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campylobacterTITLE: "Bookends, or Six Ways 'Til Sunday"
AUTHOR: campylobacter
CATEGORY/PAIRING: Daniel/Vala
RATING: NC-17/Adult to PG-13/Teen, depending on the chapter
STATUS: complete
SEASON/SPOILERS: post-Continuum
ARCHIVE: Permission granted; drop me a URL if, for some reason, you aren't afraid to archive it -- I'll link to it from my blog.
GENRE: humor; romance: het, first time
WARNING: Implied bisexuality; language: f-bombs, the c-word... YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Don't act like you're hurt and wank at me.
SERIES: none
WORD COUNT: 13,182
DISCLAIMER: Stargate: SG-1 characters belong to MGM; any others are fictitious scenery and resemble your mom.
SUMMARY/SYNOPSIS/PREMISE: After an unexpected guest drops by, Daniel's apartment is never the same again. (The Home Crasher Trope meets archaeo-linguistics and pirate-goddess sexual mayhem, in that point of character development after Continuum.) Only enough plot to sustain the slap-slap-kiss porn.
Previous Chapter 1/10: The Front Door Rattles (PG-13/Teen) [1137 words]
Chapter 2/10: You're Trashing My Place (PG-13/Teen) [1181 words]
"Oh hello, hon! Join me and your precious bride in a hand of pinochle." My neighbor heaves a phlegmy cough and farts — simultaneously.
"Um, h-hi, Mrs..." I notice that some of my artifacts and the tchotchke Jack gave me are being used as game winnings.
"Darling, please fetch your delightful neighbor another beer." Vala waves airily toward the kitchen. "The rest should be cold by now."
"I, the— do you mean the six bottles of Weihenstephaner Korbinian that General Hammond" (requiescat in pacem) "gave me?" Okay, four bottles now.
"Why? It's certainly fit for consumption."
"I was saving— never mind. Are you using a Scientific American as an ashtray?"
"Should we have used Linguistic Atlas of England instead?"
"Ooh, I love pretzels," my neighbor says to no one in particular.
"Ah, Mrs. Cartman, would you please excuse us for a minute?" I give Vala a pointed glare and tilt my chin toward the kitchen. Vala sighs, coughs, and hands the cigar to my neighbor.
"Vala," I whisper, controlling my anger as we stand in the kitchen, "she's on anti-dementia and Alzheimer's medication and can't have alcohol let alone stay up this late and you're trashing my place and don't you remember what I said about disturbing me?"
Vala cocks her head, trying to look contrite, then leans close to say in those damned soft, smoky tones, "Of course. So I knocked on her door to borrow a blanket because the couch is rather cold without you in it."
I lean away, ostensibly from her beer-and-tobacco-scented breath, but also from the proximity that causes the beginnings of an inappropriate hard-on. "You are so sleeping on the back balcony now. Help me get her back to her apartment without waking the rest of the building."
The unfortunate woman is snoring on The Royal Hordes when we re-enter the den, and the unextinguished cigar has nearly burnt a hole through my magazine to the book beneath it.
"It was disappointingly non-hallucinogenic," sighs Vala, crushing out the cigar.
"I haven't even read that issue." Whatever. Sam says I'm wasting money on the subscription.
We lift my neighbor to a position where we can drag her with the least amount of noise and harm to her unit.
"Oh look — it's locked." Gee, shock! And of course it's while I'm awkwardly supporting the woman's fustily humid underarm with my shoulder while trying her door.
"Pocket," whispers Vala, counterbalancing the weight and nodding to a floppy patch on the neighbor's stained housedress.
I close my eyes as I insinuate my hand into the pocket, and wince; my fingers have brushed against a slimy tissue.
"Oh look — here they are," Vala echoes in mock astonishment, jangling keys from her elegant fingers. I seize them and open the door to the dumbfounded face of my neighbor's middle-aged son.
"Help us get your mom inside," I tell him.
