Ficlet: Cucumber
Jun. 6th, 2009 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lavitanuovaFiclet Prompt: Cucumber
Sam/Daniel
Rated PG-13
"Daniel, put that down!" Sam says, reaching out to try and grab the cucumber from him. She misjudges, overbalances, and ends up stumbling into the refridgerator door.
Daniel just laughs at her, cucumber still out of reach.
They haven't got a whole lot of her things unpacked. Really, they made it as far as the big box that contained her supply of alcohol and got sidetracked. That's all right, though. She's got another week of leave before she starts back on SG-1. The new SG-1 - Mitchell's SG-1.
"Ow!" She rubs at her shoulder, frowning at the offending handle. "That hurt."
"Sorry." He says, and takes a sloppy step toward her. His hand jerks outward to steady himself against the fridge, too. His other hand, the one still holding the vegetable, reaches out for her. He's about to touch her arm when he remembers that his hand is already holding something, so instead he resusts the cool cucumber against her skin. "Sorry, sorry. Are- are you all right?"
"Fine." She says, still sulking. There will be a bruise tomorrow but right now she's had just enough tequila shots that the pain is already gone. Using her clever, clever tactical mind she grabs onto his wrist with both hands while he's still looking at her with concern. She's got him, and he's got the cucumber, and that's almost as good as actually having the cucumber herself, she figures.
Actually, maybe a little bit better. His skin is warm and she can feel his pulse thumping against her fingers where they wrap around his wrist. She looks down and gets distracted by the thin brown hair there, thicker the further up his arm her eyes travel.
"Sam." Daniel says, and the son of a bitch is actually smirking at her. "Saaaaam. Whatcha... doin?"
"Nothing." She glares at him, her best Eat Shit and Die, Private glare. Suddenly she understands why the Colonel- General- whatever- was always so frustrated with Daniel. He just doesn't react the way he ought to to anything!
"You don't like cucumbers." He says, as if suddenly remembering what the conversation was originally about. "You always pick them off of your salads."
"You don't like pickles." She says back. "So what?"
"But I don't have a jar of pickles in my house."
"Neither do I." Though of course, she doesn't have pickles precisely because she does like them. She should really add a jar of pickles to her shopping list for the weekend... "I don't understand your... your..." The word is slipping her mind. "Point. What is your point, Dr. Jackson?"
"Well, Doctor-Colonel Carter," Daniel leans in, twisting his torso so that Sam has to turn as well to avoid him swaying into her. Her back is suddenly against the fridge and her friend is rather solidly against Daniel. "You don't like cucumu- cumc..." He pauses and enunciates very carefully. "Cu. Cum. Bers. And I can only think of one reason that someone that doesn't like cumuc- these!" He waves the cucumber at her. "Would have one in the house."
Sam's face flames bright red. She really, really wishes he would stop touching that cucumber.
"I only used it once!" She squeaks. "I don't know which box has my- my- and it was late and I didn't think a store would be open but the 24 hour grocery-"
She stops talking because she's rambling, something she really only does when drunk. But even through the rambling she can't quite bring herself to actually say it. It's embarrassing enough to admit it to just know that Daniel has deduced correctly.
Also, she's still holding onto his wrist. She should probably let go. Any moment now.
He seems to sense her embarrassment because he lets the cucumber drop. Without his hands full of vegetable, his fingers brush against hers. "Don't worry, Sam. I won't tell anyone on base you use those girly face masks."
Sam/Daniel
Rated PG-13
"Daniel, put that down!" Sam says, reaching out to try and grab the cucumber from him. She misjudges, overbalances, and ends up stumbling into the refridgerator door.
Daniel just laughs at her, cucumber still out of reach.
They haven't got a whole lot of her things unpacked. Really, they made it as far as the big box that contained her supply of alcohol and got sidetracked. That's all right, though. She's got another week of leave before she starts back on SG-1. The new SG-1 - Mitchell's SG-1.
"Ow!" She rubs at her shoulder, frowning at the offending handle. "That hurt."
"Sorry." He says, and takes a sloppy step toward her. His hand jerks outward to steady himself against the fridge, too. His other hand, the one still holding the vegetable, reaches out for her. He's about to touch her arm when he remembers that his hand is already holding something, so instead he resusts the cool cucumber against her skin. "Sorry, sorry. Are- are you all right?"
"Fine." She says, still sulking. There will be a bruise tomorrow but right now she's had just enough tequila shots that the pain is already gone. Using her clever, clever tactical mind she grabs onto his wrist with both hands while he's still looking at her with concern. She's got him, and he's got the cucumber, and that's almost as good as actually having the cucumber herself, she figures.
Actually, maybe a little bit better. His skin is warm and she can feel his pulse thumping against her fingers where they wrap around his wrist. She looks down and gets distracted by the thin brown hair there, thicker the further up his arm her eyes travel.
"Sam." Daniel says, and the son of a bitch is actually smirking at her. "Saaaaam. Whatcha... doin?"
"Nothing." She glares at him, her best Eat Shit and Die, Private glare. Suddenly she understands why the Colonel- General- whatever- was always so frustrated with Daniel. He just doesn't react the way he ought to to anything!
"You don't like cucumbers." He says, as if suddenly remembering what the conversation was originally about. "You always pick them off of your salads."
"You don't like pickles." She says back. "So what?"
"But I don't have a jar of pickles in my house."
"Neither do I." Though of course, she doesn't have pickles precisely because she does like them. She should really add a jar of pickles to her shopping list for the weekend... "I don't understand your... your..." The word is slipping her mind. "Point. What is your point, Dr. Jackson?"
"Well, Doctor-Colonel Carter," Daniel leans in, twisting his torso so that Sam has to turn as well to avoid him swaying into her. Her back is suddenly against the fridge and her friend is rather solidly against Daniel. "You don't like cucumu- cumc..." He pauses and enunciates very carefully. "Cu. Cum. Bers. And I can only think of one reason that someone that doesn't like cumuc- these!" He waves the cucumber at her. "Would have one in the house."
Sam's face flames bright red. She really, really wishes he would stop touching that cucumber.
"I only used it once!" She squeaks. "I don't know which box has my- my- and it was late and I didn't think a store would be open but the 24 hour grocery-"
She stops talking because she's rambling, something she really only does when drunk. But even through the rambling she can't quite bring herself to actually say it. It's embarrassing enough to admit it to just know that Daniel has deduced correctly.
Also, she's still holding onto his wrist. She should probably let go. Any moment now.
He seems to sense her embarrassment because he lets the cucumber drop. Without his hands full of vegetable, his fingers brush against hers. "Don't worry, Sam. I won't tell anyone on base you use those girly face masks."
