Actually, this was the first of the WIPs that I finished, so I'll post this, play with my advisor while he deigns to pay attention to me, and get back to the others later. That's my plan.
Sooooo..... Sam solo fic, anyone? And actually, if you know of any others, link me in the comments, will you? I know of great Cam solo fics and Jack solo fic, any others? Ooooooh, forgot Thea's marvelous Five.
Title: Self Assembly Required
Setting: Season 7, pre-Chimera.
Word count: 3,400
Beta: the lovely rydra_wong, who, among other things, told me this belonged in it's own story.
It’d taken a deep breath, and 20 minutes of small talk before she could get around to asking about this guy Mark thought was all she said she wanted. After that, she confessed within 30 seconds that she was nervous; he’d claimed that was normal.
A good omen.
She didn’t believe in signs like that. Her scanner lighting up with the energy signature that indicated naquadah on an uninhabited planet was a good omen. It kept her busy for three days making her report, briefing people and planning for future directions. Meetings weren’t her favorite ways to spend the day, but they let her sleep in her own bed at night and it helped her decide that it was time to look into the idea of waking up next to someone in it with her.
For the warmth. For the company. For someone to water her plants when she was gone for a few days.
She’d been ordered to get a life, and she’d ordered herself to get one outside her chain of command (well, reordered, actually, but it bore repeating.) So much more efficient than fumbling around subjects you don’t understand and aren’t your specialty. Sam liked having a plan and a report and data and analysis to present to a CO who would then make a decision and tell you your part in acting out the solution.
Easy. A few days of meetings and hunching over a long table in a dim room, able to get away with slouching because it was all scientists and few were also military and of them, Sam was highest rank. Ergo, slouching allowed.
Only now Sam was tired, she knew she was tired in the bone deep weary way. Her shoulders felt like they were hanging from her body, weighing her down. She had a bruise on her left hip from tripping whilst paying more attention to her scanner than the uneven ground during the initial mission, re-injured when she’d bumped it against her lab bench that evening setting up a few more simulations. The bruise hurt more now, and the data didn’t reveal any surprises.
And Sam was fussing getting comfortable in her bed, the sounds of her house and the conversation with Mark ringing in her ears. She was irritating herself: she was tired and she should be sleeping.
Sometimes work kept her up late thinking, but it’d been years since Teal’c taught her to meditate and most times she could stop her mind from thrumming along trains of thought with the calming techniques. Tonight her mind was full of white noise, numbed, going around in boring circles; she didn’t think meditation was the answer.
With her weariness, there was absolutely no reason she should be awake hours after going to bed, shifting her feet with a soft rushing sound between the covers to find cooler parts of the sheets. Maybe she should have found time to work out with Daniel; it might have prevented her restless legs from kicking rhythmically at the covers. Turning her back on her painfully red alarm clock lights, Sam testily stretched an arm under the other pillow on her bed and touched fingertips to flannel instead of cotton.
Well, there was an idea. She wasn’t sleeping anyway, and it’d been far too long since she’d done this. It would be good practice for dating.
Either Sam was suddenly much calmer, or time had slowed down; either seemed possible.
Or she was panicking. Nice, normal cold feet, before she’d even met the guy. A good omen. She hoped he was louder than her own thoughts so she could stop going round in circles. Her hand had somehow run down the length of her body from waist to hip to thigh as far as she could reach without bending and pushed off her underwear. She lifted first one knee and then the other and the underwear took up residence somewhere at the foot of the bed under the covers.
The plastic she’d wrapped the vibrator in to keep the lint off crackled loudly in the sleepless house as she pulled it from the bag. A small bottle of lube fell out too, but she didn’t think she’d need it; she secreted the bottle back into the bag and unstuck the plastic from the vibrator, reminding herself that she lived alone and that noise was allowed. Closing her eyes and tipping a knee up, she pressed the head between her legs against her hair.
