I quietly slipped into Sam's room. The space was mostly bare, save for a mattress on the floor, similar to a futon. Candles burned around the head of the bed, and in the corners of the room. They weren't made of wax, but rather of some natural wood, soaked in oil. The walls were stone. The side opposite the bed bore faded traces of paint--warding sigils placed there by a warlord several generations past. The people of Wigtron had cast off such superstitions, but their history remained.
We were on the upper floor of a fortress, carved into the side of a mountain. The people of Wigtron had little to offer us technologically, but they did have trace amounts of naquada in their soil that we could extract. They were our allies, in no small part because we had cured them of a plague--That's the only reason I was here. Today was the one year anniversary of SG1's trip through the Stargate to this world, and the Wigtrons threw us a party. Festivities had lasted all day, but they, thankfully, were an early-to-bed, early-to-rise sort of people, and we were left alone by 2100 hours. Ostensibly, to go to bed.
Sam was standing by the window, which was no more than a hole in the wall. I could see a thin sheen of sweat on her in the dim, flickering light. The evening was humid. The air tasted like thunderstorms. Sam's expression was eager as she looked out at the alien world. She loved sky phenomena. I was sure she was waiting for the heavens to explode with rain so she could calculate the density of the atmosphere by the bursts of lightning. My lover waiting patiently, lit by candlelight and the grey evening, to do physics. Romantic. I held my breath and crept closer to her.
Sam Carter was wearing a beige tank top, soaked with sweat so that it hugged her skin, translucent, but not as pale as her arms against it. She was still wearing her BDU trousers, though she had unstrapped her gunbelt, and left it in a coil on the floor. She was barefoot, shifting from time to time, enjoying the rough stone under her calloused soles. Her tousled blond hair, too long and messy from being freed--probably the moment she was out of the sight of the guards--from the symbolic tiara she'd been forced to wear all day--didn't quite brush her shoulders, but instead framed her face. Those tangled pale locks and the slouched stance of her body made her look dangerous.
The lines of her back were revealed in stark relief underneath the tank top. I wanted to trace them, press my lips to them, taste the sweat and caress the steel beneath the skin. Major Carter would tell anyone she was, first and foremost, a soldier. She certainly looked the part. She was her daddy's girl, General Carter's offspring, his redemption, his new and improved model, and his future. She knew it. Everybody knew it. At moments like this, I entertained the speculation that a body like hers was cruelly wasted on a woman who defined herself by brainpower. Or maybe it was the other way around. Did the Air Force temper her ferocity by putting her in a lab coat, or did the military unleash something hidden and dangerous in an otherwise mild-mannered scientist?
Both sides of Sam were alluring, but I was happy tonight to get the animalistic part of her. The setting was appropriate, and begged to be exploited. My lips parted so that I could taste the air, indulge in the steam coming off her skin. I inhaled deeply.
At some point long before the first Stargate mission, where Daniel Jackson had gone and married an alien girl, the Air Force had set down a policy. No sex off-world. Despite the rules, I had become something of an expert on alien STDs. I was not _the_ expert, though. Dr. Jackson was the one with the sufficient understanding of culture to trace diseases. Could one separate AIDS from the promiscuous subculture of gay men in the 1970s and 1980s, which in turn was affected by the sexual liberation of the 1960s, in turn affected by the repression of the 1940s and 1950s, in turn affected by the risqué vaudevillian culture of the 1930s, brought on by unemployment, poverty, and fear?
Not to mention, globally, understand the cycles of misogyny and prostitution in sub-Saharan Africa, which meant understanding colonization by various imperialistic cultures--The French, the English, the Dutch. I was learning, slowly, the cultural signs that led to epidemics and the cures of certain rashes around the crotch area. Socio-political xenography was something medical school had failed to teach me at the outset. An unfortunate oversight.
These thoughts were fleeting as I looked at Sam. I remembered how, safe in my lab on Earth, I learned that fraternization among the troops had developed much later than fraternization with the titillating aliens, slowly, as the teams had bonded. I had learned of too many missions where scared 18-year-olds thought they were never coming home again, mixed with too many missions where aliens cultures were so different that all the soldiers had were each other, and that led to, well, closeness. Release had been found in medieval Goa'uld prison cells and in cities with advancements beyond the imagination of science fiction. That brought me to this moment, here. I was to continue the cycle, to let a lover bring me urgent, carnal, unspoken comfort, to be soothed from my fear of thunderstorms.
I cleared my throat.
