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itsallovernowSequel, sort of, to Not the Boss of Me and definitely and immediately to Honkeytonk Woman
Post-Uninvited. No redeeming qualities. NC-17.
***
She's just sliding the magazine back into the drawer, disgusted at the lack of … anything exciting to discover when she hears a voice hissing in outrage behind her.
"Are you … what are … are you casing the cabin?" His whisper pitches up to shrill and she turns around to face Mitchell, excuses slipping easily from her tongue. But he's half-naked and there's really nice light coming in through the window, a pale sort of shadowing that sculpts his bare torso and there's just so much more she could be doing aside from making absurd excuses in this tiny living area.
Like making excuses while moving underneath him. Or on top of him. Or slightly to the side. Vala's been contemplating these possibilities since that night at the bar. Her cheeks flush in pleasure, and she tries to stifle her grin.
"Yes," she says, not quite whispering, but letting her voice drop until it feels like smoke in her throat.
Mitchell stiffens, indignant at being right, looks like he's going to put his hands on his hips, posture like a scold, which really wouldn't be such a bad thing. The loose pants are riding low enough so that she can see that dip of flesh and hip bone and she thinks she'd quite like to find out how that spot tastes. She wonders what he'd do if she stepped forward, tugged down those absurd pants – sweat pants, who need pants merely to sweat in – slid her tongue along that strip of skin and bone.
Her eyes drop further and she sees something dark in his hand, the shape heavy and solid.
"Relax," she murmurs, "I'm just practicing. Keeping my skills up. Besides, it isn't as if there's anything here to steal."
Mitchell takes a step forward, far enough that the light moves from the planes of his chest to the gun in his hand.
"I could have shot you." His voice is thick now.
Her pulse flutters in her throat, and her sex tightens. "But you didn't."
"But I could have."
He takes another step forward, close enough that she can smell his skin – sleep warmed and vaguely soapy. He must have showered before retiring. He seems like the sort of man who likes to go to bed clean.
"Casing the joint, shooting at me, tryin' to take control," his voice has gone husky, anger turning his drawl heavy and fluid. "Rackin' up quite the list of misbehaviors today."
"I didn't shoot at you," she clarifies, knowing it for the stall that it is. "I shot at the creature. That was … near… you."
"Close enough for government work," he says, leans forward to glare with his whole body.
Vala follows her initial instinct, slides the back of her hand against the low waistband of his pants, knuckles against his bare skin. "Your government, certainly."
He keeps a solid grip on the gun as he sucks in his breath and there's something intriguing in the ease of that gesture, the way he can watch her and wait for answers and hold his weapon with loose intent. It's a set of skills that could bode well for her. She's very fond of Daniel, but he's not much of a multi-tasker.
She wants to see how long Mitchell can keep that focus, and slips her fingers down into the waistband, tugs until that line of bone and skin and muscle is exposed. His belly flutters and she dips her head, slides her tongue along that strip of skin. A tremor runs through his body and he grabs her by the hair, fingers warm against her scalp, tugging with just enough pressure to send tingles straight to her sex.
Oh, this is going to be fun. She sinks to her knees, betting that he isn't the sort to actually yank her up by the hair.
She's right. When she tugs his pants down to his thighs, runs her cheek over his hip bone and circles him with her fingers, all he does is tighten his grip, dark strands weaving between his fingers.
"This is a hell of a bluff," he murmurs. She draws her nails across the fine skin next to his sex, fingertips brushing the underside of his cock.
"I don't bluff," she says, and takes him into her mouth.
He doesn't groan at the contact, at her lips and tongue on his cock, but she can feel the muscle in his thigh flex as he struggles for control. She slides back, withdrawing, sucking as she goes, sits on her heels, puts her hands on her thighs, looks up at him. He lets go of her hair, stares down at her, eyes so dilated that they look black in the thin light.