It was cold; she could feel it against her inner thigh and in the cool plastic at the base. The sensation on the outside was an interesting contrast to the pulsing reaction within that she could produce if she pressed the length of the shaft against herself and eased it close; the feeling gave her shivers, and the pliable plastic surface of the dildo caught at her dry skin. Sam reached her second hand down to wrap around the vibrator to warm it up a little, decided that self sufficiency was a underappreciated sometimes and ran her fingers over and around her clit, feeling the heat there as she just held the head of the dildo against her opening without pushing.
It was a more effective warming technique, turns out.
And nice, especially after she started moving the dildo back and forth from opening to clit and her body got more enthusiastic about the idea, but Sam wanted more than nice; she wanted the feeling of something inside her so she pressed forward with the dildo slowly, waiting for her unaccustomed body to adjust and compensating for only mild wetness: the thing felt huge, and barely room temperature, and she while she liked the stretching, the edge of it, she didn’t want to break out the lube, which would be required for fast and dirty.
Sometimes, needing foreplay was just annoying, she thought as she came up with alternative ways to get her mind and body on the same page.
Sir, yes sir. Alternatives.
Only that was a really bad line of thought. Bad. No. Racking her brain, Sam conjured an image of a guy she’d been really attracted to on her tour in the Gulf. He played soccer with his shirt off in the desert sun, and goodness but the sight of his shoulders and tan, sweat-sheened back could do things for her, once upon a time. She couldn’t remember his name, though, so the fantasy took on an anonymous quality.
She felt quite a bit warmer and shifted a foot outside the covers for climate control. Turning the boy in her mind, she realized she’d forgotten what his face looked like although she remembered that he had nice biceps.
At least she’d thought he did at the time; on reflection, Sam was pretty sure Daniel’s arms were better defined, and thinking about Daniel running about playing soccer had novelty value, since she was pretty sure she’d never seen him play anything but chess, plus the added bonus of letting her think about a guy who’s face she could picture clearly, even if she did imagine him looking slightly more tanned and Latino than he normally did.
Sam began pressing gently lengthwise around her clit, sometimes rocking the palm of her hand on the outside with wide pressure everywhere, pushing the vibrator in deeper as her body’s warmness built and washed over her.
Daniel was a good sport, she thought; he wouldn’t mind.
Not that she would tell him, but Sam was pretty sure he’d just laugh it off, possibly while blushing and smiling, and wasn’t a bad image either.
She felt something lightly brush her working fingers as she rocked the vibrator, and Sam blushed as the smaller, second nub came into position at her clit and tickled her with too light pressure, because really, why did they have to name it a rabbit somethingorother? Sam felt very strongly that she was not a fluffy bunny sex kind of girl, but she really loved this vibrator, so she overlooked the name, and fumbled with the switches at the battery base, trying to remember which did which as she tried not to giggle.
And she imagined Daniel laughing. A true, deep, full laugh the likes of which she rarely saw, and Sam was torn between laughing with him and staring in wonder, breath caught.
The first switch was the wrong one; doing something that felt like kneading her inside but it made a grinding sound that really didn’t do anything for her and felt like it moved the base more than it moved the head of the dildo. There was a part of Sam that felt like she could really design that better if she had a mind to, and the image of pulling apart her vibrator on her bench at work and putting it back together in plain view as the Colonel walked in the room was entertaining, but she flipped the switch all the way to off, nice as it was to smile at the potential dumbstruck faces her coworkers would make at her.
Only, not the Colonel. Teal’c, maybe. Teal’c wouldn’t comment on the unusual soft plastic, but eventually the shape underneath would garner a raised eyebrow at least. Then she’d have the choice of either stumbling through what could be an entertaining lecture, if she managed not to blush, or simply mimic his eyebrow with a knowing look of her own.
Sam knew how to take care of herself when she wanted to, and she’s pretty sure she could manage a raised eyebrow without blushing.
