misaffection (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
misaffection) wrote2010-12-30 06:59 am
misaffection) wrote2010-12-30 06:59 am
Entry tags:
Ignoring the Obvious | Stargate SG1: Sam/Baal
Fandom: Stargate SG1
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRM
Written for:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
citrus_taste's Christmas mini challenge
Prompt: Tied with a Bow
Word Count: 1,730
Summary: Baal's host is very attractive, and good in bed, but Sam has been ignoring something rather more important.
Red ribbon winds a figure of eight around her wrists, secured by a bow. Not that she can see that; her hands are tied behind her back, but he said 'gift wrapped', so she imagines it. She kneels on the living room carpet, amidst the scattered paper and her own clothes, eyes downcast. Playing the submissive does not come easily to her, which is one of the reasons she's doing it: the frustration and anger will hopefully build to an orgasm that will make her scream. She needs that release right now.
Of course, Baal is making her wait. Domination comes naturally to him, as does control. Of her, of himself. He'll outlast her patience by a long way, so she needs to give him what he wants. Then he'll return the favour.
Maybe.
His fingers rake through her hair, forcing her head up. She dares a glance at his face. His eyes are glowing and she shivers, unable to ignore what he is with the evidence right in front of her. She still isn't sure how she feels about the fact that both parts of him enjoy this affair, but she remembers that Jolinar had found pleasure in Rosha making love to Martouf, so she knows that it's possible.
It's just hard to accept, but questioning it is one reason she's knelt on the floor; this is about the symbiote getting off, as he'd told her quite frankly.
“You are beautiful.”
The duel tone dries her mouth. For once, she understands the odd looks that her team-mates give her, understands how they wonder at what she's doing. She couldn't answer that question right now, because she has no idea. How can she give herself to a Goa'uld of all things?
His hand tightens in her hair and she licks her lips.
“Thank you,” she manages, remembering her manners. That he expects that from her.
A smile flickers over his mouth. “You'll look even more beautiful sucking my cock.”
Her sex cramps at his words, despite the alienness of his voice. So he can still effect her, then. She should probably be less surprised. She meets his eyes.
“Yes.”
He smirks and loosens his hold of her head in order to undo his trousers. He's already hard, arching erect, and this she knows better. She doubts he'll taste differently just because his eyes are shining.
He doesn't.
It's easier now he's too close to see his face, his eyes. Musk assaults her nostrils and she breathes him in as he slides to the back of her throat. Both hands twine in her hair, holding her in place, guiding her movements. Well, some of them: he's powerless to stop her swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock, to stop the groan that escapes his throat at the sensation. Sam smirks inwardly, her mouth too full to do otherwise.
She gasps at the slight pain of her hair being tugged. That moment of distraction is all he needs and he pushes in deep. She gags, gulps hard, and somehow manages to get air into her lungs. Baal groans again and slides out. Only enough to ease the pressure, then he thrusts and she thinks that she will swallow him whole or choke on the attempt.
It's demeaning, kneeling there, hands tied and helpless, as he fucks her mouth. Her eyes smart and her throat aches and she hates him so much right now. Moisture crawls down her thighs, her clit throbbing. She doesn't want him to stop, and that's more shaming than anything else.
That's undoubtedly what gets the symbiote off as much as anything else, but he did warn her. Not to push, not to challenge him. She, thinking she knew so damn better, just had to taunt the devil and now there was hell to pay.
Except he isn't being as rough as she'd thought he'd be. Oh, he's bound her, but she suspects that's more a private kink than the need to make her suffer. And even though he buries himself deep in her mouth, he's still giving her room to breathe. He's not... well, raping her, which was what she expected if she's honest with herself.
She pulls back, sitting on her ankles. He doesn't push the point and she stares at his feet, trying to sort through the conflict of thoughts and emotions running amok in her head.
After a moment, she looks up. He arches an eyebrow, eyes still gleaming.
“Something the matter, Samantha?”
She nods and swallows, lowers her eyes to sit meekly before him; the epitome of subservience.
“What are you waiting for?” His voice is curious, with a hint of impatience. “Permission to speak? Really, Samantha, what do you take me for?”
