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I wrote this for a porn challenge and it exceeds the character limit. I'm at a loss how to truncate it and not hurt the story, short as it is, so I'm posting it here instead. Thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
loreleif for the beta. Any mistakes made here are all mine since I continued to write after the beta. *g*
Not Again, SG1/Farscape: Vala/Crichton, mistaken identity, het, NC-17
It was that stubborn child of hers who did it, who flung her away from the heat of battle. Not that she wasn't grateful, dying is not fun. It never is. She should know, she's done it once already. Not in a hurry to repeat the experience, thank you.
Between one breath and the next she finds herself in a new place, standing by a bed in a place that's curiously warm and humid. There's a window to the stars that's like a bubble and she reaches to touch the surface of the glass, jerking her hand away at the strange spongy warmth under her fingertips. Her attention returns to the bed, to the naked figure twisting there, throwing off the thin blanket covering him.
She can see the curve of his cheek, the mussed, spiked hair. "Daniel." she murmurs, smiling widely, drawn instantly to his side. She has him straddled in an instant, her hands gripping his wrists and pushing them over his head. "Gotcha!"
The light is dim, but the blue eyes blinking up at her are most definitely not her Daniel's. "Oh," she says stupidly, letting go his wrists. "Fancy meeting you here, I-"
Her shoulders are grabbed and his mouth is on hers before she can finish the sentence. She tries to squirm away and at first he resists, then his hands drop away as if burned. "Might try not crawling onto a guy next time," he tells her, his voice flinty.
"I-"
"Cause, yeah, I know, I'm not - but still..." he babbles, his hands searching for the blanket to pull back over himself. "You should think about getting up now," he tells her in that same voice.
"Cameron-"
"Cameron? Who's Cameron? Damnit, I'm not doing this; up, please." His voice is slightly angry, more than slightly strained, and he's still hard against her bottom.
The anger sparks perverse arousal and she digs back against him, rubbing her leatherclad ass into his erection. She can't quite figure out this game, but she's been frustrated and horny for far too long, and even if he's not who he's supposed to be, he'll do in a pinch. "Don't think I want to get up now; what do you think about that?"
"Fine," he clips, pushing her aside clumsily as he works his way out from under her. "Always gotta be your way, doesn't it?" He's sitting on the edge of the bed now. She can see his throat working, the tension in his form and the way he tries hard not to look at her. It's sexy in a way she's never felt for him before, even when she had him tied up and naked on a bed. He wants her, she can see that, and it makes all the difference.
The leather corset's off and tossed across the floor in a fluid motion and a screech of zipper teeth. Damn thing is tight. "Is my way so very bad?" she smirks, wiggling her brows. He pauses at that, as if not certain what to make of her manner. His eyes, however, are caught by the jiggle of pale skin and tight pink nipples.
"I'm just a guy," he groans, "Can't think when you do things like that." His hands are up and touching her now, though, and it's good. His mouth is on her and that's better and he's turning her, pushing her onto her back, and that's the best part of it all. Impatient hands tear at the fastenings to her trousers and he growls. "Don't remember these being so tight."
Vala bristles. "Are you saying I'm fat?" It's her turn now to push him away.
He pulls her back. "Not in three universes, baby." His face buries in her hair and he groans. "God, I missed this; don't say no again?" he pleads.
Jaw dropped, Vala shakes her head, still confused as to why Cameron Mitchell, if this is he, seems to want her so desperately, but hey, sex. Why not? She arches her back and slithers out of the leather pants, sweating a bit when they're finally off and laughing halfway through when she realises she didn't try taking her boots off first. They're both laughing by the time she's naked.
Then they're chest to chest, rubbing against each other obscenely. Cameron (for lack of a better descriptor) stops and starts from time to time, peering down at her in confusion. He spends way too long kissing her forehead and she has to grab his ears and drag his mouth to hers. His fingers work between them, slipping into heat and damp and making her cry out in sudden orgasm. Who would have guessed he knew so much about females?
"Come on then, come on," she urges him, pulling at his hips, drawing him into her. He obeys with a gasp and sinks home, eyes fluttering halfway shut. His mouth covers hers and his tongue is also inside her, not choking her, but making it damn difficult to catch a breath. It's glorious, it's hot, it feels utterly wrong in a way she refuses to acknowledge, at least not until they're finished. She needs this, needs it so much.
And he does, too; his body trembles as he holds her, and if she wasn't so certain he can't tolerate her most days, she'd swear this was love. Not from her, of course, but him. It fills her with pity and tenderness. She moves with him, hearing his voice catch; and then, at the last moment, a name. It sounds like Erin, or Ayrun.
It's a mistake. The words swirl around in her head, unspoken along with; who cares? Cameron has his tongue buried down her throat and is shuddering against her, hands moving in reverent sweeps along her body. It's his emotion that eventually stops her, the grief that projects off him in painful waves.
And then warmth floods her and he's lifting away, weeping, and she realises that she does care after all. And it's too late, because that child of hers has snatched her back and tossed her back into battle, clothes miraculously back on but with a sticky warmth between her thighs. Horror grips her as her hands fall to her stomach.
