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Disclaimer: Don't own 'em
Spoilers: Season 7
Set: Season 8
Rating: R. non-explicit sex. Some mentions of math.
Archive: Have at it.
Summary: (I hate these things) Sex! Porn Without Plot.
Notes: Response to the just posted challenge (dude, do you know how weird it is to read something, mutter about cliches, and then have a first line smacked into your brain? Yes. It's a cliche. My response (and lack of dealing with any conversation at all) is also a cliche. And I'm rambling.)
Pi Squared by ALC Punk! It didn't start this way. She knows this, as the sheets tangle around them. Knows it when his fingers find her, when she arches and cries out. Knows it when he slides inside her. He feels different. Not better, not worse. Simply different. Moves differently, too. He's methodical, maybe. Wants to learn every piece of her soul while he slides in and out. Which is funny, because isn't this the sort of thing that negates having a soul? 'Samantha Carter, will you marry me?' Words she's wanted to hear, but never planned on. Words that are supposed to mean everything and feel as if they mean nothing. Words from the wrong man. And that's not right, either, because there's too much at stake for it to matter. She didn't say yes. She asked for time. Time to what, Samantha? Convince yourself this is what you truly want? Convince yourself that your sanity isn't worth your happines? (or perhaps it's the other way around or nothing at all.) Lips on her breast catch her unawares, and a sound exits her lips. Meaningless tumbles of words. He's good at this. Good GOD is he good at this. It doesn't matter that he claims he's rusty, that she can tell his control is slipping. She's not going to help that. There's some small part of her appalled at this whole charade. But the rest of her is intensely pleased that *she* can make him do this. She can make him feel and shatter into a hundred million pieces (the permutations could be worse than pi). And shatter he does, crying out her name into her shoulder. He knows she didn't follow him (or precede), and he's irritated. Before she can let him know it's all right, he's off in a frenzy of licking and suckling, and-- Not like that. Wait. There. Better. Oh. Oh, crap. She breaks, tries to count the pieces, ends up skewing the results with extra variables and quadratic equations with too many solutions. There's a smug look in his eyes when he comes back up to flop next to her. For all that... the other one. She can't even name him, here. It would feel like a desecration. Or perhaps she's simply hiding from the truth. Pete. So, she can think it. But not say it. Pete's a good lover. He's even made her break that loud and hard before. But this is different. It has to be. It's not supposed to be. This is the wrong man, the one she's never supposed to do this with. Well, those plans certainly got tossed out the window. "You're thinking too hard." Yep. Learned that from trying to distract herself--where the hell is his hand going? Oh. Maybe this thinking thing is over-rated for now. Maybe it's not. She catches his hand, pushes it against the bed and moves to straddle him. Leaning over, she watches his eyes. He's smug, but contained again. That moment where he wanted nothing more than her is gone. She wonders if she can get it back. Her lips stretch into their own smirk when she twists her hips, causing him to groan. "I'm an old man, gimme a break!" Nope. No breaks. The smirk deepens and she leans down, hovering over his lips. "My turn." It didn't start this way. But it could end like this. -finis- © 2005 ALC Punk! |