Ficlet: Makin' Whoopee (Sam/Jack, PG)
Title: Makin' Whoopee
Author: Pepper
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 714
Featured Character(s): Jack, Sam (or Jonah, Thera)
Pairing: Jack/Sam (Jonah/Thera)
Summary: Jonah was singing whilst he worked.
A/N: I started writing this for oxoniensis's Porn Battle VII (prompt word: nookie), but I ran out of time, and it simply didn't want to be pr0n. So I'll pretend I wrote it in honour of the fact that we're doing Beneath The Surface on redial_the_gate today, instead.
---
Jonah was singing whilst he worked. Normally he hummed, with which she didn't have a problem: despite his complete lack of any discernable musical ability, she couldn't seem to stop herself thinking it was cute. Endearingly hopeless, like his hair. But today - today he was singing, and he was getting on her nerves. He kept getting the words wrong.
It wasn't so much the "da-da-da-something-dum" bits he improvised when he couldn't remember a line, it was his triumphant loudness when he thought he had remembered a line. But he hadn't, not properly, and if he didn't stop it soon, she was going to grab that wrench out of his hands and smack him in the head with it.
No. No, that was ridiculous. It was just a song. It really didn't matter. Really, what was wrong with her today? Today was just the same as any other, for as far back as she could remember. Why was she finding him so hard to ignore? Why should she even want to ignore him? He was creating a happy sound in a cheerless world. It was a good thing.
"Dah-doo-dah get, folks, for makin' nookie!" he warbled, tunelessly.
"Whoopee."
Jonah stopped, hesitated, and then turned his head to look at her. "Excuse me?"
Okay, that had probably sounded odd, hadn't it? Oh, what the hell. She closed the access panel to the cutting pressure control with a snap, and turned her head to give him a look. "The line is 'for makin' whoopee'. Not nookie."
He gave her that poker-faced look, the one that said he had no idea whether she was right or wrong, but he was going to lie about it anyway. "No it isn't."
"Yes it is."
"Is not."
"It is," she snapped, hands twitching towards the wrench. He gave her a wary look, and set it carefully down behind him. She gritted her teeth. "And you're nowhere near the tune. And you keep emphasising the wrong words!" Jonah was looking concerned, which only served to irritate her more. "I'm trying to concentrate here, you know, and you're being very distracting. I have to get this work done. It's not like I can just forget about it, and spend the afternoon listening to you, instead. It's crucial for keeping horizontal borer four in full working condition. It needs to be done!" He started to walk towards her, palms out in a gesture of I-have-no-weapon-please-don't-hurt-me. "And besides which, it's a stupid song, all about roses and love nests and June weddings and baby clothes and all the stuff we can never have because we're stuck down here in the bowels of this stupid planet in the middle of a fucking ICE AGE!"
Wow, he was kind of close. So close, she could differentiate between the flecks of dark brown and silver in his stubble. "Uh, Thera? Are you-"
She kissed him.
To shut him up; to startle him. To see what his stubble felt like. To take what she wanted, purely because she wanted it. Because of his stupid, endearing hair, and his terrible singing, and his height. Because he was her only spark of human warmth and comfort in this place. Because she knew, somehow, that behind his shambolic persona there was an intensity of emotion that would take her breath away. Because of everything that made up Jonah, and because they belonged together in a way that transcended their circumstances.
It only took a moment before his arms were around her and he was responding with great enthusiasm. So she pushed him back behind the keyseater (must remember to give Brenna those notes on channelling the excess steam from the hydraulic-ooh...), and he was tearing his mouth away to make a token protest.
"Your work-"
"It can wait five minutes."
He opened his mouth again, looking like he was about to come up with another reason why they shouldn't, then paused, stared sideways, clearly thought better of it, and resumed kissing her. Thera leaned her head back against the rumbling machinery and closed her eyes, clutching him close against the permanent chill in the air, as he began to work on discovering what lay beneath her standard-issue orange work clothes.
"...Maybe ten..."
