New Comment Fic
Life sucks. Porn was clearly the answer. Don't judge.
Compliance (NC-17, Sam/Jack) written for the Porn Battle X over at dreamwidth. (omgsomuchporn) I've always wanted to tackle this scenario. This is just a bit more...porny than I imagined.
Title: Compliance
Author: Annerb
Prompt: disobey
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, graphic sex, end of the world
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing. Will clean them off and put them back when I'm done.
Compliance
The end comes fast. One moment it’s a normal day with paperwork and bad coffee and the next it’s a scramble for the event horizon as the Mountain comes down around them. The base empties out with surprising efficiency, and by the time Jack hangs up the red phone on the last conversation he’ll ever have with the President, only Carter and Daniel and a couple techs are still in the gate room, the last of the supplies being sent through to their fall back site.
“That’s everything, sir,” Carter says as Jack enters, waving the last tech through.
“Good,” he says. “Then head on through yourselves.”
Daniel shoulders a pack, already heading up the ramp, but Carter is lingering, staring back at Jack from the top of the ramp.
“Sir,” she says.
He can’t quite hold her gaze and it’s enough for her.
He sees the horrid comprehension flashing over Carter’s face, her understanding of the order he’s been given, and the one he’s passing on to her. Someone has to make sure the self-destruct goes off. Someone has to go down with this ship. This is who he is now and he doesn’t regret it.
“Carter,” Jack says. “Take Daniel and go.”
“What?” Daniel asks, turning back to look at Jack, surprised to see that he hasn’t followed. He glances at Carter’s horrified expression and his own face pales. “You’re coming too, Jack.”
“This is the way it has to be, Daniel,” Jack says.
“Sam?” Daniel asks, turning to her for support, for explanation maybe.
“He’s right, Daniel,” she says, her voice a bit hollow. “This is the way it has to be.”
“Are you both insane?” Daniel protests.
Carter’s head jerks around to look at Daniel, a moment of silent communication passing between them. “Could you give us a minute, Daniel?” she asks, polite and casual as if the self-destruct isn’t counting down around them.
Jack thinks Daniel must hear the barely detectable waver in her voice too though, because he nods, giving Jack an intense look. “Jack--.”
Jack nods. “It’s okay. Just go, Daniel.”
Daniel steps back into the horizon with obvious reluctance and it’s just the two of them left.
“Carter,” Jack says, advancing a few steps towards her. “Don’t mistake this for anything less than a direct order: Turn around and go through that gate.”
She doesn’t move, either towards him or away, something in her expression shifting. “Jack,” she says, barely a whisper.
There is no way they have time for this, but she’s looking at him with such openness, and he’s about to die and he can’t deny himself this one last thing. He strides up the last distance towards her, pulling her towards him and kissing her.
Her hands latch on to him, pushing into the kiss with equal intensity, both of them trying to squeeze an entire lifetime of conversations and admissions and could-have-beens into a ten second tangle of lips and tongues and breath and fingers. It’s impossible. It’s everything.
No matter how much he wants to get lost in this, he can’t, firmly stepping back away from her.
“Go,” he says, his voice gruff, pushing her towards the wormhole.
She takes a step as if to go, only to turn back, a strange look of determination on her face. “I love you, Jack,” she says, the words hard and intense as if she needs to imprint them on him before it’s all too late, like it’s an apology.
He blames it on his shock at her admission that she somehow manages to get the jump on him. Her weight is shifting, taking his equilibrium with it before he fully realizes what she’s doing. He hits the ground on the other side hard on his shoulder, coming to rest in the dirt near a pale-faced Daniel.
Carter appears a moment later, the wormhole dying behind her. They stare at each other, the enormity of what she’s just done surging between them.
She walks down the steps calmly, pausing next to him where he’s still staring at her in utter shock. Her voice, when she speaks, is steady, unbending. “Court martial me, hate me, never forgive me, whatever you need to do. But I don’t regret it.”
She walks away.
* * *
Communities have a way of being bad at keeping secrets, the survivors of the SGC being worse than most, at least when it comes to internal matters. Not helped, of course, by Jack’s rather public and ungainly entrance down the Stargate stairs.
Everybody seems to know that General O’Neill was supposed to stay behind, that he shouldn’t even be here. There was protocol and proper channels and the safety of their retreat, all of which has been thrown to hell by Carter’s impulsive decision. Reynolds seems to adjust with aplomb, confessing to be glad to have the general here, but Jack knows what everyone is whispering. It isn’t just his shoulder that is bruised.
