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Nobody's Crying

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He comes to her door at 3 am in khakis and a leather coat.

And she really is surprised, even as she knows that it has been coming for a while. Somewhere along the way - between dead friends and Maybourne and melting skin - the current between them had stopped sparking and had become something solid and infinitely more dangerous.

He doesn’t ask for permission. She wouldn’t have had time to give it anyway, because he’s already inside with his mouth crushing almost painfully onto hers, and it’s all she can do to brace herself against the hallway wall.

He’s angry. Anger proportionate to how scared he was, and so she knows that he’s furious. And she’s – well, she’s numb. Her nerves are screaming against nothing, and it’s only in this extreme that she’d ever let this happen.

His hands are sliding over her shoulders and down her back, pressing her hips against his. A moan comes up and out before she can stop it, and she opens her mouth to let him in.

His fingers are tugging at her robe, and it’s halfway down her arms, catching her elbows in the sleeves. One hand holds there while the other slides up over her stomach and caresses her breast through her pajama top.

She breaks away on a gasp. She isn't sure how much of this is simple lust for him, and how much of it is something else. She’s not going to ask what that something else is, because she feels like she should already know the answer.

The fact that she doesn’t keeps the question lodged in her throat.

Finally feeling the need to move, she jerks forward until she has enough space to remove the robe completely and free her hands. Jack doesn’t stop, just lets her have her way while managing to keep his.

He’s pushing her, backing her up out of the hallway and in the direction of her bedroom. He’s discarded his leather coat and now he’s working on her top, pulling away to raise her arms roughly over her head, followed quickly by her shirt.

She can’t seem to catch her breath, and she desperately wants to ask him to slow down. But there’s also a part of Sam Carter that is finally opening up, a part that wants to yank him closer and egg him on, the part that’s been trembling violently while everything else was paralyzed.

She’s mostly naked by the time they knock into the doorway of her bedroom, and she’s still stumbling backwards, trying to keep her balance. His movements are jerky and impatient, and he’s breathing too loud in this weird silence they’ve been keeping.

But all they can do now is ignore it, because it’s too late to stop and take stock or take it all back. She thinks it’s been too late for a long time.

She falls onto the bed and pulls him down after her, barely dodging an elbow as it falls next to her head. Then he’s back up on his knees and they’re both fumbling desperately at his belt buckle. She wonders, oddly, why he bothered since he knew what he wanted to happen, but then the belt and his jeans are unfastened and she’s moving on to other things.

His teeth are scraping against her neck when he enters her, and she can’t help but arch upwards in response. It’s harder than she thought it would be, her hands are fisting against the small of his back, and she’s not sure which one of them he’s punishing, her or himself.

Suddenly, deep inside her, he stops. Stops completely, with an elbow beside her head trembling with weight and need, the other grasping to her hip.

He stares down and she stares up. It’s like he’s just now starting to see her, and his eyes squeeze shut as his forehead drops to rest against hers.

The change is so rapid. Too fast and too telling, and she wants it to go back to the way it was. Her throat is aching as she slides her hands over the slick skin of his back to slip into his hair.

They’re both shaking, breathing against each other, stomachs sticking as sweat cools. Jack brings his arm up to match the other, and raises his head just far enough to meet her eyes again.

Tentatively, she lifts her hips against his and feels his groan vibrate through her chest. He pushes into her, and holds there, then deeper still, and holds again. He stays there until the tension is building again and she’s digging her heels into his calves.

She clenches around him, and this seems to spur him into action once more. He starts to thrust again, slower this time but with the same intensity as before. She’s moving with him, and somehow it’s not so different from how they move together every day.

She can feel his breath fast against her cheek, the rough of his hand against her stomach as it dips down between their bodies.

And, as the world fades into nothing around her, she feels his fingertips at her temple.

------

Not long afterward, he moves away to sit on the side of the bed.

She watches him for a minute, not trusting herself to say anything.

He breaks the quiet first. “I’m sorry.”

She pulls her knees up against her chest and looks at the gray light filtering in through the blinds of her window. Her stomach is twisting and turning around his words. “You shouldn’t be sorry for feeling something.”

Wry humor crinkles his eyes. “As I recall, I felt several somethings.”

She barks out a laugh and smiles wide, feeling more affection for him in that moment than she’s felt in a long time.

But it’s short-lived. Nothing that warm can last long in gray light.

She takes a deep breath and tries to feel nothing. “It’s alright. Really.”

He sighs heavily, and drops his head into his hands. “It won’t happen again.”

She blinks her eyes against the burning. “I know.”

She won’t ask why it happened now. She doesn’t think he knows.

It’s quiet for a while, the air heavy with all the things they can’t say. He drops his hands, but his head stays low as he turns to look at her. “Carter”-

Whatever he’s about to tell her is too much. “It’s okay to just go. I’ll be fine.” She can only smile slightly and hope that it shows more peace than she feels.

He watches her, and for a moment she doesn’t think he’ll leave. But then it doesn’t matter if he actually believes her because he still gets up to pull on his shirt.

He takes his time getting dressed. She watches as he pulls on his shoes, tied laces and all, and as he walks to her bedroom door.

Just before he goes through, he pauses. She can hear him tap his knuckle against the wood once, twice. “I’ll see you at work on Monday?”

Her answer is immediate and sure. “Of course.”

He nods softly at her and leaves.

Later, after she’s clean and back in bed watching yellow light replace gray, she swears she can still feel his warmth against her back.