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escapingreality2008-07-17 06:32 pm
scruffyduck.livejournal.com) wrote in escapingreality2008-07-17 06:32 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Title: Forever Regret It.
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rolleson
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: NC-17/18/Way Adult
Pairing: Jack/Sam, with emphasis on the Jack bit.
Warnings: Dark!fic.
Summery: He wants to hurt her.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: I wrote this a while ago, hadpurple_shoes beta it, then I dunno what happened. So I thought I would post it. 1018 words.
He’s not completely sure when it started.
That first day maybe, that first kiss? He’s not sure if he was angry from the start because he couldn’t have her. Can’t have her.
He knows that it’s been building up.
The closer she gets the further away he wants to push her.
He holds on to her with one hand, an angry grip and pushes her away hard with the other but he knows somewhere along the line she’s pulled out of his grip.
Struggled out of his grip.
He’s now pushing more than he’s holding on and she’s turning away from him.
Turned away from him.
Turned to Teal’c, to Pete, to Daniel.
Daniel.
She’s taken her problems to him, held him, kissed him.
It hurts him, angers him, that she’s shared those moments with Daniel because they mean something, have standing.
He’s held her too, kissed her, wants to kiss her again but it means nothing, has meant nothing.
She’d had another man, could have another man.
Couldn’t have him.
It makes him angry, hurts him so much and every time he sees her it flares up inside of him.
The anger. The desire.
He wants her.
He wants to fuck her, wants to hurt her. He wants to make her scream so hard that she strains her vocal cords.
Tied to his bed, her bed, any bed, anything. Handcuffs, rope, silk ties.
Blindfolded.
Because he could never let her see his eyes, his face, as he does any of these things.
Could never let her see him because he’s not for her. Couldn’t let her see what he feels for her, that he feels anything at all for her.
Lust mixed with intense anger and something he identifies as love but isn't happy about.
And he doesn’t know when that started either. That first day, that first kiss, that first death.
He doesn't want to love her, he just does.
He does want to hurt her, though. Like he hurts. Not so she can feel what he feels, just so he can do something about it. Anything.
Hurt her, love her, fuck her. Suddenly it’s all the same.
He wants to hit her. Spank her. With his hand, with a whip.
Mark her skin.
Break her skin.
Drag a knife across her stomach, her back, her breasts. Little lines of red, little drops her blood.
He's not sadistic, it's not a power trip, it isn't some dominant…thing, he just wants to hurt her, love her, fuck her.
He wants to mark her as his, his little toy, his little slut. Because she could never be anything more than a something, a thing. He wants to fuck her into submission, fuck her until she breaks, snaps and turns the tables on him.
He wants to slide his dick inside her, he wants to slide other stuff inside her too.
A knife.
Sometimes, sometimes he wants to do that.
He's fucked up and he knows it, he admits it.
Sometimes he loves it.
Hurt her, love her, fuck her.
When did he get this angry? He has no idea but he wants more, wants everything.
He wants her on her back, on her knees, on all fours, bent over backwards.
For him. All for him.
Except it isn't, because he could do some of this to any woman, any person. If it wasn't for her then this wouldn't be anything.
She’s not for him.
Damn her.
He wants her. He loves her.
Sometimes, in just a few rare moments of intense pain and anger and hurt and love he wants to kill her.
Not himself. Her.
Choke her.
He loves her too much to do that but he loves her enough and hates it all enough to want to choke her to death.
He wants to choke her anyway. Cut off her breathing so she panics for the briefest of moments. He likes that idea more than he should.
He's a sick, fucked up man. He knows it, hates it, hates himself, hates her.
He loves her too.
And wants her badly.
Wants to feel her come. On his tongue, fingers, dick. Wants to hear him cry out, beg him for more, beg him to stop.
Beg him to stop fucking her, stop loving her, stop hating her.
He wants to come too.
Come hard. On her, in her, while hurting her, loving her.
Oh God, he wants her.
He wants to go to her house, break in and take her.
He wants to hurt her, love her, fuck her.
But most of all he just wants to kiss her.
Hard, fast, soft, slow. His lips against hers, tongue, teeth. Sweet and sexy, everything and nothing all at once.
He wants to kiss her, like he has done before because that's all he'd ever had of her and he's sure that's all he ever have of her.
Despite that he wants to hurt her, love her, fuck her.
If a kiss is all he can ever have then he wants it to mean something, mean everything to him and to her and to everyone.
Despite the desire and the hate and anger and the every little thing, the sex is meaningless, he is meaningless and so are they.
But a kiss, he could tell her everything, have her close her eyes and let her know everything but he knows he can never say the words.
There aren’t any words, none that could convey the intense anger and lust and love and hate he feels for her, when he sees her.
He wants to kiss her, it’s been such a long time since he did but he keeps pushing her away and wanting her even more and it’s just not going to happen.
He has to live with this want, the desire to hurt her, love her, fuck her. The images and fantasies that appear in his head so strongly, so vivid every time he sees her, hears her voice.
Or when someone mentions her name.