“I-I don't know.” She thinks it might make more sense if he had hurt her. “I didn't expect...” Trailing off, she shrugs, her bound hands making the gesture awkward.
“To enjoy it? That you're not a heaving mass of pain and tears because I hurt you?”
Her face heats with shame. She should have known better.
“Yeah,” she whispers and wants him to hit her, because it's the least she deserves. The plain truth is she didn't trust him, not this part of him anyway. “I...”
“Samantha.”
She looks up and her heart wrenches at the expression on his face. Kindness sits oddly with the gold light, yet now she sees what she's failed to understand – that parts tend to make a whole. She hangs her head.
“Oh, Baal.”
“It took you long enough,” he says, the multi-tone curiously conversational. “I was thinking that maybe I ought to put an ad in the paper. Full page spread. In colour.”
“Okay, I get it,” she grouses. “I feel bad enough without you beating it into the ground.” Although, if he was making a point, she doesn't get one thing. “Why tie my hands?”
“Because you expected it. Because it might have taught you to trust me.” He shrugs and gives her an unrepentant grin. “But mainly because I wanted to. You do paint a very lovely picture all bound and at my command.”
She rolls her eyes. “Screw you.”
“Yes, I'd rather you did, actually.” He smirks and his eyes shine brighter. “Do you swallow, Samantha?”
The suddenness of it makes her gulp, which makes him chuckle. Low and rough and her whole body tingles. He strokes her hair and then cups her face, a silent question on his. She smiles at him.
“Would you untie me? Please.”
He looks up, pretending to think about it. Or she hopes that he's just pretending. Then he smiles and kneels down, reaching behind her. The ribbon goes slack. Sam rolls her shoulders and rubs at her wrists, more to avoid his gaze than because they hurt.
But she cannot avoid him forever. Sighing, she looks at him. He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with amusement now. The retreat of the symbiote doesn't make her feel any better.
“Baal-”
“I'd rather not talk about it, Samantha. I'd rather just...” He touches her cheek and she closes her eyes, turning into that caress. She wants to cry, but that will solve nothing either. “Actions do speak louder, especially that sort.”
She laughs, relieved that he is willing to find the humour in this situation. God knows she can't.
“I'm sorry.” If he doesn't let her say more, then at least she's said that. “Really.”
“I know. Sam... I don't expect you to find this easy. There's a lot of history between us, most of it negative, and I can't – don't – expect you to just forget that. It's not easy for me to come here, when there is the possibility that this time might be the one where you betray me.”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn't-”
“Let me finish,” he interjects. She swallows and nods. “I hope that you don't, but there is always a small, niggling doubt. This... affair is not right on many levels, but I don't think either of us care about those proprieties. But you have to accept what I am, Samantha, otherwise...” He sighs and the sound breaks her heart. “Otherwise we might as well quit.”
“I can't do that,” she says. Hurt blossoms across his face and she grabs him, kisses him hard. “Quit, I mean. Not... I'll try harder. It might help if I stop ignoring it.”
His lips quirk. “It might help if you stop giving me heart failure. Sam, I thought...”
“No.” She kisses him again. His warmth makes her realise how chilled she's become. “Not that. Never that.”
“Never is a long time.”
There's little she can say to that, so she leans against him. His arms circle her and she feels... safe, protected. Cared for. It's more than she'd imagined or dared to dream.
“Does he... I mean, it's obvious he likes the sex, but does he like me?”
“Of course I do,” the rough voice echoes with irritation. “That was a singularly ridiculous question.”
She chuckles and lifts her head, meets the shining eyes. “I like you, too.”
“You like the sex.”
“Yes.” She draws the word out and slides her hand to his chest, undoing a shirt button. “I can't deny that, because you're very good at it. But... just give me time, because I realise now and...” Her eyes find his. “I don't want to ignore it any more.”
“I suppose that's a start.”
Sam leans in and kisses him, keeping her eyes open for once. It occurs to her that she charged into this relationship with them closed both literally and figuratively. If it was just about the sex, she could carry on ignoring the truth – that she's sleeping with a Goa'uld, no matter how often the host is in control – but it's a part of him, as much as his brown eyes or oh-so-talented hands, and she has to accept it and everything it entails.