"I may lie," she says with a grin. "But I never bluff." She licks her lips, lets her eyes drift to his cock. She can tell, by the way his empty hand can't quite still itself that he wants to reach for something - for her, for his cock, for his pants to pull them back into place. He's struggling, and she likes it, wants to see which path he'll choose.
"I… uh, " he's floundering with this. "We shouldn't … you…what about…"
Men. She wants to roll her eyes. They make things so complicated, and not in a fun sort of way. "What do you want, Colonel?" She rolls his title on his tongue, hoping it sounds as dirty as it feels.
His eyes narrow. "No, not... I've gotta name."
She holds in her pleasure at that, at his fighting back. "What do you want, then, Cameron?"
His mouth twitches, and she does grin there, knows that she'll call him Mitchell when he finally gets around to fucking her. This? This is just foreplay, heady and a little delicious as she susses out where he's vulnerable, where he's hard. And speaking of hard.
"Well?" she murmurs.
"We could get caught." But his voice is so low she can tell it's not his primary concern.
"Bothers you that much?" She's pushing but her certainty is unchecked. He's a pilot, and he likes risk.
"No," he murmurs. "But it should." His fingers make their own decision, stray to his sex, curl involuntary, stroke once. Disappointment threads through her with fine webbing, riding the bolt of desire as she watches him take himself in hand. But she's not yet ready to concede.
"Then what, exactly, do... you... want?"
The pauses stretches out and her own sex clenches with need. When he speaks, she's practically ready to come on her own.
"Do it again," he says, low and hot, and this time, it is an order.
She sits up, runs her hands over the back of his thighs, up to the taut muscles of his ass, brings them around so that one rests in the hollow of his hip. She breathes against his cock, circling the base with a steady grip and draws him back into the hollow of her mouth. He's thick and hot, skin tasting like salt and heat, something vaguely sweet underneath that she can't identify as soap or skin. She'll have to taste more, find out for certain.
He's still got the gun in his hand, and she knows it for the threat that it is. She reaches up, catches his wrist, continues to slide slowly up and down his sex.
"Gonna shoot myself in the foot," he mutters and gives her the gun. She puts it on the floor, goes back to the task at hand, closes her eyes and doesn't startle as he cradles her skull in his big palms, subtly controlling her pace and her movements.
She doesn't plan on bringing him off, but when he starts to jerk against her, when he lets his hands drift down to her shoulders, letting her back off if she wants to, she changes her mind, swirls her tongue over the tip, sucks harder and slips her fingers between his legs, stroking the skin behind his balls, pressing gently, tightening her grip on his base. He starts to shudder, thrusting into her mouth and then she increases the pressure of her tongue, swallows as he comes with a muffled groan. It's salty and bitter and not unpleasant and more than anything she likes the way that he comes with his whole body, everything given over. His fingers curl around her neck, hot on her skin, tender with her, thumb on her jaw.
Rocking back onto her heels, she stands and he doesn't let her go. When they're face to face, he runs his thumb over her mouth and her eyes widen. She takes his hand, brings his thumb to her mouth, licks the pad of it, closes her lips over it, slowly withdraws. Mitchell stares at her, his mouth turned down, and she starts to say something flip, teasing and he grabs her behind her neck, yanks her to him and kisses her, hard. He's musky and that same sweet taste from before floods her mouth. It is him them. His tongue is slick, deliberate and clever and she feels her whole body flush as teeth clink, lips bruise. Then he shoves her away, pulls up his pants.
"Go to bed," he says, and this is definitely an order. He's breathing hard, and watching her like sending her to bed alone is the last thing he wants. It's certainly the last thing she wants.
"Alone?" she asks, trying to modulate her own need, the way it sounds in her throat.
"Alone," he says, but his face moves towards her, lips near her cheek. She shivers.
A sound behind them, the creak of a floorboard, a door opening, she doesn't know what, but it shocks them both like a crack in the air. He steps back suddenly.
"Mitchell? Teal'c?" Landry sounds sleepy and a little pissed off.
