More Kissing and Telling
Feb. 7th, 2006 04:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
itsallovernowBecause I just so, so love Vala. Minor spoilers for SG-1, S9.
Five Kisses Along the Way
It was a day of kisses. First her mother, tangling fingers in her dark hair, bussing her scalp and tugging just a little too roughly. "Be good," she'd said, equal emphasis on the be and the good. A pause, another ragged kiss. "Please." Then Tchar'lee had licked her toes, her ankles and her shins, slobbering against her skin with his great lolling tongue and she'd sat in the dirt, holding on to his neck, rubbing her face against him until his fur scratched against her nostrils and she sneezed on him. He slipped backwards out of her grasp and she let him go because he was all snotty now anyway.
She'd dusted herself off, meandering down to the fields where Vizell was watching the animals. The sun glinted of his hair, the fine down on his arms shining like gold and she felt her first quiver of acquisitiveness. Skidding down the path, making her way through the high stalks of grass, she stopped next to 'Zell. He smiled down at her, mouth wide and warm, features prominent.
"Hi there," he said, like he did every time and she grinned her gap-toothed grin. 'Zell reached out, scrubbed at her face with his thumb. "You've got something…" he said.
"Tchar'lee spit," she replied, sage.
"Mmm," he said, and looked at his fingers like he wasn't quite sure what to do.
"'Zell," she said, sounding serious and grave, doing a little shuffley dance on the inside.
"Yeah?"
"Will you kiss me?"
"Vala…"
"Please."
She blinked, opened her eyes wide and he pursed his mouth.
"Okay," he said, reluctant. He leaned down, let his lips brush over her cheek. She turned her head, turned into his mouth, tried to kiss him back. His lips were soft, a little chapped, scratchier than she'd expected.
"Thank you," she said, and left to find something else to do.
***
"Vala." Her name groaned out as she sits on the fence rail, legs crossed, skirt hiked up to expose far more thigh than any of the animals care to see.
"Fine." She slips off the fence railing, flipping her skirt down so that it swishes against her long legs as she walks. Tossing her hair, she stops right in front of 'Zell. "Now what is it you wanted again?"
He reaches out, hands meeting her narrow waist and jerks her body towards his. "Just one," he says. "Surely your father wouldn't object to one small, insignificant kiss."
She flutters her eyelashes at him. "My father doesn't object to me kissing." Well, that's a lie, but it's her lie. "He objects to me kissing you."
'Zell's cheeks are flushed, eyes hot and desperate and she enjoys his longing more than she enjoys his taste. Gone are the heady, halcyon days of watching sunlight catch in his blond curls.
"Please," he breathes against her neck and her stomach flutters, flips at the pleasure of hearing someone ask, hearing them struggle with need. His lips brush against her collarbone, her neck, tickle at her ear, press against her temple. She relaxes into him.
"Perhaps tomorrow," she half-promises, and slips free, sauntering slowly out of the pasture.
***
Her body twitches in response but the pleasure is a vague echo. She knows that his hair is underneath her fingertips, that the sight of dark curls against her long pale hands is erotic, is something she enjoys but she knows it like a memory, like something she read half-heartedly on a hot sunny day trapped in a classroom. It buzzes at her, niggles, but never rings true.
When he settles back on his heels, eyes wide and dark, mouth glossy, he brings the back of his hand up to his lips, hesitates.
"May I?" Her body nods, and he slowly wipes his mouth.
"Were you… did I…?" He's struggling for the proper way to ask a goddess if she'd been satisfied.
It's far easier to wave an imperious hand, slide her leg back along his shoulder, find a more comfortable position on the throne as he strives to do better. Later, when she is her own sort of false goddess, she will make sure that he receives a small bag of gold. For a job well done.
***
"You know, I think you'll miss me when I leave," she says, twirling one of her tails of hair around her finger. The pointy corner of the book is digging into her backside, and she pushes away at it, lifting one cheek up to dislodge the sharp edge.
"No," he says, "I really won't."
"Oh yes you will. Life will go back to being dull. Save the world, dust an artifact, blow something up, ready some moldy old text." She shrugs. "You fear change. But you'll still miss me when I'm gone."
She swings her legs against the table leg, kick thump kick thump kick thump and waits. "When I'm gone, you'll just be another cranky bitter man stuck in a basement, babbling on about truth when everyone else has gone on to have their supper, to find an adventure."