It is a start. She determined that it's not the beginning of the end, but a change to something more.
Characters: Sam Carter, Baal
Pairing: Sam/Baal
Rating: FRM
Written for:
citrus_taste's Christmas mini challengePrompt: Tied with a Bow
Word Count: 1,730
Summary: Baal's host is very attractive, and good in bed, but Sam has been ignoring something rather more important.
Red ribbon winds a figure of eight around her wrists, secured by a bow. Not that she can see that; her hands are tied behind her back, but he said 'gift wrapped', so she imagines it. She kneels on the living room carpet, amidst the scattered paper and her own clothes, eyes downcast. Playing the submissive does not come easily to her, which is one of the reasons she's doing it: the frustration and anger will hopefully build to an orgasm that will make her scream. She needs that release right now.
Of course, Baal is making her wait. Domination comes naturally to him, as does control. Of her, of himself. He'll outlast her patience by a long way, so she needs to give him what he wants. Then he'll return the favour.
Maybe.
His fingers rake through her hair, forcing her head up. She dares a glance at his face. His eyes are glowing and she shivers, unable to ignore what he is with the evidence right in front of her. She still isn't sure how she feels about the fact that both parts of him enjoy this affair, but she remembers that Jolinar had found pleasure in Rosha making love to Martouf, so she knows that it's possible.
It's just hard to accept, but questioning it is one reason she's knelt on the floor; this is about the symbiote getting off, as he'd told her quite frankly.
“You are beautiful.”
The duel tone dries her mouth. For once, she understands the odd looks that her team-mates give her, understands how they wonder at what she's doing. She couldn't answer that question right now, because she has no idea. How can she give herself to a Goa'uld of all things?
His hand tightens in her hair and she licks her lips.
“Thank you,” she manages, remembering her manners. That he expects that from her.
A smile flickers over his mouth. “You'll look even more beautiful sucking my cock.”
Her sex cramps at his words, despite the alienness of his voice. So he can still effect her, then. She should probably be less surprised. She meets his eyes.
“Yes.”
He smirks and loosens his hold of her head in order to undo his trousers. He's already hard, arching erect, and this she knows better. She doubts he'll taste differently just because his eyes are shining.
He doesn't.
It's easier now he's too close to see his face, his eyes. Musk assaults her nostrils and she breathes him in as he slides to the back of her throat. Both hands twine in her hair, holding her in place, guiding her movements. Well, some of them: he's powerless to stop her swirling her tongue around the tip of his cock, to stop the groan that escapes his throat at the sensation. Sam smirks inwardly, her mouth too full to do otherwise.
She gasps at the slight pain of her hair being tugged. That moment of distraction is all he needs and he pushes in deep. She gags, gulps hard, and somehow manages to get air into her lungs. Baal groans again and slides out. Only enough to ease the pressure, then he thrusts and she thinks that she will swallow him whole or choke on the attempt.
It's demeaning, kneeling there, hands tied and helpless, as he fucks her mouth. Her eyes smart and her throat aches and she hates him so much right now. Moisture crawls down her thighs, her clit throbbing. She doesn't want him to stop, and that's more shaming than anything else.
That's undoubtedly what gets the symbiote off as much as anything else, but he did warn her. Not to push, not to challenge him. She, thinking she knew so damn better, just had to taunt the devil and now there was hell to pay.
Except he isn't being as rough as she'd thought he'd be. Oh, he's bound her, but she suspects that's more a private kink than the need to make her suffer. And even though he buries himself deep in her mouth, he's still giving her room to breathe. He's not... well, raping her, which was what she expected if she's honest with herself.
She pulls back, sitting on her ankles. He doesn't push the point and she stares at his feet, trying to sort through the conflict of thoughts and emotions running amok in her head.
After a moment, she looks up. He arches an eyebrow, eyes still gleaming.
“Something the matter, Samantha?”
She nods and swallows, lowers her eyes to sit meekly before him; the epitome of subservience.
“What are you waiting for?” His voice is curious, with a hint of impatience. “Permission to speak? Really, Samantha, what do you take me for?”
“I-I don't know.” She thinks it might make more sense if he had hurt her. “I didn't expect...” Trailing off, she shrugs, her bound hands making the gesture awkward.
