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Title: Socks.
Author: Ky (Venom_69)
Fandom: Stargate
Category: SMUT!
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: ADULT.
Summary: She doesn’t think that she can handle much more of this but she doesn’t want him to stop.
Archive: My site. Anywhere else, sure, just let me know where so I can come visit.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them. Son’t Westlife – “You Raised Me Up”
Author’s notes: For [info]chocolateseduce, hope you like it baby.
Date: 24/04/06
Copyright to Venom, 2006


And I am still
And wait here in this silence
Until you come
and sit a while with me


It’s the strangest thing, she thinks, but her brain has zeroed in on the fact that he is wearing socks.

She has waited over nine years for this moment, this feeling. She has loved this man for years, lived without him for far too long, they finally reach this – very - good part of their relationship and in the forefront of her mind is the fact that Air Force blue socks hug his feet.

The rest of him is gloriously naked, perspiration seeping through his pores with the effort of pounding her to the mattress, comforter over his shoulders, but the socks are in her mind.

It’s not that she minds – it’s winter and they’re in Minnesota, for God’s sake, if he didn’t make her this hot she’d be in socks too – she completely understands that his feet are probably cold, freezing even, but she just can’t stop thinking about them.

She forgets that Jack always could read her mind.

He stops.

She whimpers.

“Are they bothering you that much?”


“Sure?” He smiles, thrusts particularly hard – guh – into her and rubs their feet together.

The material is slightly scratchy against her instep, a complete contract to the hair of his leg that brushes against hers at the movement and she is surprised that a shudder passes through her body, centering between her legs, at the contact.

His socks are turning me on. God help me.

Her hands move to his hips, pulling him closer.

Sam can feel every delectable inch as he slides into her, pushing, pushing, pushing. Her body is stretched, he is bigger than her other lovers, and the burn that takes hold of her at each pull of her flesh heightens the arousal and she doesn’t think that she can handle much more of this but she doesn’t want him to stop.

Whimpers, moans, little screams are forcefully pulled from her, the sounds making their way from her body of their own accord. Her belly is wound tight, she was ready to explode when they fell into the bedroom kissing and he has expertly kept her at the brink of orgasm for almost an hour.

He wont let her come until he is good and ready; he told her that right before he bit at her clit.

All of her blood has headed south and she can feel herself, swollen and slick for him as he plays her body. Her legs ache slightly, wound around his hips, cradling him to her. She is open and vulnerable but has never felt more safe and loved in her life.

Her neck bears the mark of his teeth and she sadistically hopes that the red marks will stay with her until he sees fit to imprint them again. Her lips are swollen from his kisses and her nipples ache from arousal and his handling of them.

Samantha Carter's body has been used and abused and she has loved every second of it.

Now she just wants to come.

But, the socks…

“They bother you.”

She doesn’t know how on Earth - or any of the other planets they’ve been to – he has the ability to even think while he does this to her. Her brain has long since waved a white flag in surrender and melted out of her ear, refusing to operate any longer.

His foot has continued the slow strokes across her instep – kind of like patting your head and rubbing your stomach, she thinks – and the scratchy feeling and the shudders have continued with it.

Her feet are normally ticklish, the only part of her that is, and she would normally squeal like a girl and try to get away from the feeling. The urge to squeal is upon her now, but not in the bad way.

Sam shakes her head.

She really can’t have a conversation with him like this. He’s in her, so very deep, and his eyes are locked on hers, making her feel like the center of his universe. She loves his voice, her body certainly loves him talking, the deep gravelly tones promise seduction and pleasure, but she just doesn’t have the ability to speak back.

“What’s the matter, Sammie?” His voice is whiskey and sex, a delirious combination, but it’s taken on a teasing tone that furthers her desire to roll over and promise him any damn thing he wants.


“Can’t speak?”

She whimpers in response.

He is, apparently, happy with that, because one of the arms that was supporting his weight moves between their bodies to play in the wetness surrounding him at her entrance. His fingers dance across the sensitive skin with no goal in sight. She moves her hips, trying to get his talented fingers to move to her clit and just finish her because oh god oh god please let me come or die now!

Jack obliges after several long moments.

His thumb flicks across the little nub quickly and it’s enough because she’s been on the edge for nine long years and she just can’t take it.

The scream that is ripped from her is long and loud – reinforcing their need to be isolated for this – and he doesn’t stop moving. He thrusts pull her through the orgasm, never letting her down, never letting the tendrils of pleasure slow in their intensity, and the shudders continue until he buries his face in her neck and empties himself inside of her.

Oh God…

They don’t speak – she’s not even sure that she still can – as they recover. His body is limp over hers, sock-covered feet resting against her bare ones. Sweat has coated her, her forehead is starting to cool as the logs on the fire die down.

“You OK?”

She nods.

Jack kisses her neck – kisses his marks – his tongue flicking out briefly to soothe whatever damamge he did. “Sure?”

“Yes.” Her voice is hoarse. Sam isn’t embarrassed.


“Are you?”


“The socks really didn’t bother me you know.”

“I know.”

And they wont say the ‘L’ word – yet – but this is enough for now.