| Title: We Mortals Author: Nicky Chevalier Feedback: Please? - [email protected] Rating: PG-15 Summary: They made plans for New Year. Sequel to Xmas challenge fic, 'Semi-inappropriate'. Content Warnings: Adult content, but nothing explicit. Category: S/J, PWP Status: Complete Archive: Anywhere. Spoilers: Nothing big, but consider everything up to Evolution fair game. Authors Notes: For everyone who wrote requesting a sequel to 'Semi-inappropriate'. :) Disclaimer: If I owned them, they'd do what I want. And trust me, they never do what I want. ;) ~~~~ "Time has no divisions to mark its passage, there is never a thunder-storm or blare of trumpets to announce the beginning of a new month or year. Even when a new century begins it is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols." --Thomas Mann ~~~~ *** "5...4...3...2..." The ball dropped over Times Square and Dick Clark counted down the seconds until 2003 became 2004. Shifting her position on the couch, Sam lowered the volume on the noisy celebrations and watched intently as car headlights briefly moved shadows around her darkened living room. Sitting up a little straighter, she muted the TV completely and listened, but heard only the muffled shouts of 'Happy New Year' from the party her currently drunken neighbours were throwing. Sam didn't know them well enough to be invited. The car had evidently passed. Tamping down the brief stab of disappointment she felt, she stood and scolded herself for being ridiculous-- she was acting like she expected company. And she didn't. Really. Sure, she'd kidded with the Colonel about certain plans for the New Year, but they hadn't been serious. She wasn't actually expecting him to turn up. So it wasn't like she was waiting for him or anything. She stood, wandering casually over to the window and peering out over her dimly lit street. Then she scolded herself again and went to the fridge to get a beer. Settling back on the couch, she watched absently as the New Year's revellers threw confetti and blew noisemakers and kissed each other with party hats skewed awkwardly on their heads. Commemorating a New Year that would no doubt bring them as much danger, and as many close calls, as the last one. She wondered idly if the world would be so eager to party if they knew how close they regularly came to dying, or worse. But then, that was the reason they were kept in the dark in the first place-- so they didn't have to think about it. All things considered, Sam thought, she wasn't overly sad to see the back of 2003. Granted, she'd had worse years, but still she could have done without the super soldiers, and the technologically advanced goa'uld, and the gate-disabling viruses. Not to mention her friends being captured, shot, cloned, possessed and kidnapped. Shrinking biodomes. Territorial Unas armies. Fixed intergalactic races. Rebel Jaffa warrior women. Damn she led a strange life. And it had all led to this-- the final moments of her typically eventful year were spent sitting on her couch drinking beer and watching other people celebrate on TV. 2004 had arrived, and she had not a noisemaker to greet it. She switched off the TV, and, deciding that the beer was only helping to sustain this uncharacteristic bout of self-pity, she left it where it was and went to bed. *** It was 1am when he called. Grabbing the cell phone from her bedside table and vowing to kill whoever had just wrenched her from her good-- *very* good, very satisfying-- dream, she rolled over onto her back and reluctantly pressed the talk button. "Carter." Somehow even in her half-awake state she still managed to inject her irritation at being woken so abruptly into that one two-syllable word. "Wow. You sound grumpy." She sat up quickly, drowsiness forgotten. "Colonel? What's wrong?" He didn't generally call her-- especially in the middle of the night-- without good reason. Something must have happened. "Nothing," Jack assured her, "Nothing's wrong. Well, except for the fact that it's freezing out here on your doorstep and though I've been knocking for ten whole minutes, nobody seems to be answering the door. Are you not at home? Because you know, we *did* have plans..." Sam reached the door and pulled it open, and though she had intended on at least greeting him first, he acted before she could utter a word. Pushing her inside and kicking the door shut with his foot, he swung her around in one smooth motion and pinned her against it with his body, his lips already plundering hers in a searing kiss that held no hesitance, no greeting, as though he'd already been here kissing her for hours. "Sorry I'm late," he murmured heatedly against her mouth, his fingers sliding under the hem of her shirt to feel the bare skin at her waist under his hands. She whimpered, her arms snaking around his neck. "You're forgiven," she muttered in reply before grabbing a fistful of his hair and pulling him roughly back to her, their mouths melding tightly so that further speech was impossible. Their lips ground against each other, urgent and needy, the pressure almost bruising. He growled, his hands at her waist pulling her more tightly against him as his tongue sought hers greedily. She acquiesced, opening her mouth to him and stroking her tongue along his, feeling his hands tighten and his breath sharpen to match hers. Their lips clung and released and crashed frantically back together again, tongues meeting urgently within the heated embrace. Sam whimpered and trailed her hands down his spine, fingernails scratching lightly through the fabric of his shirt. One of his hands moved to bury itself in her hair and his teeth grazed along her lower lip, tugging on it lightly before soothing it with his tongue. She moaned softly, her hands trailing down his sides and back up his chest, feeling the heat of his skin through his clothing. Damn but she wanted him. This couldn't go on much longer; her self-control was slipping with every play of his tongue over hers. This supposedly innocent (at least, that's what they'd plead if anyone ever heard about it) New Year's kiss was getting way out of hand. "Sir. We should..." "Yeah..." Panting for breath, his lips reluctantly left hers to slide over her jaw line, trailing hot, open-mouthed kissed over her throat to her collarbone and back up again, pausing to nip gently at her earlobe before repeating the motion on the other side. Then his hands came up to rest on the wood panelling either side of her head and he launched himself off the door and away from her. "God," she muttered, sliding down the door to sit on the floor, her breathing ragged and uneven. He leaned back against the wall and tried to remember how to think. Sam raked a hand through her thoroughly dishevelled hair and fought the almost irresistible urge to drag him down the hall to her bedroom. After Christmas and now New Year, she could definitely get used to this mode of celebration. He must have read her mind. "So," he drawled wryly as he straightened and she stood reluctantly to let him out. "What are you doing for Easter?" He descended the front steps and started down the walkway to his truck, walking backwards so he could keep watching her. "Isn't there a holiday closer?" came her reply, and though it was too dark to see his answering grin, she knew without question that it was there. "Happy New Year, Carter," he called to her as he climbed into his truck and sped away down the street. 2004 was definitely looking good. *** End. Feed me, baby! <g> Happy New Year to everyone. |