wonders if she can tell Janet she fell to explain away her scrapes and bruises.

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!