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Title: Simply There
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Cam/Sam
Rating: Adult themes
Word Count: 1,103
Spoilers: None
Prompt:
Summary:“I’m sorry, you’re just… uncomplicated,” she says and he feels her tense.
“Have I just been insulted?”
This fic was written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sheri47, who admittedly asked for Sam/Cam smut and I did start out that way but the story veered a little... I hope you like this offering...
The congressional medal of honour…
He’s not sure what’s happening when she turns up on his doorstep with a bottle of red. He’s used to seeing her in BDU’s these days so the dark blue dress with the V neckline makes him eye her speculatively.
“Are you stopping by on your way out somewhere?” he asks, trying for a level nonchalance that he doesn’t quite manage. She’s toeing out of her heels, kitten because despite everything it’s still Carter, when she looks up at him through her lashes and grins.
…is the highest award of valour…
The dress she’s wearing is one of those wrap-around affairs that opens up like a robe when the waist tie is undone, and Cameron can’t tear his eyes away from her hands as they play with the ends of the ties as she wanders across his living room, pushing magazines and an empty pizza box out of her way with her bare feet.
“You’re a slob,” she notes, touching her finger to a half empty beer can on the coffee table and an empty soldier beside it.
“Maid’s sick,” Cameron responds archly, rooted to the spot when she finally makes it over to the window looking over the city and pulls the blind.
“Of your mess?” she guesses and Cameron snorts.
…in action against an enemy…
She’s done a circuit of the room now and this has led her back to him, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She walks right up and steps on his feet and even though she’s tall, somehow she folds herself so that she fits neatly with her head under his chin.
“You’re heavy,” he says, just for something to say.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she sighs, but the sound is fond.
…force that can be bestowed…
This has happened three times before, and each time he thinks that he will never again have her this way, pliant and his and of course he knows something has happened and this is her way of dealing with it, but experience has taught him not to ask.
“I’m expecting a tip this time,” he rumbles, and it’s absolutely the wrong thing to say because her head snaps back and her eyes narrow and she would’ve stepped away if his arms hadn’t come up at that moment to wrap firmly around her and keep her in place. “Hey, hey… no runnin’ now,” he soothes, fitting his hands into the small of her back and rubbing lazy circles.
“I’m sorry, you’re just… uncomplicated,” she says and he feels her tense.
“Have I just been insulted?”
Sam does lean back now, as far as his arms will allow and she regards him with a canted head. “No, you haven’t.”
For some unfathomable reason, he believes her.
…upon an individual serving…
The dress parts as easily as he thinks it will and he thanks whatever providence it was that made Sam an always practical girl, but he has to laugh long and loud when he gets a load of the Wonder Woman underwear she has on and she grimaces and ducks her head.
“Laundry day, and it was this or the gigantic bloomers of granny-death.”
“Or nothing,” Cameron prompts and it’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “So,” he continues. “Can you deflect bullets?”
For a second Sam’s eyes darken and cut away and he knows he’s said a second dumb thing in as many minutes when her lips thin down and in a hollow voice she says something that chills him.
“No, no, I really can’t.”
…in the armed forces…
Having relegated talking to its proper place of ‘bad idea’, instead he dips his thumbs under the waistband of her ridiculous underwear and she arches into him, cheeks flushing and a low, breathy “Ungh,” that has him stumbling a step and her gripping his biceps so hard that the next day he will notice a row of tiny, crescent shaped indents in his skin.
He pulls the underwear down and off and she steps out of it and as he turns to throw it aside he notices that she opened his blinds rather than closing them and that… he’s not sure what to make of it. As his eyes drag back from the night-darkened sky to her and he finally sees the bluish cast of bruises across her ribs he knows.
The heels and the dress and even the underwear was a distraction, because she hoped he wouldn’t see the careful way she was holding herself and how the makeup around her eyes was a little thicker than everywhere else and that there was a small line of red high in her hairline and yes, stitches of all things.
“Rough day at the office?” he asks, not really wanting to, but there’s a part of him that just can’t help it and he sees a veil drop over her eyes and she steps away, closing her dress about herself as she does, just like she’s closed herself.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” she exhales, wincing slightly.
“Well, I do,” he says, matching her step away with one forward and he runs a finger gently along the cut on her forehead and then down the side of her face and neck and along her collarbone. He knows because he’s been there, needing to lose himself in someone, but he’d always gone the bar route, some anonymous person who he could spend some guilt-free time with, and he understands what an honour it is that she’s come back to him.
His hands go under the fabric of her dress and he pulls it off one shoulder and then the other and she’s biting her lip and looking a little uncertain and guarded still, but she isn’t stopping him and he takes that as all the sign he needs.
…of the Unites States of America…
He thinks it’s the painkillers when he opens his eyes slowly and sees Samantha Carter standing at the foot of his hospital bed in dress blues with a bunch of people he doesn’t know standing behind her.
It’s the first time he’s seen her in two years, but not the first time he’s heard from her.
Along with his reassignment papers he’d received six months earlier, was a single foolscap page paper-clipped to the front and one line, written in long hand, simply saying, You’re going to love this.
The first time he saw an X302, he thought ‘deep space telemetry my ass’ and he started to truly understand.
Just a little.
