Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: R/NC17. Sex. Violence.
Notes: Kinda weird style, for me. I think. I'm too tired to know if this makes sense right now.
Spoilers: DUDE! Contains spoilers (vagueish) for Gemini, Season 8.

Assertion by Rote by ALC Punk!

"She isn't me." She has to say it every time he thrusts into her, the exhalation a sobbing gasp of breath, her neck arched, her back aching because this angle is wrong. But it's penance or piety, or just pain that she deserves.

"No." There's sweat dripping from his nose onto her skin, and for a moment she considers the electrolytes he's burning and the mathematical intricacies of precisely everything his muscles are doing. "She isn't." His hands continue their steady movement along her skin, molding it, caressing it, claiming it.

She thinks she should object to being claimed, but this is something that she can now own as wholly her own, so maybe that's a street that goes both ways.

"Not me." And she isn't crying. She refuses to believe that the emotions tearing her slowly apart have anything to do with tears.

He grunts, face twisting, and she knows he's closer than she is.

Closer than she will ever be again, she thinks as her hips twist against his and her hand rakes red-tipped fingernails down his chest.

"She isn't me," she repeats as he spasms within her, grunting and thrusting as deep as he can this one last time.

"No." A finger lazily trails across one breast, circling the nipple. "She isn't."

"But I could be her." Words she wants to take back as the breath leaves her lungs.

The finger stills, and he looks at her, watches as she breathes, her skin barely flushed with the efforts of his hands and body. "No you can't."

"I can." It's not hysteria, she thinks. "It would be so easy. Just a thought here, a movement there," one finger strokes his cheek, and she bites down on her lip at the tenderness of the gesture. "It would be so very easy to forget my life and become someone else."

"Carter --" his cock is softening, slipping out of her slowly, but his hands are still on her skin, his eyes still staring at her. "You can't be her. Ever. You're human."

"Yes." An odd sadness grips her and she looks away from him. "And yet I'm still here, still doing something I shouldn't do."

His hand cups her cheek. "Carter -- Sam."

A swallow is painful, but she does it anyway before letting him turn her head back to face him. "Sir."

His eyes darken and the hand drops.

"I was here for this, general." She shifts, suddenly slithering out from under him, her hips aching from the angle and length of time held in position. "To use you." A laugh. "How human does that make me?"

Hands catch her hips, and he stops her from leaving the bed. "Don't do this."

"Do what?" There is a recklessness in her breaking out. Something she recognizes from running to the gate under fire, or riding her bike in the dead of night with no lights around to show where ground meets sky. She turns before he's expecting, shoves at his chest and pins him to the bed, legs straddling his torso. "Fuck you? Mock you?" Her nails aren't quite sharp enough to draw blood, but there are now ten scrapes down his chest.

His hands get her wrists in a tight hold, "Stop it, Carter."

"Or what?" She writhes against him, pressing her damp pussy against his still limp dick. "You'll what, general? Hurt me? Report me?" She bends forwards, grazing her lips along his chin, "You couldn't do it fast enough to suit me."

A slight struggle ensues, and at some basic level, she wants him to win. Back and forth, his hands pulling at her, her legs pinning his, until he shifts and moves, flipping them over. She freezes for a moment, lets him pin her on her back, his hips digging into her, his hand holding hers above her head. "Carter."

"C'mon, general. I didn't come before." She pushes her face up into his, breathes across his lips. "Make me scream."

One hand separates and touches her cheek. "Carter..."

She turns her head and sinks her teeth into the side of his palm.

"Ow! Dammnit!" His hand is yanked away and he stares at her. "What are you doing?"

She bucks under him, biting her lip as the angle makes her back crack. "Make me scream, general. Or are you too afraid?"

You can only push someone so far, and she's glad to watch as he snaps, his free hand dragging down her body before he shoves a finger into her, hard. "Like this?" The words hiss out, anger and something else she doesn't want to name coloring them.

"Harder." The curt word is cut off on a gasp as three fingers slide back into her. "Like that."

The fingers establish a rhythm, and his mouth moves to nip and suckle her breasts, teeth grazing, leaving marks on her pale skin. She welcomes the added sensation, and arches beneath him, grinding against the hand between her legs. Frustratingly, it's not enough. Will never be enough.

Whether he's just this good, or she made some sound that alerted him, he's suddenly sliding down her body, his mouth and tongue leaving a wet trail until his lips close around her clitoris.

"Not enough." There's no taunt left, it's all strain now, and her freed hands are fisting into the sheets as he bites down on her delicate skin, fingers pumping in and out of her. "More. Please."

A combination of licks and kisses scatter across her thighs and then his tongue and teeth are back attacking her clit, fingers moving harder, twisting and pushing and pulling. And now it's too much. As the world falls down around her, she wonders if this is how replicators feel, if they can even comprehend this massive explosion of animal movement in their cold precision.

No sound escapes her until he looks up at her. "Carter?"

"I didn't scream."

His fingers leave her and he moves to lay next to her, his head on her shoulder. "No." His free arm slides around her waist.

The need that drove her here has dissipated (or maybe she's just tired of fighting). Exhausted, she settles into the bed, pulling the sheet up and over the both of them. "I'm not her."

His grip tightens, his lips move slightly against the skin of her shoulder.