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knightedrogue, who wanted a week after "What My Senses Tell Me." (Star Wars)
Fordaisycm83, who wanted one day after "Wow," so she could find out if they ever dealt with it, but really just wanted another make-out scene. (Stargate SG-1) Sam/Jack
“You.”
Sam looked up from her computer. Jack was leaning against her door frame, and she said, “Sir?” just before her brain came back from her latest equation and she realized he was staring at her. And not in a food-on-her-face sort of way.
She raised a hand self-consciously to her chin anyway.
Jack sighed, looked displeased with...something. Sam's brain kicked in full strength again, and she noticed that he was completely still. Just...standing there. In her lab door. Staring.
At her.
She swallowed.
There must have been some identifiable place this conversation went wrong, but she couldn't figure out how two words total could even count as a conversation, let alone cause this kind of reaction. She decided to start over, standing up and hoping it would refocus her.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Still completely motionless. “You.”
Sam was sure that was supposed to make sense but...
Oh. Right. The mission. The weird alien drug.
"I don't know what's going to get me first--the alien influence or you."
And suddenly he moved, until he was right next to her and she had too look up just a little bit and she just knew that everything was written right on her face because she hadn't seen this coming and hadn't had time to prepare.
He kissed her, and her brain sort of—shorted out, taking a very reasonable sentence about regulations, open doors, and cameras with it.
He gripped her waist, and she put her hands on his upper arms, although she wasn't sure if she was trying to push him away or...
Oh.
Oh.
Her fingers dug into his arms, and pulled him closer, and his hands were somewhere completely inappropriate, and Sam didn't care. She would be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about this a long time, and especially since last week's mission.
They broke apart, breathing heavily, their arms still around each other. A flicker of worry crossed Jack's face. Sam smiled slightly in response, leaned in and pulled a little at his lower lip, inciting a small moan from Jack.
“Oh yeah. Definitely you.”
They shared wry grins, now tinged with a little bit of sadness. It was one thing to make out off-world, under the influence of some sort of...substance. It was another thing to make out in Sam's lab, with the door open, and the cameras running.
“Sorry,” Jack said, his voice low.
“You sure about that?” Sam asked, trying for a teasing tone.
He flexed his hands, reminding them both of where they were.
“I'm not sure yet.”
Sam struggled to contain a grin. Jack dropped his hands, sighed.
“I suppose we ought to go explain ourselves before Hammond finds out on his own.”
Sam groaned. “Oh...my father's going to hear about this.”
Jack looked afraid for a moment, then took Sam's arm. “We'll just take this...one step at a time. First the angry general, then the...other angry general.”
Sam laughed. Surprisingly, this decision, haphazard as it was, felt right. Easier than she expected, and there wasn't anything else that could be done about it now.
They left her lab together, hands brushing slightly.
knightedrogue, who wanted a week after "What My Senses Tell Me." (Star Wars)It was a riot of color: red and orange flowers that seemed to stand out more because the majority of the flowers were white.
Han had refused to have only the white blooms, and had refused equally to have Leia dressed in her white senatorial gown. The committee members had looked at him like he was crazy, and one of them had even tried to argue with him. Han's furious look had quelled the dissent, so Leia was surrounded by the brightest, most fragrant flowers that could be found.
Her hair was done up—which had actually caused more problems than the flowers, as for some reason the committee members had thought that she could let down in death what she never did in life—and she was dressed in an outfit Han especially liked: a silky blue dress she had tried to wear one night—a night they'd never made it out the door.
He didn't tell the committee that part.
The funeral was filled with stately speeches Han didn't hear, their empty words echoing through the hall, flying straight to the holo-recorders. Luke and Chewie sat on either side of him, their limbs pressed against his because there was no extra room, even for the family.
It was later, with the smooth taste of Corellian brandy on his tongue, that he felt as if she were—not there, exactly—but he didn't miss the way Luke's eyes slid to the side, or the way his own fingers slipped and dropped his glass, or the way he left it half-full and wandered out alone, to collapse against the outside wall and look at the cold, irrational light of the stars.
Han had refused to have only the white blooms, and had refused equally to have Leia dressed in her white senatorial gown. The committee members had looked at him like he was crazy, and one of them had even tried to argue with him. Han's furious look had quelled the dissent, so Leia was surrounded by the brightest, most fragrant flowers that could be found.
Her hair was done up—which had actually caused more problems than the flowers, as for some reason the committee members had thought that she could let down in death what she never did in life—and she was dressed in an outfit Han especially liked: a silky blue dress she had tried to wear one night—a night they'd never made it out the door.