It seems an unspoken agreement that Carter’s punishment will be up to him. It’s a matter of unit cohesion and the necessity of keeping up order in a harsh situation, but at first he’s honestly too pissed to even consider it properly. For now, he lets Reynolds keep her on KP duty.
For the first week there is so much to be done about the business of rebuilding civilization that Jack manages to avoid her and the issue completely. About ten days since they fled the SGC, Jack stuffs a spare uniform and some supplies into a small bag and slips out into the surrounding forest.
He’s had enough of just about everyone here. If he doesn’t take some time to decompress, he’s going to say or do something he really regrets.
Of course, this is inevitably the time that he unexpectedly comes across Carter. She’s sitting at the base of a tree, her legs tucked up into her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her face jerks up as he approaches. She looks resigned, knowing this is a confrontation she can’t avoid forever. It’s the last God damned straw.
“On your feet, Colonel,” he barks.
She pushes to her feet, coming to what Jack, in his anger, interprets as an impertinent sort of attention.
He has a dozen rants buzzing through his brain to choose from, another handful of curses, and a nice collection of plain old hurtful insults to toss at her as he marches right up to her, not stopping until he’s completely invading her space.
She holds her ground, that same unrepentant determination on her face. “I’m not going to apologize,” she says.
For a second, he’s horrified to realize that he may actually have it in him to hit her, to grab her and shake her in anger, so he latches on to the only other possibility in front of him-he kisses her.
He doesn’t know if this is a sick sort of punishment or just anger, the thought that she owes him after so blatantly manipulating his feelings. I love you, Jack. Was that just a tactic, a ruse? Was she playing him?
His teeth clash against hers in his haste, his fury, but he doesn’t pull back, doesn’t apologize, barely noticing that she hasn’t asked for either. Somehow she’s right here with him. He rips the hem of her shirt out of her pants, not wasting any time with buttons or clasps, shoving her bra up and out of the way, his mouth latching on to her breast.
Her hands fumble with his belt and he doesn’t clearly remember how she got her boots off, just yanks her pants down too.
He shouldn’t be able to do this, to pin her to this tree, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts up and into her, but the laws of physics have never applied to her before, so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that weight and gravity and physical limitations don’t exist anymore, only her and this rage trying to tear out of his skin.
It doesn’t take long for everything to reach the breaking point. He buries himself deep inside her one last time, a curse or a rebuke or maybe just her name expelling from his lips.
He’s so focused on his own release that she doesn’t come, and in his anger, his haste, he doesn’t particularly care. He rests his head against her collarbone, his knees nearly giving out as the adrenaline fades, as the realization of what he’s just done begins to sink in.
He lowers her back to her feet with very little grace, stepping back away and turning his back on her. His fingers fumble with his fly, putting his clothes back in order. Jesus.
He can hear the rustle of clothing behind him, knows this is Carter getting dressed too, but still doesn’t turn to look at her.
“Will that be all, sir?” she eventually asks, her tone painfully composed.
Fuck.
“No,” he says, snatching his bag off the ground. “Come with me.” He doesn’t look back to make sure she follows. Despite recent events, he knows Carter has always been good at following orders.
It’s not far to his destination, the one he’d originally been heading for before he stumbled upon Carter. He stops where the trees open out to a small clear pool. The stream slows and lingers here, creating a perfectly circular body of water just deep enough for swimming.
Carter steps out of the trees a few moments behind him, her eyes widening.
Jack drops his bag on the shore, pulling out the bar of soap and towel he’d brought along. He offers them to her, but she doesn’t take them. He’d thought to give her a chance to clean up, some privacy at the very least, but the way she’s staring at him changes his mind.
Putting the supplies aside, he crosses over to Carter. She’s meeting his eyes steadily, but he can tell that a lot of that is bluster now, covering for her growing uncertainty. She’s looking at him like she has no idea what to expect of him anymore.
He doesn’t really blame her.
He kneels down in front of her, reaching for the laces of her hastily tied boots.
“Sir,” she protests. “You don’t have to--.”
He hushes her, keeping a firm grip on her foot. He pulls at the shoe, her hand touching his shoulder as she shifts her weight off the foot. He slides her sock off next, before turning his attention to her other shoe.