"Not again!"
loreleif for the beta. Any mistakes made here are all mine since I continued to write after the beta. *g*Not Again, SG1/Farscape: Vala/Crichton, mistaken identity, het, NC-17
It was that stubborn child of hers who did it, who flung her away from the heat of battle. Not that she wasn't grateful, dying is not fun. It never is. She should know, she's done it once already. Not in a hurry to repeat the experience, thank you.
Between one breath and the next she finds herself in a new place, standing by a bed in a place that's curiously warm and humid. There's a window to the stars that's like a bubble and she reaches to touch the surface of the glass, jerking her hand away at the strange spongy warmth under her fingertips. Her attention returns to the bed, to the naked figure twisting there, throwing off the thin blanket covering him.
She can see the curve of his cheek, the mussed, spiked hair. "Daniel." she murmurs, smiling widely, drawn instantly to his side. She has him straddled in an instant, her hands gripping his wrists and pushing them over his head. "Gotcha!"
The light is dim, but the blue eyes blinking up at her are most definitely not her Daniel's. "Oh," she says stupidly, letting go his wrists. "Fancy meeting you here, I-"
Her shoulders are grabbed and his mouth is on hers before she can finish the sentence. She tries to squirm away and at first he resists, then his hands drop away as if burned. "Might try not crawling onto a guy next time," he tells her, his voice flinty.
"I-"
"Cause, yeah, I know, I'm not - but still..." he babbles, his hands searching for the blanket to pull back over himself. "You should think about getting up now," he tells her in that same voice.
"Cameron-"
"Cameron? Who's Cameron? Damnit, I'm not doing this; up, please." His voice is slightly angry, more than slightly strained, and he's still hard against her bottom.
The anger sparks perverse arousal and she digs back against him, rubbing her leatherclad ass into his erection. She can't quite figure out this game, but she's been frustrated and horny for far too long, and even if he's not who he's supposed to be, he'll do in a pinch. "Don't think I want to get up now; what do you think about that?"
"Fine," he clips, pushing her aside clumsily as he works his way out from under her. "Always gotta be your way, doesn't it?" He's sitting on the edge of the bed now. She can see his throat working, the tension in his form and the way he tries hard not to look at her. It's sexy in a way she's never felt for him before, even when she had him tied up and naked on a bed. He wants her, she can see that, and it makes all the difference.
The leather corset's off and tossed across the floor in a fluid motion and a screech of zipper teeth. Damn thing is tight. "Is my way so very bad?" she smirks, wiggling her brows. He pauses at that, as if not certain what to make of her manner. His eyes, however, are caught by the jiggle of pale skin and tight pink nipples.
"I'm just a guy," he groans, "Can't think when you do things like that." His hands are up and touching her now, though, and it's good. His mouth is on her and that's better and he's turning her, pushing her onto her back, and that's the best part of it all. Impatient hands tear at the fastenings to her trousers and he growls. "Don't remember these being so tight."
Vala bristles. "Are you saying I'm fat?" It's her turn now to push him away.
He pulls her back. "Not in three universes, baby." His face buries in her hair and he groans. "God, I missed this; don't say no again?" he pleads.
Jaw dropped, Vala shakes her head, still confused as to why Cameron Mitchell, if this is he, seems to want her so desperately, but hey, sex. Why not? She arches her back and slithers out of the leather pants, sweating a bit when they're finally off and laughing halfway through when she realises she didn't try taking her boots off first. They're both laughing by the time she's naked.
Then they're chest to chest, rubbing against each other obscenely. Cameron (for lack of a better descriptor) stops and starts from time to time, peering down at her in confusion. He spends way too long kissing her forehead and she has to grab his ears and drag his mouth to hers. His fingers work between them, slipping into heat and damp and making her cry out in sudden orgasm. Who would have guessed he knew so much about females?
"Come on then, come on," she urges him, pulling at his hips, drawing him into her. He obeys with a gasp and sinks home, eyes fluttering halfway shut. His mouth covers hers and his tongue is also inside her, not choking her, but making it damn difficult to catch a breath. It's glorious, it's hot, it feels utterly wrong in a way she refuses to acknowledge, at least not until they're finished. She needs this, needs it so much.
And he does, too; his body trembles as he holds her, and if she wasn't so certain he can't tolerate her most days, she'd swear this was love. Not from her, of course, but him. It fills her with pity and tenderness. She moves with him, hearing his voice catch; and then, at the last moment, a name. It sounds like Erin, or Ayrun.
It's a mistake. The words swirl around in her head, unspoken along with; who cares? Cameron has his tongue buried down her throat and is shuddering against her, hands moving in reverent sweeps along her body. It's his emotion that eventually stops her, the grief that projects off him in painful waves.
And then warmth floods her and he's lifting away, weeping, and she realises that she does care after all. And it's too late, because that child of hers has snatched her back and tossed her back into battle, clothes miraculously back on but with a sticky warmth between her thighs. Horror grips her as her hands fall to her stomach.
"Not again!"
