SGA fic: One Day Stand (R/S, NC-17)

One Day Stand

eritrea

eretria

enname

It's still sunny outside when Sam's coming home, sweaty and tired but earlier than usual. She's looking forward to a quick shower and a beer on the balcony, but there's Rodney sitting at the curb, jumping up as she pulls into the drive. She thunks her head against the steering wheel, sighs and gets out, answering his bright, nervous smile with one of her own.

Last night has been a mistake, one she isn't going to repeat, but Sam can't turn him away, she'll at least have to exchange a few words with him - before calling him a taxi. They move inside, out of the heat, there's the polite offering of drinks and then she says, "Look, I really have to take a shower, you should-" and Rodney says, "You smell fantastic, can I-" and they stare at each other for a heartbeat.

Sam puts her glass on the counter and starts, "Rodney, I-" but he misunderstands her (maybe on purpose, maybe not) and already wraps his arms around her, one around her waist, curving up to her shoulder, the other around her hip, his hand landing on her ass.

Before Sam can disentangle herself, he's kissing her neck, her jaw, her cheek and lips, softly chanting, "Sam, Sam, Sam" and she's not precisely being won over, but it's been a day full of aggravations and she's at that stage of disgust where only prolonged cleaning and relaxation would get rid of it - or the faster, sharper release offered to her now. She can smell her heated body, can see its effect on Rodney, and goes with it, stokes the tight, hot feeling inside.

Her vaginal muscles already contract, release, contract and release. Sam starts moving her hips ever so slightly against Rodney's as she kisses him back, deep and wet, careless and hard. Rodney clucks gutturally but only clutches her tighter, his hands coming up to hold her head, his hips pushing her backwards against the counter.

Sam moves one of her legs between his and enjoys the way his low moaning stutters for a moment. She knows what Rodney must feel like, his erection trapped inside his pants and rubbing against her body, much like the way it feels to press her clit against him. She tilts her hips and shivers at the friction of the fabric rubbing against her sensitised skin.

If she were wearing one of her dresses (all neatly stowed in her wardrobe for proper dates or other occasions requiring a show of proper femininity), he could lift her on the counter top and push its skirt up to her waist. He'd take her here, in the light airy kitchen, with her head resting against the upper cupboards, his mouth on her breasts, his dick easily moving in and out, the counter tops smooth and cool under her bare buttocks, the perfect height and easy to clean. Sam giggles at that thought.

Rodney pulls back, looking like he's wondering if to take offense, but clearly too aroused to want to. "I know you said it was only for one night but," he extracts one hand from her to wave and point. "But, you know, I thought, technically, it's still the same day, and I'm sure it's still night on Earth somewhere and it's afternoon now so, still only one night -"

She interrupts him, takes his hand to still it and says, "You're right, it's a one-day thing, McKay. Bedroom?" which immediately makes any lingering doubts he might have disappear.

Sam has barely turned around to move upstairs when he grabs her again as if unable (or at least unwilling) to let her go for the time it takes to climb the stairs. His erection is hard heat at the small of her back as his arms pull her tightly back against him, two diagonal restraints of warm flesh, up across her chest, down across her belly.

"You're so hot."

"I think you mean sweaty, McKay."

"Scorching." Rodney noses behind her ear, presses wet kisses against the side of her neck. One of his hands grabs her breast, none too gently, while the other slides inside her pants, her underpants, between her curls.

They've taken their time last night, Rodney lying between her legs for ages, tending to her with scientific abandon, intent upon finding her buttons. She'd have been annoyed at that approach if he hadn't been such a quick learner.

He hasn't forgotten any spots either, his fingers now unerringly touching Sam where her vaginal wall is most sensitive, the slightly dry skin of his fingertips enhancing the friction, making her shiver with real pleasure.

They are soon slick and slippery though; today is no need for the politeness of foreplay, and she pushes out, "I'm ready, you know." Rodney's body leaves hers just for the time it takes to drop their pants, Sam not even wanting to step out of hers, the slight restriction around her legs adding to all the tenseness and heat fuelling her lust.

Rodney's on the same page as her, puts on a condom with quick fingers, holds her lips apart, slides in. His breath hitches; he holds onto her hip with one arm, wraps the other around her to stroke her clit, slow at first, circling the little nub, just pushing when his own arousal overcomes him.

Sam presses herself against the curved, hard-soft back of her sofa, pushing back against Rodney, forward against the upholstery, a feeling of bliss spreading throughout her. The knot and the emptiness disappear, dissolute, dissolve as Rodney's cock makes her tingle inside while his hands make her tingle all over.

