GPP (gratuitous porn post)
1. Printer frelling up. >< Must get up extra-early tomorrow to go to the library to print out paper, apparently. Ah yes. Solved problem. Out of ink. Oops
2. Whoever sent me Matt Nathanson's "Pretty the World"? <3 like so much. It's like, so lovely.
3. Sam/Daniel fic. Prequel to "Like Most Riddles" for surrealphantast who requested a prequel to "Like Most Riddles" as a DVD extra, for zeldaophelia, who requested S/D as the porn pairing of the night, and for divagypsy as a sadly belated birthday present.
"The Gate of Moria"
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: S/D
Spoilers: "New Order"
In public, they were the most affirming team imaginable. They praised Jack's skills, lauded his nobility, cheered for him when the president shook his hand. The three of them couldn't have been happier if it had been their own promotion (although, admittedly, in Sam's case, it was.)
They celebrated Jack's promotion, privately, by going out to get ridiculously drunk. It was Teal'c's idea; Daniel and Sam had been down in Sam's lab, staring at some meaningless numbers, when Teal'c had arrived and said, "Perhaps we should partake of great quantities of alcohol."
Daniel and Sam had done a simultaneous spit-take, then Sam had shrugged her shoulders and said, "Why the heck not?" They found a willing grunt to drive them to a local bar (it wasn't difficult to charm an airman when you had Sam with you; she smiled, and the world melted) and piled into an Air Force issue car. Teal'c sat in front, next to the airman, and gave directions. Sam whispered to Daniel that she wasn't sure she wanted to know how often Teal'c went out to get drunk.
They started with beer. Daniel liked beer, though it wasn't his first choice in liquor; he would have preferred something stronger, especially since they were talking about Jack no longer leading SG-1. More than that, they were here, they were acting like they were fucking celebrating Jack's no longer being one of them. Jack had become the higher-ups, the idiots in charge, everything that, twenty years ago, Daniel would have sworn he'd never succumb to, let alone admire, let alone love.
The team didn't talk much. Sam was heroically downing her fifth beer, mouth clenched firmly around her bottle, and Daniel wondered if there weren't hidden tears hiding in that firm clench. He knew Teal'c wasn't trying to suppress tears: Teal'c never had to work at stuff like that; Bra'tac had trained stoicism into him. And Daniel wasn't crying; he felt like punching someone, like trying to reason with Jack, like trying to reason with himself.
Because he knew Jack had made the right decision (like he even had a choice) and was right for the job, and it wasn't like Daniel hadn't sold out a long time ago. But still.
He ordered another round of drinks for all of them. Still beer, but he suspected that the next round would be something stronger.
His head spun, which was nothing unusual, but he was actually seeing double, not just thinking too many thoughts at once. The room whirled comfortably, and Daniel caught a glimpse of Sam bending over, her head rested against Teal'c's shoulder, and he wasn't sure if she was suppressing a laugh (though there was nothing funny about being drunk) or a sob.
He reached out for a bottle of Scotch (wheredid--whydid--WHENdid--thatgetthere? Huh) and found himself grasping empty space (like the space between.. the space outside... that is, the space, where, oooh, whuzzat?) until something firm landed beneath his hand. Teal'c's arm. Teal'c. Good idea, having Teal'c there to hold him up, when, ooh, the table top was all wet...
"I believe you have had enough to drink," said Teal'c firmly. "You have successfully drunk a great deal of alcohol. Now it is necessary to 'sleep it off.' In the morning your head will be clearer, and you will be happier."
"Yesh," said Daniel. He was getting the sinking suspicion that he was very drunk indeed.
"I have requested that Airman Richards return to drive me to the SGC. It would be wise if I summoned some sort of transportation for you, as well."
"No," said Sam, and Daniel's head jerked up. "I'll get us a cab later. I'm not drunk enough yet." She wobbled a little, but Daniel was pretty sure that was his fault. He let his head collapse onto the table again.
Teal'c cleared his throat. "I do not believe O'Neill would allow DanielJackson to become this inebriated."
