Gravity Released
by ALC Punk!

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 pulls her leg up, slides her underwear aside and slips 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 guttural 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 unyielding surface.

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 endured.

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.

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!