"So," Vala says as we settle the woman in greasy, stale-smelling sheets stuck to a sleeper sofa that likely never serves as a sofa, "is it the custom of your culture to live off the government stipend of one's aged parent in order to shirk earning a living, with no oversight if said parent's health and well-being suffer from neglect?"
"That's an uninformed, morally selective viewpoint," sniffs the son. "Besides, I collect Disability."
"For what? Gluttony and sloth?"
"Vala." I use my "we are leaving now" tone.
She shrugs and leads the way out. I'm not, not looking at the insolent twist in her hips as she strides back into my apartment.
"Vala, all this is too childish — even for you." In the den, I wave at her and the mess she's made of my home. Broken pretzels crunch underfoot. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Vala opens her mouth, a denial clearly on the tip of her tongue, then shuts it in defeat as she reads the anger on my face. She inhales, looks away, and says "Apparently, claiming I'm bored isn't an excuse."
"Bored as in 'Jack O'Neill at an extraction ceremony' bored? Or bored as in 'lonely' or 'horny'? Because everyone knows you mean either one. What I don't get is your lack of candor on the subject."
"'Lack of candor'?" She imitates Jack's tone too precisely, and frowns, incredulous. "Do you really wish me to be more explicit?"
"I wish that, that... you'd act like an adult and practice self-discipline and respect the personal space of others."
"Similar to the way you respect the personal space of others so very, very much that you hurt anyone who happens near your own personal space?"
I'm not gonna let her go Jack on me. "Vala, what gives you the right to intrude?"
She scoffs and closes her eyes in what looks like disbelief. "For someone of abnormally high intelligence, you have the thickest skull of any man I know. Haven't I earned the right?" She closes the gap between us by inches and continues in hushed tones; something in her voice breaks. "How many times must I renounce my old habits and join your quest even though I'm set on fire, raped, impregnated, abducted, tortured — or stand between you and a fatal staff blast, leave Tomin, reside in the sunless bowels of a mountain, and endure an interminable sequence of your rejections?"
I can't not look at her, but I brace myself against the way her eyes brighten with tears. "Is this where you break down and cry, I comfort you, have sex with you out of pity, then declare my undying devotion?" And then die, like in some Nicholas Sparks novel. "Because pity's not erotic."
"Pity? How dare—" She takes a deep breath and blinks away evidence of raw emotion. "Why are you martyring me to your perverse celibacy? Why not simply end this game?"
"I refuse to play your games, Vala." I win. I cross my arms and allow myself a smug smile that should put her in place.
"But it's ever so much fun, Daniel," she says with artificial cheer, and pantomimes talking hand puppets: "'Can we have a romantic relationship?' 'No!' 'Okay.' Game over." Then she hauls back and punches me in the face. Um, hard.
"OW! Gaah! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"We may as well end this the way it started. You like books. Think of it as a bookend." She aims a left hook at my midsection, but I block it and smack her jaw with my palm, pushing her against the wall and kicking her knees from under her as she collapses beneath me. A cascade of books falls around us, loosed from their shelves by the force of her impact.
She howls in surprised rage and wraps her hands around my neck; her fingers are unexpectedly hot. I grasp her wrists and jerk them away with a brute strength that leaves her gasping in pain. I fall on top of her, pinning her down with my weight, not letting go of her wrists.
"I'm gonna regret this, and I don't care." I cover her mouth with mine.
Next Chapter:
Chapter 3/10: A Point of Resistance (NC-17/Adult) [1109 words]
Following Chapters:
Chapter 4/10: Two Doorposts Beneath a Lintel (R/Mature) [1220 words]
Chapter 5/10: How She Wears My Name (NC-17/Adult) [1358 words]
Chapter 6/10: The Precarious Bed (NC-17/Adult) [1496 words]
Chapter 7/10: Something Simple (NC-17/Adult) [1149 words]
Chapter 8/10: Choke and Throttle (PG-13/Teen) [1189 words]
Chapter 9/10: Dining on the Spoils (PG-13/Teen) [1306 words]
Chapter 10/10: 100% Down (NC-17/Adult) [2099 words]
Entire "Bookends" story on 1 page at Google Docs
AUTHOR: campylobacter
CATEGORY/PAIRING: Daniel/Vala
RATING: NC-17/Adult to PG-13/Teen, depending on the chapter
STATUS: complete
SEASON/SPOILERS: post-Continuum
ARCHIVE: Permission granted; drop me a URL if, for some reason, you aren't afraid to archive it -- I'll link to it from my blog.