Sam gave a laugh that sounded more like a choked sob, and Daniel felt a soft hand suddenly on his back. Soft, and massaging him gently. "We'll be fine, Teal'c. Get back to the base. You need lots of sleep, right? Big missions coming up."
Daniel examined the tabletop. He was sure there was more to drink somewhere around here, but moving seemed like too much effort.
"Bring us some coffee," Sam said, some time later. Daniel wasn't sure how much. He thought he might have passed out briefly. The world seemed lots brighter, anyhow, and Teal'c wasn't there anymore--at least, he couldn't feel Teal'c's arm with his right hand anymore. Or maybe his left hand? He squinted. Left and right. Leftright. Updown.
"Binary oppositions," he said.
"Yes, Daniel," said a voice. Sam. Still Sam. Huh. Sam's hand was still on his back, making little circles. Funny. Circles. Like, little round circles. On his back. And she'd ordered coffee. Coffee. Coffee would be a good idea.
"Oof," he said, trying to stand up. The floor was a little wriggly. Sam's hand was still on his back.
"Not yet, Daniel," she said. "The taxi will be here in a couple of minutes, though. You should try to get sober." She stopped talking, and Daniel peered past her, trying to figure out why she wasn't talking. "Come on, Daniel. You can get to bed soon. Try to stay awake for a little bit longer."
Daniel shook his head, trying to dislodge the ball of fur that seemed to be clogging his brain.
Sam's hand didn't leave his shoulder until he was sitting in the backseat of the taxi, and even then, it seemed as if she were pressed close to him. He pressed back against her. Pressing was nice. Comfy. Sam was a nice leader. He was glad she was going to lead SG-1. Very glad. Very comfortable. He pressed a little bit harder, and she didn't move away. "Dun go anywhere," he said, trying hard not to slur.
"I'm not," she said, and then her leg was on
top
of
his
leg instead of next to, and then her hand was
on
top
of
his
leg, which felt nice, for reasons he couldn't quite remember. He tried to lean his head against her shoulder, and found that it was already there.
"Is he going further?" asked the nicemaninthefrontseat--the cabbie, right, the cabbie.
"No, I don't think so. Not tonight. Thank you very much," said Sam, and she handed him some money.
"Sam, I need to get to my house," Daniel said. "I need... stuff. Important stuff." The argument didn't seem as convincing as it had in his head, somehow.
"No you don't," said Sam, and she grabbed his arm firmly and dragged him up her walkway.
"You can sleep on the couch," said Sam, letting go of Daniel so that he flops onto her couch. She didn't move, though.
"You too," mumbled Daniel, and was rewarded with a smile.
Sam sat down next to Daniel, not as close as they were sitting in the car, but close. Daniel edged nearer to her, carefully, so he wouldn't upset his stomach. He nuzzled her chin, then, vaguely, aimed for her lips. He missed radically, landing a kiss somewhere near Sam's nose, but she grabbed his cheeks before he could beat a hasty retreat, and somehow she found his mouth, and stuffed her tongue into his mouth, managing to get it right on the first try. Her tongue felt heavy in his mouth, but good, tasted like beer. He tried to move his mouth against hers, but she was pressing too hard--whoops! he landed on the floor as Sam leaned into him too far. But she was right
ontop
ofhim
and her breasts were pressing into his chest and her legs were against his and his dick was getting hard because--oh, because Sam was wrapped around him very tightly. He wiggled, trying to move, and Sam's tongue kept moving in his mouth, twisting and licking. He tried to kiss back, but she just squeezed her legs harder against his.
Then she was gone.
He opened his eyes, blinked, realized his glasses were gone, wondered where they were, tried to sit up, and suddenly there was a naked woman rubbing herself against him, her legshipsthighsbreastspussy all soft and wet and warm.
He felt a groan rising in his throat, but there was something wet in his mouth--tongue? no, not his, not (on examination with his own) Sam's tongue, but Sam's pussy, at least, tasted like, not like beer, Sam's mouth tasted like beer; Sam's pussy tasted like, like pussy. Wet. He licked again. Tried moving his tongue, feeling her ridges, the tiny wisps of hair, the slick trails of come. He was uncomfortably hard somewhere far, far away from his mouth, and then he realized (his mouth was empty again, would she stop doing that? it confused him) that Sam had her mouth around his dick.