He reaches for the waist of her pants next, pausing just long enough to give her a chance to protest. She doesn’t move. He pops the button and eases down the zipper, sliding the pants down her thighs. She’s not wearing anything underneath and he seems to remember the ripping of fabric at some point, feels the light weight of something stuffed into his pocket. The scent of their encounter is still radiating from her skin and his thumbs brush the dampness on her thighs. He can already see small bruises forming on her hips, perfectly matching the width of his grip.
He holds her steady as she steps out of the pants, pushing back up to his feet.
Her eyes don’t leave his face as he works each button of her shirt, slowly and methodically helping her shed it, his hands wrapping around behind to free her breasts from her bra.
She’s left standing in front of him in only her dog tags. He traces the length of the chain with his finger, dipping down into the valley between her breasts, and she shivers against the touch, her body still alert and unsatisfied. He pulls the chain up and over her head, adding it to the pile of her clothing.
Stepping back from her, he pulls off his own clothes with much greater haste, aware of her eyes on him. Grabbing the bar of soap, he guides her into the water, his hand low against her back.
The water is warm and clear, at the deepest point rising up just below her chest. He turns her so her back is to him, scooping small handfuls of water up over her shoulders, trailing down her arms. He tips a handful over the edge of her shoulder, watching the water trail and ripple over her flesh.
He slides the soap over the planes of her back, his hands cupping her shoulder and slipping down over the slope of her breasts. There’s a red line where her bra had cut into the sensitive flesh and he gently works his finger over the welts. He works the soap over every inch of her skin, lingering over the taut press of her nipples, the smooth plane of her stomach, finally slipping lower.
She lets out a heavy breath as his fingers finally find her, deftly offering her the release she’d been denied.
Her back arches, her hand grazing against his hip as she tries to turn and face him, but he bites down where the line of her neck meets the curve of her shoulder, holding her in place, a silent rebuke to behave that part of him hopes will leave a mark.
She stops fidgeting, her head falling to the side and exposing her neck further to him. Surrendering. He knows then that she will do anything he tells her to.
He takes his time working her body, learning what brings a hitch to her breathing, what makes her squirm back against him, all the while keeping up the steady building pressure, talking her softly through it.
“That’s it, Carter,” he says against her ear, one hand tweaking her nipple as the other slips further inside her. She rocks against him with a groan, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, grinding down on the pressure of his palm with increasing urgency.
“Jack,” she gasps as he pulls slightly away, teasing, drawing her out.
He presses his lips against the back of her jaw, teasing the lobe of her ear with his tongue. “I need you to come for me, Carter,” he says, increasing the play of pressure. He can feel her fighting against it, the tension filling her body as her breathing becomes ragged. “Now, Carter.”
She obliges, her body clenching around his fingers, her head thrown back against his shoulder with a gasp. He eases her through the aftershocks, drawing the sensations out until she sags against him, pulling away slightly from the pressure of his fingers on her overly sensitive flesh.
He wraps his arms around her, one tight across her waist, the other anchored between her breasts, her back solid against his chest as her breathing slowly returns to normal.
“Jack,” she says, pressing back against his already recovering interest, a clear invitation. As tempting as that is (and, again, improbable, and yet here it is, irrefutable evidence that none of the rules apply to her), he wants this to be about nothing but her. Her pleasure.
An apology maybe, for the first time. Or maybe just for putting her in a position to follow an order that if their positions were switched, he never would have been able to follow himself, if he allows himself the weakness of admitting it. If he can ignore the sting of how public this has all become.
“I’m still pissed as all hell,” he says against the back of her neck.
“I know,” she says.
“But it’s possible that a part of me may be grateful too, even if I’m too much of an ass to ever admit it.”
Her hand reaches back for him, clenching his thigh, holding him close to her. “I meant it,” she says. “I meant what I said.”
He closes his eyes, lowering his face to the base of her neck, breathing her in. “I’m still busting you down to Captain.”
Slipping out of his grasp, she turns to face him. She leans into him, warm flesh against warm flesh, her hands lifting to frame his face. “Small price to pay,” she says, and there it still is-determination and rebellion, refusal to back down.
He kisses her, and this time there is no anger, no adrenaline, just the two of them, learning the taste of each other.
Everything else is just details.
