Beauty In The Broken

Beauty In The Broken---Shattered

Skin.

Sensation, slick. Calloused palms—tender on pale softness.

Heat. Rough against smooth. Slow, tingle, sweet, smooth.

His fingers, nimble at her buttons, slowly—wonderfully—drawing her tunic aside. Cool within the heat. Fingers first—almost in wonder—then lips, teeth, and tongue. Her own hands roaming—exploring wide, strong planes of chest and back, the curve of his shoulder, raking through his hair—encouraging, learning–slower, closer, more, more. More.

Shivers and sighs—quiet, sigh-moan, quiet.

"Thera." So light against her skin, his stubble tickled as he breathed her name. "So beautiful. So damned beautiful."

His cheek was bristly under her palm. She was finally real. Complete. "Please, Jonah."

Slow–still. Joy–agony–release–fear–hot–tense. Shattering-whole-new.

Drowsy, eyes closed, lips parted. Here—him.

Reverent–worship—sweet, so, so sweet. Deep. Lush. Profound.

Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful.

—-OOOOOOO—-

Alone.

Sam glared into the darkness, suddenly and completely awake. Despite the chill of her room, she was hot—too much so—and her forehead was slick with sweat. Her breath came in deep, wracking sobs—as if she'd just run a marathon—and her feet and legs were tangled in her sheets and comforter.

She'd been dreaming again.

Pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes, she sucked in a deep breath, holding it for a count of five and then breathing out slowly. Then, she did it again.

And again.

Carefully, deliberately, she kicked at the tousled bedding until she was free, and then drew herself up into a seated position, pivoting on her butt until she was perched on the edge of her bed.

Her head hurt. Her lungs ached. Every muscle–every nerve–was knotted—tensed—sore.

And her heart—

Well, her heart hadn't been quite the same since that moment a week or so ago. Since reality had hit her with cruel clarity and she'd had her world explode around her in searing, anguished flames.

"Sir."

His eyes. Dark, troubled, raw. Anger roiling in their depths as furiously as agony was tumbling within her core. Realization had been just that cold, and harsh, and horrific.

"Sir."

Sam squinched her eyes tightly, fighting against the flood of memories that assailed her. Because they were memories—hidden within the dreams-–and they had plagued her nightly since SG-1's return to Earth from the mines that mazed beneath the city of ice.

Each evening, she'd gone to sleep, desperate for rest, only to wake in the dead of night, trembling and shaken. The images roiling through her head had left her pale, and wanting, and needy. Night after night, they'd jolted her awake, and then abandoned her alone in her bed, her body and her soul yearning for what she'd lived for so brief a time.

But what she could no longer have.

She wasn't even sure if she could call them 'dreams'—not when they seemed more like nightmares. Not when she'd been startled awake yet again with her heart pounding, her entire body on fire, and her hands fisted in her sheets. Not when she knew the truth.