Author's Note: I guess you can say this is my first 'official' SG-1
fic and it's totally PWP and written over IM for Ivorygates who wanted Cameron
showing Dani a good time. If you're unfamiliar with Dani, she is Dr. Danielle
Jackson (female Daniel Jackson) and a wonderful creation of Ivorygates. So yeah.
Here be Pr0n. Title and beta beatification done by the lovely Ivorygates. All
other mistakes are my own.
Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rudolf never had it so good and not the only one shining tonight.
Disclaimer: Not making a dime off these guys. Just taking them out for a spin.
She walks into the bar and sits down. The man sitting at the end is tall, handsome,and reckless-looking.
"So, are you going to buy me a drink flyboy?"
"Don't you have a drink?" He looks at the drink that the bartender's just set down on the bar next to her hand.
"Rollplaying, Mitchell. Get with the program."
He laughs, takes a sip of his own. "I was playin' hard to get baby."
She regards him assessingly. "Don't play too hard. I might just find someone else to cater to my whims," she says slowly, raising her eyebrows and starting to look around the room to the wide assortment to choose from.
"Oh I like to play very hard," he says.
"Ha!"
"And you don't seriously think that any of these local yahoos can compare to me?" he adds.
"I see someone is full of himself."
"No, but I do see you full of me...self." He's drunk enough before she got here to make him outrageously flirtatious. She laughs and takes his glass out of his hand and downs it.
"Mmmm...You do know how to sweet talk a girl."
It's bourbon, not Scotch, and she shudders at the taste of his liquor. "When are you going to start drinking something civilized?" she demands.
"Darlin' it's not called 'sippin' whiskey for nuthin'," he drawls out slowly, sliding down off his bar stool to step in close to her. He stumbles, just a little, as he does.
"Mitchell. Sometimes you seem like a man of the world, then I see you like this and I seriously wonder how you make it back from ... elsewhere." She won't say offworld, not even if there isn't anyone close enough to hear. He gets the joke anyway, and snickers. Eyes crinkling and she can't help but laughing with him. "But you're cute, so right now it doesn't matter."
Cam looks away and shouts, "She thinks I'm CUUUUTE!" And oh, god, just how much of that stuff did he have before she showed up?
Someone at the back of the room answers back, "Good for you Rudolf, now go fuck her!"
Leaning in, he starts to nibble on her ear. "Now that's a plan."
"Oh, hey, think you can still get it up?" she snipes.
"I'm a man of akshun, baby. I am always UP."
She puts her arm around his waist to keep him from falling over. He puts his hand on her ass. "Watch it, flyboy," she snaps.
"I'm supposed to be the one that's hard to get," he explains helpfully.
"Read the program, Mitchell. Girl equals hard to get. Not the guy," she points out.
"When did you ever go with the playbook?" he asks, nuzzling at her neck. And, okay, wow ... she's starting to remember all the reasons why Mitchell plus a lot of bourbon is really, really fun.
"Playbook? I thought it was a program." Now her head is buzzing a bit. Maybe she should have just sipped that concoction. Or oh hey. Not poured it down on top of a double Scotch. There's a thought. He kisses her to shut her up, hand up her shirt, and her hand slides from his waist to his ass. There are scattered whistles and claps from their audience. They have an audience. She is groping Mitchell in a bar. Mitchell is unhooking her bra. In a bar.
"Shake your ass for the crowd baby," she whispers and laughs when Mitchell obliges by giving his butt a little twitch.
"I want to fuck you Jackson. Right here. Right now." His voice is husky and sweet, lips wet, eyes drawn to hers.
"Audience," she says.
"Don't care," he says. He licks his lips, refusing to look away, and frankly, at right this moment she doesn't care either. He picks her up and sets her up on the bar.
"Oh Jesus! They're doing it! Rudolf is going to fuck her on the bar!"
"No," Cam says helpfully. "Not on the bar. Against the bar."
She pulls her skirt up and spreads her legs. No underwear. Nothing under that short skirt but her. He bows his head, gripping the edge of the bar, drawing his tongue over her pussy slow and wet then leaning up to give her a taste of herself before leaning back down and slipping his tongue inside.
The bartender stirs, about to stop them. Cam reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wad of twenties and drops them on the bar.
"Enjoy your drink," the bartender says states enthusiastically. He goes to sit in a chair with the rest of the crowd that's dropped pool cues and darts to watch. She arches her back, props her hands against the spigots for Budweiser and Heineken and leans back trying not to let him knock her completely off the slick wooden surface off the bar. Something is distracting her from truly enjoying herself, even as Mitchell's lost himself between her thighs. She shifts and digs a peanut out from under ass and tosses it on the floor.
"They're giving away souvenirs!" someone yelps.
Reaching out, Dani runs her fingers through Mitchell's hair. She pulls back; he groans in disappointment, though really, she thinks she should be the one objecting to him stopping. "Fuck me, Mitchell. Right now. We can do the foreplay afterward."
He assents by sliding his hands up her thighs, resting them on the back of her hips and pulling her forward. She wraps her legs around his waist and reaches between the two of them, to his fly, quickly freeing him from the tight jeans. She holds him carefully in one hand, reaching out to wrap her legs around his waist, feeling his hands hot and strong on her thighs as he lets her control the long slow delicious slide down onto his cock.
"Gawd," he whispers, once she's sheathed him deep inside her. He shifts their bodies, bracing the two of them as she begins to slowly grind herself against him. Cock and cunt and hips and belly, and the edges of his open jeans tickle the backs of her thighs as she moves. Her legs are clasped tightly around his waist now, and you can hear a pin drop in that bar. The TV is off. No one is moving. He's got a better view of them - in the bar room mirror - than she does, but she can see some of them around his shoulder. They're leaning forward, licking their lips, wishing they could have a go at her themselves. Some wishing they could make a go for Mitchell.
He's got his hands planted in her ass like he means to leave permanent marks, holding her firmly in place, and she's got her arms wrapped around his neck. They've built to a fast steady rhythm now, and both of them are furnace-hot. She can see trickles of sweat running down his neck, and she lowers her face to lap at them. There is nothing else in the room. The room doesn't even exist any longer. She can feel her pulse. She can taste his. She's so damned thirsty - she wants to drink Mitchell up, take all of him inside her until he makes her burst. This isn't the main event. This is just the appetizer, and she looks into his eyes and sees that he knows it too. Never enough. This just makes her want more.
She feels herself building to a fever pitch and knows he can't be not too damn far off himself. Knows that when they go they're probably going to end up in the floor and doesn't give a shit. She just holds on, rides him, rides the crest, throwing back her head, gasping, not caring who sees her this way as long as he sees her this way too.
Mitchell's hands grip tighter and she automatically tightens her legs as he thrusts - hard, hard, needing to be in her as much as she wants him inside her - the edge of the bar digging into back painfully as he comes, almost growling until the end.
When he's spent, he drops his head to her shoulder, panting. She doesn't automatically let her legs slip from his waist, but lets him guide her to the bar stool she'd recently occupied instead. She slips the edge of her skirt down. They ignore the round of applause from their audience as he leans in and whispers, "It's a good thing I'm not easy."
She smiles up at him, sleepy-eyed with pleasure and far from satiated. "We can discuss how easy you are at my place, flyboy."
He steps back, gesturing grandly: after you. She stands up on legs that are more than a little wobbly and strides out the bar with him following close behind.
Originally posted on September 23, 2007