"Hold it, wait, wait," she says, and when his weight is removed, Sam quickly whips off her shirt, spreads it beneath her and sends Rodney a sheepish grin. "I've got no clue how to clean the sofa, and I'd rather not have to find out."

Any other time, Rodney would surely have told her all the best or worst way to clean any sort of stain from upholstery, but now he just catches her lips while her head is still turned back to him, then enters her again, needy, oh so needy, and she welcomes it, wide open and glad to feel him inside again, the brief interruption making their pleasure even more acute.

Rodney doesn't come quickly this time; his long strokes are reaching that spot deep inside her, sharp and sweet, making her go "Ngh!" again and again until she has to close her eyes in pleasure. Sam clenches around him in counter rhythm until her vagina flutters once, twice, of its own accord, then she slowly deflates and starts breathing again.

He keeps moving, so she shifts herself slightly so her sensitised clit doesn't rub against the couch anymore. The movement of his penis feels pleasant, a sweet tickle inside her. Finally she feels Rodney's stomach contract where he's pressed against her back, his thighs shaking violently, then he half-collapses on top of her.

Her grunt of breathless discomfort is half involuntary and loud enough to make Rodney shift sideways, then slip down to the floor, coming to rest with his back against the couch. Sam takes a deep breath and feels her lungs inflate properly, as if they'd been half-empty before. She must look like a great cat though, lying along the top of a piece of furniture, body loose and limp, with her limbs dangling.

And she's even sweatier than before. She grabs two towels out of the storage closet, hands one to Rodney, says "I'll have a quick shower upstairs," proceeding to do just that while he remains seated on the carpet.

Sam's good at speed-showering, every inch can be cleaned in less than three minutes, and four minutes later she's standing wrapped in a bathrobe in her living room again, smelling and feeling clean. Rodney seems to have taken a nap in the meantime and just blinks at her. She gives him a hand up, has to slap it away from where it immediately strays, and says, "You can use the shower, you know. I'll make us some coffee."

Sam's drinking her first cup on the veranda when Rodney comes down again. "Smells a bit bitter, what are you using?" He helps himself to a cup of his own from the thermos, looking quiet but not unhappy. "This isn't instant, I hope? I mean, it's fine if you got nothing else, and there are some good brands, but you've got a house and a kitchen ..."

"There's cookies in the shelf next to the fridge," she says, and he's already bounding inside. "Over the coffee machine," she shouts pointedly.

She hears him crashing about in her kitchen for a bit, then he comes out, a half-eaten cookie in one hand, the packet in the other, squinting at it. "Can you read this tiny print? Is there lemon in it?"

"Probably," she replies, "There's some sort of citric acid in most of them, I think, but I'm not sure."

But he doesn't spit it out, just swallows and waits, then brightens visibly and pops in the rest of the crumbling confectionery. Grabbing another few, he looks up and belatedly offers her the package. Her stomach is grumbling, so she takes a few and they chew companionably.

"It's still day, isn't it? I could stay ..." He looks down at her hopefully.

She stands up so they are face to face, cards her fingers through his short hair, still untidy from their intercourse, then grips it and shakes his head lightly. "Rodney, Rodney, Rodney."

"What? What, what, what!"

Sam laughs once and sits down again. He drops into the chair next to hers. "You know what, Rodney. Let's not ruin a good thing - ah, ah, you know you would!"

Rodney shuts his mouth with an audible plop at the sight of her slender finger hovering in front of his face; doesn't say any of the things they both know would do just what she is predicting.

He ducks his head in a strange smile, suddenly looking his age. "You said you'd call me a taxi?"

"Yeah. I'd drive you, but I'm beat, and it would look odd to show up at the SGC again so soon after going home."

"Yeah, right, of course," he nods in fake understanding and she slaps his arm and says, "That so was your plan, you horrible, horrible man," and he looks like he wants to protest but he's got those too wide eyes of fake innocence going, and he's turning red, so she glares at him until he deflates, mumbles something unintelligible and gulps down the rest of his coffee.

Sam sighs and shakes her head, then stands up to ring the taxi company. They both know he has to leave; he's already started leering at her again, staring at the outline of her boobs under her bathrobe, ignoring her. It was only a matter of time before he started making condescending remarks about her interior design, and his criticism of her latest publications are threatening to burst forth any moment now that he's satisfied and sated.

They say good-bye inside the house. Rodney tries to slip her the tongue, but she takes his head between her hands and stills him. She feels the tension go out of his arms which he's wrapped around her again. They squeeze each other one last time, then he bounds down towards the waiting car and is gone.

Locking the door, she takes a deep breath and lets the silence of the house sink into her. She slowly walks back to the veranda and finishes the last of her coffee. She feels herself relax, more at ease now they finally parted so amiably, and doesn't regret a thing.