Sequel: Reversal
Compliance (NC-17, Sam/Jack) written for the Porn Battle X over at dreamwidth. (omgsomuchporn) I've always wanted to tackle this scenario. This is just a bit more...porny than I imagined.
Title: Compliance
Author: Annerb
Prompt: disobey
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, graphic sex, end of the world
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing. Will clean them off and put them back when I'm done.
Compliance
The end comes fast. One moment it’s a normal day with paperwork and bad coffee and the next it’s a scramble for the event horizon as the Mountain comes down around them. The base empties out with surprising efficiency, and by the time Jack hangs up the red phone on the last conversation he’ll ever have with the President, only Carter and Daniel and a couple techs are still in the gate room, the last of the supplies being sent through to their fall back site.
“That’s everything, sir,” Carter says as Jack enters, waving the last tech through.
“Good,” he says. “Then head on through yourselves.”
Daniel shoulders a pack, already heading up the ramp, but Carter is lingering, staring back at Jack from the top of the ramp.
“Sir,” she says.
He can’t quite hold her gaze and it’s enough for her.
He sees the horrid comprehension flashing over Carter’s face, her understanding of the order he’s been given, and the one he’s passing on to her. Someone has to make sure the self-destruct goes off. Someone has to go down with this ship. This is who he is now and he doesn’t regret it.
“Carter,” Jack says. “Take Daniel and go.”
“What?” Daniel asks, turning back to look at Jack, surprised to see that he hasn’t followed. He glances at Carter’s horrified expression and his own face pales. “You’re coming too, Jack.”
“This is the way it has to be, Daniel,” Jack says.
“Sam?” Daniel asks, turning to her for support, for explanation maybe.
“He’s right, Daniel,” she says, her voice a bit hollow. “This is the way it has to be.”
“Are you both insane?” Daniel protests.
Carter’s head jerks around to look at Daniel, a moment of silent communication passing between them. “Could you give us a minute, Daniel?” she asks, polite and casual as if the self-destruct isn’t counting down around them.
Jack thinks Daniel must hear the barely detectable waver in her voice too though, because he nods, giving Jack an intense look. “Jack--.”
Jack nods. “It’s okay. Just go, Daniel.”
Daniel steps back into the horizon with obvious reluctance and it’s just the two of them left.
“Carter,” Jack says, advancing a few steps towards her. “Don’t mistake this for anything less than a direct order: Turn around and go through that gate.”
She doesn’t move, either towards him or away, something in her expression shifting. “Jack,” she says, barely a whisper.
There is no way they have time for this, but she’s looking at him with such openness, and he’s about to die and he can’t deny himself this one last thing. He strides up the last distance towards her, pulling her towards him and kissing her.
Her hands latch on to him, pushing into the kiss with equal intensity, both of them trying to squeeze an entire lifetime of conversations and admissions and could-have-beens into a ten second tangle of lips and tongues and breath and fingers. It’s impossible. It’s everything.
No matter how much he wants to get lost in this, he can’t, firmly stepping back away from her.
“Go,” he says, his voice gruff, pushing her towards the wormhole.
She takes a step as if to go, only to turn back, a strange look of determination on her face. “I love you, Jack,” she says, the words hard and intense as if she needs to imprint them on him before it’s all too late, like it’s an apology.
He blames it on his shock at her admission that she somehow manages to get the jump on him. Her weight is shifting, taking his equilibrium with it before he fully realizes what she’s doing. He hits the ground on the other side hard on his shoulder, coming to rest in the dirt near a pale-faced Daniel.
Carter appears a moment later, the wormhole dying behind her. They stare at each other, the enormity of what she’s just done surging between them.
She walks down the steps calmly, pausing next to him where he’s still staring at her in utter shock. Her voice, when she speaks, is steady, unbending. “Court martial me, hate me, never forgive me, whatever you need to do. But I don’t regret it.”
She walks away.
* * *
Communities have a way of being bad at keeping secrets, the survivors of the SGC being worse than most, at least when it comes to internal matters. Not helped, of course, by Jack’s rather public and ungainly entrance down the Stargate stairs.
Everybody seems to know that General O’Neill was supposed to stay behind, that he shouldn’t even be here. There was protocol and proper channels and the safety of their retreat, all of which has been thrown to hell by Carter’s impulsive decision. Reynolds seems to adjust with aplomb, confessing to be glad to have the general here, but Jack knows what everyone is whispering. It isn’t just his shoulder that is bruised.