GENRE: humor; romance: het, first time
WARNING: Implied bisexuality; language: f-bombs, the c-word... YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Don't act like you're hurt and wank at me.
SERIES: none
WORD COUNT: 13,182
DISCLAIMER: Stargate: SG-1 characters belong to MGM; any others are fictitious scenery and resemble your mom.
SUMMARY/SYNOPSIS/PREMISE: After an unexpected guest drops by, Daniel's apartment is never the same again. (The Home Crasher Trope meets archaeo-linguistics and pirate-goddess sexual mayhem, in that point of character development after Continuum.) Only enough plot to sustain the slap-slap-kiss porn.
Previous Chapter 1/10: The Front Door Rattles (PG-13/Teen) [1137 words]
Chapter 2/10: You're Trashing My Place (PG-13/Teen) [1181 words]
"Oh hello, hon! Join me and your precious bride in a hand of pinochle." My neighbor heaves a phlegmy cough and farts — simultaneously.
"Um, h-hi, Mrs..." I notice that some of my artifacts and the tchotchke Jack gave me are being used as game winnings.
"Darling, please fetch your delightful neighbor another beer." Vala waves airily toward the kitchen. "The rest should be cold by now."
"I, the— do you mean the six bottles of Weihenstephaner Korbinian that General Hammond" (requiescat in pacem) "gave me?" Okay, four bottles now.
"Why? It's certainly fit for consumption."
"I was saving— never mind. Are you using a Scientific American as an ashtray?"
"Should we have used Linguistic Atlas of England instead?"
"Ooh, I love pretzels," my neighbor says to no one in particular.
"Ah, Mrs. Cartman, would you please excuse us for a minute?" I give Vala a pointed glare and tilt my chin toward the kitchen. Vala sighs, coughs, and hands the cigar to my neighbor.
"Vala," I whisper, controlling my anger as we stand in the kitchen, "she's on anti-dementia and Alzheimer's medication and can't have alcohol let alone stay up this late and you're trashing my place and don't you remember what I said about disturbing me?"
Vala cocks her head, trying to look contrite, then leans close to say in those damned soft, smoky tones, "Of course. So I knocked on her door to borrow a blanket because the couch is rather cold without you in it."
I lean away, ostensibly from her beer-and-tobacco-scented breath, but also from the proximity that causes the beginnings of an inappropriate hard-on. "You are so sleeping on the back balcony now. Help me get her back to her apartment without waking the rest of the building."
The unfortunate woman is snoring on The Royal Hordes when we re-enter the den, and the unextinguished cigar has nearly burnt a hole through my magazine to the book beneath it.
"It was disappointingly non-hallucinogenic," sighs Vala, crushing out the cigar.
"I haven't even read that issue." Whatever. Sam says I'm wasting money on the subscription.
We lift my neighbor to a position where we can drag her with the least amount of noise and harm to her unit.
"Oh look — it's locked." Gee, shock! And of course it's while I'm awkwardly supporting the woman's fustily humid underarm with my shoulder while trying her door.
"Pocket," whispers Vala, counterbalancing the weight and nodding to a floppy patch on the neighbor's stained housedress.
I close my eyes as I insinuate my hand into the pocket, and wince; my fingers have brushed against a slimy tissue.
"Oh look — here they are," Vala echoes in mock astonishment, jangling keys from her elegant fingers. I seize them and open the door to the dumbfounded face of my neighbor's middle-aged son.
"Help us get your mom inside," I tell him.
"So," Vala says as we settle the woman in greasy, stale-smelling sheets stuck to a sleeper sofa that likely never serves as a sofa, "is it the custom of your culture to live off the government stipend of one's aged parent in order to shirk earning a living, with no oversight if said parent's health and well-being suffer from neglect?"
