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Kara/Sam
ADULT
Summary: Kara has another vaguely prophetic, highly sexy dream. We should all be so lucky, hm?
NOTE: This is a scenelet from The Thread of Ariadne, which will be part 3 of the Not All That We Are-verse. I don't even know if it'll be included in Ariadne when the time comes, but since it sort of stands alone, I thought I would share. Something light to break up the wangst out there on the web (and completely SPOILER FREE!).
I blame "Daybreak" and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lyssie for this, because she made me think of paint!sex.
They came through the front door of her apartment, and Kara kicked it shut with her foot, hands twined around his neck, while their mouths met wetly. Sam had a hand on the back of her thigh, like he'd started to lift her leg around him and then forgotten.
He moved backward, automatically seeking some kind of horizontal surface, too occupied with her to realize there were stairs.
She grabbed him as he started to fall backward. "Frak!" His other hand flailed for something to hold as his foot missed a tread and hit the second. For a second his greater weight pulled against her, and she feared they'd tumble down the whole flight. But he caught his balance with a knee slamming into the top step, and in a moment he was staring up at her, breathing hard.
"Stairs? Going down? Whose stupid frakking idea was that?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "It was cheap. We can't all have fancy houses in the Heights," she said with a nudge as she picked her way around him. "I'll show you around."
He followed her down to the floor level, where one of the mandala paintings was hanging on the wall. He paused before it, frowning, and said, "I've seen this before."
"It was that dream where we frakked in the old temple," she reminded him, and then realized how stupid she sounded, reminding a dream of another dream. She paused for a moment, expecting to wake up now that she'd realized this was another one of the dreams.
But her apartment persisted, and Sam persisted, still looking at the painting. He reached out to touch it lightly, his attention entirely too focused on it. She poked him in the side. "Right here, remember me?"
He turned, grinning, his hand raised. She saw that his fingertips were covered with paint -- red, blue, and yellow. Before she could react, he'd swept a finger down her nose and left a streak of yellow.
"Hey!" she yelped and shoved him into the wall, against the painting. He laughed and swiped blue and red across her cheek and shoulder, and so she put a hand into the wet paint behind him. Since his shirt was somehow miraculously not there anymore, she wiped her hand all over his chest, leaving swirls of color.
Then, somewhat light-headed from the fumes or just his nearness, she leaned into him and kissed him hard. He took hold of her hips and held her on her toes, against the bulk of his body, as her fleet tanks got paint all over them.
They ended up on the floor, their clothes heedlessly pitched away. She was on her back, looking up at his colorful skin and the dangling pair of dogtags, while she had one foot wrapped around his waist to open herself for the hand he had between her legs.
"This is a dream," Kara murmured against his mouth, ignoring how it felt so real.
"Is it?" he asked before lowering his head to kiss her neck and collarbone slowly, absently, most of his concentration going to the rhythm of his fingers stroking her arousal.
"You're dead," she protested, breathlessly, "You're dead, Sam."
"You sure know how to break the mood," he teased, but it didn't really seem broken as his lips tugged on her breast. That and a particularly firm touch on her clit was enough to send her shuddering, knot in her lower belly unwinding in an instant.
"This is all in my head. Just a dream," she insisted as she caught her breath.
His head lifted to look into her face. He was smiling. "You don't believe any of that."
Her hand went to his cheek and the purplish smear there. "Are you alive?" she demanded. "Tell me, Sam. I have to know."
"If it's all in your head, whatever I say won't matter, will it?" he returned, smile widening.
"Just tell me!" She shoved at his chest, not hard enough to dislodge him, but enough to make her point. Then she wrapped both legs around him to bring him on top of her tight and close, not willing to let go.
He chuckled. "Yes, I'm alive. You're alive. We're all alive," he answered and he pushed inside her.
Gods, she could not get enough of the feel of him, stretching her with every rock of his hips. Kara encouraged him, wanting him to go faster, but he seemed to want only to frak her slow and maddening. "C'mon, baby, you can do better than this. Faster."
"Patience," he chided and teased, "Gotta make it good, being dead and all."
She smacked him on the shoulder with the back of her hand, but it didn't stop him and soon she could only clutch at him, her fingers like claws into the muscles of his shoulders. His slow pace raised the feeling higher and higher, until her whole body suddenly seized up around him. She gasped, unable to catch her breath, feeling the heat rise out of her. "Oh gods, oh gods, Sammy!" She arched up into him, reduced to an inarticulate moan, and he followed, freezing deep with a gasp torn from the bottom of his lungs, and then faltered into quick thrusts to finish off.
"Oh, frak me dead," he whispered, panting, and bent to kiss her sweaty brow and the side of her face. "Kara..."
She stopped him with a hand on his chest. The paint was still wet and she painted a red line up the middle to the hollow of his throat. Then she realized how much it looked like blood. "Sam, are you hurt? Is that why I keep dreaming you?" she asked, a sudden anxiety clutching at her. "Tell me where you are, so I can find you."
His free hand smoothed her hair from her face gently, blue eyes soft with love and understanding. "You're so brave. But there's nothing you can do. I'm where I have to be, and so are you. Our paths will cross again soon."
His lips touched hers to seal his promise, and she kept her eyes closed as he pulled away, knowing as soon as she opened them, she would be awake and he would be gone.
(end for now.)
-
ADULT
Summary: Kara has another vaguely prophetic, highly sexy dream. We should all be so lucky, hm?
NOTE: This is a scenelet from The Thread of Ariadne, which will be part 3 of the Not All That We Are-verse. I don't even know if it'll be included in Ariadne when the time comes, but since it sort of stands alone, I thought I would share. Something light to break up the wangst out there on the web (and completely SPOILER FREE!).