Vala can see the General in the doorway by the kitchen. His hair is mussed and he looks a little confused.
"Sorry, sir," Mitchell pitches his voice to near normal, still quiet enough to not wake the others. "Thought I heard a noise. But it was just Vala."
Landry grunts, waves his hand and turns back towards his own quarters.
Vala waits, hoping the distraction was enough to change his mind.
Mitchell crosses his arms over his chest.
"Alone," he says again. "Definitely alone."
She huffs out a sigh. "Fine."
"What are you waiting for?"
She raises an eyebrow, and then bends over, angling so that if so inclined he can stare down her shirt. She glances up. He's very inclined. She picks up the gun, stands and slaps it into his palm.
"Don't forget your weapon," she says, letting her fingers brush over the bulge of his sex, and winks before sauntering back to her room. She doesn't need to look back to know he watches her until she closes the door behind her. When she brings herself to release, she thinks about his hands on her skull, his tongue in her mouth, and the shudder of his body. She thinks round two has definitely gone to her.
Post-Uninvited. No redeeming qualities. NC-17.
***
She's just sliding the magazine back into the drawer, disgusted at the lack of … anything exciting to discover when she hears a voice hissing in outrage behind her.
"Are you … what are … are you casing the cabin?" His whisper pitches up to shrill and she turns around to face Mitchell, excuses slipping easily from her tongue. But he's half-naked and there's really nice light coming in through the window, a pale sort of shadowing that sculpts his bare torso and there's just so much more she could be doing aside from making absurd excuses in this tiny living area.
Like making excuses while moving underneath him. Or on top of him. Or slightly to the side. Vala's been contemplating these possibilities since that night at the bar. Her cheeks flush in pleasure, and she tries to stifle her grin.
"Yes," she says, not quite whispering, but letting her voice drop until it feels like smoke in her throat.
Mitchell stiffens, indignant at being right, looks like he's going to put his hands on his hips, posture like a scold, which really wouldn't be such a bad thing. The loose pants are riding low enough so that she can see that dip of flesh and hip bone and she thinks she'd quite like to find out how that spot tastes. She wonders what he'd do if she stepped forward, tugged down those absurd pants – sweat pants, who need pants merely to sweat in – slid her tongue along that strip of skin and bone.
Her eyes drop further and she sees something dark in his hand, the shape heavy and solid.
"Relax," she murmurs, "I'm just practicing. Keeping my skills up. Besides, it isn't as if there's anything here to steal."
Mitchell takes a step forward, far enough that the light moves from the planes of his chest to the gun in his hand.
"I could have shot you." His voice is thick now.
Her pulse flutters in her throat, and her sex tightens. "But you didn't."
"But I could have."
He takes another step forward, close enough that she can smell his skin – sleep warmed and vaguely soapy. He must have showered before retiring. He seems like the sort of man who likes to go to bed clean.
"Casing the joint, shooting at me, tryin' to take control," his voice has gone husky, anger turning his drawl heavy and fluid. "Rackin' up quite the list of misbehaviors today."
"I didn't shoot at you," she clarifies, knowing it for the stall that it is. "I shot at the creature. That was … near… you."
"Close enough for government work," he says, leans forward to glare with his whole body.
Vala follows her initial instinct, slides the back of her hand against the low waistband of his pants, knuckles against his bare skin. "Your government, certainly."
He keeps a solid grip on the gun as he sucks in his breath and there's something intriguing in the ease of that gesture, the way he can watch her and wait for answers and hold his weapon with loose intent. It's a set of skills that could bode well for her. She's very fond of Daniel, but he's not much of a multi-tasker.
She wants to see how long Mitchell can keep that focus, and slips her fingers down into the waistband, tugs until that line of bone and skin and muscle is exposed. His belly flutters and she dips her head, slides her tongue along that strip of skin. A tremor runs through his body and he grabs her by the hair, fingers warm against her scalp, tugging with just enough pressure to send tingles straight to her sex.