The second switch shorted out all thoughts of reengineering her rabbit, as she knew it would. The lightest vibrations of only a little pressure to either side of her clit were enough to catch her breath in her throat and nearly surprise an exclamation out of her, and though there was no one around Sam was relieved and pretty sure she hadn’t actually spoken aloud. It took her a moment to pull her jaw closed and reanimate her fingers to move from the switches to grasp the plastic base of the vibrator with a graceless full-handed grip.
Teal’c had wide hands. Teal’c had biceps. Teal’c had the biggest, finest arms known to human or Jaffa-kind alike, and sometimes she got to sleep next to him on a warm planet where he’d slip off his uniform jacket and sit cross-legged in just the right angle for her to admire the cut of his shoulders and back from where she lay on her sleeping bag.
It was as close as she got to waking up next to someone, and sometimes, at moments like this, she thought that was just fine.
The light white noise of buzzing blocking her ears, filling her mind until it was only about moving to drop her knees open for better angle instead of holding it up with tense muscles and too much attention, the few synapses in her brain required for her arm and hand to move the vibrator forward against Sam’s abs, tight and holding the stimulation in her pelvis like she could keep it there longer, hold it forever if she held her body in just the right position.
She breathed hard, her body just barely under control, because it would get better, she knew with a part of her brain that could manage the concept, even better if she could hold out. Could convince her hand to move instead of just vibrating on the dildo base in spasming, frozen, overwhelmed pleasure.
She managed to press the vibrator base slowly up, not because there was friction now, but because the stimulation on her clit moved from feather light to soft and wide; her breath hitched, she tilted her pelvis and ran her thumb over the base to turn the vibration up a few notches. She was almost there, almost too right, almost the right angle that would explode her from bone to spine to brain; the thumb of her free hand hooked around her hipbone, digging impatiently into the softness around the bone.
Sam tipped the base back, pads of her fingers just hanging on the edge of the plastic, the dildo pressing forward against the inside of her and the nub against the outside at her clit vibrating joyously against the longest possible area.
Someone would have to rock back on his knees to hit that spot within her. Maybe sit up. Maybe totally lie back. And use his hands just so, somehow figuring out how to make them vibrate. Maybe it wasn’t all that anatomically possible and she should appreciate how her vibrator always gave her exactly what she wanted at exactly the right moment.
She pressed minutely forward, the seams of the plastic creating a pleasantly painful indentation in her fingertips.
And almost choked on her breath, arching her body up and around her stupidly named rabbit vibrator but unable to break the sit-up, her abs and ass and thighs and shoulders all contracting in a sense of pain, like a hard workout maintained at just the height of lifting the last weight, when your muscles were going to explode, just held there, waiting, your spotter making sure you were safe, until you broke the hold.
If you were very lucky, it was one of the really attractive guys you work with wearing fingerless lifting gloves, cupping them under the air around your bar, right over your face, following anywhere you led with those weights.
Sam gave up control, surging the vibrator against her clit on the outside, the stimulations almost overwhelming, and the dildo inside, wanting it up and forward and deep, surging hard but not thrusting. Sam surged herself, whiplashing her body, pulling her head and shoulders up off the bed, jaw dropped open, eyes clamped shut and a groan just behind her voice, unable to manage the presence of mind to hear whether she made a sound, explosions of release in synch with the seizing of her body, the white sensations barreling up her spine. Over and over.
Her muscles relaxed slowly and let her head fall back to the pillow. She pulled the vibrator back and arced her thighs off the bed in aftershock as it pressed a shallower place inside her, a lighter pressure on her clit, holding the stimulation there as she flipped the switch to a low setting again and rode the last shocks with her hips and abs and legs only, letting her breath return to a rhythm and her face relax. She heard herself groan easily as her mouth closed, and was surprised the sound was pleasant, sounding like a hum.
Her free hand began an unconscious soothing motion on her skin as she came down: a gentle petting just above the hair, in a half moon circular curve that mirrored the arc of her hip.
