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I own no one.
Weak Moments
He wondered if she knew. Every time she smiled, the overwhelming need to dominate all life around him faded. Warm contentment would well up in his host's chest and their two minds, so closely intertwined that they were indistinguishable from one another, would simply bask in the euphoria. It was a vivid pleasure that only she could induce in him. It was a sensation that he would kill for.
It was almost better than the sex.
When she writhed beneath him, her breath gasping out in oxygen-starved bursts, he felt infinitely powerful. The most subtle movement brought desperate, frenzied response. A quiet murmur caused uncontrollable trembling. When she shattered on that precipice, that feeling of accomplishment made all others pale by comparison.
Yet, that wasn't what defined them.
Afterward, her head would be trustingly rested on his chest. Her ragged breath would cool his sweat-soaked skin. Her warmth would be a welcome weight in his arms and against his side. Those precious few minutes were pure, unadulterated, languorous bliss.
He lived for those moments.
Every time she cried he wanted to destroy the universe that dared to harm her, to damage what was his. Neither host nor symbiote had lost their original belief in a higher plane, as illogical as he knew it was. He would never admit that he raged at his childhood gods in his mind when the tears fell from her eyes.
He would fight the urge to work until he had discovered a way to bombard the very gates of their long-forgotten Paradise until...Rex? Raex? Roraks?.. himself lay bleeding to death at his feet.
Most of the time, the tool used to bring her pain was another. But... Sometimes, the instrument of that destruction was him. Outwardly, he would hold her and provide stiff words of comfort. Inwardly, he cowered in the face of his self-loathing.
He'd felt far less guilt from destroying entire solar systems.
She knew he was not as self-confident as others believed, though she probably believed him more arrogant than he deserved. He admitted that he had his fair share of conceit. Who could achieve what he had and not? However, there were nights when even his fears overcame him. There were nights when lingering horrors of ages past caught up with him and refused to be dispelled.
The contentious ghosts of the dead, damned and dying made horrid bedfellows.
Her arms would wrap around him and she would hold on tightly as soothing words tumbled past her delectable lips. She'd let him take what he needed from her with no expectation of reward. Which was probably part of why he tried so hard to find ways to do so – ways to show how much he appreciated her. Even if he could never speak the words, he tried.
Because, most amazingly of all, she never pressed – never said a word – when he needed her not to.
It was a terrible weakness. The others were closer to the truth than even they could understand. His universe existed merely to house Her august Presence. She was not a Goa'uld, not a host. Yet, in all the ways that mattered, She was his Queen.
And he was Her devoted, humb... He couldn't even think that word with a straight face...
He was Her arrogant, vain, self-absorbed, selfish, self-indulgent, ego-maniacal, malevolent, greedy, childish, adoring, devoted, worshipful, venerating, cherishing, reverent, relentless, ruthless, mostly respectful and admiring slave of a warlord.
And the list barely covered his most basic feelings on the topic.
She would never believe it of him. That was why he would do everything in his power to keep them both alive, at the very least until She finally did. For what is a Goddess without her faithful war priest? And, what was a war priest without his Goddess?
They were an Epic Tragedy just waiting to happen...
He could feel it coming.
Note
This is what you get when I'm up at four in the morning watching SG-1 and drooling over a certain System Lord. I have no idea who the female is, but damn... she's a lucky girl.