![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
applecameronTitle: Support Staff
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Janet, overt, implied OT4/5
Spoilers: none
I'm stretching toward OT5 on this one. We'll see if subsequent stories ensue.
The beautiful thing about Janet is that she never made any demands, except in bed.
They'd stagger in after a mission gone bad, and sometimes it felt like all of them went bad, like there were no successes, and she'd run them through their physical -- feeling Jack up, as she liked to put it, and maybe run MRIs if there were worries about some contamination of the snakehead variety, and then she'd let them go.
Not even asking Sam with her eyes, will I see you later, though surely she had to wonder, just as she had to worry every time they stepped into the light. SG-1 were her people, as much as they were General Hammond's, and dear God, there were days when Sam knew he wanted to hug Jack at the base of the embarkation ramp, out of sheer joy the man was still alive, but never did. Instead, George would just let Jack annoy the crap out of him over something trivial, maybe get in a good yell back or two, and tell him to go the hell home.
They all loved each other. But Janet...Janet never made demands. The team would get their three days downtime and everyone would take off, heading to Jack's or Sam's for a serious fuckfest, or maybe just to curl up in each others' arms, an orgy of comfort they could not have on the base.
Sam had watched more football curled up on everyone's lap at Jack's than in her whole life pre-Stargate.
Did Janet wait by the phone, hoping Sam would call and say, "come over, bring fixings for spicy wings, Teal'C has a craving?" Did she sit, hoping Sam or one of the team would reach out to her and say "come over, we miss you. We love you."
No, she had her own daughter, her own life, her own place and plans and every now and then, along with the more social invites, Sam would call her, only ever when they were downtiming at Sam's place, and Janet would get in her car and come over, no makeup, no overnight bag, just a spare toothbrush she kept in the guest bath, and Sam would take her hand and lead her into the upstairs bedroom and depending on mood, one or the other would get thrown on the bed and have their brains fucked out.
As if Sam couldn't get enough fucking with her three men. Sometimes, you just need another woman. Someone who knows. Someone who understands.
In bed, you could flip a coin as to Janet's attitude. She always knew what Sam needed. A hard fuck with her favorite strap-on, or just (god, just!) her fist, filling Sam in ways no man ever could. Or a demure playtoy, waiting for Sam to throw her down on the bed and do her so hard she screamed.
Oh, god, Sam loved making her scream.
Sometimes, Jack or Daniel would be up, moving around the house in the wee hours when Janet and she were going at it. Teal'C, discreet as always, never mentioned any night before on any morning after. As far as he seemed concerned, Janet just sprang from the tiles of the kitchen floor some mornings and joined them for breakfast, in her little drawstring shorts and a t-shirt, completely unfazed at the obvious love triangle/parallelogram/whatever that was SG-1 made visible from her perch.
Sometimes, the boys would stop right outside the door to the upstairs bedroom, the guest room, the one she thought of as Janet's.
"Janet in there with her?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds hot."
Daniel's voice would usually change into something definably come-hither. "Bet you can't make me sound that hot."
Very dark chuckle. "You're on, spacemonkey."
And screaming would commence from a completely different portion of the house.
She had to wonder, what the neighbors thought, sometimes. But never when Janet's mouth was on her breast, three fingers fucking her hard harder hardest until she saw stars, or better still when they were sitting up, using the two headed purple beast that made Janet laugh out loud the first time she saw it (and what better reason to buy a sex toy was there?), working their rhythm carefully, with sloppy kisses, until her coming made Sam clench tight and come too. Oh-god-never when Janet was on her knees, clinging to the headboard, as Sam worked the black latex of her favorite strap-on into her, the one with the fake cock vein running along the underside, the one that reminded Sam of Daniel's cock. She never wondered anything when they were together, because it was like synchronized swimming with them, a tight combination of focus and ecstasy.
Someday, she knew, Sam would call her up and say, "come over, bring stuff for spicy wings. Oh, and Jan? We're all going to fuck you tonight. Better get some Gatorade, too."
That night would be one hell of a night. But she wasn't done yet with their hell-of-a-nights, yet.
Maybe that was selfish. But Janet knew what she needed.
