Prayer
folder
Stargate: SG-1 › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,307
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Stargate: SG-1 › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
3,307
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Stargate: SG1, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Prayer
***
He was fucking restless.
Angry. Frustrated.
Terrified.
One of those nights.
Every night was one of those nights; this one was just worse than usual.
Sometimes it all fucking weighed down on him until he had to do something about it; or kill somebody. Not that that would be anything new.
Goddammit.
He slid into his leather jacket and left.
***
She was there.
He knew she would be. She always seemed to know.
One of those nights.
Sometimes he was torn between killing her and fucking her.
If she was dead, at least she wouldn’t be around to fuel this insanity. Fuck her, kill her – in his crazier moments, and there were more of them then he would ever admit, he wondered if he could do both. She drove his madness just by her existence – she’d become an obsession ever since he’d met her.
If she were dead, then he could die. But she kept him here.
No one could ever know the extent of his anger, lust, need. Frustration.
Fear.
Except her. She knew every bit of him; and it scared the shit out of him
She was alone, back to him, staring at the dark expanse of empty parkland.
He wondered what she was thinking. Then he wondered why he should care. She was here – that was all that mattered.
He parked beside her and got out, pulling down the tailgate of the truck as he went around the back of it and came up behind her.
No words.
He grabbed her by the neck of her jacket, ignoring her sharp intake of breath.
He began to drag her around to rear of his truck when she elbowed him sharply in the chest.
He cursed and put her in a headlock, which she used to her advantage to flip him onto his back.
“Asshole,” she muttered. “Weak. Pathetic.”
She kicked him in the ribs. He took hold of her foot and yanked, pulling her off balance and causing her to fall to the ground with a loud thud. He moved to sit atop her but she was too quick – rolling smoothly from beneath him and coming to a crouch in front of him.
“Weak,” she said again.
“Fuck you.”
“Shut up, you son of a bitch. You’re not getting anything from me tonight.”
The rage that had been simmering for weeks exploded.
He wasn’t sure exactly what happened next, but he found himself bending her over the tailgate of his truck, one hand gripping her hair, the other ripping off her skirt and shoving aside her panties.
She was cursing and struggling, but he didn’t give a shit.
Pressing her face against the bed of the truck, he quickly undid the zipper of his jeans and had them down around his knees.
He grabbed at her, leaving bruises wherever he touched her, shoving his fingers inside her. She was still cursing, a litany of vulgarities.
Wet. He fucking knew it, the lying bitch.
Wasting no more time he shoved himself inside her, relishing the short cry of pain she uttered.
He stilled.
She didn’t – her struggles continued, but he had her pinned down tightly.
He relished the movement against and around his dick, gritting his teeth and arching back, face up to the black night.
Then he started moving.
Thrusting roughly and as deeply as he could, he bent over her, whispering in her ear, his words causing her to whimper and curse.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, O’Neill.”
“Shut up. No talking . . . or . . . God . . . you won’t get any of it.”
“Bastard.”
His movements quickened.
“Say it,” he whispered harshly.
“NO!”
He groaned into the back of her neck, anger, pain, pleasure; all designed to kill him or drive him insane, he supposed.
“SAY . . . IT!”
She panted; face grinding against the bed of his truck with his movements.
“SAY IT!”
She moaned – whether in pain or pleasure he couldn’t tell, but he didn’t care. It just spurred him to fuck her harder.
“Say . . . it.”
He released his grip on her hair and she arched up against him, breathing heavily.
“Please . . . say it.”
“Fuck me.”
“Again.”
“Fuck me.”
His rhythm evened, quickened. He knew he’d have her. She wanted it, the lying bitch. The feel of her wet pussy around his dick drove him harder.
“Oh . . . goddammit . . . AGAIN!” he groaned.
“FUCK ME, O’NEILL! FUCK ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
He stroked faster and faster, breathing heavily, biting the back of her neck in a rutting frenzy, spurred on by her cursing mixed with moans of pleasure, and he fucked her; she asked, and he fucked her; harder, harder, harder . . . and the off-centered rage that had been rocking him all night exploded and he came, vision going to red then black then nothingness.