It seems an unspoken agreement that Carter’s punishment will be up to him. It’s a matter of unit cohesion and the necessity of keeping up order in a harsh situation, but at first he’s honestly too pissed to even consider it properly. For now, he lets Reynolds keep her on KP duty.
For the first week there is so much to be done about the business of rebuilding civilization that Jack manages to avoid her and the issue completely. About ten days since they fled the SGC, Jack stuffs a spare uniform and some supplies into a small bag and slips out into the surrounding forest.
He’s had enough of just about everyone here. If he doesn’t take some time to decompress, he’s going to say or do something he really regrets.
Of course, this is inevitably the time that he unexpectedly comes across Carter. She’s sitting at the base of a tree, her legs tucked up into her chest, her chin resting on her knees. Her face jerks up as he approaches. She looks resigned, knowing this is a confrontation she can’t avoid forever. It’s the last God damned straw.
“On your feet, Colonel,” he barks.
She pushes to her feet, coming to what Jack, in his anger, interprets as an impertinent sort of attention.
He has a dozen rants buzzing through his brain to choose from, another handful of curses, and a nice collection of plain old hurtful insults to toss at her as he marches right up to her, not stopping until he’s completely invading her space.
She holds her ground, that same unrepentant determination on her face. “I’m not going to apologize,” she says.
For a second, he’s horrified to realize that he may actually have it in him to hit her, to grab her and shake her in anger, so he latches on to the only other possibility in front of him-he kisses her.
He doesn’t know if this is a sick sort of punishment or just anger, the thought that she owes him after so blatantly manipulating his feelings. I love you, Jack. Was that just a tactic, a ruse? Was she playing him?
His teeth clash against hers in his haste, his fury, but he doesn’t pull back, doesn’t apologize, barely noticing that she hasn’t asked for either. Somehow she’s right here with him. He rips the hem of her shirt out of her pants, not wasting any time with buttons or clasps, shoving her bra up and out of the way, his mouth latching on to her breast.
Her hands fumble with his belt and he doesn’t clearly remember how she got her boots off, just yanks her pants down too.
He shouldn’t be able to do this, to pin her to this tree, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts up and into her, but the laws of physics have never applied to her before, so maybe it shouldn’t be a surprise that weight and gravity and physical limitations don’t exist anymore, only her and this rage trying to tear out of his skin.
It doesn’t take long for everything to reach the breaking point. He buries himself deep inside her one last time, a curse or a rebuke or maybe just her name expelling from his lips.
He’s so focused on his own release that she doesn’t come, and in his anger, his haste, he doesn’t particularly care. He rests his head against her collarbone, his knees nearly giving out as the adrenaline fades, as the realization of what he’s just done begins to sink in.
He lowers her back to her feet with very little grace, stepping back away and turning his back on her. His fingers fumble with his fly, putting his clothes back in order. Jesus.
He can hear the rustle of clothing behind him, knows this is Carter getting dressed too, but still doesn’t turn to look at her.
“Will that be all, sir?” she eventually asks, her tone painfully composed.
Fuck.
“No,” he says, snatching his bag off the ground. “Come with me.” He doesn’t look back to make sure she follows. Despite recent events, he knows Carter has always been good at following orders.
It’s not far to his destination, the one he’d originally been heading for before he stumbled upon Carter. He stops where the trees open out to a small clear pool. The stream slows and lingers here, creating a perfectly circular body of water just deep enough for swimming.
Carter steps out of the trees a few moments behind him, her eyes widening.
Jack drops his bag on the shore, pulling out the bar of soap and towel he’d brought along. He offers them to her, but she doesn’t take them. He’d thought to give her a chance to clean up, some privacy at the very least, but the way she’s staring at him changes his mind.
Putting the supplies aside, he crosses over to Carter. She’s meeting his eyes steadily, but he can tell that a lot of that is bluster now, covering for her growing uncertainty. She’s looking at him like she has no idea what to expect of him anymore.
He doesn’t really blame her.
He kneels down in front of her, reaching for the laces of her hastily tied boots.
“Sir,” she protests. “You don’t have to--.”
He hushes her, keeping a firm grip on her foot. He pulls at the shoe, her hand touching his shoulder as she shifts her weight off the foot. He slides her sock off next, before turning his attention to her other shoe.
