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A Wild Nothing
Title: A Wild Nothing
Author's email: email@example.com
Author's URL: http://chelle.slashcity.org/
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Archive: Ask first
Beta: Thank you to Kamil and the SO for reading this over.
AN: The title is from William Shakespeare: Where every something being blent together turns to a wild of nothing. Set immediately after the 5.09 "Between Two Fires." Contains het content.
"You know," Sam said, smiling at the man beside her, "you," she poked him in the chest for emphasis, "are a really good looking guy."
"And you," Daniel said, poking her back, "have had too much wine."
Sam hadn't had enough wine. She could still feel her cheeks and, worse, her mind still worked. Which meant that she could see Narim, standing firm, weapons fire and chaos behind him, telling her to go. He'd been a good man, and he'd loved her. "But I'm still beautiful," she said, because she was. If she weren't, maybe he wouldn't have loved her and maybe she wouldn't be sitting on her couch with Daniel, indulging in a strange approximation of mourning.
"Yes, you are." Daniel's smile was generous and understanding. He hadn't had enough to drink either.
Narim had deserved her love, but she hadn't had it to give. "I wish he'd stop."
"The way he looks at me and never—"
"I know." Getting up from the couch, she went to stand by the window. There wasn't anything to see, just a quiet suburban street on a quiet Saturday night. Daniel left her alone for a few minutes. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.
"I wish he'd stop, too."
"Looking at me?"
Sam looked up at him. Maybe Daniel had had enough to drink. Of them all he was the best at hiding his feelings. She had never guessed he felt so alone, although she probably should have. "It's his way of showing he cares."
Daniel wanted Jack to care, she realized. Wanted Jack to care the same way she wanted Jack to care, the way the Air Force said he could never care, about either of them. She swallowed, ignoring the lump in her throat. "You know what Keith Richards said."
"You can't always get what you want," Daniel answered, his voice full of irony and resignation.
"But if you try sometimes."
"You just might find."
"You get what you need," Sam finished with a forced smile, pleased when she received a small smile from Daniel in return.
Daniel slid his hand from her shoulder to her waist and gave her a small squeeze.
Sam turned slightly, slipping her arm around his waist and resting her head on his shoulder. Daniel felt good, strong and solid and male. Most people tended to see the scholar and overlook the man. Sam didn't.
She tilted her head. He looked down at her and she could feel his breath on her lips. She parted them, drawing in his breath. It was an invitation and Daniel took it.
His kiss was nothing like she had imagined. There was no sweet hesitation, just pure need. Sam gave into it, wrapping an arm around his neck and pulling him closer. Daniel did the same, both of his arms locking around her waist and holding her against his chest.
He was hard.
She moved against him, rubbing herself on his cock, making him groan.
Long, agile fingers. Sam arched, moaning as Daniel explored her. She should have known he'd be like this, determined to learn every nook and cranny, to find every sensitive place.
He'd found one and he was rubbing it perfectly, the right speed, the right pressure. Daniel's touch was a lot like Daniel, generous and knowing.
When her orgasm eased, Daniel withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. It was a damned erotic thing to do and he knew it. Sam was still considering erotic moves of her own when he settled between her legs. Moments later she felt his tongue exactly where his fingers had been.
Groaning, Sam did the only thing she could do. She tightened her hands in his hair and held on.
Raising his head from between her legs, Daniel licked his lips. Sam rose up, pressing her mouth to his. It didn't matter how many times he'd made her come. She wanted more and she was going to get it.
Tearing her lips from his, she covered his cock with her mouth.
Daniel was lying on his back, and Sam was on her side, one hand resting on his chest. There were two empty condom wrappers between them. "I should go."
Daniel turned his head and studied her for a moment. Nodding, he covered the hand on his chest with his own.
Sam closed her eyes.
Sam stared dry-eyed into her tea. She didn't have any tears left. She had cried for Daniel, for herself, and for the Colonel and Teal'c, both too stubborn to do their own crying.
Had Daniel been around, hadn't been the reason for her tears, he would have cried with her. He'd have held her and rubbed her back, letting his own tears fall into her hair.
She turned the teacup, leaving a small ring of condensation on her dining room table. She kept thinking about the last time, couldn't stop thinking about it. He'd come straight to her after Janet had removed the cast from his wrist. He'd been rough, or as close to it as Daniel ever got.
Jonas, he'd been rough. She'd liked that about him, that he didn't think she needed protecting, that he knew she could pound every bit as hard as he could. Of course, he'd forgotten that in the end.
But Daniel was tender even when he wasn't trying to be. It flowed from him, even though his kisses were desperate and his hands were restless and hungry.
Not that she had been any less desperate.
She'd gotten on her hands and knees for him, and he'd fucked her, hard and deep. Then he'd stopped, with his cock fully inside her, and brought her off with his fingers. He'd started moving again before she'd finished coming. She had no idea how long it had lasted, Daniel making her come with his cock, then his fingers, then his cock, until everything was a blur of pleasure and release.
He had cried out when he came.
Then he had turned them both onto their sides and held her.
She had pretended to fall asleep, and when his cock had slipped from her body, Daniel had slipped from her bed, just like he always did. She'd asked him to stay the first time, but he'd left in the night and she'd never asked again.
Alone in a bed that reeked of sex, she had refused to cry, not for herself, or him, or all of the things they both deserved but would never have.
Daniel was gone. Her friend was gone and this was what she remembered—this, not his goofy smile, or his brilliance, or his kindness. Sam had never known anyone as kind as Daniel.
Daniel who had loved neither wisely nor well.
Like she could cast stones.
Rising from the table, she opened the cabinet behind her pulling out a bottle and a shot glass. Filling the glass, she lifted it into the air in salute. "May you find what you need."
Downing the whiskey in one swallow, she poured another.