He didn't tell the committee that part.
The funeral was filled with stately speeches Han didn't hear, their empty words echoing through the hall, flying straight to the holo-recorders. Luke and Chewie sat on either side of him, their limbs pressed against his because there was no extra room, even for the family.
It was later, with the smooth taste of Corellian brandy on his tongue, that he felt as if she were—not there, exactly—but he didn't miss the way Luke's eyes slid to the side, or the way his own fingers slipped and dropped his glass, or the way he left it half-full and wandered out alone, to collapse against the outside wall and look at the cold, irrational light of the stars.
For
daisycm83, who wanted one day after "Wow," so she could find out if they ever dealt with it, but really just wanted another make-out scene. (Stargate SG-1) Sam/Jack“You.”
Sam looked up from her computer. Jack was leaning against her door frame, and she said, “Sir?” just before her brain came back from her latest equation and she realized he was staring at her. And not in a food-on-her-face sort of way.
She raised a hand self-consciously to her chin anyway.
Jack sighed, looked displeased with...something. Sam's brain kicked in full strength again, and she noticed that he was completely still. Just...standing there. In her lab door. Staring.
At her.
She swallowed.
There must have been some identifiable place this conversation went wrong, but she couldn't figure out how two words total could even count as a conversation, let alone cause this kind of reaction. She decided to start over, standing up and hoping it would refocus her.
“What did you say?” she asked.
Still completely motionless. “You.”
Sam was sure that was supposed to make sense but...
Oh. Right. The mission. The weird alien drug.
"I don't know what's going to get me first--the alien influence or you."
And suddenly he moved, until he was right next to her and she had too look up just a little bit and she just knew that everything was written right on her face because she hadn't seen this coming and hadn't had time to prepare.
He kissed her, and her brain sort of—shorted out, taking a very reasonable sentence about regulations, open doors, and cameras with it.
He gripped her waist, and she put her hands on his upper arms, although she wasn't sure if she was trying to push him away or...
Oh.
Oh.
Her fingers dug into his arms, and pulled him closer, and his hands were somewhere completely inappropriate, and Sam didn't care. She would be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about this a long time, and especially since last week's mission.
They broke apart, breathing heavily, their arms still around each other. A flicker of worry crossed Jack's face. Sam smiled slightly in response, leaned in and pulled a little at his lower lip, inciting a small moan from Jack.
“Oh yeah. Definitely you.”
They shared wry grins, now tinged with a little bit of sadness. It was one thing to make out off-world, under the influence of some sort of...substance. It was another thing to make out in Sam's lab, with the door open, and the cameras running.
“Sorry,” Jack said, his voice low.
“You sure about that?” Sam asked, trying for a teasing tone.
He flexed his hands, reminding them both of where they were.
“I'm not sure yet.”
Sam struggled to contain a grin. Jack dropped his hands, sighed.
“I suppose we ought to go explain ourselves before Hammond finds out on his own.”
Sam groaned. “Oh...my father's going to hear about this.”
Jack looked afraid for a moment, then took Sam's arm. “We'll just take this...one step at a time. First the angry general, then the...other angry general.”
Sam laughed. Surprisingly, this decision, haphazard as it was, felt right. Easier than she expected, and there wasn't anything else that could be done about it now.
They left her lab together, hands brushing slightly.
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Date: 2007-01-28 11:29 pm (UTC)From:Eeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!
Serioously? The pitch I just squealed at from sheer SQUEE was so high it woke my cat up from a dead sleep and sent him tearing downstairs.
This is the cutest, most adorable, angst-free thing EVER. I love it muchly.
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Date: 2007-01-29 03:52 am (UTC)From:Poor cat...but he'll get over it.
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Date: 2007-01-29 01:10 am (UTC)From:Just what I needed tonight! :)
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Date: 2007-01-29 03:57 am (UTC)From:And, if you want to ask for something else...I'm pretty much done with the first five that people asked for, so... :-)
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Date: 2007-01-29 03:00 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-01-29 04:00 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2007-01-29 04:41 am (UTC)From:It was later, with the smooth taste of Corellian brandy on his tongue, that he felt as if she were—not there, exactly—but he didn't miss the way Luke's eyes slid to the side, or the way his own fingers slipped and dropped his glass, or the way he left it half-full and wandered out alone, to collapse against the outside wall and look at the cold, irrational light of the stars.
This is beautiful - another example of your trademark gorgeous prose.
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Date: 2007-01-29 04:50 am (UTC)From: