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Title: A long time coming
Author: Venom_69
Category: Smut, angst
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: NC-17
Summary:
It’s never happened before
Spoilers: None, really.
Season/sequel: Late season 7, I assume
Archive: SJ, SJ adult,
Heliopolis, 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.
Author’s notes: Uh…..no explanations for this
one. *g*
Dedication: As always, for LEW. For Charlie for the beta because LEW was asleep. For my ‘special friend’
who was in a situation like this. Hope is all went well hon! *Wink*
Date: 20-9-2003
Copyright © to Venom, 2003
***
She’s
in her lab when the thoughts drift into her mind, picking at something alien and technological on her workbench. She’s
not *entirely* sure what it is, however, it 'bleeps' whenever she pokes at it. She doesn’t think about it much these
days, doesn’t really want to. But the situation between ‘them’ has changed again, and it’s started
to play on her mind.
She’s never come before, and it’s so depressing to think that a woman on the wrong
side of thirty has never, *never* experienced the supposed ‘thrill’ and ‘joys’ of an orgasm before.
Naturally, she’s never told any of other the three lovers that she’s had.
Jonas knew, but only because
they were engaged and he claimed that every woman he had ever been with had always ended up screaming in pleasure. She couldn’t
fake it with him, how could she fake something that she’d never experienced? He tried to make it happen for her, but
his needs always seemed to get in the way. She remembers laying on her back for a long time after he’d told her "Don’t
worry, it’ll happen this time."
She wanted to laugh in his face.
He had tried, yes, she gave him credit
for that, but it had never worked. And it had been so frustrating for him, right up until the point where he was shuddering,
groaning her name and coming inside her.
While that may have been great for him, the boneless collapsing on top of
her afterwards hadn’t been fun for her. Come to think of it, she hadn’t really enjoyed the sex either.
The
other two lovers, well…..both of them couldn't find her clitoris if they had a map, a flashlight and help from a tour
guide. They needed directions, and she knows how they feel about asking for those.
She’s worried about telling
him, telling him about her fears. Will he still want her after he knows that she is an orgasm-free woman? That she doesn’t
have it in her, whatever ‘it’ may be.
She had her first sexual experience at 15, and if she couldn’t
come in the twenty odd years since then, what hope does she have now?
And she’s tried, she really has.
Jonas
got it into his head that she simply didn’t *want* to come, which was what was holding her back. But she does want to
come. She wants to know if all of the Harlequin romances are right when they talk about the tendrils of ecstasy that flow
through your body, she wants to know if her breasts will really feel heavy as it approaches. She wants to feel it, she really
does, but it just doesn’t happen.
While she’s glad that her previous lovers could find pleasure in her
body, it doesn’t happen for her so she doesn’t see the point anymore. She wants to hit something. Wants to hit
something very hard and just get the frustration and the anger out of her.
And it’s so damn depressing, because
she want’s to tell him. She wants him to know that when they make love, she won’t be coming in his arms. She wont
be moaning from pleasure, she wont be sobbing his name when it gets to be too much.
She needs him to know.
But,
really, is it the kind of thing that she can just bring up in a casual conversation? "Hi honey, how was your day? Good? Yes,
mine was fine thanks for asking. By the way, did you know that I’ve never had an orgasm before? You didn’t? Oh.
Just thought you might like to know."
How is she supposed to tell the man that will soon be her lover that she’s
never known the meaning of pleasure. She’s never felt the ‘waves and waves’ of desire that Harlequin promised
her when she was a teenager.
She’s driving home now, to their home. It’s strange to say that, strange
to think that she shares her house and her life with someone, a man. She loves him, she has done for what seems life forever
but is probably only a few years, and she trusts him. She’d trust him with her life without a second’s hesitation,
but this? She doesn’t know whether she’s embarrassed or frustrated or desperate, but she just knows that talking
to him, especially about *this* will be hard.
She’s thinking that maybe she could fake it. Talk to Janet and
ask her what it really feels like so that she can fake it somewhat convincingly. Make it look like she’s really feeling
it so that he doesn’t think less of her.
The problem, however, with that plan, is that he knows her. He can
look at her and know when she’s lying. She may be a good actress, but she’ll never be good enough to fool him.
They haven’t made love yet simply because he wants their first time to be just like she does- perfect. But how
can it be perfect when she knows she wont come? When she knows that while he’s enjoying himself, and while she’ll
enjoy the closeness, the intimacy, she’ll still be going over her to do list for tomorrow?
