It's called 'Gentle Piece' and it's the only SJ fan fic I've written. It' really short, so I guess it qualifies as a drabble and it takes place in my mind after Season 4's hot episodes like 'Beneath the Surface' etc - nothing's spoiled though!
I've not been able to get this beta'd, so I'm sorry that there are undoubtedly mistakes.
Gentle Piece
She awoke to the dull gunmetal hue of the early morning. To her sleepy eyes the blue-grey wash was akin to a subtle spring mist, bathing everything it touched in its soft coolness. The weak dawning light that seeped in through her thin curtains set a natural tone of calm stillness in the room. The air felt like a thin film pressed over her exposed skin, its slight chill permeating her flesh. The world seemed ominously silent in monochrome; sounds mysteriously dampened in the varying degrees of blue.
It was in this lonely moment of waking alone that she wished her life were just a little different. Most days she would dream of a distant future in which she'd wake up to a world that wasn't quiet, still and blue, but vibrant, ochre and warm. She dreamt that she'd wake to the gentle heat of a body next to her, to the warmth of a love that wasn't bound by the staunch rules she had willingly pledged her life to.
Her stomach clenched and for a moment she let herself feel all the feelings she kept locked up; she bared her soul, if only to the contents of her silent room and the slowly rising sun. She'd take what she could get – these moments were her only real catharsis.
For the two minutes between waking and getting up, she indulged in her longings; in those minutes she had no choice. There were no robust regulation-made walls to contain her hurt when she woke alone and felt the empty brush of the cool morning air against the dip in her throat. What she'd give to wake to a warm, gentle touch! The firm pads of her lover's fingers smoothing over her skin in a feather-light caress, or simply a kiss: his lips on hers for an infinitesimal, yet infinitely sweet moment. Just to wake and see his eyes; to be lost in deep, rich brown instead of stranded in stark, pastel blue. She closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to swell and drop; it was always him she wished for, always his arms she imagined holding her in the split seconds after she woke.
Years ago, she would only think of him before she went to sleep; she would wonder what he'd feel like pressed up against her, what he tasted like, how it would feel to have him inside her, to give herself over to him in a way that would make her his and his alone. She still has those thoughts, only now they're accompanied by a deeper longing: a desperation to be emotionally fulfilled.
At two minutes past five in the morning she was just Samantha. She was just the girl who missed her Mum and was scared to death of disappointing her Dad; the girl who secretly thrilled over rare moments of intimacy with her friends: everything from a simple hand on her shoulder to a full-blown bear hug. She was just a girl who was as insecure, breakable and lonesome as the next. At two minutes past five she was not the invulnerable AF Major whom she presented to the world every day.
Five minutes past five and she was waiting stoically for her alarm clock. Her moment of waking weakness was nothing more than a sting in her throat and a sick feeling that meant she wouldn't eat breakfast until she was on base, safely shielded by her uniform and her impeccable sense duty.