***
He was weeping into her neck, silentlyeat eat shuddering sobs that rocked the e ofe of his body.
She was still beneath him, heart aching.
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered.
“I know. It’s all right. Take me home.”
***
She lay naked on his bed while he looked her over; the bruises on her ass and her upper thighs and the vicious bite mark on her neck. He winced, stroking her back gently.
He rolled her over, staring at her intently.
“Why do you let me do this?”
“Because you need it.”
Her eyes were black with desire and sorrow; sorrow that he’d been through so much, sorrow that he still hurt so badly.
“I’m so sorry . . .”
“Jack. You know I wouldn’t let you if I didn’t want to.”to.”
She came to her knees, kneeling directly in front of him. Gently, she reached out to stroke his face, the line of his jaw. He closed his eyes and again the weeping started.
Her heart broke. If only she could fix it . . . but for now, all they had was this.
“Lay down, Ja
He stripped and did as she ordered, face buried in a pillow.
Gently but firmly, she began to knead the muscles of his neck, still amazed but no longer surprised at how incredibly tense he was. She worked for an hour, making her way down the length of his back, his buttocks, his legs and feet, then repeating her movements.
Finally, his breathing stilled and deepened.
She padded into the kitchen, getting two glasses of water, preparing herself for the nightmares that would wake him later.
She set one glass on each table and slid silently into bed next to him, hoping not to wake him.
He stirred slightly and rolled to his side, drawing her close into a gentle embrace; much different than the nature of their previous encounter.
“God, Sam. I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Will I ever be okay? EVER?”
“Yes. If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
He pulled her closer.
“I’d die without you,” he said.
It scared her that she knew that what he said was true.
“I love you, Jack,” she whispered, fighting back tears.
“Don’t ever leave me, Sam, please, don’t EVER leave me . . .” he said, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.
“Never.”
Finally he slept. She waited. The nightmares would start soon, and that was always the worst part . . .
She prayed.
***
He was fucking restless.
Angry. Frustrated.
Terrified.
One of those nights.
Every night was one of those nights; this one was just worse than usual.
Sometimes it all fucking weighed down on him until he had to do something about it; or kill somebody. Not that that would be anything new.
Goddammit.
He slid into his leather jacket and left.
***
She was there.
He knew she would be. She always seemed to know.
One of those nights.
Sometimes he was torn between killing her and fucking her.
If she was dead, at least she wouldn’t be around to fuel this insanity. Fuck her, kill her – in his crazier moments, and there were more of them then he would ever admit, he wondered if he could do both. She drove his madness just by her existence – she’d become an obsession ever since he’d met her.
If she were dead, then he could die. But she kept him here.
No one could ever know the extent of his anger, lust, need. Frustration.
Fear.
Except her. She knew every bit of him; and it scared the shit out of him
She was alone, back to him, staring at the dark expanse of empty parkland.
He wondered what she was thinking. Then he wondered why he should care. She was here – that was all that mattered.
He parked beside her and got out, pulling down the tailgate of the truck as he went around the back of it and came up behind her.
No words.
He grabbed her by the neck of her jacket, ignoring her sharp intake of breath.
He began to drag her around to rear of his truck when she elbowed him sharply in the chest.
He cursed and put her in a headlock, which she used to her advantage to flip him onto his back.
“Asshole,” she muttered. “Weak. Pathetic.”
She kicked him in the ribs. He took hold of her foot and yanked, pulling her off balance and causing her to fall to the ground with a loud thud. He moved to sit atop her but she was too quick – rolling smoothly from beneath him and coming to a crouch in front of him.
“Weak,” she said again.
“Fuck you.”
“Shut up, you son of a bitch. You’re not getting anything from me tonight.”
The rage that had been simmering for weeks exploded.
He wasn’t sure exactly what happened next, but he found himself bending her over the tailgate of his truck, one hand gripping her hair, the other ripping off her skirt and shoving aside her panties.
She was cursing and struggling, but he didn’t give a shit.