He must've climaxed, because suddenly the discomfort was all gone and he heard a rueful laugh and felt Sam licking her way back up to his mouth, which she kissed, filling his mouth with his own sloppy come. Daniel tried to remember when Sam had taken off his pants. He tried to find his glasses, realized it was hopeless, and crawled about two feet towards the couch before he finally passed out for good.
4. Angel/Wesley vignette. Companion to "The Fulfillment of Desires." Wes's POV. R. Character death and extremely thin metaphors. Gratuitous sap. 275 words. Because gvambat wanted to see it.
Wesley's immediate reaction, trained into him not only but three years of zealous Practical Defense Against the Supernatural classes, but by Angel himself, was to struggle. He tried to move his legs, to knee Angel, to reach for a stake, anything. But within the few seconds he had to resist, he was paralyzed, too overwhelmed by the shocking unfamiliarity of Angel's hands touching his face, Angel, now vamped out, fangs scraping over his skin, and before he could think, his legs crumpled, and only Angel's strong arms prevented him from falling. He felt a moment of and fear - or hope - that Angel would turn him. But Angel's fangs pierced his vein, and he felt an intense wave of pain, sharper and more agonizing than any torture he had known, his heartbeat speeding up in hopeless protest against the sudden loss of blood. As his vision grayed, he saw bright red images, of Angel sucking dry his own son, of Angelus murdering Fred while she slept. His nightmares. He felt his own blood trickle out, felt Angel's tongue lap at his neck, and thought better this than that the innocent should die, better this than that Angel should live with himself after killing someone he loved. The word contracts to a pinpoint of blackness, sensation to a fatigued ache that limply holds his body, emotion expands and he is himself at all ages, locked under the stairs, huddled in his apartment at uni, cowering, crowing, leader and follower, always Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, always. He knows he is dying, but Angel is killing him, and at the last second, he realizes that he trusts him again.
5. Very tired. Bedtime.
2. Whoever sent me Matt Nathanson's "Pretty the World"? <3 like so much. It's like, so lovely.
3. Sam/Daniel fic. Prequel to "Like Most Riddles" for surrealphantast who requested a prequel to "Like Most Riddles" as a DVD extra, for zeldaophelia, who requested S/D as the porn pairing of the night, and for divagypsy as a sadly belated birthday present.
"The Gate of Moria"
Rating: NC-17
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Pairing: S/D
Spoilers: "New Order"
In public, they were the most affirming team imaginable. They praised Jack's skills, lauded his nobility, cheered for him when the president shook his hand. The three of them couldn't have been happier if it had been their own promotion (although, admittedly, in Sam's case, it was.)
They celebrated Jack's promotion, privately, by going out to get ridiculously drunk. It was Teal'c's idea; Daniel and Sam had been down in Sam's lab, staring at some meaningless numbers, when Teal'c had arrived and said, "Perhaps we should partake of great quantities of alcohol."
Daniel and Sam had done a simultaneous spit-take, then Sam had shrugged her shoulders and said, "Why the heck not?" They found a willing grunt to drive them to a local bar (it wasn't difficult to charm an airman when you had Sam with you; she smiled, and the world melted) and piled into an Air Force issue car. Teal'c sat in front, next to the airman, and gave directions. Sam whispered to Daniel that she wasn't sure she wanted to know how often Teal'c went out to get drunk.
They started with beer. Daniel liked beer, though it wasn't his first choice in liquor; he would have preferred something stronger, especially since they were talking about Jack no longer leading SG-1. More than that, they were here, they were acting like they were fucking celebrating Jack's no longer being one of them. Jack had become the higher-ups, the idiots in charge, everything that, twenty years ago, Daniel would have sworn he'd never succumb to, let alone admire, let alone love.