She doesn’t
want it to be like that.
Not with him, not with them.
She’s home now, but she doesn’t remember much
of the drive. It worries her that she’s just spent twenty-five minutes behind the wheel of her car and she can’t
remember even half of it.
He’s at the window, smiling at her through the curtains that she made him buy.
She
smiles back, stepping nervously out of her car. She shouldn’t be nervous, this is him, this is *them.* She’s okay
with them, with him. She’s comfortable.
Her palms are sweating, her breath is caught somewhere between the back
of her throat and her lungs, contradicting the fact that she *knows* she’s comfortable with him.
Despite the
nerves, she walks calmly to their front door and waits as he opens it. He kisses her, lightly, to say hello and she tenses.
"Sam?" He asks and she smiles, but it’s forced.
She wants to reassure him, but it doesn’t even sound sincere
to her own ears even as she says, "I’m okay."
"Tell me what’s wrong." He knows. He knows she’s lying.
She can’t even say she’s okay without him knowing, how could she fake something she knows nothing about?
She
was okay with this, she could do this. She could tell him, but be calm about it, be cool, professional. "I don’t come."
Oh
yeah, there’s the coolness.
He looks amused. "Oh really?" He thinks she meant to say something else and buggered
it up, she can tell.
"No, you don’t understand. I mean coming, as in an orgasm. I don’t have them." She’s
vaguely aware, in some small part of her brain that isn’t dying of embarrassment, that she’s shaking.
"Never?"
Now he looks concerned.
"Never." She confirms, and the shaking only gets worse as he stares at her, his damn eyes wont
look away from her.
Now he’s grinning. "Well, we can change that."
His grin doesn’t help stop the
shaking and she stumbles as she speaks. "No, I can’t have them. My body isn’t…..capable of it."
"Sam,
your body is capable of anything. Trust me." His eyes are sincere, and she wants to trust him, but she knows it wont happen.
She’s spent a fortune on batteries *trying* to make it happen. But she always gets bored after a while, and she just
doesn’t feel it.
She shakes her head, her cheeks flaming. "It doesn’t happen. It never has. It never will.
I just needed you to know that, I understand if you don’t want me anymore….."
He kisses her then, to shut
her up. She thinks for a moment that maybe he does still want her, because, hey, he’ll still get something out of it.
But she knows him, and that isn’t him.
His hands are on her waist, and she can feel the heat of them through
her T-shirt. She liked kissing him. Kissing is good, and it gives her tingles, but no ‘unbearable pleasure.’
If
they could leave it at kissing, then she’d be fine. He pulls back from her mouth, his hands never leaving her hips.
"Relax." He told her.
She wants to, but she knows that no matter how much she wants this, it just nothing going not
happen. "I am relaxed." She replies, but they both know she’s lying.
He moves her backwards until she standing
at the end of the couch. He looks at her and shakes his head. "Not here." He decides, but she doesn’t follow his meaning.
She walks dutifully behind him as they head to their bedroom. It’s still his bed in there, but her mother’s
comforter. She stands at the foot of the bed, not knowing what to do with herself. She’s not good at this, never has
been.
He looks at her, very serious. "Do you trust me?"
She’s stopped shaking now, which is a good thing.
"You know I do."
"Then trust me to make it happen." Wow, he’s a lot more ambitious than she ever gave him credit
for, she thinks. She’s damn sure that it won’t work, that they’re both in for a disappointment, but she
nods anyway.
And, hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying.
At his insistence, she step to him again, pressing
herself against him as his mouth found hers once more. Yes, she definitely likes the kissing.
His hands aren’t
idle, but then again, they never are. She can feel his fingers slipping under her shirt to rub against the skin of her stomach.
She likes his hands, she likes them touching her, but nothing happens. She feels love, yes, but she doesn’t feel the
overwhelming urge to rip her hair out because of the ‘mindless pleasure.’
She thinks Harlequin lied to
her.
He pulls back, fingers still stroking her skin as he speaks. "Stop thinking about it."
"I can’t."
She admits, eyes downcast. Maybe this is what Jonas was talking about, she wonders. Maybe the fact that she can’t stop
thinking about how it won’t happen stops her body from letting it happening.
She has the urge to hit something
again.