"I have adventures," he mutters.
She sighs dramatically, and tries to tease a pale sheet of paper out from underneath his book. He slaps his hand down on hers, and she pulls back her fingers. Sticks out her tongue.
"You used to have adventures," she says, and stops kicking the table. "Now you pout. And give self-righteous speeches, and pretend that you hate me."
"What, I can't do both?"
That makes her smile.
"I suppose so," she says, tilting her head in consideration.
"Vala."
"Yes?"
"Please shut up so I can finish this."
She bites her lower lip, narrows her eyes. "Make me."
He's more surprised than she is when he reaches up, grabs her by the back of the neck and pulls her towards him. The position is uncomfortable, her pants cutting into her belly as she bends nearly in half, but his lips are sweet and his hands fist tightly into her hair. He lets her go when her tongue slides against his lips. His glasses are askew.
"I told you," she said, low and sultry, almost able to keep the mirth from her voice. "You'll miss me when I'm gone."
***
The short jacket doesn't really offer much warmth and the thin coffee smells more like dirt than anything else. She doesn't want to drink it, but she wraps her hands around the cup, waits for the heat to go to her head.
It's late, lights dimmed in the near empty mess and she doesn't have anywhere to be for another hour. Daniel is in his office, and she doesn't much feel like talking to him anyway. She's not in the mood for forced candor, for the jockeying of place and patience and passion and position. She's in the mood for some quiet, and some heat and some comfort. If Daniel were a different man, if she were a different woman, she'd go in there, take his hand, not offer up any carefully curved truths, any pretty lies. But he's not and she's not and it's been a really awful day.
"You're up late."
Mitchell leans against the doorway. He's still too pale, looks like standing is about all he's got left in him. She's fairly pleased that he's not dead. She's even more pleased that she's not dead. Things had looked… grim.
She looks at her coffee cup, then holds it out towards him. His grin is slow, honey sweet. "What's the catch?"
She arches her eyebrow. "Darling, this coffee's so terrible that even I wouldn't charge for it."
He pushes away from the door, sits down on the bench next to her facing away from the table. He doesn't take the coffee.
"You're not dead," she says, because it's true and there isn't much else to say. He licks his lips, mouth twitching.
"No, but close. Almost makes me a member of the club." His voice is warm, bittersweet.
"Dying is overrated," she says, and he looks at her out of the corner of her eye. "Or so I've been told."
She waits for him to say something about her trial, about what she'd done, about her not being dead either. Instead he turns, puts his hand on her thigh. His skin is surprisingly warm and the heat slips and slides it's way up.
"Oh," she says. Bites her lip, says "Oh," again as he moves his hand. Her breath hitches and she leans forward into his space. He's clean, smells like soap and cotton.
"Being not dead is good," she whispers.
"Yeah," he agrees and leans forward, no stars in his eyes, no artifacts on his mind.
His mouth turns out to be as sweet as his smile.
Five Kisses Along the Way
It was a day of kisses. First her mother, tangling fingers in her dark hair, bussing her scalp and tugging just a little too roughly. "Be good," she'd said, equal emphasis on the be and the good. A pause, another ragged kiss. "Please." Then Tchar'lee had licked her toes, her ankles and her shins, slobbering against her skin with his great lolling tongue and she'd sat in the dirt, holding on to his neck, rubbing her face against him until his fur scratched against her nostrils and she sneezed on him. He slipped backwards out of her grasp and she let him go because he was all snotty now anyway.
She'd dusted herself off, meandering down to the fields where Vizell was watching the animals. The sun glinted of his hair, the fine down on his arms shining like gold and she felt her first quiver of acquisitiveness. Skidding down the path, making her way through the high stalks of grass, she stopped next to 'Zell. He smiled down at her, mouth wide and warm, features prominent.
"Hi there," he said, like he did every time and she grinned her gap-toothed grin. 'Zell reached out, scrubbed at her face with his thumb. "You've got something…" he said.
"Tchar'lee spit," she replied, sage.
"Mmm," he said, and looked at his fingers like he wasn't quite sure what to do.
"'Zell," she said, sounding serious and grave, doing a little shuffley dance on the inside.
"Yeah?"
"Will you kiss me?"
"Vala…"
"Please."
