Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders Set: ...pre-EoJ? Spoilers.
Length: 1,200 Notes: I wrote some of this at work, breaking my own No Smut At Work rule. Sigh. It also. Does not go where I thought it would. Huh. Title is a line from New Order's 'World'.
Sideways to the Sun by ALC Punk!
Kara wants Sam to hate her. Hate would be cleaner than the mix of pain in his eyes. Cleaner than the love that echoes in his touch as his hands slide down her skin.
Hate is easy.
Love is hard.
Hate her because she told a toaster she loved it (and she thinks she might have meant it). Hate her for being able to love Lee Adama without stopping to think (she's never told Sam she loves him). Hate her for being unable to do anything but hurt him (it's easier, pushing him away and flaunting how little she needs him).
'I just want to hurt someone and it might as well be you.'
He'd run. She'd thought he was safe, but then he came back. He came back and he let her frak him and let her leave. Again and again until he couldn't take it and had to push.
Like he's pushing now, thrusting up into her and making her back arch. Earlier, his mouth was on her breasts, lips and tongue traveling paths they both knew too well. She thinks she hates that he knows her so well.
Why do you love me? She wants to ask him, but the words won't come (and maybe she's scared of the answer, like she's scared of him never leaving her). If he could just stop, just for an instant, the hate would have a hold. She'd be able to hold onto it then. Prod it and inflame it until he couldn't stand the sight of her.
'Was it everything you wanted?'
"Kara." he says suddenly, voice catching. "You're thinking too hard."
"Naw," bending down, letting his hands pull her as they glide up her back, she mocks him with her eyes, twists against him, and stops moving. "My mama said there was nothin' there to think with." Braced with her hands against his chest, Kara arches back and up, glad the racks are so small. The blood is rushing in her ears, and the parts of her that are over-stimulated protest the interruption in movement. She ignores them. This is about control.
He strains upwards, trying to get room to move. But the rack isn't really built for two, and Kara isn't giving an inch. "Kara." Her name is a curse or a blessing or something she doesn't want to name.
"Problem, Sam?" She thinks she could sit all night like this, him trapped beneath her, cock slowly softening, or staying hard--she does wonder if he'd stay inside of her, with the right stimulation.
He moves, and too late she realizes exactly what he's planning. He rolls to the opening and Kara spills out and off of him and the rack. The decking is cold and she curses as it digs into her back. "What the frak did you do that for, you asshole?"
A smirk that isn't entirely echoed in his eyes curves his lips as he turns onto his side and looks down at her, "Cold, baby?" His voice is taunting as he cups a hand around himself, stroking easily with the slickness from her still coating him.
Something tells Kara he could get off, right there, hand on his own dick and eyes staring at her. She shivers, then sits up and grabs for him. His hands close on hers, but she has the leverage now, and slowly, she pulls him from the rack. At the last second, he stops resisting and he lands against her, hard. "Happy?"
"Yeah." Her legs spread and she arches against him, one hand fumbling between them to slide him back inside of her. A moan escapes her at just how good it feels.
Sam braces himself on his hands to either side of her and beings frakking her slow and steady. It's the kind of pace that's set to drive her insane, and he knows it. Kara hooks one leg around his waist and tries to urge him on faster. "Damnit, Sam--"
He smirks and bends his head to kiss her chin. "Guess you're stuck."
The pace continues, so very slow she wants to whine at him to move, but figures if he does he'll stop or make it even slower. She gets lost in the feel of him moving above her, and wonders dimly if she'll have bruises on her back.
"Your ass is gonna get cold." He observes a few minutes later, almost clinically.
Just like that, the spell is broken and she glares up at him. "My ass IS cold. You be on the bottom."
"Fine." Kara scrapes her nails down his back.
"Ow. Shit, Kara--"
"My ass hurts, too, from landing on the floor and then having you smash on top of me."
"You're the one who pulled me down here. Besides. Didn't realize you were so damned delicate."
Something like a laugh escapes her.
His mouth closes on hers, stopping the sound, and her tongue sweeps forward before his does. She's angry, again. Angry and still unfulfilled, the pleasure hovering so close she can taste it. If he'd just move a little faster.
"Kara," he says. Then he stops, stops moving, stops breathing and just stares down at her.
There. Just for an instant, there's a flicker in his eyes of an emotion that isn't easily identifiable. Hate. It's what she wanted from him, and now she has it, she's suddenly not sure what she wants to do with it. "Sam." Her voice is a whisper, and she tries to think of something, anything, to say to him to erase that look.
Because it hurts. It hurts more than she'd thought possible--more than the idea of him dying.
He shakes his head and disengages from her, hands gently on her legs as he pulls free. "I'm sorry, Kara. I hadn't realized how much you really don't want me here."
"What?" The floor is cold. She blames the floor for her paralysis, her inability to stop him as he gathers his things and pulls his pants on. The zipper almost sticks, and then he winces and the problem passes. "Sam."
"You have fingers. Or, if you're really desperate, I'm sure you can find the Major. Or any half a dozen men and women who wouldn't mind helping with the problem." He ducks to grab his boots and doesn't look at her when he straightens.
Sam. Her hand clenches and she scrambles to her feet. She wants to tell him to stay. To take back the things she's done and make him understand. But she doesn't know how, and she doesn't know what will make him stop. So she stands there as he opens the hatch and walks away.
It wasn't supposed to go like this. She was supposed to win a victory over him. Kara wraps her arms around herself and sits on the edge of her rack, fighting with herself for some semblance of control. It got too out of hand. Her plans... She doesn't remember when the sex stopped being about making him hate her. And she hates him, just a little bit more, for being able to distract her from her goal.