---
Thera was singing whilst she worked.
---
END.
Author: Pepper
Rating: PG
Wordcount: 714
Featured Character(s): Jack, Sam (or Jonah, Thera)
Pairing: Jack/Sam (Jonah/Thera)
Summary: Jonah was singing whilst he worked.
A/N: I started writing this for oxoniensis's Porn Battle VII (prompt word: nookie), but I ran out of time, and it simply didn't want to be pr0n. So I'll pretend I wrote it in honour of the fact that we're doing Beneath The Surface on redial_the_gate today, instead.
---
Jonah was singing whilst he worked. Normally he hummed, with which she didn't have a problem: despite his complete lack of any discernable musical ability, she couldn't seem to stop herself thinking it was cute. Endearingly hopeless, like his hair. But today - today he was singing, and he was getting on her nerves. He kept getting the words wrong.
It wasn't so much the "da-da-da-something-dum" bits he improvised when he couldn't remember a line, it was his triumphant loudness when he thought he had remembered a line. But he hadn't, not properly, and if he didn't stop it soon, she was going to grab that wrench out of his hands and smack him in the head with it.
No. No, that was ridiculous. It was just a song. It really didn't matter. Really, what was wrong with her today? Today was just the same as any other, for as far back as she could remember. Why was she finding him so hard to ignore? Why should she even want to ignore him? He was creating a happy sound in a cheerless world. It was a good thing.
"Dah-doo-dah get, folks, for makin' nookie!" he warbled, tunelessly.
"Whoopee."
Jonah stopped, hesitated, and then turned his head to look at her. "Excuse me?"
Okay, that had probably sounded odd, hadn't it? Oh, what the hell. She closed the access panel to the cutting pressure control with a snap, and turned her head to give him a look. "The line is 'for makin' whoopee'. Not nookie."
He gave her that poker-faced look, the one that said he had no idea whether she was right or wrong, but he was going to lie about it anyway. "No it isn't."
"Yes it is."
"Is not."
"It is," she snapped, hands twitching towards the wrench. He gave her a wary look, and set it carefully down behind him. She gritted her teeth. "And you're nowhere near the tune. And you keep emphasising the wrong words!" Jonah was looking concerned, which only served to irritate her more. "I'm trying to concentrate here, you know, and you're being very distracting. I have to get this work done. It's not like I can just forget about it, and spend the afternoon listening to you, instead. It's crucial for keeping horizontal borer four in full working condition. It needs to be done!" He started to walk towards her, palms out in a gesture of I-have-no-weapon-please-don't-hurt-me. "And besides which, it's a stupid song, all about roses and love nests and June weddings and baby clothes and all the stuff we can never have because we're stuck down here in the bowels of this stupid planet in the middle of a fucking ICE AGE!"
Wow, he was kind of close. So close, she could differentiate between the flecks of dark brown and silver in his stubble. "Uh, Thera? Are you-"
She kissed him.
To shut him up; to startle him. To see what his stubble felt like. To take what she wanted, purely because she wanted it. Because of his stupid, endearing hair, and his terrible singing, and his height. Because he was her only spark of human warmth and comfort in this place. Because she knew, somehow, that behind his shambolic persona there was an intensity of emotion that would take her breath away. Because of everything that made up Jonah, and because they belonged together in a way that transcended their circumstances.
It only took a moment before his arms were around her and he was responding with great enthusiasm. So she pushed him back behind the keyseater (must remember to give Brenna those notes on channelling the excess steam from the hydraulic-ooh...), and he was tearing his mouth away to make a token protest.
"Your work-"
"It can wait five minutes."
He opened his mouth again, looking like he was about to come up with another reason why they shouldn't, then paused, stared sideways, clearly thought better of it, and resumed kissing her. Thera leaned her head back against the rumbling machinery and closed her eyes, clutching him close against the permanent chill in the air, as he began to work on discovering what lay beneath her standard-issue orange work clothes.
"...Maybe ten..."
---
Thera was singing whilst she worked.
---
END.