She blinked, opened her eyes wide and he pursed his mouth.
"Okay," he said, reluctant. He leaned down, let his lips brush over her cheek. She turned her head, turned into his mouth, tried to kiss him back. His lips were soft, a little chapped, scratchier than she'd expected.
"Thank you," she said, and left to find something else to do.
***
"Vala." Her name groaned out as she sits on the fence rail, legs crossed, skirt hiked up to expose far more thigh than any of the animals care to see.
"Fine." She slips off the fence railing, flipping her skirt down so that it swishes against her long legs as she walks. Tossing her hair, she stops right in front of 'Zell. "Now what is it you wanted again?"
He reaches out, hands meeting her narrow waist and jerks her body towards his. "Just one," he says. "Surely your father wouldn't object to one small, insignificant kiss."
She flutters her eyelashes at him. "My father doesn't object to me kissing." Well, that's a lie, but it's her lie. "He objects to me kissing you."
'Zell's cheeks are flushed, eyes hot and desperate and she enjoys his longing more than she enjoys his taste. Gone are the heady, halcyon days of watching sunlight catch in his blond curls.
"Please," he breathes against her neck and her stomach flutters, flips at the pleasure of hearing someone ask, hearing them struggle with need. His lips brush against her collarbone, her neck, tickle at her ear, press against her temple. She relaxes into him.
"Perhaps tomorrow," she half-promises, and slips free, sauntering slowly out of the pasture.
***
Her body twitches in response but the pleasure is a vague echo. She knows that his hair is underneath her fingertips, that the sight of dark curls against her long pale hands is erotic, is something she enjoys but she knows it like a memory, like something she read half-heartedly on a hot sunny day trapped in a classroom. It buzzes at her, niggles, but never rings true.
When he settles back on his heels, eyes wide and dark, mouth glossy, he brings the back of his hand up to his lips, hesitates.
"May I?" Her body nods, and he slowly wipes his mouth.
"Were you… did I…?" He's struggling for the proper way to ask a goddess if she'd been satisfied.
It's far easier to wave an imperious hand, slide her leg back along his shoulder, find a more comfortable position on the throne as he strives to do better. Later, when she is her own sort of false goddess, she will make sure that he receives a small bag of gold. For a job well done.
***
"You know, I think you'll miss me when I leave," she says, twirling one of her tails of hair around her finger. The pointy corner of the book is digging into her backside, and she pushes away at it, lifting one cheek up to dislodge the sharp edge.
"No," he says, "I really won't."
"Oh yes you will. Life will go back to being dull. Save the world, dust an artifact, blow something up, ready some moldy old text." She shrugs. "You fear change. But you'll still miss me when I'm gone."
She swings her legs against the table leg, kick thump kick thump kick thump and waits. "When I'm gone, you'll just be another cranky bitter man stuck in a basement, babbling on about truth when everyone else has gone on to have their supper, to find an adventure."
"I have adventures," he mutters.
She sighs dramatically, and tries to tease a pale sheet of paper out from underneath his book. He slaps his hand down on hers, and she pulls back her fingers. Sticks out her tongue.
"You used to have adventures," she says, and stops kicking the table. "Now you pout. And give self-righteous speeches, and pretend that you hate me."
"What, I can't do both?"
That makes her smile.
"I suppose so," she says, tilting her head in consideration.
"Vala."
"Yes?"
"Please shut up so I can finish this."
She bites her lower lip, narrows her eyes. "Make me."
He's more surprised than she is when he reaches up, grabs her by the back of the neck and pulls her towards him. The position is uncomfortable, her pants cutting into her belly as she bends nearly in half, but his lips are sweet and his hands fist tightly into her hair. He lets her go when her tongue slides against his lips. His glasses are askew.
"I told you," she said, low and sultry, almost able to keep the mirth from her voice. "You'll miss me when I'm gone."
***
The short jacket doesn't really offer much warmth and the thin coffee smells more like dirt than anything else. She doesn't want to drink it, but she wraps her hands around the cup, waits for the heat to go to her head.
It's late, lights dimmed in the near empty mess and she doesn't have anywhere to be for another hour. Daniel is in his office, and she doesn't much feel like talking to him anyway. She's not in the mood for forced candor, for the jockeying of place and patience and passion and position. She's in the mood for some quiet, and some heat and some comfort. If Daniel were a different man, if she were a different woman, she'd go in there, take his hand, not offer up any carefully curved truths, any pretty lies. But he's not and she's not and it's been a really awful day.