Her ab muscles contracted again, twice in succession and she smiled and thought about pressing in deeper again, going for multiples, but decided with a few squeezes to the dildo that she was calm enough, broken apart enough to sleep easy, forgetful of her day and fears and bodily safe, no matter what orders her life wanted to throw at her the next day.
She thought of what it was like to wake up after bunking with one of her teammates who actually slept: having the first thing you saw be another person, breathing deeply and sometimes snoring if his allergies were acting up, already moving around the tent in much more pleasant wake up sound than an alarm clock made if it was the colonel, though he usually managed it with watch so that they weren’t both awake at the same time if they bunked together.
It would be nice to have moments like that she could talk about with her sister in law, things she could admit to and a home life she could describe without censoring classified information every other sentence. It would be nice to have someone in her life that wasn’t a coworker. This thing with being set up was no big deal, she was nervous over nothing.
She turned the switches off reluctantly and held up the vibrator, kicking what remained of the covers bonelessly from her overheated skin and rocking carefully sideways over her hips to avoid leaving a mark on her sheets, though she wasn’t sure who she was worried would see it. What she really wanted was to go right to sleep at that moment; she wondered, if things worked out with this guy, if he’d be good enough in bed to make her crash this hard, because it’d be nice to go to sleep without having to get up to wash off her vibrator and put it away.
Stumbling into the bathroom she turned on a light in the hallway to avoid blasting her eyes with brightness and stumbled looking down at her vibrator clutched in her hand: she’d forgotten the purple color that Janet had talked her into, saying that the skin tones were boring and unrealistic and Sam needed some glitter in her life. Sam shook her head at the memory and rinsed off the plastic, running fingers carefully around the rabbit ears fondly; she’d privately thought Janet was far too obsessed with unusual colors, but had already been steamrolled into a silly rabbit named vibrators and gave up without much of a fight. Strange colors were all well and good for doctors needing a little distance from the earthiness of their practice, but everyone else was supposed to want normal stuff, right?
Ultimately, though, she figured sparklies were somewhat irrelevant if you had your eyes closed or the lights off, and what did it matter anyway if it was a great orgasm and helped you sleep? So she had a sparkly purple vibrator.
As her eyes adjusted, pupils back to normal dilation, breathing deep but easy, she checked out her bare hip jutting out from beneath her tank top in the mirror, looking for thumbprints and surprising herself that she’d forgotten the bruise: a relic of watching her instruments and not her footing, or her lab bench. She’d left light red pressure marks on her hipbone and over around the fullest part of her hip, but hadn’t felt the bruise at all; she supposed that meant it looked worse than it was. She hadn’t even noticed it off world, but then, off world she slept in her clothes more often than not.
And she usually slept better then too, which was surprising at first: fewer hours, since she had to keep watch for a quarter of the night, and she’d always thought that maybe her body knew to take advantage of the time she did get to sleep, and so would fall easily into an easy rhythm of dropping right off, one of her teammate’s breathing in her ear, the rustle of tents holding the other two not far off. She’d thought at first that it was the exercise and the excitement of new planets, new challenges; the Colonel said it was down to limited laptop battery keeping her from working too much, letting her actually look at the stars. Now she wondered if it was the company, the companionship of sleeping near someone, with someone; an experiment she was going to test. An easy, normal life. Coming home to someone.
It was a dream that worked for people, she told the voice in her head that sounded persistently like Janet and reminded her that she traveled to other planets for a living. She wanted to try normal, she wanted a path already traveled, and experiment where the controls were done and the protocols established; a counterpoint to the excitement and constant change of her day job.
Opposites attracted and forces exist in pairs: coming home to a companion and normality and a presence to balance out leaving home with a team for the unknown. Someone warm and welcoming and normal, the white picket fence, the dream, the image she’d grown up with all her life, the memory of her mother waiting for her father like that.
Control for all other variables, test for one.
Be nervous later. Sleep now.
p.s. janedavitt wrote a sexy Sam and Janet, drinking and dishing about the boys in a fic here: Girl Talk inspired by this very fic! Imagine! Mild R.