Oh, this is going to be fun. She sinks to her knees, betting that he isn't the sort to actually yank her up by the hair.
She's right. When she tugs his pants down to his thighs, runs her cheek over his hip bone and circles him with her fingers, all he does is tighten his grip, dark strands weaving between his fingers.
"This is a hell of a bluff," he murmurs. She draws her nails across the fine skin next to his sex, fingertips brushing the underside of his cock.
"I don't bluff," she says, and takes him into her mouth.
He doesn't groan at the contact, at her lips and tongue on his cock, but she can feel the muscle in his thigh flex as he struggles for control. She slides back, withdrawing, sucking as she goes, sits on her heels, puts her hands on her thighs, looks up at him. He lets go of her hair, stares down at her, eyes so dilated that they look black in the thin light.
"I may lie," she says with a grin. "But I never bluff." She licks her lips, lets her eyes drift to his cock. She can tell, by the way his empty hand can't quite still itself that he wants to reach for something - for her, for his cock, for his pants to pull them back into place. He's struggling, and she likes it, wants to see which path he'll choose.
"I… uh, " he's floundering with this. "We shouldn't … you…what about…"
Men. She wants to roll her eyes. They make things so complicated, and not in a fun sort of way. "What do you want, Colonel?" She rolls his title on his tongue, hoping it sounds as dirty as it feels.
His eyes narrow. "No, not... I've gotta name."
She holds in her pleasure at that, at his fighting back. "What do you want, then, Cameron?"
His mouth twitches, and she does grin there, knows that she'll call him Mitchell when he finally gets around to fucking her. This? This is just foreplay, heady and a little delicious as she susses out where he's vulnerable, where he's hard. And speaking of hard.
"Well?" she murmurs.
"We could get caught." But his voice is so low she can tell it's not his primary concern.
"Bothers you that much?" She's pushing but her certainty is unchecked. He's a pilot, and he likes risk.
"No," he murmurs. "But it should." His fingers make their own decision, stray to his sex, curl involuntary, stroke once. Disappointment threads through her with fine webbing, riding the bolt of desire as she watches him take himself in hand. But she's not yet ready to concede.
"Then what, exactly, do... you... want?"
The pauses stretches out and her own sex clenches with need. When he speaks, she's practically ready to come on her own.
"Do it again," he says, low and hot, and this time, it is an order.
She sits up, runs her hands over the back of his thighs, up to the taut muscles of his ass, brings them around so that one rests in the hollow of his hip. She breathes against his cock, circling the base with a steady grip and draws him back into the hollow of her mouth. He's thick and hot, skin tasting like salt and heat, something vaguely sweet underneath that she can't identify as soap or skin. She'll have to taste more, find out for certain.
He's still got the gun in his hand, and she knows it for the threat that it is. She reaches up, catches his wrist, continues to slide slowly up and down his sex.
"Gonna shoot myself in the foot," he mutters and gives her the gun. She puts it on the floor, goes back to the task at hand, closes her eyes and doesn't startle as he cradles her skull in his big palms, subtly controlling her pace and her movements.
She doesn't plan on bringing him off, but when he starts to jerk against her, when he lets his hands drift down to her shoulders, letting her back off if she wants to, she changes her mind, swirls her tongue over the tip, sucks harder and slips her fingers between his legs, stroking the skin behind his balls, pressing gently, tightening her grip on his base. He starts to shudder, thrusting into her mouth and then she increases the pressure of her tongue, swallows as he comes with a muffled groan. It's salty and bitter and not unpleasant and more than anything she likes the way that he comes with his whole body, everything given over. His fingers curl around her neck, hot on her skin, tender with her, thumb on her jaw.
