#an unfinished game instead of doing my work. i hope the next secret boss fucks with susie next
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hey you know how spamton is a guy whos like custom ordered to fuck with kris i kind of get the feeling jevil is somewhat like that for ralsei. you know his strong belief in fate and purpose etc. jevils whole deal is kindof a mockery of that and we dont see any special text from him about jevil but i liek to think ralsei is just kindof grinding his teeth if you equip him with jevilstail like "hoohoo purpose fans stay seething at true chaos enjoyers!" in his ear constantly
#susie has specil positive connections to him which is also something to note. my brain is thinking about tenuous narrative parallels in#an unfinished game instead of doing my work. i hope the next secret boss fucks with susie next
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Cloud Number Nine
There's no such thing as too close to your team (or, "Jack And Sam Do SG-1").
Again, this is unfinished (this is Sam/Vala, Jack/Cam, Sam/Teal’c, Jack/Vala, and Jack/Sam, but would eventually have included four more SG-1 pairings), and unedited. It’s very freeing to let go of all these fics.
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.1.
"Have you seen her yet?"
"Working on it, Cam," Vala muttered brightly, freeing another button. Sam snorted softly.
"Because I could come in and help you look—"
"We'll be fine," murmured Sam, with admirable composure. Then quickly put her hand over the radio mike hidden in her feathery hair ornament, and groaned. Vala's mischievous fingers were pressing harder against the seam of the black leather pants that fit Sam so snugly.
She'd sworn she'd never be able to get into Vala's leather pants, when this undercover operation had been proposed. How wrong she had been.
"You know you can't, anyway." Vala was still talking quietly to Cam. "We'll be just fine." One of the serving wenches passed their table, and Vala leaned into Sam, giving the girl a wink. "We're just fine, aren't we, baby?"
"Yessssssssss—"
Cam made some suggestion about putting on a dress – he was remarkably keen, reflected Sam – but they both ignored him, knowing there was no danger of interruption by inconvenient teammates. He'd be stopped at the door: no men allowed in to this exclusive club, at which they were supposedly searching for a Lucian Alliance trader called Y'tall. Sam really hoped Vala was keeping her eyes open for the woman, because she definitely wasn't.
Vala's lips landed on hers, quashing that hope. Oh well, thought Sam, surrendering dizzily. Not to worry...
"Are you absolutely sure you don't need backup?"
Vala's hands – lips – the slight weight of her body – her warm scent... "We're just fiiiiiiiiiiiii—"
.2.
"There's no such thing as too close to your team," the General told him. Cam hadn't been asking, but he had been thinking, and he gave the man an uneasy glance. There'd been nothing about psychic powers in any of the reports... "They taught me that. Eventually."
"Yes, sir," agreed Cam. Not that he was in any danger of being too close to his team. He could still feel them looking at him and weighing him against the man in front of him now. And he had the worrying feeling that he wasn't quite measuring up.
The General looked him over, eyes unreadable, fingertips tapping against the beer that Cam had turned down.
"Are you fucking any of them yet?"
Cam choked.
"Or all of them?" continued the General. Apparently he was on a mission to give Cam a heart attack.
Cam laughed uneasily, deciding it was some sort of goddamn weird test. How the new leader of SG-1 stood up under pressure. "Sure, sir," he said. "We have a rota."
The General didn't crack a smile. Instead he looked him over again, until Cam was about ready to give in and squirm uncomfortably, like he'd not done since boot camp. "Give it time," he said. He sounded almost... conciliatory. His expression was softer. "And stop worrying." The order was soft.
"Sir?"
"You're one of them."
Cam frowned. The damn man was psychic. "Yes, sir," he said, hoping they could please stop this weird conversation and go back to the reports.
The General, though, rolled his eyes. "Come on in the house. Wanna show you something." He got to his feet, groaning slightly, and when he thumped his beer down on the table Cam followed quickly. Hopefully it'd be some good blackmail material he could use to keep his team in line.
Two minutes later, with the General's fridge at his back and the General's tongue down his throat, Cam realized that there weren't going to be any photos.
"You're SG-1," growled the General, pulling back and holding his gaze. Cam swallowed, terrified and unbelievably turned on. "I can see it."
"Sir..." The General stepped his leg between Cam's, pressing his sharp hip against Cam's erection, and Cam groaned and forgot what he'd been about to say.
"And SG-1 is mine," concluded the General, fiercely possessive.
.3.
She ceased crying very soon, but held on to him for a long time, releasing him only reluctantly. Acknowledging her neediness with an averted gaze and a half-shrug, she invited him to dinner at her house. He gladly agreed. He had not given up hope, but he was beginning to accept the possibility that they might never see Daniel Jackson again, or learn the fate of Colonel O'Neill. With due respect to Jonas, it felt as though they were the last two members of SG-1. He felt bereft.