Sam looked up, away from the window, toward me. She smiled when she saw me, her entire face lighting up. She made me feel as if the mere sight of me was all she needed for happiness. Sam was so simple, sometimes, a big, dumb soldier. Men were the ones attracted to her brain. I just wanted her in uniform.
Her eyes roved over me and I stood still, preening slightly at her appreciative gaze. I had decided to femme it up, and snuck an azure silk robe into my standard-issue backpack. If anyone had asked, I would have said it was for ceremonial purposes, but I'd made it past the quartermaster without incident. Now my inappropriate act was paying off, as Sam's eyes grew more lucid, her features more content, as she looked unabashedly at me.
I was usually a dull dresser. I wore professional, perfectly starched whites at work. I'd heard the term "unapproachable" used to describe me. When I had to go off-world, it was fatigues like everyone else. Sam liked me best in camouflage green. She said I looked stronger, then, though I often felt like a very short clown playing dress up. Maybe the color just suited my features, for Sam's most carnal expression came out only with my BDUs. Off-base, I dressed like any mother of a teenage daughter. I didn't want to attract attention. For good reason. But tonight, I tried something totally different, just to see the look on Samantha Carter's face.
I was rewarded.
Sam took a step closer to me.
"No," I said. Like a tame lioness, she stood stock still at my command, but quivered, her nostrils flaring. I approached her. She was twice my size and could kill me easily, premeditated, in anger, or accidentally in feral passion. She wouldn't. I reached her side, and slid my arms around her waist, pressing my cheek to her back, nuzzling between her shoulder blades. I held her against me. I inhaled her scent, sweat mingling with cotton and traces of the foreign spices from dinner. I kissed her bare arm, which she had pressed tightly to her side in her effort not to move.
"Janet," she warned, her voice low and fierce, as my touches excited her. This was the tone she used to tell Hammond she had to burn down the base in order to save the planet. He would have handed her a match.
I wasn't so easy. "What were you looking at?" I chided, tightening my grip around her, feeling her muscles contract. She was strong and lean. My lips found their way back to her skin.
"Smell the air. There's ionization. And see the cliff to the east of us? There are exposed copper veins, from Wigtron strip mining, that may attract the lightning. It will be quite a show. Hopefully we can gather data that may lead to us understanding our own weather better, and perhaps, someday being able to control it."
I laughed into her back, and I could feel her body curl against me as she pouted.
"Do you trick me into revealing my nerdiness?"
"No, sweetie," I crooned apologetically. "You just answered a question that was in my mind. You've always been a kid with a chemistry set, haven't you?"
She still pouted. "Who am I, Gil Grissom?"
I turned her around in my arms, and looked up into her face. Her blue eyes were wide with amazement, watching me. I was silent for so long that she prompted me to speak, poking me in the back. "I was trying to imagine you with glasses," I said by way of explanation. "But I think that would take the 'smart is sexy' archetype to too extreme a level, and even the Stargate would melt from the heat."
Sam laughed, lifting her head so she wouldn't breathe on me, showing me her white teeth. Her joy motivated me, and I buried both hands in her thick blond hair, and drew her head down for a fierce kiss. She was stunned into dormancy under my hands, and I drove my tongue into her mouth, tasting her lips and teeth. I hungered for her, and for a moment I allowed myself to devour her with an aching kiss. Only when I pulled back did she spring into action, her arms moving to encircle me and draw me back, crushing me against the strength of her body. She was bigger than me, she could snap me in half like a twig, and she was reminding me not to tease her.
Her mouth descended on mine and our tongues met, caressed, dueled, until I pulled back again. I had the grace to look apologetic, even through the red haze of passion that had overcome me. I had to squint at her to see her, though my sense of touch was compensating, every nerve ending awakened. Touch her. Or you'll die from the need.
I pushed the voice down. I would touch Samantha, but on my own terms. I had control issues. It was a long story. I slid my hands from her hair, and stroked her cheek. She was staring at me. I could see the whites of her eyes. I did not condescend to purr to her, to calm her. She was not an animal. She was a woman, an equal, and I would not hurt her by rejecting the need in her after I had awakened it. I let my hands travel down her body in careful silence. I avoided her mouth as I would avoid a coiled rattlesnake. One false move, and her lips would descend, crush me to the stone floor, and take me, wet and vulnerable, before I could even exhale the invitation. Maybe later.