He has to live with all this, without her.
He’ll forever regret it.
Author:
rolleson Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Rating: NC-17/18/Way Adult
Pairing: Jack/Sam, with emphasis on the Jack bit.
Warnings: Dark!fic.
Summery: He wants to hurt her.
Spoilers: None.
Notes: I wrote this a while ago, had
purple_shoes beta it, then I dunno what happened. So I thought I would post it. 1018 words.He’s not completely sure when it started.
That first day maybe, that first kiss? He’s not sure if he was angry from the start because he couldn’t have her. Can’t have her.
He knows that it’s been building up.
The closer she gets the further away he wants to push her.
He holds on to her with one hand, an angry grip and pushes her away hard with the other but he knows somewhere along the line she’s pulled out of his grip.
Struggled out of his grip.
He’s now pushing more than he’s holding on and she’s turning away from him.
Turned away from him.
Turned to Teal’c, to Pete, to Daniel.
Daniel.
She’s taken her problems to him, held him, kissed him.
It hurts him, angers him, that she’s shared those moments with Daniel because they mean something, have standing.
He’s held her too, kissed her, wants to kiss her again but it means nothing, has meant nothing.
She’d had another man, could have another man.
Couldn’t have him.
It makes him angry, hurts him so much and every time he sees her it flares up inside of him.
The anger. The desire.
He wants her.
He wants to fuck her, wants to hurt her. He wants to make her scream so hard that she strains her vocal cords.
Tied to his bed, her bed, any bed, anything. Handcuffs, rope, silk ties.
Blindfolded.
Because he could never let her see his eyes, his face, as he does any of these things.
Could never let her see him because he’s not for her. Couldn’t let her see what he feels for her, that he feels anything at all for her.
Lust mixed with intense anger and something he identifies as love but isn't happy about.
And he doesn’t know when that started either. That first day, that first kiss, that first death.
He doesn't want to love her, he just does.
He does want to hurt her, though. Like he hurts. Not so she can feel what he feels, just so he can do something about it. Anything.
Hurt her, love her, fuck her. Suddenly it’s all the same.
He wants to hit her. Spank her. With his hand, with a whip.
Mark her skin.
Break her skin.
Drag a knife across her stomach, her back, her breasts. Little lines of red, little drops her blood.
He's not sadistic, it's not a power trip, it isn't some dominant…thing, he just wants to hurt her, love her, fuck her.
He wants to mark her as his, his little toy, his little slut. Because she could never be anything more than a something, a thing. He wants to fuck her into submission, fuck her until she breaks, snaps and turns the tables on him.
He wants to slide his dick inside her, he wants to slide other stuff inside her too.
A knife.
Sometimes, sometimes he wants to do that.
He's fucked up and he knows it, he admits it.
Sometimes he loves it.
Hurt her, love her, fuck her.
When did he get this angry? He has no idea but he wants more, wants everything.
He wants her on her back, on her knees, on all fours, bent over backwards.
For him. All for him.
Except it isn't, because he could do some of this to any woman, any person. If it wasn't for her then this wouldn't be anything.
She’s not for him.
Damn her.
He wants her. He loves her.
Sometimes, in just a few rare moments of intense pain and anger and hurt and love he wants to kill her.
Not himself. Her.
Choke her.
He loves her too much to do that but he loves her enough and hates it all enough to want to choke her to death.
He wants to choke her anyway. Cut off her breathing so she panics for the briefest of moments. He likes that idea more than he should.
He's a sick, fucked up man. He knows it, hates it, hates himself, hates her.
He loves her too.
And wants her badly.
Wants to feel her come. On his tongue, fingers, dick. Wants to hear him cry out, beg him for more, beg him to stop.
Beg him to stop fucking her, stop loving her, stop hating her.
He wants to come too.
Come hard. On her, in her, while hurting her, loving her.
Oh God, he wants her.
He wants to go to her house, break in and take her.
He wants to hurt her, love her, fuck her.
But most of all he just wants to kiss her.
Hard, fast, soft, slow. His lips against hers, tongue, teeth. Sweet and sexy, everything and nothing all at once.
He wants to kiss her, like he has done before because that's all he'd ever had of her and he's sure that's all he ever have of her.
Despite that he wants to hurt her, love her, fuck her.
If a kiss is all he can ever have then he wants it to mean something, mean everything to him and to her and to everyone.
Despite the desire and the hate and anger and the every little thing, the sex is meaningless, he is meaningless and so are they.
But a kiss, he could tell her everything, have her close her eyes and let her know everything but he knows he can never say the words.
There aren’t any words, none that could convey the intense anger and lust and love and hate he feels for her, when he sees her.
He wants to kiss her, it’s been such a long time since he did but he keeps pushing her away and wanting her even more and it’s just not going to happen.
He has to live with this want, the desire to hurt her, love her, fuck her. The images and fantasies that appear in his head so strongly, so vivid every time he sees her, hears her voice.
Or when someone mentions her name.
He has to live with all this, without her.
He’ll forever regret it.