Stolen Moment by Sesa Woruban
in the Stargate SG-1 Awards 2003.
&
Nominated for Best Sam & Janet: Friendship, Romance, POV Story
in the Teryl Rothery contest (Abydos Gate) 2003.
[Edit - Author's Notes: It's just occurred to me that, due to my liberal mind, I haven't put any warnings on this before now over and above the rating warning. It features a woman thinking about a woman in a more than platonic way. In some crazy countries, this is illegal, in others, we should be protecting our children from this evil, apparently. Well, all I can say is that, in my mind, it's no more dangerous to young minds than the other PG-13 fics I have on this site. I contains vague sexual references and no violence (a far worse thing to introduce to the next generation IMHO) but to fulfil my obligations, I have duly warned you.]
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I steal a glance at you over my drink.
In my head, I replay your earlier entrance into my infirmary and your off-hand invitation to join SG-1 on a night out. I remember how, despite a hellish shift, the thought of spending some off-duty time with you energized me; even if I didn't get you all to myself.
You're sitting next to me, your body turned away slightly. You're laughing one of your too-rare laughs at yet another inane joke from the Colonel. Your face relaxes into an easy smile. I love the way your eyes light up when something makes you laugh or think; this thrill envelops your face and, damn, it's sexy.
I have to break my gaze and glance down. Involuntarily, I draw in a sharp breath as I glimpse the naked flesh of your back where your top and pants should meet.
Pale and fresh, soft and warm.
I picture running my palms over it, edging my fingers below your waistband to the smooth skin over the base of your spine.
I imagine you sighing and shuddering into me.
It takes all my strength not to reach down and touch.
I drag my eyes away from that small exposed patch of you and I watch each of the guys with their drinks. I attempt to distract myself wondering if any of them are going to get drunk tonight.
The Colonel is having Bud. As the others talk and laugh, I watch him watch you surreptitiously as he slowly takes a pull from the bottle at his lips. He intends to drive home or, perhaps more importantly, not to get too drunk and say something he might regret.
I idly wonder if I have the same restraint.
Teal'c sticks to ginger ale, I can't ignore the feeling that he sees and knows more than he'll ever show.
Jonas is drinking Bud, perhaps to impress the Colonel or maybe because he likes it. I spot him eyeing the cocktail menu.
I imagine what I'd do, if it were just the two of us here, if our responsibilities and duties weren't so much part of who we are. I picture my foot playing with your ankle, my hand stroking your back, brushing your thigh. We would talk intimately, suggestively, and you would get wet with the ideas and the promise. You might even prompt the actions I'll never have the guts to play out, the fantasies I'll never get a chance to fully realize.
I find myself thinking of any excuse to move near you: the music is too loud, Teal'c needs a menu item explained, I want try Jonas' dessert. Your smell has no clear fragrances - it's just clean and intoxicating.
I need it.
Want it.
You.
Towards the end of the evening, alcohol both emboldening and weakening me at the same time, I find myself staring at your neck. My thoughts see my lips trailing delicate kisses over it. Licking and nipping over the tendons and muscles, my damp breath lingering over the salty taste of your skin. I can't tell how long I stay with that dream, probably only seconds, but when I glance up to your face, I find you looking at me, a little smirk playing across your face.
I hope my already flushed face hides the blush. My indecisive state of mind holds my gaze to yours. A small part of me hopes that your smile is one of flirtation not pity. The rest of me knows that I'm too sober to do anything about it even if your look means what I want it to.
The moment passes and, without me being aware of its disappearance, the background noise returns, surrounding and enveloping us.
The conversations and music that pull me back to reality sweep me to the end of the evening. It ends the way a hundred other nights have and will. I find myself back in bed alone, touching in the dark and using my new memory to take me to the edge and I release your name with a sigh.
~FINIS~