On behalf of the President…
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Cam/Sam
Rating: Adult themes
Word Count: 1,103
Spoilers: None
Prompt:
Summary:“I’m sorry, you’re just… uncomplicated,” she says and he feels her tense.
“Have I just been insulted?”
This fic was written for
sheri47, who admittedly asked for Sam/Cam smut and I did start out that way but the story veered a little... I hope you like this offering... The congressional medal of honour…
He’s not sure what’s happening when she turns up on his doorstep with a bottle of red. He’s used to seeing her in BDU’s these days so the dark blue dress with the V neckline makes him eye her speculatively.
“Are you stopping by on your way out somewhere?” he asks, trying for a level nonchalance that he doesn’t quite manage. She’s toeing out of her heels, kitten because despite everything it’s still Carter, when she looks up at him through her lashes and grins.
…is the highest award of valour…
The dress she’s wearing is one of those wrap-around affairs that opens up like a robe when the waist tie is undone, and Cameron can’t tear his eyes away from her hands as they play with the ends of the ties as she wanders across his living room, pushing magazines and an empty pizza box out of her way with her bare feet.
“You’re a slob,” she notes, touching her finger to a half empty beer can on the coffee table and an empty soldier beside it.
“Maid’s sick,” Cameron responds archly, rooted to the spot when she finally makes it over to the window looking over the city and pulls the blind.
“Of your mess?” she guesses and Cameron snorts.
…in action against an enemy…
She’s done a circuit of the room now and this has led her back to him, standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She walks right up and steps on his feet and even though she’s tall, somehow she folds herself so that she fits neatly with her head under his chin.
“You’re heavy,” he says, just for something to say.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she sighs, but the sound is fond.
…force that can be bestowed…
This has happened three times before, and each time he thinks that he will never again have her this way, pliant and his and of course he knows something has happened and this is her way of dealing with it, but experience has taught him not to ask.
“I’m expecting a tip this time,” he rumbles, and it’s absolutely the wrong thing to say because her head snaps back and her eyes narrow and she would’ve stepped away if his arms hadn’t come up at that moment to wrap firmly around her and keep her in place. “Hey, hey… no runnin’ now,” he soothes, fitting his hands into the small of her back and rubbing lazy circles.
“I’m sorry, you’re just… uncomplicated,” she says and he feels her tense.
“Have I just been insulted?”
Sam does lean back now, as far as his arms will allow and she regards him with a canted head. “No, you haven’t.”
For some unfathomable reason, he believes her.
…upon an individual serving…
The dress parts as easily as he thinks it will and he thanks whatever providence it was that made Sam an always practical girl, but he has to laugh long and loud when he gets a load of the Wonder Woman underwear she has on and she grimaces and ducks her head.
“Laundry day, and it was this or the gigantic bloomers of granny-death.”
“Or nothing,” Cameron prompts and it’s Sam’s turn to laugh. “So,” he continues. “Can you deflect bullets?”
For a second Sam’s eyes darken and cut away and he knows he’s said a second dumb thing in as many minutes when her lips thin down and in a hollow voice she says something that chills him.
“No, no, I really can’t.”
…in the armed forces…
Having relegated talking to its proper place of ‘bad idea’, instead he dips his thumbs under the waistband of her ridiculous underwear and she arches into him, cheeks flushing and a low, breathy “Ungh,” that has him stumbling a step and her gripping his biceps so hard that the next day he will notice a row of tiny, crescent shaped indents in his skin.
He pulls the underwear down and off and she steps out of it and as he turns to throw it aside he notices that she opened his blinds rather than closing them and that… he’s not sure what to make of it. As his eyes drag back from the night-darkened sky to her and he finally sees the bluish cast of bruises across her ribs he knows.
The heels and the dress and even the underwear was a distraction, because she hoped he wouldn’t see the careful way she was holding herself and how the makeup around her eyes was a little thicker than everywhere else and that there was a small line of red high in her hairline and yes, stitches of all things.
“Rough day at the office?” he asks, not really wanting to, but there’s a part of him that just can’t help it and he sees a veil drop over her eyes and she steps away, closing her dress about herself as she does, just like she’s closed herself.
“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what I’m doing here,” she exhales, wincing slightly.
“Well, I do,” he says, matching her step away with one forward and he runs a finger gently along the cut on her forehead and then down the side of her face and neck and along her collarbone. He knows because he’s been there, needing to lose himself in someone, but he’d always gone the bar route, some anonymous person who he could spend some guilt-free time with, and he understands what an honour it is that she’s come back to him.
His hands go under the fabric of her dress and he pulls it off one shoulder and then the other and she’s biting her lip and looking a little uncertain and guarded still, but she isn’t stopping him and he takes that as all the sign he needs.
…of the Unites States of America…
He thinks it’s the painkillers when he opens his eyes slowly and sees Samantha Carter standing at the foot of his hospital bed in dress blues with a bunch of people he doesn’t know standing behind her.
It’s the first time he’s seen her in two years, but not the first time he’s heard from her.
Along with his reassignment papers he’d received six months earlier, was a single foolscap page paper-clipped to the front and one line, written in long hand, simply saying, You’re going to love this.
The first time he saw an X302, he thought ‘deep space telemetry my ass’ and he started to truly understand.
Just a little.
On behalf of the President…