"You're up late."
Mitchell leans against the doorway. He's still too pale, looks like standing is about all he's got left in him. She's fairly pleased that he's not dead. She's even more pleased that she's not dead. Things had looked… grim.
She looks at her coffee cup, then holds it out towards him. His grin is slow, honey sweet. "What's the catch?"
She arches her eyebrow. "Darling, this coffee's so terrible that even I wouldn't charge for it."
He pushes away from the door, sits down on the bench next to her facing away from the table. He doesn't take the coffee.
"You're not dead," she says, because it's true and there isn't much else to say. He licks his lips, mouth twitching.
"No, but close. Almost makes me a member of the club." His voice is warm, bittersweet.
"Dying is overrated," she says, and he looks at her out of the corner of her eye. "Or so I've been told."
She waits for him to say something about her trial, about what she'd done, about her not being dead either. Instead he turns, puts his hand on her thigh. His skin is surprisingly warm and the heat slips and slides it's way up.
"Oh," she says. Bites her lip, says "Oh," again as he moves his hand. Her breath hitches and she leans forward into his space. He's clean, smells like soap and cotton.
"Being not dead is good," she whispers.
"Yeah," he agrees and leans forward, no stars in his eyes, no artifacts on his mind.
His mouth turns out to be as sweet as his smile.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 01:03 am (UTC)bwahaha! ""What, I can't do both." That makes her smile."
and such a lovely ending in the midst of everything that had happened.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 01:12 am (UTC)I do love the 5 kisses meme.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:33 am (UTC)I'm awfully fond of the meme myself:)
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 01:14 am (UTC)I love the way you write her: she's so fun.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:33 am (UTC)And she is so much fun!! I wish more people would write her!!!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 09:27 am (UTC)a) Anyone called Charlie is doomed.
b) You need at least one apostrophe, because apostrophes officially make things Alien. At the very least, it should be Cha'li *vbeg*.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-09 05:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 01:45 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 02:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 02:53 am (UTC)You know, I am much more interested in Vala interacting with Daniel on the show, but in fic (especially your fic) I can so, so buy her interactions with Mitchell. I mean, that probably makes me the most pathetic meta-fan ever, but it's just so easy to picture them together! You don't even have to try!
*sigh* I should probably break down and get some sort of Stargate-themed icon, yes?
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 07:28 am (UTC)And dude, I agree completely on the show/fic/meta thing:) It's so easy, and I can see it in very specific circumstances because them just sitting next to each other is shivery goodness:)
And yes, yes you should get an icon:) As should I!!
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 08:20 am (UTC)No stars in his eyes, no artifacts on his mind.
Ever the practical Cam. Would definitely appeal at that moment.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-08 05:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-12 01:01 am (UTC)Thank you for writing this.
no subject
Date: 2006-02-12 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 01:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-02-24 05:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 08:26 pm (UTC)*snickers and loves*
You have clearly been studying the Official Stargate Guide To Making Stuff Alien Like Whoah.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-03 08:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 03:15 pm (UTC)This is great. I love this glimpse into Vala's life and her vision of kissing and what her sexuality has done to her. And I love the implication that maybe she's found a little something comforting with Mitchell that she can't find with Daniel because Daniel won't ever concentrate on her. Daniel's too busy looking to other things (despite the fact that he's very attracted to her).
Plus, both kisses—with Daniel and Mitchell—were exceptionally hot.
no subject
Date: 2006-03-10 05:38 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2006-03-29 06:07 am (UTC)Daniel bores me. I can't believe that he wouldn't bore Vala, too. I imagine she enjoys messing with his head more than anything else. But Cam Mitchell... okay, he's using Ben Browder's body and that is NEVER a bad thing but... damn, woman, I'm going to have to start watching STARGATE now. Dude. That is so wrong.
Vala. Hee. Excellent. You are, as always, the best.
~ CG
no subject
Date: 2006-03-29 07:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 07:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-02-01 05:50 pm (UTC)Hee - I like the pairing (when it's sparking and conflicted and prickly). But I think it's all relative. I'm only slowly warming up to Daniel myself. Mostly I like him because Vala seems to like him.