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: Sam/Janet, overt, implied OT4/5
Spoilers: none
I'm stretching toward OT5 on this one. We'll see if subsequent stories ensue.
The beautiful thing about Janet is that she never made any demands, except in bed.
They'd stagger in after a mission gone bad, and sometimes it felt like all of them went bad, like there were no successes, and she'd run them through their physical -- feeling Jack up, as she liked to put it, and maybe run MRIs if there were worries about some contamination of the snakehead variety, and then she'd let them go.
Not even asking Sam with her eyes, will I see you later, though surely she had to wonder, just as she had to worry every time they stepped into the light. SG-1 were her people, as much as they were General Hammond's, and dear God, there were days when Sam knew he wanted to hug Jack at the base of the embarkation ramp, out of sheer joy the man was still alive, but never did. Instead, George would just let Jack annoy the crap out of him over something trivial, maybe get in a good yell back or two, and tell him to go the hell home.
They all loved each other. But Janet...Janet never made demands. The team would get their three days downtime and everyone would take off, heading to Jack's or Sam's for a serious fuckfest, or maybe just to curl up in each others' arms, an orgy of comfort they could not have on the base.
Sam had watched more football curled up on everyone's lap at Jack's than in her whole life pre-Stargate.
Did Janet wait by the phone, hoping Sam would call and say, "come over, bring fixings for spicy wings, Teal'C has a craving?" Did she sit, hoping Sam or one of the team would reach out to her and say "come over, we miss you. We love you."
No, she had her own daughter, her own life, her own place and plans and every now and then, along with the more social invites, Sam would call her, only ever when they were downtiming at Sam's place, and Janet would get in her car and come over, no makeup, no overnight bag, just a spare toothbrush she kept in the guest bath, and Sam would take her hand and lead her into the upstairs bedroom and depending on mood, one or the other would get thrown on the bed and have their brains fucked out.
As if Sam couldn't get enough fucking with her three men. Sometimes, you just need another woman. Someone who knows. Someone who understands.
In bed, you could flip a coin as to Janet's attitude. She always knew what Sam needed. A hard fuck with her favorite strap-on, or just (god, just!) her fist, filling Sam in ways no man ever could. Or a demure playtoy, waiting for Sam to throw her down on the bed and do her so hard she screamed.
Oh, god, Sam loved making her scream.
Sometimes, Jack or Daniel would be up, moving around the house in the wee hours when Janet and she were going at it. Teal'C, discreet as always, never mentioned any night before on any morning after. As far as he seemed concerned, Janet just sprang from the tiles of the kitchen floor some mornings and joined them for breakfast, in her little drawstring shorts and a t-shirt, completely unfazed at the obvious love triangle/parallelogram/whatever that was SG-1 made visible from her perch.
Sometimes, the boys would stop right outside the door to the upstairs bedroom, the guest room, the one she thought of as Janet's.
"Janet in there with her?"
"Yeah."
"Sounds hot."
Daniel's voice would usually change into something definably come-hither. "Bet you can't make me sound that hot."
Very dark chuckle. "You're on, spacemonkey."
And screaming would commence from a completely different portion of the house.
She had to wonder, what the neighbors thought, sometimes. But never when Janet's mouth was on her breast, three fingers fucking her hard harder hardest until she saw stars, or better still when they were sitting up, using the two headed purple beast that made Janet laugh out loud the first time she saw it (and what better reason to buy a sex toy was there?), working their rhythm carefully, with sloppy kisses, until her coming made Sam clench tight and come too. Oh-god-never when Janet was on her knees, clinging to the headboard, as Sam worked the black latex of her favorite strap-on into her, the one with the fake cock vein running along the underside, the one that reminded Sam of Daniel's cock. She never wondered anything when they were together, because it was like synchronized swimming with them, a tight combination of focus and ecstasy.
Someday, she knew, Sam would call her up and say, "come over, bring stuff for spicy wings. Oh, and Jan? We're all going to fuck you tonight. Better get some Gatorade, too."
That night would be one hell of a night. But she wasn't done yet with their hell-of-a-nights, yet.
Maybe that was selfish. But Janet knew what she needed.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
on 2005-06-05 06:30 am (UTC)...
..
.
*brainfizzle*