Rocking back onto her heels, she stands and he doesn't let her go. When they're face to face, he runs his thumb over her mouth and her eyes widen. She takes his hand, brings his thumb to her mouth, licks the pad of it, closes her lips over it, slowly withdraws. Mitchell stares at her, his mouth turned down, and she starts to say something flip, teasing and he grabs her behind her neck, yanks her to him and kisses her, hard. He's musky and that same sweet taste from before floods her mouth. It is him them. His tongue is slick, deliberate and clever and she feels her whole body flush as teeth clink, lips bruise. Then he shoves her away, pulls up his pants.
"Go to bed," he says, and this is definitely an order. He's breathing hard, and watching her like sending her to bed alone is the last thing he wants. It's certainly the last thing she wants.
"Alone?" she asks, trying to modulate her own need, the way it sounds in her throat.
"Alone," he says, but his face moves towards her, lips near her cheek. She shivers.
A sound behind them, the creak of a floorboard, a door opening, she doesn't know what, but it shocks them both like a crack in the air. He steps back suddenly.
"Mitchell? Teal'c?" Landry sounds sleepy and a little pissed off.
Vala can see the General in the doorway by the kitchen. His hair is mussed and he looks a little confused.
"Sorry, sir," Mitchell pitches his voice to near normal, still quiet enough to not wake the others. "Thought I heard a noise. But it was just Vala."
Landry grunts, waves his hand and turns back towards his own quarters.
Vala waits, hoping the distraction was enough to change his mind.
Mitchell crosses his arms over his chest.
"Alone," he says again. "Definitely alone."
She huffs out a sigh. "Fine."
"What are you waiting for?"
She raises an eyebrow, and then bends over, angling so that if so inclined he can stare down her shirt. She glances up. He's very inclined. She picks up the gun, stands and slaps it into his palm.
"Don't forget your weapon," she says, letting her fingers brush over the bulge of his sex, and winks before sauntering back to her room. She doesn't need to look back to know he watches her until she closes the door behind her. When she brings herself to release, she thinks about his hands on her skull, his tongue in her mouth, and the shudder of his body. She thinks round two has definitely gone to her.
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no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 09:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 09:36 pm (UTC)Either way, I am so loving this series. I wish I had better feedback to leave than 'guh', but my mind is refusing to go beyond that. I can't wait to read the next part zomg.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 10:52 pm (UTC)and i'm sure there was something else i was going to say, but my brain is utterly mush now. ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 11:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 11:32 pm (UTC)That's wot I'm talkin' about.
I need a better Cameron or Vala icon. These two will do for now.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 11:43 pm (UTC)And yeah!!!! So glad you liked it.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-23 11:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 12:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 12:24 am (UTC)Damn!
*goes to look for something cold to drink and cool down*
no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 01:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 01:24 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 01:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 02:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 05:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 05:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 02:44 pm (UTC)his voice has gone husky, anger turning his drawl heavy and fluid.
Meep. BB's voice just does it for me so this... ::fans self:: Thanks!
no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 04:06 pm (UTC)I love that your Vala is absolutely someone who schemed her way across the universe, and doesn't believe in regrets, without being at all cold or heartless.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 04:39 pm (UTC)Exactly!! She is playing him, but she's also doing what he tells her to. (And really, the PTB gave me such perfect stuff when they made Mitchell's control issues canon:)
and he knows it, and is scrabbling to maintain balance.
Exactly. Because even here, he's not really the one in control, and he knows it but there's something... intriguing going on.
And hee - I do love Vala so very much because she will use anything she can, but she's neither cold nor heartless. She's having way, way too much fun to be either.
no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 04:40 pm (UTC)Glad you liked it!
no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 07:05 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-24 08:49 pm (UTC)Wow, this just gets hotter and hotter. I just love Vala's lack of repentance. I also loved the way she backed off, forced him to make the decision to continue. And, the bossing.
Love the inevitability of the actual sex....hee! Like a freight train coming down the tracks.
Not very coherent, but what can you expect after having my brain melted?
seva
no subject
Date: 2006-08-25 06:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-25 11:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-25 04:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-01 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-01 01:30 am (UTC)