Pas De Deux

Another entry for Oxoniensis' Porn Battle IV


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She’s taking a sip of her champagne when she sees him, and nearly spits her mouthful of Perrier Jouĕt all over Vala’s new dress. Her friend pounds her on the back obligingly, looking to her date for assistance. “We might need to perform the Hemlock, Daniel.”

“It’s called the Heimlich, and that’s only useful if she’s choking on food…” Daniel trails off as he follows Sam’s gaze. “Is that…? What does he think he’s doing?”

Sam shakes her head, reaching for her purse. “I’ll take care of it.” Whatever has possessed the man to appear right in the middle of a presidential gala, she has to intercept him before one of the members of the security detail pays the price for doing so. Skirting the dance floor, her anger rises at his audacity and she slips a hand into her purse as she nears his position.

A waltzing couple passes in front of her suddenly but when they clear her field of vision, he’s gone. Sam swears softly to herself, rising onto her toes to peer through the crowd – she barely has time to see Vala lifting a hand to her mouth before she becomes aware of someone standing directly behind her. “Well, well – Colonel Samantha Carter,” he purrs. “What is a female Tau’ri such as yourself doing in a place like this?”

She barely restrains the urge to roll her eyes as she turns around. “Baal, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Come now, I asked first.” Sam goes for her purse but his fingers close around her wrist before she’s barely had time to move. “And that is hardly necessary,” Baal chides. Sam narrows her eyes at him, relaxing the tensed muscles in her arm to demonstrate compliance. He loosens his grip accordingly, but keeps his hand on her wrist.

“All I have to do is raise my voice just a little, and you’ll have to deal with an entire contingent of Secret Service,” she warns. “What do you want?”

Baal tilts his head to one side, brown eyes alight with amusement. “You wound me, Colonel. Perhaps I’ve only come for the buffet.”

His thumb begins rubbing circles on her skin and Sam’s breath catches at the sensual feel of it. The look in his eyes changes as he feels her pulse speeding beneath his fingers, and she suddenly gets the feeling that she’s just been included in the definition of buffet. “Let go of me,” she demands, but it comes out sounding a lot more like an invitation than a dismissal.

“Dance with me,” Baal counters.

“What? ”

The corners of his mouth twitch. “Dance with me, and I will leave you to your… celebration.” The band begins a new song just as she opens her mouth to dissuade him, and Baal’s lips curve into a smile. “Shall we, Samantha? They’re playing our song.”

“But I… you’ll be seen,” she finishes lamely. I’ll show him ‘our song’…

“Shall we?” he repeats, gesturing towards the middle of the floor.

“One dance?”

Baal’s smile devolves into the smirk she’s so used to seeing him wear. “One dance.”

The music being played is akin to that required for a tango, and she follows the last of the System Lords out onto the parquet without having a clue what she’s doing. Other couples are dancing and she should recognize the steps, but Baal’s presence is having an adverse effect upon her brain function – the air in the room seems almost stifling, and it’s as if the naquidah in her blood is calling to the greater amount in his, making her feel lightheaded.

Sam’s pulse begins to race as one of his hands settle on her waist and the other clasps hers, and he draws her close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. “You shouldn’t have come.”

He quirks an eyebrow at her. “I haven’t, yet.”

She supposes that it’s a good thing their section of the ballroom isn’t as brightly lit as the reception area as he pulls her even closer to him so that their lower bodies are literally melded together. Sam follows Baal’s lead, swallowing with difficulty as he shifts his hips and she realizes what’s pressing against her. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she breathes, struggling ineffectually against his hold.

“You’re not going back on your word, are you?” Baal asks silkily, guiding her through the steps and acting for all the world like this is just a dance. “One dance, Colonel.” He rolls his hips in time with the music, and Sam gasps as he rubs himself between her legs blatantly. I guess it’s a good thing I’m wearing black. The thought is only slightly tinged with hysteria as she looks around to see if anyone is watching them.

Warmth kindles low in her stomach; building with each subtle, undulating movement Baal makes. “Someone will see,” Sam gasps, trying not to claw at his suit jacket as his hand presses on the small of her back. “Oh, God.”

“Yes?”

“Funny,” she hisses in his ear, then gasps again as a sudden movement traps the hard ridge of his erection firmly between her legs. Baal presses forward as he all but crushes her groin to his, and Sam clutches at his hand helplessly as the next shimmy of his hips directly stimulates her clitoris.

“Quetesh seems to be watching us,” he observes suddenly, and she can’t help but look to see Vala staring at them open-mouthed. “I do believe she knows exactly what we’re doing.” Baal guides her between two more couples, his hips still surging against her relentlessly.

Sam makes a last desperate bid for decorum but she’s so, so close that when she tries to ask him to leave her be, she says “please” instead. A few more skillful thrusts against her and the slow burn of pleasure flares into white-hot heat as her orgasm floods through her body like a series of tidal waves crashing upon the shore. She’s vaguely aware of Baal fisting his hand in the back of her dress and using his symbiote-enhanced strength to move her out into the hall, since her own legs have gone so rubbery she couldn’t have walked even if her life depended on it.

The sensation of cold tile against her palms brings her back to herself, and Sam realizes that he’s taken her into the ladies’ restroom and shoved her against the wall. Opening her mouth to speak only results in a finger being laid across her lips, and Baal busies himself with lifting her dress and tearing away the wet crotch panel of her panties. Her eyes widen in alarm when the door opens and in walks two of the women she’d talked to earlier in the evening – they approach the sinks and begin reapplying their lipstick, gossiping about one of the senators. Amazingly enough, the women don’t seem to notice them. “Can you believe his wife was wearing that? I mean, that’s fine if you regularly shop at Wal-Mart, but for this sort of thing…”

Baal holds her hips and she swallows a moan as he pushes inside her, hot and thick. He takes his time, thrusting leisurely, and all Sam can do is stare in appalled silence at the women who are now trading makeup tips. At any moment, they’ll turn and they’ll see her being pinned against the wall with her dress up around her waist… but when they finally finish straightening their overworked hairstyles, their eyes pass through her as if she’s not even there. When the door closes with a soft thud behind them, Sam looks towards the mirror where she meets Baal’s eyes. “You stole a Sodan cloak?”

He smiles without answering, thrusting harder until he’s pounding into her and she’s biting on her knuckles to keep quiet. She watches in the mirror, mesmerized by the way his hips flex as his cock slides in and out of her. Baal grips her waist suddenly, his thrusts becoming faster and more erratic, and she finds an echo of her earlier climax as he reaches his with a shuddering groan. Sam’s body tightens around him as he spills into her, burying his face in the back of her neck and shoving so deep inside that she cries out despite herself.

Baal stays pressed against her for a few moments more, then pushes back with a sigh. She can hear fabric rustling as if he’s tucking himself back in his trousers but she stays against the wall with her eyes closed, wondering if he’s stained her dress. “I borrowed it,” he says suddenly, and she opens her eyes to look at him as he plucks a handful of tissues from the dispenser beside the towels.

“What?”

He kneels in front of her and begins to slide the tissues up along the inside of her thigh, sticky with their shared fluids. “I didn’t steal anything, it was a loan.”

Sam rests a hand atop his head, combing her fingers through the crisp, short-cropped black hair. “And did anyone at Area 51 know that they were loaning it to you?”

His lips purse thoughtfully. “Not exactly.”

“My husband, the criminal mastermind.”

“That’s me,” Baal agrees cheerfully, pitching the wadded-up tissues into the trash. “None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been banned from attending in the first place, you know.”

Sam shakes her head, sliding her arms around his neck. “You’re impossible.”


fin
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