On the drive and as they waited for their pizza to be delivered, conversation was subdued, and skirted around the topic of rescue operations. It was as though, over the past few weeks, they had forgotten how to converse about anything else, and now that the options were becoming exhausted, so too was their ability to talk.
They remained physically close all evening. She sat beside him on her couch, sharing pizza from the same box. When their hunger was sated, she curled against him, and they watched television in silence. It was not uncomfortable – neither the silence, nor the closeness. At some point during a documentary on the 1969 lunar landing, her breathing eased into the soft rhythm of sleep.
Teal'c stayed put, feeling a sense of contentment that soothed the gnawing loss. At least one member of his team remained safely under his protection. He turned down the volume, tugged a blanket down over her legs, and switched off the lamp.
Some hours later, in the darkest part of the night, she awoke with a quiet gasp. She turned quickly in his lap, but relaxed again when she met his eyes, sleepily murmuring his name. The world outside was so still, he could feel the nightmare-speed of her heart. He brushed a lock of hair from her eyes, and she blinked up at him, coming to full wakefulness. Slowly, tentatively, she ran a hand up his arm, and a voice inside him stirred, murmuring of possibilities long ignored. He drew in a soft breath, surprised at the strength of yearning that sang through him. She paused when her hand reached his shoulder, and left him the next move.
Teal'c paused, considering. Should he decide that it was a bad idea, he knew that she would simply turn her head and it would never again be mentioned. On the other hand...
On the other hand, he wanted to be bound to her more tightly than ever. In the end, it was beyond resistance.
.4.
Vala knew men of power. She liked men of power: she understood their weaknesses, and how to use them. So when General O'Neill came to visit the SGC, and she realized that he was Jack of the reminiscent smile and series of annoyingly incomplete sentences ("Do you remember the time Jack—?", followed by laughter), and that, furthermore, Jack was General Landry's boss... well, that was too good an opportunity to pass up.
Or at least that had been the plan. But he'd been frustratingly unresponsive to her overtures. Flattery hadn't worked, nor had feigning an interest in his work, nor her attempts to discover whether he possessed great wealth, tracts of land, and/or a large vehicle (and that was a nasty cough that Daniel had developed). He'd remained mostly silent, hunched over a table in the commissary, dressed in the same nondescript, baggy, un-General-like green outfits that everyone wore, while Daniel made sarcastic remarks into his coffee and shot her meaningful looks – which, of course, she ignored; the poor boy needed to learn the art of unsubtlety.
So she wasn't exactly sure how they'd ended up in this position, except that when she'd given up on O'Neill and focused her attention on Daniel until he'd fled, fingers in his ears, she turned back to find Jack laughing hard and silently, forehead resting on his crossed arms. When he sat up again, he seemed younger, somehow. Then he'd asked her about his former teammates, and had listened intently, eyes bright, as she talked. When she'd asked him to walk her to her quarters, he'd agreed. When she'd invited him in "for coffee", his face went still and thoughtful, but he'd followed. When she'd wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, he hadn't resisted – and just when she was wondering if she'd have to do all the work, he'd begun responding with enthusiasm.
He walked her backwards to the bed, but then pulled back slightly. She took the opportunity to start undressing him. "Listen, it's... been a while since my Captain Kirk days, so..."
"I'll be gentle," she promised, tugging his shirt down around his elbows so he was entangled and easier to shove onto the bed. She pounced, and he gave an 'oof', and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her down for a warm kiss.
And as it turned out, although he wasn't in the slightest bit interested in playing power games, he was quite happy to partake in some mutual entertainment, to their mutual satisfaction.
.5.
It's in his cabin, squeezed between burying her father and calling off her wedding and taking up their new roles. Officially, they ought to wait, but Daniel and Teal'c aren't going to tell, and it's been eight long, hard, hard years, and don't they deserve this one thing?
Still, they're trying to keep quiet – mostly because they don't want to be mocked tomorrow – and for some reason this has reduced her to helpless giggles, to Jack's secret delight. "Shh," he insists, as he peers over her shoulder, trying to work out whether he's actually undoing her bra or somehow tangling it into some terrible Gordian knot. She snorts so hard it has to hurt, and buries her face in his neck, her whole body quivering with suppressed laughter. She can't see his face, so he stops fighting the broad grin that's been trying to break out all evening. Ever since she'd stood on his dock and kissed him.
"I think they hoped we'd be done with this already, that's why they took so long to get up he-mmmmf." Lips locked, they back towards his bed, but he's so absorbed in her – her taste, the softness of her skin, that sweet little moaning sound she just made – that he forgets this bed isn't the same as his one at home in Colorado. They fall over the footer, Jack bangs his shins, and lands heavily on top of her.
"Ow," they both complain. And then grin goofily at each other, like lovesick teens.
They shuffle up the bed into a more comfortable position, and he really doesn't care about his shins because she's in his bed and in his arms, and nothing else matters. Nothing at all.
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