“To enjoy it? That you're not a heaving mass of pain and tears because I hurt you?”
Her face heats with shame. She should have known better.
“Yeah,” she whispers and wants him to hit her, because it's the least she deserves. The plain truth is she didn't trust him, not this part of him anyway. “I...”
“Samantha.”
She looks up and her heart wrenches at the expression on his face. Kindness sits oddly with the gold light, yet now she sees what she's failed to understand – that parts tend to make a whole. She hangs her head.
“Oh, Baal.”
“It took you long enough,” he says, the multi-tone curiously conversational. “I was thinking that maybe I ought to put an ad in the paper. Full page spread. In colour.”
“Okay, I get it,” she grouses. “I feel bad enough without you beating it into the ground.” Although, if he was making a point, she doesn't get one thing. “Why tie my hands?”
“Because you expected it. Because it might have taught you to trust me.” He shrugs and gives her an unrepentant grin. “But mainly because I wanted to. You do paint a very lovely picture all bound and at my command.”
She rolls her eyes. “Screw you.”
“Yes, I'd rather you did, actually.” He smirks and his eyes shine brighter. “Do you swallow, Samantha?”
The suddenness of it makes her gulp, which makes him chuckle. Low and rough and her whole body tingles. He strokes her hair and then cups her face, a silent question on his. She smiles at him.
“Would you untie me? Please.”
He looks up, pretending to think about it. Or she hopes that he's just pretending. Then he smiles and kneels down, reaching behind her. The ribbon goes slack. Sam rolls her shoulders and rubs at her wrists, more to avoid his gaze than because they hurt.
But she cannot avoid him forever. Sighing, she looks at him. He tilts his head, eyes sparkling with amusement now. The retreat of the symbiote doesn't make her feel any better.
“Baal-”
“I'd rather not talk about it, Samantha. I'd rather just...” He touches her cheek and she closes her eyes, turning into that caress. She wants to cry, but that will solve nothing either. “Actions do speak louder, especially that sort.”
She laughs, relieved that he is willing to find the humour in this situation. God knows she can't.
“I'm sorry.” If he doesn't let her say more, then at least she's said that. “Really.”
“I know. Sam... I don't expect you to find this easy. There's a lot of history between us, most of it negative, and I can't – don't – expect you to just forget that. It's not easy for me to come here, when there is the possibility that this time might be the one where you betray me.”
She shakes her head. “I wouldn't-”
“Let me finish,” he interjects. She swallows and nods. “I hope that you don't, but there is always a small, niggling doubt. This... affair is not right on many levels, but I don't think either of us care about those proprieties. But you have to accept what I am, Samantha, otherwise...” He sighs and the sound breaks her heart. “Otherwise we might as well quit.”
“I can't do that,” she says. Hurt blossoms across his face and she grabs him, kisses him hard. “Quit, I mean. Not... I'll try harder. It might help if I stop ignoring it.”
His lips quirk. “It might help if you stop giving me heart failure. Sam, I thought...”
“No.” She kisses him again. His warmth makes her realise how chilled she's become. “Not that. Never that.”
“Never is a long time.”
There's little she can say to that, so she leans against him. His arms circle her and she feels... safe, protected. Cared for. It's more than she'd imagined or dared to dream.
“Does he... I mean, it's obvious he likes the sex, but does he like me?”
“Of course I do,” the rough voice echoes with irritation. “That was a singularly ridiculous question.”
She chuckles and lifts her head, meets the shining eyes. “I like you, too.”
“You like the sex.”
“Yes.” She draws the word out and slides her hand to his chest, undoing a shirt button. “I can't deny that, because you're very good at it. But... just give me time, because I realise now and...” Her eyes find his. “I don't want to ignore it any more.”
“I suppose that's a start.”
Sam leans in and kisses him, keeping her eyes open for once. It occurs to her that she charged into this relationship with them closed both literally and figuratively. If it was just about the sex, she could carry on ignoring the truth – that she's sleeping with a Goa'uld, no matter how often the host is in control – but it's a part of him, as much as his brown eyes or oh-so-talented hands, and she has to accept it and everything it entails.
It is a start. She determined that it's not the beginning of the end, but a change to something more.