The team didn't talk much. Sam was heroically downing her fifth beer, mouth clenched firmly around her bottle, and Daniel wondered if there weren't hidden tears hiding in that firm clench. He knew Teal'c wasn't trying to suppress tears: Teal'c never had to work at stuff like that; Bra'tac had trained stoicism into him. And Daniel wasn't crying; he felt like punching someone, like trying to reason with Jack, like trying to reason with himself.
Because he knew Jack had made the right decision (like he even had a choice) and was right for the job, and it wasn't like Daniel hadn't sold out a long time ago. But still.
He ordered another round of drinks for all of them. Still beer, but he suspected that the next round would be something stronger.
His head spun, which was nothing unusual, but he was actually seeing double, not just thinking too many thoughts at once. The room whirled comfortably, and Daniel caught a glimpse of Sam bending over, her head rested against Teal'c's shoulder, and he wasn't sure if she was suppressing a laugh (though there was nothing funny about being drunk) or a sob.
He reached out for a bottle of Scotch (wheredid--whydid--WHENdid--thatgetthere? Huh) and found himself grasping empty space (like the space between.. the space outside... that is, the space, where, oooh, whuzzat?) until something firm landed beneath his hand. Teal'c's arm. Teal'c. Good idea, having Teal'c there to hold him up, when, ooh, the table top was all wet...
"I believe you have had enough to drink," said Teal'c firmly. "You have successfully drunk a great deal of alcohol. Now it is necessary to 'sleep it off.' In the morning your head will be clearer, and you will be happier."
"Yesh," said Daniel. He was getting the sinking suspicion that he was very drunk indeed.
"I have requested that Airman Richards return to drive me to the SGC. It would be wise if I summoned some sort of transportation for you, as well."
"No," said Sam, and Daniel's head jerked up. "I'll get us a cab later. I'm not drunk enough yet." She wobbled a little, but Daniel was pretty sure that was his fault. He let his head collapse onto the table again.
Teal'c cleared his throat. "I do not believe O'Neill would allow DanielJackson to become this inebriated."
Sam gave a laugh that sounded more like a choked sob, and Daniel felt a soft hand suddenly on his back. Soft, and massaging him gently. "We'll be fine, Teal'c. Get back to the base. You need lots of sleep, right? Big missions coming up."
Daniel examined the tabletop. He was sure there was more to drink somewhere around here, but moving seemed like too much effort.
"Bring us some coffee," Sam said, some time later. Daniel wasn't sure how much. He thought he might have passed out briefly. The world seemed lots brighter, anyhow, and Teal'c wasn't there anymore--at least, he couldn't feel Teal'c's arm with his right hand anymore. Or maybe his left hand? He squinted. Left and right. Leftright. Updown.
"Binary oppositions," he said.
"Yes, Daniel," said a voice. Sam. Still Sam. Huh. Sam's hand was still on his back, making little circles. Funny. Circles. Like, little round circles. On his back. And she'd ordered coffee. Coffee. Coffee would be a good idea.
"Oof," he said, trying to stand up. The floor was a little wriggly. Sam's hand was still on his back.
"Not yet, Daniel," she said. "The taxi will be here in a couple of minutes, though. You should try to get sober." She stopped talking, and Daniel peered past her, trying to figure out why she wasn't talking. "Come on, Daniel. You can get to bed soon. Try to stay awake for a little bit longer."
Daniel shook his head, trying to dislodge the ball of fur that seemed to be clogging his brain.
Sam's hand didn't leave his shoulder until he was sitting in the backseat of the taxi, and even then, it seemed as if she were pressed close to him. He pressed back against her. Pressing was nice. Comfy. Sam was a nice leader. He was glad she was going to lead SG-1. Very glad. Very comfortable. He pressed a little bit harder, and she didn't move away. "Dun go anywhere," he said, trying hard not to slur.
"I'm not," she said, and then her leg was on
top
of
his
leg instead of next to, and then her hand was
on
top
of
his
leg, which felt nice, for reasons he couldn't quite remember. He tried to lean his head against her shoulder, and found that it was already there.
"Is he going further?" asked the nicemaninthefrontseat--the cabbie, right, the cabbie.
