graculus

Gacked from

luthien: Post a single sentence from each WIP you have (or as many as you want to pick). No context, no explanations. No more than one sentence!

Like the person I gacked this from, I have gone for 'no more than one paragraph' instead, otherwise it's not as much fun... ;)

"Nothing happened." He raised his hand again when Jackson opened his mouth to disagree. "Nothing. Remember that."

"Tell us a story," the most forward of the children, all a bright-eyed bunch of hellions, had demanded. She was Olaz's daughter and used that fact as a weapon against her childish rivals, getting her own way more often than was probably good for her. "A new one."

It had been a lifetime since he last remembered dreaming. Those dreams, the dreams before he underwent the prim'ta, were different to these. Now he no longer needed kel no reem, now his body required sleep like the Tau'ri, Teal'c had a lifetime of dreams to catch up on.

"If the words 'I could kiss it better' make it out of your mouth," he hissed, without turning to Jackson, "you'll be back through the Stargate and your boots won't touch the ground between there and here."

Sure enough, there was Kawalsky's name, still painted on one of the lockers in front of them, as if the locker room door would open any minute and he'd walk right in. And that smile would be on Kawalsky's face, that sly grin of his that always made it hard for Jack to keep a straight face.

If he was going to come out to Don, which he hadn't planned on doing any time this millennium, then this wasn't the way Charlie had planned. Hell, he wasn't even sure which direction he swung - he liked girls, he certainly liked Amita well enough, but there were other things that drew his attention as well, things Amita couldn't give him.

It could only be the 'Gate. That was the only conclusion Cameron could make - he hadn't been this horny since he was a teenager and at least then he was getting some. Now all he had to show for his raging hormones was a bad case of blue balls and more nights interrupted by waking up sweating and hard than he cared to think about.

This time, his quarters appeared untouched. Not that he had too much in the way of personal possessions to damage. It was only as he closed the door that he saw it, painted on the wall in still-wet paint. Red, like the blood he'd shed in the service of Apophis, trickling down from the bottom of the scrawled 'traitor' to form small pools on the concrete floor.

The process of re-discovery wasn't anything like he had expected, either, with each of his faults and quirks held up for scrutiny, examined with a careful eye like part of a collection. His grandfather's slow approving smile; the tentative brushing away of sand from an unexpected treasure; unlooked for hospitality in an unfriendly world. All part of his past, part of who he was, with more yet to be unearthed.

Artie took the initiative then; eyes open as if he was throwing himself off some unfamiliar cliff into the river sweeping below, the same sense of possible disaster looming at his shoulder. Jim had kissed him, demonstrating a hard-won expertise that knew no difference between man and woman, and Artie was determined to return the favor. To his credit, Jim didn’t whimper or even flinch as Artie pressed him back hard against the galley cupboards, his mouth hot and alive under Artie's own.

“Here's to retirement,” Jack said, tapping his damaged knee gently with a cold beer, which was probably against doctor's orders.