My arms slid around her waist again, and I circled to her back. She sighed and looked out again at the black sky. I smiled against her shoulder. I let my nose tickle her. My hands moved across her belly, and tugged at her shirt. I was careful not to touch the waistband of her pants. Already against my face I could feel the rising heat within her. I lamented that I wasn't tall enough to kiss her ear as I pulled her tank top up further, over her breasts. When my own arms wouldn't go higher, I grunted, and she removed the stained shirt and tossed it carelessly to the ground in the general vicinity of her gun. Her sigh let me know that she was uninterested in how this part developed. She just wanted to get off.
I grinned behind her as I unhooked her bra, and pushed it off her shoulders. It fell to the ground, not even worthy of a kick toward the pile of clothes. Sam still gazed out the window, and had set her jaw. A cool breeze kicked up by the storm came into the room and chilled her bare skin. Her nipples tightened. I reached from behind to cover her breasts. My hands warmed them. The tips, turgid, insistent, pushed into my palms as I caressed her, felt the weight of her, heaving against me. I squeezed her breasts, letting her nipples slip through my fingers, tracing them into hard points. When she began to whimper I relented, simply holding her that way, intimate, quiet.
My mouth against her back found the line of her spine, and the faint white spider web of scars branching out. I kissed each one, and let my teeth graze flesh yet unblemished, making my own marks on her skin. Her murmurs were insistent now, pleading, but low-pitched, as if she didn't really want to stop me by demanding a change.
She arched her hips into my center, grinding against me. The coarse polyester of her trousers was chafing the silk in all the right places, and I suspect she knew it. My heat was exposed, magnified, by the fabric I'd chosen, that was transferring my need and wetness to the surface. I was glad she'd left her pants on, or we'd have done it against the windowsill. And I had plans.
When she began to squirm in my arms, I decided to release her. "Sam," I said quietly. One syllable, naming her, drawing her into existence. The powers holding her captive vanished as I dropped my arms. She turned around.
Her gaze was wondering. Piercing blue eyes searched my face, and a faint smile touched her lips. She waited a moment, as if testing me, to see if I'd stop her. Then she reached for my robe. "Sam," I said again. This time it was a plea.
She parted my robe. I sighed with relief. Her large, powerful hand touched my stomach, and then moved lower. My wetness welcomed her. I groaned. She touched me with careful determination, a dangerous smile breaking across her face. One long finger slipped between my lips, dipping into my heat.
"Sweet Jesus," I whispered, and her smile turned into a smirk. She was reminding me that this was my idea. And oh god, I was going to die right there all over her hand.
Sam reached out for my right hip, and carefully guided me backward toward the bed. When we got to it my knees buckled, and I fell back. The mattress was thick, and I couldn't feel the stone beneath it, despite the proximity to the floor. Thank god. I couldn't have dealt with any distractions.
I looked up. Sam was still standing, because she was a soldier and made of steel whose knees didn't buckle just because a pretty girl touched her. She reached for the fly of her trousers. My eyes rolled back in my head.
She started to laugh, and when I opened my eyes again she was naked, an Adonis before me, impossibly tall, sculpted of muscle, and all mine. The curves of her hips and breasts and shoulders spoke not of Venus but of Athena, goddess of war and wisdom, protector of young maidens from thunderstorms. For a moment she was as ancient and perfect as a Greek statue. Then I saw her eyes.
Sam Carter gazed down at me, sprawled and open on her bed, and her eyes grew dangerous again. I'd released the beast, and she was letting me know it. She knelt over me, lowering herself to the bed. Settling on top of me, flesh to flesh. I threw my legs over her thighs, and clung to her. My idea, my idea.
I could barely breathe as it was, and protested her kisses. Suffocation would only distract me from the pounding in my groin. She settled for suckling at my throat. I knew she was tasting me the same way I had tasted her earlier. I didn't care at the moment if I was as sweaty. I thrust upward, toward her, trying to find her rhythm, begging for her mouth, her hand, her thigh. Anything. I was desperate. I dug my nails into her back. I thrashed at her, I kicked at her legs.
"Please, Sam," I begged.
"Not yet," she replied. She gave me her thigh, our bodies coming together like scissors, thrusting. I wallowed in the sensation of her muscles working against my heat, knowing it wouldn't be enough for long. I needed something harder and firmer. If she wouldn't give me her whole hand, maybe just a finger. Or a wrist.
I was trying to find the strength to vocalize my plea again when the door to our suite was flung open. Both of our heads turned simultaneously toward the opening, and the figure silhouette there, uninvited. What a sight we must have made, a small, dark-haired, rather voluptuous woman being ravaged by a lion, a tall blond soldier having her way. God, close the door so we can get on with it.