"That's an uninformed, morally selective viewpoint," sniffs the son. "Besides, I collect Disability."
"For what? Gluttony and sloth?"
"Vala." I use my "we are leaving now" tone.
She shrugs and leads the way out. I'm not, not looking at the insolent twist in her hips as she strides back into my apartment.
"Vala, all this is too childish — even for you." In the den, I wave at her and the mess she's made of my home. Broken pretzels crunch underfoot. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Vala opens her mouth, a denial clearly on the tip of her tongue, then shuts it in defeat as she reads the anger on my face. She inhales, looks away, and says "Apparently, claiming I'm bored isn't an excuse."
"Bored as in 'Jack O'Neill at an extraction ceremony' bored? Or bored as in 'lonely' or 'horny'? Because everyone knows you mean either one. What I don't get is your lack of candor on the subject."
"'Lack of candor'?" She imitates Jack's tone too precisely, and frowns, incredulous. "Do you really wish me to be more explicit?"
"I wish that, that... you'd act like an adult and practice self-discipline and respect the personal space of others."
"Similar to the way you respect the personal space of others so very, very much that you hurt anyone who happens near your own personal space?"
I'm not gonna let her go Jack on me. "Vala, what gives you the right to intrude?"
She scoffs and closes her eyes in what looks like disbelief. "For someone of abnormally high intelligence, you have the thickest skull of any man I know. Haven't I earned the right?" She closes the gap between us by inches and continues in hushed tones; something in her voice breaks. "How many times must I renounce my old habits and join your quest even though I'm set on fire, raped, impregnated, abducted, tortured — or stand between you and a fatal staff blast, leave Tomin, reside in the sunless bowels of a mountain, and endure an interminable sequence of your rejections?"
I can't not look at her, but I brace myself against the way her eyes brighten with tears. "Is this where you break down and cry, I comfort you, have sex with you out of pity, then declare my undying devotion?" And then die, like in some Nicholas Sparks novel. "Because pity's not erotic."
"Pity? How dare—" She takes a deep breath and blinks away evidence of raw emotion. "Why are you martyring me to your perverse celibacy? Why not simply end this game?"
"I refuse to play your games, Vala." I win. I cross my arms and allow myself a smug smile that should put her in place.
"But it's ever so much fun, Daniel," she says with artificial cheer, and pantomimes talking hand puppets: "'Can we have a romantic relationship?' 'No!' 'Okay.' Game over." Then she hauls back and punches me in the face. Um, hard.
"OW! Gaah! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
"We may as well end this the way it started. You like books. Think of it as a bookend." She aims a left hook at my midsection, but I block it and smack her jaw with my palm, pushing her against the wall and kicking her knees from under her as she collapses beneath me. A cascade of books falls around us, loosed from their shelves by the force of her impact.
She howls in surprised rage and wraps her hands around my neck; her fingers are unexpectedly hot. I grasp her wrists and jerk them away with a brute strength that leaves her gasping in pain. I fall on top of her, pinning her down with my weight, not letting go of her wrists.
"I'm gonna regret this, and I don't care." I cover her mouth with mine.
Next Chapter:
Chapter 3/10: A Point of Resistance (NC-17/Adult) [1109 words]
Following Chapters:
Chapter 4/10: Two Doorposts Beneath a Lintel (R/Mature) [1220 words]
Chapter 5/10: How She Wears My Name (NC-17/Adult) [1358 words]
Chapter 6/10: The Precarious Bed (NC-17/Adult) [1496 words]
Chapter 7/10: Something Simple (NC-17/Adult) [1149 words]
Chapter 8/10: Choke and Throttle (PG-13/Teen) [1189 words]
Chapter 9/10: Dining on the Spoils (PG-13/Teen) [1306 words]
Chapter 10/10: 100% Down (NC-17/Adult) [2099 words]
Entire "Bookends" story on 1 page at Google Docs
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-12-15 01:31 am (UTC)Yes! This is so Daniel, and so Daniel/Vala—hot and a little messed up, but deliciously so.
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From: