Rigel (n) : awesomesaucery

*coughs*

My first fic post and it's porn... why am I not surprised! Look away if you're not so inclined :D I'll dedicate this to surrealphantast as she and I share the Sam/Cam = shiny squee!

“Five Minutes To Midnight” – Deleted Scene
By Rigel

Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, nor do I intend to profit from them.
Rating: NC-17
Characters/Pairing: Cameron Mitchell/Samantha Carter
Category: AU, Het, PWP
Content Warnings: Gratuitous Sexual Situations
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1080
Summary: “You know she’s not asleep.”
Author’s Note: This is an un-beta’ed deleted scene (that I’ve added to slightly) from my upcoming spacepirate_fic ficathon story. The porniness didn’t quite fit in with the overall tone – but hey! It can stand alone as a separate snippet and a preview!

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She stands, hesitant, in the open doorway; silhouetted against the faint light from the corridor, boots already in hand. You can see her scanning the room for a free sleeping space that she can curl up in to rest before the next shift.

As she picks her way carefully past the makeshift pallets on the floor, you reach out to tap her on the ankle. She crouches by your head. You can make out the outline of her dog tags as they swing slightly against the outside of her t-shirt.

You’ve been waiting for her.

“Here.” You scoot over slightly and pat the still warm space you’ve created for her.

“Thanks.” She arranges herself neatly alongside you, tugging at the blanket which you relinquish good-naturedly.

You wait for her to settle and relax slightly against you, her back curved against your body, before you drape your arm over her waist, splaying your fingers above her hipbone.

When you first started doing this – you haven’t a name for it yet, you were scrupulously careful not to intrude on her space. You would hold yourself rigidly in check, even as she sleepily turned into you, nuzzling in beneath your collar bone, her breath hot and sweet against your bare skin.

Gradually you had let your guard down, let yourself relax, told yourself you were being stupid. It was entirely platonic, there was no reason to avoid O’Neill at the morning briefings. But there was still that lingering feeling of guilt, that it was you she spent her nights with.

That whole platonic thing – yeah, you’d been kidding yourself with that.

It still feels wrong, but you can’t help yourself.

You concentrate on picking out the sounds around you. The low and even breathing of exhausted men and women, the occasional incoherent mutter that breaks the silence. It’s not entirely silent though, you can hear the low hum of the air processing units, and beneath that the deeper note of the Prometheus’ engines.

You let your fingers move slightly at her hip, feeling the rough weave of the material on her fatigues. Very slowly, you slip one finger up beneath the tight fitting t-shirt to brush briefly against the sensitive skin there.

You know she’s not asleep. She tilts her head back slightly and shifts lazily, pressing backwards in encouragement.

You slide your thumb beneath her shirt, caressing softly – she’s smooth on her belly, you love the feel of her, warm against your palm. You work your way upwards to cup one breast, the prickle of the laced edge of her bra catches at your fingertips.

You tug downwards; baring her, and skim the underside of her breast with the back of your hand, teasing at the nipple, before drifting back downwards to trace sigils against her skin. Her t-shirt pulls your hand against her, the pressure firm and even.

She leans back further, wriggling slightly so that her ass brushes against you suggestively, her hand coming up to rest against your wrist as you explore her completely. You still her with a touch, two fingers against her lips as her tongue darts out between them.

You circle her erect nipple with your thumb, the lightest of touches as you enjoy her further arousal, her breath slowing, the hand at your wrist directing you at her pleasure.

You long to flip her onto her back, strip her naked, and bury yourself in her scent and her body as she cries out encouragement, her legs wrapped around your waist. A smile drifts across your features at the thought, and distracted, you let your fingers still for a moment.

Her insistent squeeze – a pinch at your wrist, pulls you back to the delicious sensation of having her pressed against your palm. You smile, leaning forward to nip at her earlobe as you turn your attention to the waistband of her BDUs.

Her hands join yours, unbuttoning slowly - careful not to make the tell-tale sound of the zipper apparent. You slip your hand beneath her panties, sliding lower, drawing your fingers slowly through her pubic hair, which crinkles against your palm.

She shifts her legs apart a little wider, her breath hitching slightly, as you run the edge of your fingernail against the outer folds of her labia. You slide your finger against her, finding her already wet and slippery as you begin slow and deliberate strokes back and forth.

You feather lightly against her clit, the slightest caress and are rewarded as her breath begins to shallow. You dip into her, teasing her by crooking your finger slightly, before withdrawing to begin all over again.

Each time, you advance a little further, sliding your finger, and then later both fingers deeper. She’s shifted again, almost lying on her back, her knees drawn up slightly. She moves her hips slightly at each thrust, the muscles in her thighs are tense and quivering.

You alter your pattern, careful not to make a predictable rhythm. You begin to press a little more firmly on her clit, your fingers now slippery and deft. Her hand has left your wrist and lies curled near her face, occasionally flexing as you find something new that she likes.

You ignore your pressing erection - you concentrate on her delight, reveling in every small sound, the way that she breathes through her nose the more she’s aroused, the way she captures her bottom lip between her teeth.

Your fingers become more insistent, stroking her, rubbing against her most sensitive parts, you sense she’s close, and begin a slow friction against her clit, building in pressure until you hold it just at the point she likes it.

You move faster now, coaxing her climax along. It’s just the pad of your finger pressing against her. Her legs have straightened; her breaths shallowed to almost nothing. Her whole body tenses as she comes; silent shudders as she quivers around you.

You cup her, feeling the ripples travel through your hand to disperse within your own body. She relaxes completely, her limbs limp and torpid. You press a kiss to her collarbone, tasting saltiness there.

You’ll carry the scent of her on your hands to your next shift.

She turns toward you, running a provocative hand down your chest. You capture it, and hold it - now is not the time or place. She smiles, understanding, and closes her eyes.

You watch her as she sleeps, imprinting her on your memory.

Definitely not platonic.

EDIT and the fic that this was deleted from "Five Minutes to Midnight" is now posted. (Cameron Mitchell, apocafic, gen, PG-13)