He reaches for the waist of her pants next, pausing just long enough to give her a chance to protest. She doesn’t move. He pops the button and eases down the zipper, sliding the pants down her thighs. She’s not wearing anything underneath and he seems to remember the ripping of fabric at some point, feels the light weight of something stuffed into his pocket. The scent of their encounter is still radiating from her skin and his thumbs brush the dampness on her thighs. He can already see small bruises forming on her hips, perfectly matching the width of his grip.
He holds her steady as she steps out of the pants, pushing back up to his feet.
Her eyes don’t leave his face as he works each button of her shirt, slowly and methodically helping her shed it, his hands wrapping around behind to free her breasts from her bra.
She’s left standing in front of him in only her dog tags. He traces the length of the chain with his finger, dipping down into the valley between her breasts, and she shivers against the touch, her body still alert and unsatisfied. He pulls the chain up and over her head, adding it to the pile of her clothing.
Stepping back from her, he pulls off his own clothes with much greater haste, aware of her eyes on him. Grabbing the bar of soap, he guides her into the water, his hand low against her back.
The water is warm and clear, at the deepest point rising up just below her chest. He turns her so her back is to him, scooping small handfuls of water up over her shoulders, trailing down her arms. He tips a handful over the edge of her shoulder, watching the water trail and ripple over her flesh.
He slides the soap over the planes of her back, his hands cupping her shoulder and slipping down over the slope of her breasts. There’s a red line where her bra had cut into the sensitive flesh and he gently works his finger over the welts. He works the soap over every inch of her skin, lingering over the taut press of her nipples, the smooth plane of her stomach, finally slipping lower.
She lets out a heavy breath as his fingers finally find her, deftly offering her the release she’d been denied.
Her back arches, her hand grazing against his hip as she tries to turn and face him, but he bites down where the line of her neck meets the curve of her shoulder, holding her in place, a silent rebuke to behave that part of him hopes will leave a mark.
She stops fidgeting, her head falling to the side and exposing her neck further to him. Surrendering. He knows then that she will do anything he tells her to.
He takes his time working her body, learning what brings a hitch to her breathing, what makes her squirm back against him, all the while keeping up the steady building pressure, talking her softly through it.
“That’s it, Carter,” he says against her ear, one hand tweaking her nipple as the other slips further inside her. She rocks against him with a groan, meeting the thrusts of his fingers, grinding down on the pressure of his palm with increasing urgency.
“Jack,” she gasps as he pulls slightly away, teasing, drawing her out.
He presses his lips against the back of her jaw, teasing the lobe of her ear with his tongue. “I need you to come for me, Carter,” he says, increasing the play of pressure. He can feel her fighting against it, the tension filling her body as her breathing becomes ragged. “Now, Carter.”
She obliges, her body clenching around his fingers, her head thrown back against his shoulder with a gasp. He eases her through the aftershocks, drawing the sensations out until she sags against him, pulling away slightly from the pressure of his fingers on her overly sensitive flesh.
He wraps his arms around her, one tight across her waist, the other anchored between her breasts, her back solid against his chest as her breathing slowly returns to normal.
“Jack,” she says, pressing back against his already recovering interest, a clear invitation. As tempting as that is (and, again, improbable, and yet here it is, irrefutable evidence that none of the rules apply to her), he wants this to be about nothing but her. Her pleasure.
An apology maybe, for the first time. Or maybe just for putting her in a position to follow an order that if their positions were switched, he never would have been able to follow himself, if he allows himself the weakness of admitting it. If he can ignore the sting of how public this has all become.
“I’m still pissed as all hell,” he says against the back of her neck.
“I know,” she says.
“But it’s possible that a part of me may be grateful too, even if I’m too much of an ass to ever admit it.”
Her hand reaches back for him, clenching his thigh, holding him close to her. “I meant it,” she says. “I meant what I said.”
He closes his eyes, lowering his face to the base of her neck, breathing her in. “I’m still busting you down to Captain.”
Slipping out of his grasp, she turns to face him. She leans into him, warm flesh against warm flesh, her hands lifting to frame his face. “Small price to pay,” she says, and there it still is-determination and rebellion, refusal to back down.
He kisses her, and this time there is no anger, no adrenaline, just the two of them, learning the taste of each other.
Everything else is just details.
Sequel: Reversal