The court jester was standing there, and he didn't look embarrassed in the least. "Good, good," he said. "Excellent."
I glared at him. I gave him my best Dr. Fraiser Stare of Doom, the one that got Jack O'Neill to take off his underwear for his physicals, but the jester didn't seem even slightly phased. Neither did Sam.
The man was carrying an ornate box under his arm. "Odysi brings blessings on this most wondrous occasion," he said gleefully, as he approached the bed.
"Odysi?" Sam asked curiously.
"Fornication?" I echoed.
The jester jerked his head toward the wall that held the sigils. Christ, I thought, ~Was this the honeymoon suite?~ My thoughts were interrupted by the jester settling the box on the bed. Task done, he finally noticed my glower, and retreated quickly. "Happy tidings!" He exclaimed, before darting out the door.
Maybe he had other deliveries to make. To my consternation, Sam clambered off of me and peered at the box. "Cool."
"Sam," I whined.
She poked at the box.
I watched her. "Why aren't you embarrassed?" I asked.
Sam shrugged.
I squinted suspiciously. "Does this happen often on off-world missions? Is this routine?
Sam snickered.
I flopped back on the bed and covered my face. I couldn't think of a good enough curse, so I settled for a heavy, pointed sigh. I heard Sam open the box, and her snickering increased in volume. I opened one eye.
Major Samantha Carter, decorated officer and noted lecturer in astrophysics, regally held aloft a sleek phallus polished from sturdy dark wood. She waved it at me. She was smiling. The innocent brightness of her expression hurt my eyes.
"Sam, we are NOT--"
"Local custom. Shouldn't we honor it? When in Rome and all that. I've had experience in these matters, you know."
"How much experience?"
She grinned.
I mumbled something and covered my face again.
"Janet," she warned. "I did not just hear you mention something about the socio-political ramifications of sexually transmitted diseases, did I? You promised not to do that anymore when we're in bed."
I mumbled something else.
"Aw, come on." There was a noise that sounded curiously like Sam tapping something against her teeth. "I'm sure they forged this just for us," she continued.
I opened my eye again.
"Look, it'll be fun." Sam stuck the thing in her mouth and blew out her cheeks. The phallus slid in and out of her lips like a lollipop.
"Carter, you're doing it wrong," I muttered.
She grinned, and dangled it over my head. I snatched it away from her. "Jesus." I wriggled up into a sitting position the pillows. The glistening ebony was wet where her mouth had been. I touched the spot. A current went through me, all the way to my clitoris. Long denied, that aching part of me was encouraging me to try anything to get Sam where I wanted her. I slid the tip of the damn thing between my lips.
Sam watched me as my tongue slowly slid in circles around the cool wood, tracing the patterns in the grain. The phallus was smooth and perfectly cylindrical, not curved or veined like dildos I'd seen before on Earth. It tasted, well, hard. I slid my lips further down the shaft, engulfing it. Sam twitched. I let out a slow moan as I pulled it back out, the sheen of saliva on wood exposed by the candlelight.
I knew by the glazed look in my big dumb soldier's eyes that Sam would do anything right now. Maybe even confess? "How much experience?" I demanded, as I slid the phallus over my left breast, stroking the side of my nipple.
"C'mon, Janet, I was just teasing," she pleaded, her eyes never leaving the shaft I held in my hand. I moved it lower, across my belly.
"How much?"
Sam moaned, crouching on the bed, her gaze even with my hand. "I've been offered toys before," she began. "Often for religious purposes. You know..."
If she went into a lecture on comparative pagan ritual and fertility rites, I was going to kill her. "Uh huh?" I prompted.
"And I've been offered girls..." She watched my hand drag the shaft between my legs. I traced circles on my inner thigh, painting with the mingled wetness of saliva and my need. "And boys..." She managed, breathlessly. "And Jack and I have been asked to perform," the words were coming out in a jumble now. "For scientists. For children coming of age. For priests. For bored Goa'uld guards."
I pressed the base of the phallus against my center, tracing my opening.
Sam's face lifted toward mine, and I looked into her eyes. All of a sudden, she looked impossibly young, and terribly scared. As if my denying her would break her heart. She rasped out my name, and then cleared her throat, and tried again. "Janet," she said, giving up all attempts at bravado. I had outlasted her wit. I felt faintly guilty as she told me everything. "I always tell them I'm chaste. My planet's weird custom about women. They always buy it. I've never--"
My sudden smile stopped her rambling. I leaned forward and kissed the top of her head, awkwardly, before falling back into the pillows and looking at her. She was beautiful. I was ready to forgive her. Almost.