He leans in once more and his lips descend on her neck, sucking softly at the flesh. She moans, but more out
of surprise than arousal, which, really, is quite sad. She feels him smile against her skin, mistaking her moan for the start
of something big.
She knows that she’s going to disappoint him, and she has a sickening feeling in her stomach
that it will either make or break their relationship. She wants him, she has for a while, but she wants to be able to give
something to him as well.
If only, her mind taunts.
His hands pull her top from the waistband of her jeans
and she tenses again. "Relax," He repeats, his voice soothing.
The next thing that she knows, the room has spun and
she’s lying on the bed, her shirt and bra somewhere by the door. He really is a lot more talented than she ever gave
him credit for.
She can feel the muscles in her stomach tense under his touch as his warm hands fiddle with the button
and zip of her jeans. She’s not so nervous at the moment, but as his hands grip the sides of her jeans and panties,
she feels her body go as stiff as a board as he easily slips them down her legs and off, being thrown over his shoulder and
forgotten
He crawls back up her body to lay beside her, pulling her body into the crook of his arms and turning so
that he can look down at her. "We don’t have to do this." He tells her, ever the gentleman.
"I want to, I want
to share this with you…..I just wanted you to know that I won’t have the same reactions as other women you’ve
been with." She fights to keep ridiculous tears from her eyes as she thinks of the other women that he has been with.
"Sam,
other women don’t matter now. You’re all that matters to me. And you need to stop thinking about this. If it doesn’t
happen, then it doesn’t, but I’m certainly willing to try." His eyes have taken on a mischievous glint and she
felt a shiver run through her body.
His hand lightly traces the side of her body, from her ear to her knee, briefly
detouring to play with her breasts and lightly pinch her nipples. She felt her skin tingle, following the path that his hand
takes and she wonders why.
Coming to rest on the juncture of her thighs, he lightly nudges them apart with his hands
and she shifts willingly. She wants to tell him that this wont work either, that others had tried, hell, *she* had tried,
and nothing ever came of it. But she loses the ability to speak as his hands make contact with the growing wetness between
her legs.
His fingers are gentle and sure as he probes into her desire, a smile on his face. She’s never been
this wet before, ever. Every time she’s ever had sex previously, it had been with a lot of KY jelly, but this is natural,
and she feels oddly proud of her body for reacting to him this way.
His long, slender, finger gently and easily slips
into her and she feels her body tense at the invasion. It’s been a while since she had another human being anywhere
near that area, apart from her physicals. She’s a little embarrassed, but his eyes are sure and full of promise as he
lightly touches her, his caress teasing.
The caressing continues for several minutes and she’s starting to feel
warm. Her belly is alternating between tingling and tensing, her breasts are getting heavy, the wetness between her legs is
growing and her eyes are locked with his.
"Come." He orders.
She’s gripping the comforter, her body
is shaking and she wants him to get the hell away from her before she explodes. What the hell his happening? She needs him
to stop touching her because he keeps hitting some spot inside of her that is making her body arch of the bed.
She’s
dying, she has to be dying. Whatever is happening to her body, it sure as hell isn’t natural. And then it stops. The
tingling is still there, but only minimal and his hand is resting on her hip, her essence still on the finger that rubs her
hipbone.
Her breathing is fast and she can’t talk. She feels lost, like she’s missing out. His eyes lock
onto her and she can’t help but loose herself in the intensity of his gaze. She sees everything he feels for her, the
love, desire, trust, passion.
She’s too caught up in what his eyes are saying that she misses the fact that his
hand has moved. He touches her again, the pad of his finger going straight to the hood of her clitoris to circle, hard and
fast. Her body can’t handle this, she thinks. But then the thinking stops.
And the breathing.
And the
heart beating.
And the pulse.
There are words ready to leave her mouth, but all she manages is a choked version
of something resembling, "God…."
Harlequin is right, she thinks. Her breasts are heavy, she does want to pull
her hair out from the unbearable pleasure, there are tendrils of pleasure flowing through her, she does want to scream, ‘thrills’
and ‘joy’ don’t even begin to describe what she’s feeling.
His mouth is right next to her ear,
suckling softly on the lobe, his voice understandably smug. "Welcome to your first orgasm Sam."
She moans, low from
the back of her throat and she’s hardly certain that the sound came form her. "Jack….."
Harlequin didn’t
do it justice, she decides.
***
Please don’t smoke in my office! I enjoy sex a lot more than you enjoy
smoking and you don’t see me screwing in your office
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