I blame "Daybreak" and
lyssie for this, because she made me think of paint!sex. They came through the front door of her apartment, and Kara kicked it shut with her foot, hands twined around his neck, while their mouths met wetly. Sam had a hand on the back of her thigh, like he'd started to lift her leg around him and then forgotten.
He moved backward, automatically seeking some kind of horizontal surface, too occupied with her to realize there were stairs.
She grabbed him as he started to fall backward. "Frak!" His other hand flailed for something to hold as his foot missed a tread and hit the second. For a second his greater weight pulled against her, and she feared they'd tumble down the whole flight. But he caught his balance with a knee slamming into the top step, and in a moment he was staring up at her, breathing hard.
"Stairs? Going down? Whose stupid frakking idea was that?" he demanded.
She shrugged. "It was cheap. We can't all have fancy houses in the Heights," she said with a nudge as she picked her way around him. "I'll show you around."
He followed her down to the floor level, where one of the mandala paintings was hanging on the wall. He paused before it, frowning, and said, "I've seen this before."
"It was that dream where we frakked in the old temple," she reminded him, and then realized how stupid she sounded, reminding a dream of another dream. She paused for a moment, expecting to wake up now that she'd realized this was another one of the dreams.
But her apartment persisted, and Sam persisted, still looking at the painting. He reached out to touch it lightly, his attention entirely too focused on it. She poked him in the side. "Right here, remember me?"
He turned, grinning, his hand raised. She saw that his fingertips were covered with paint -- red, blue, and yellow. Before she could react, he'd swept a finger down her nose and left a streak of yellow.
"Hey!" she yelped and shoved him into the wall, against the painting. He laughed and swiped blue and red across her cheek and shoulder, and so she put a hand into the wet paint behind him. Since his shirt was somehow miraculously not there anymore, she wiped her hand all over his chest, leaving swirls of color.
Then, somewhat light-headed from the fumes or just his nearness, she leaned into him and kissed him hard. He took hold of her hips and held her on her toes, against the bulk of his body, as her fleet tanks got paint all over them.
They ended up on the floor, their clothes heedlessly pitched away. She was on her back, looking up at his colorful skin and the dangling pair of dogtags, while she had one foot wrapped around his waist to open herself for the hand he had between her legs.
"This is a dream," Kara murmured against his mouth, ignoring how it felt so real.
"Is it?" he asked before lowering his head to kiss her neck and collarbone slowly, absently, most of his concentration going to the rhythm of his fingers stroking her arousal.
"You're dead," she protested, breathlessly, "You're dead, Sam."
"You sure know how to break the mood," he teased, but it didn't really seem broken as his lips tugged on her breast. That and a particularly firm touch on her clit was enough to send her shuddering, knot in her lower belly unwinding in an instant.
"This is all in my head. Just a dream," she insisted as she caught her breath.
His head lifted to look into her face. He was smiling. "You don't believe any of that."
Her hand went to his cheek and the purplish smear there. "Are you alive?" she demanded. "Tell me, Sam. I have to know."
"If it's all in your head, whatever I say won't matter, will it?" he returned, smile widening.
"Just tell me!" She shoved at his chest, not hard enough to dislodge him, but enough to make her point. Then she wrapped both legs around him to bring him on top of her tight and close, not willing to let go.
He chuckled. "Yes, I'm alive. You're alive. We're all alive," he answered and he pushed inside her.
Gods, she could not get enough of the feel of him, stretching her with every rock of his hips. Kara encouraged him, wanting him to go faster, but he seemed to want only to frak her slow and maddening. "C'mon, baby, you can do better than this. Faster."
"Patience," he chided and teased, "Gotta make it good, being dead and all."
She smacked him on the shoulder with the back of her hand, but it didn't stop him and soon she could only clutch at him, her fingers like claws into the muscles of his shoulders. His slow pace raised the feeling higher and higher, until her whole body suddenly seized up around him. She gasped, unable to catch her breath, feeling the heat rise out of her. "Oh gods, oh gods, Sammy!" She arched up into him, reduced to an inarticulate moan, and he followed, freezing deep with a gasp torn from the bottom of his lungs, and then faltered into quick thrusts to finish off.
"Oh, frak me dead," he whispered, panting, and bent to kiss her sweaty brow and the side of her face. "Kara..."
She stopped him with a hand on his chest. The paint was still wet and she painted a red line up the middle to the hollow of his throat. Then she realized how much it looked like blood. "Sam, are you hurt? Is that why I keep dreaming you?" she asked, a sudden anxiety clutching at her. "Tell me where you are, so I can find you."
His free hand smoothed her hair from her face gently, blue eyes soft with love and understanding. "You're so brave. But there's nothing you can do. I'm where I have to be, and so are you. Our paths will cross again soon."
His lips touched hers to seal his promise, and she kept her eyes closed as he pulled away, knowing as soon as she opened them, she would be awake and he would be gone.
(end for now.)
-
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
Um. GUH. This is the kind of paint!sex we can all get behind.
So, I get the idea that this is Sam, but Sam from a more knowledgeable Sam from a different point in the cycle, maybe?
From:
no subject
thanks. Paint!Sex is always fun.
I'm not sure if you came directly from the cut? This is Kara's Dream!Sam from Not all that we are/Labyrinth Gates. This bit is a preview/snippet/deleted scene from the sequel which I'm still working on.
From:
no subject
OH THANKS. SEE IF I EVER LEAVE YOU FEEDBACK AGAIN! :PYou know, other people manage to post stuff waaay more offensive than 'Dirk Benedict is always wrong' without turning into a one-woman fandom_wank. *emo tear*
From:
no subject
And also, your icon now makes me sad, because the number was so HIGH back then. damn.
From:
no subject
I changed my default icon in defiance of any further shenanigans.
*glares*