Together we looked down at where my hand gripped the phallus. "Do you think this is what the guys are doing right now?" I said, jerking my fist up and down the shaft.
Sam's lips parted. "That's not funny," she managed.
"Yes it is," I insisted. I started to push the shaft inside me. Her hand came up to cover mine. She looked up at my face again, searching for permission. I granted it, and fell back prone on the bed, closing my eyes.
Her hand squeezed mine, and we squeezed the phallus together, pushing it inside me, filling me. I moaned. Then she pulled my fingers away, and took over the task of sliding the ebony in and out of me, slowly, methodically, until I was thrashing again. The wetness and heat against the wood made it too slippery for the rough stimulation I sought, and Sam was refusing to push it into me far enough to touch my core, and make it burn. I tried thrusting my hips toward her, but she backed away, keeping up the teasing.
"Sam," I growled, beyond begging now. "Now."
But it was her mouth that descended, not shy now, finding my clitoris immediately, drawing the hard bundle of nerves into her mouth. She possessed me completely, her face buried between my legs. Her tongue flickered over my nub, sending spasms through me. I didn't have the strength to bury my fingers in her hair, but her tongue was right where I needed it, warming me.
The phallus was still inside me, touching inner nerves that ached with the same steady rhythm as my clitoris between her lips, but the pressure against it had ceased. Her mouth increased her ministrations, and I was about to beg to come when the phallus was thrust deeply inside of me, as far as it would go, for the first time, as a wet finger snaked across my rear opening, further below. The sensations expanded from three points across my entire body, and I quivered, arched, and came, crying out, seeing stars streak behind my eyelids. I felt like my skin was going to melt off, as I arched again into Sam's eager mouth and fondling hands, losing myself in the orgasm.
When I sagged into the bed again, Sam moved up beside me, grinning a stupid, happy grin. She began kissing my face. She slowly worked the phallus from me, her hands tender and encouraging. When I was finally free of it, I wrapped my arms around her neck, and kissed her properly, for the first time since I pinned her against the window.
"Was that thunder?" I murmured against her lips, "Or just me?"
Sam laughed. "Storm's started," she said, dipping down to kiss my lips.
I stretched and settled onto my back, and guided her on top of me. I watched the storm churn in her eyes for a moment. "Sam," I called softly, as I slide my hands down her back and over her rear.
Her skin was feverish as I touched her, tracing lines across her body. My hand stroked her breasts, her stomach, slid down to her inner thigh and caressed the soft skin. She was warm and silky, and I reveled in her form, lithe and curved and utterly feminine, until she let out a soft cry and shifted backward, pushing her center toward my hand.
I touched her. I searched her face as she settled onto me, moving on her own. I knotted my fingers and let her use them at will. Her blue eyes found mine as she thrust downward so that I penetrated her, and then arched up again, rolling her hips so that her clitoris made contact with my knuckles. She pressed hard against me, grunting, with her eyes locked onto my face so I could watch the flickering cerulean fire in them.
The phallus was forgotten now. We concentrated on each other. Sam leaned down to kiss me, and I knew she was close. She liked me to rob her of breath with kisses while she came, to cut herself off from the universe beyond her sensation in order to ignite and combust. Chemistry made sex better, she said. I had to agree.
I matched her thrusts with my hand, guiding her, pushing her higher. I stroked her until she began to shiver and clamped down on me, sucking the air from my mouth and finally, closing her eyes. She came against me, and the moment held, seemingly endless, as she savored it.
Then, with a gust of breath, she released me, lifted her head so she could grin at me, ear to ear. She crouched over me on her hands and knees, ever the beast. "Yee Ha," she said happily.
I laughed, and reached up for her. "Come'ere," I murmured, tugging her closer to me.
She threw out her arms and legs, and landed on top of me. I grunted with surprise. This was not exactly what I had in mind. Her weight felt good over me for a moment, protective, but then claustrophobia began to creep through me. "Oaf," I said chidingly, and pushed her off.
She rolled over onto her side, and propped herself up on an elbow, smiling at me. "I love these off-world flings, Dr. Fraiser," she said.
I blinked at her. "What? We're on another planet?" I asked as I bent to kiss her. Rain fell steadily outside the window, but I didn't hear any more thunder all night.