"No, I don't think so. Not tonight. Thank you very much," said Sam, and she handed him some money.
"Sam, I need to get to my house," Daniel said. "I need... stuff. Important stuff." The argument didn't seem as convincing as it had in his head, somehow.
"No you don't," said Sam, and she grabbed his arm firmly and dragged him up her walkway.
"You can sleep on the couch," said Sam, letting go of Daniel so that he flops onto her couch. She didn't move, though.
"You too," mumbled Daniel, and was rewarded with a smile.
Sam sat down next to Daniel, not as close as they were sitting in the car, but close. Daniel edged nearer to her, carefully, so he wouldn't upset his stomach. He nuzzled her chin, then, vaguely, aimed for her lips. He missed radically, landing a kiss somewhere near Sam's nose, but she grabbed his cheeks before he could beat a hasty retreat, and somehow she found his mouth, and stuffed her tongue into his mouth, managing to get it right on the first try. Her tongue felt heavy in his mouth, but good, tasted like beer. He tried to move his mouth against hers, but she was pressing too hard--whoops! he landed on the floor as Sam leaned into him too far. But she was right
ontop
ofhim
and her breasts were pressing into his chest and her legs were against his and his dick was getting hard because--oh, because Sam was wrapped around him very tightly. He wiggled, trying to move, and Sam's tongue kept moving in his mouth, twisting and licking. He tried to kiss back, but she just squeezed her legs harder against his.
Then she was gone.
He opened his eyes, blinked, realized his glasses were gone, wondered where they were, tried to sit up, and suddenly there was a naked woman rubbing herself against him, her legshipsthighsbreastspussy all soft and wet and warm.
He felt a groan rising in his throat, but there was something wet in his mouth--tongue? no, not his, not (on examination with his own) Sam's tongue, but Sam's pussy, at least, tasted like, not like beer, Sam's mouth tasted like beer; Sam's pussy tasted like, like pussy. Wet. He licked again. Tried moving his tongue, feeling her ridges, the tiny wisps of hair, the slick trails of come. He was uncomfortably hard somewhere far, far away from his mouth, and then he realized (his mouth was empty again, would she stop doing that? it confused him) that Sam had her mouth around his dick.
He must've climaxed, because suddenly the discomfort was all gone and he heard a rueful laugh and felt Sam licking her way back up to his mouth, which she kissed, filling his mouth with his own sloppy come. Daniel tried to remember when Sam had taken off his pants. He tried to find his glasses, realized it was hopeless, and crawled about two feet towards the couch before he finally passed out for good.
4. Angel/Wesley vignette. Companion to "The Fulfillment of Desires." Wes's POV. R. Character death and extremely thin metaphors. Gratuitous sap. 275 words. Because gvambat wanted to see it.
Wesley's immediate reaction, trained into him not only but three years of zealous Practical Defense Against the Supernatural classes, but by Angel himself, was to struggle. He tried to move his legs, to knee Angel, to reach for a stake, anything. But within the few seconds he had to resist, he was paralyzed, too overwhelmed by the shocking unfamiliarity of Angel's hands touching his face, Angel, now vamped out, fangs scraping over his skin, and before he could think, his legs crumpled, and only Angel's strong arms prevented him from falling. He felt a moment of and fear - or hope - that Angel would turn him. But Angel's fangs pierced his vein, and he felt an intense wave of pain, sharper and more agonizing than any torture he had known, his heartbeat speeding up in hopeless protest against the sudden loss of blood. As his vision grayed, he saw bright red images, of Angel sucking dry his own son, of Angelus murdering Fred while she slept. His nightmares. He felt his own blood trickle out, felt Angel's tongue lap at his neck, and thought better this than that the innocent should die, better this than that Angel should live with himself after killing someone he loved. The word contracts to a pinpoint of blackness, sensation to a fatigued ache that limply holds his body, emotion expands and he is himself at all ages, locked under the stairs, huddled in his apartment at uni, cowering, crowing, leader and follower, always Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, always. He knows he is dying, but Angel is killing him, and at the last second, he realizes that he trusts him again.
5. Very tired. Bedtime.