Pressing her face against the bed of the truck, he quickly undid the zipper of his jeans and had them down around his knees.
He grabbed at her, leaving bruises wherever he touched her, shoving his fingers inside her. She was still cursing, a litany of vulgarities.
Wet. He fucking knew it, the lying bitch.
Wasting no more time he shoved himself inside her, relishing the short cry of pain she uttered.
He stilled.
She didn’t – her struggles continued, but he had her pinned down tightly.
He relished the movement against and around his dick, gritting his teeth and arching back, face up to the black night.
Then he started moving.
Thrusting roughly and as deeply as he could, he bent over her, whispering in her ear, his words causing her to whimper and curse.
“I’m gonna fucking kill you, O’Neill.”
“Shut up. No talking . . . or . . . God . . . you won’t get any of it.”
“Bastard.”
His movements quickened.
“Say it,” he whispered harshly.
“NO!”
He groaned into the back of her neck, anger, pain, pleasure; all designed to kill him or drive him insane, he supposed.
“SAY . . . IT!”
She panted; face grinding against the bed of his truck with his movements.
“SAY IT!”
She moaned – whether in pain or pleasure he couldn’t tell, but he didn’t care. It just spurred him to fuck her harder.
“Say . . . it.”
He released his grip on her hair and she arched up against him, breathing heavily.
“Please . . . say it.”
“Fuck me.”
“Again.”
“Fuck me.”
His rhythm evened, quickened. He knew he’d have her. She wanted it, the lying bitch. The feel of her wet pussy around his dick drove him harder.
“Oh . . . goddammit . . . AGAIN!” he groaned.
“FUCK ME, O’NEILL! FUCK ME, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”
He stroked faster and faster, breathing heavily, biting the back of her neck in a rutting frenzy, spurred on by her cursing mixed with moans of pleasure, and he fucked her; she asked, and he fucked her; harder, harder, harder . . . and the off-centered rage that had been rocking him all night exploded and he came, vision going to red then black then nothingness.
***
He was weeping into her neck, silentlyeat eat shuddering sobs that rocked the e ofe of his body.
She was still beneath him, heart aching.
“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispered.
“I know. It’s all right. Take me home.”
***
She lay naked on his bed while he looked her over; the bruises on her ass and her upper thighs and the vicious bite mark on her neck. He winced, stroking her back gently.
He rolled her over, staring at her intently.
“Why do you let me do this?”
“Because you need it.”
Her eyes were black with desire and sorrow; sorrow that he’d been through so much, sorrow that he still hurt so badly.
“I’m so sorry . . .”
“Jack. You know I wouldn’t let you if I didn’t want to.”to.”
She came to her knees, kneeling directly in front of him. Gently, she reached out to stroke his face, the line of his jaw. He closed his eyes and again the weeping started.
Her heart broke. If only she could fix it . . . but for now, all they had was this.
“Lay down, Ja
He stripped and did as she ordered, face buried in a pillow.
Gently but firmly, she began to knead the muscles of his neck, still amazed but no longer surprised at how incredibly tense he was. She worked for an hour, making her way down the length of his back, his buttocks, his legs and feet, then repeating her movements.
Finally, his breathing stilled and deepened.
She padded into the kitchen, getting two glasses of water, preparing herself for the nightmares that would wake him later.
She set one glass on each table and slid silently into bed next to him, hoping not to wake him.
He stirred slightly and rolled to his side, drawing her close into a gentle embrace; much different than the nature of their previous encounter.
“God, Sam. I’m so sorry.”
“So am I.”
“Will I ever be okay? EVER?”
“Yes. If I have anything to say about it, yes.”
He pulled her closer.
“I’d die without you,” he said.
It scared her that she knew that what he said was true.
“I love you, Jack,” she whispered, fighting back tears.
“Don’t ever leave me, Sam, please, don’t EVER leave me . . .” he said, holding her so tightly she could barely breathe.
“Never.”
Finally he slept. She waited. The nightmares would start soon, and that was always the worst part . . .
She prayed.
***