Notes: Alternate universe. Sam and Jack, of course! Cliché as hell, but hopefully there are some funny bits for y'all! Rated for sexual content, but not graphic, and for language.
Geek Sam meets Flyboy Jack!
Takes place about four years after the original Abydos mission.
Samantha looked around the half-full commissary before spotting an empty table in a quiet corner. She walked past a large group of Marines and blushed when one of them made a ribald comment about her, causing his companions to burst into raucous laughter.
Stupid jarheads. What she wouldn't give to be able to smack one of them.
But Samantha Carter would never do that. She was quiet, polite, shy – a geek to the max she'd been called in high school. Even now, fifteen years later, nothing had changed.
She had no friends, no social life, and she couldn't even keep her pot-plant alive.
She added some sugar to her coffee and stirred it absently while thinking about the naqahdah reactor Doctor McKay had ordered her to work on. He was a good – even brilliant – scientist, but he was a … Okay; he was a complete SOB.
"Off-world activation!" came through the PA system and Samantha sighed. What would it be like to actually step through that Stargate and onto another world? Civilians did go through the 'gate – a linguist by the name of Daniel Jackson was on the premiere SG team – but Samantha was far too low down the totem pole.
She'd never even been in the 'gate room.
"You saving this table?" someone inquired, breaking into her reverie.
She looked up into a pair of amazingly soft chocolate-brown eyes. "Oh … um … no," she said. He was tall – perhaps five or six inches taller than her own five nine – and slim, but with trim powerful muscles that denoted an active lifestyle.
"Stupid jarheads have stolen our regular table," the newcomer said, sitting down next to her and pulling several napkins out of the dispenser. "I would've kicked their asses, but Hammond would have my head."
"Okay," Samantha murmured, surprised at the fact that this obviously military man was talking to her. She stirred her coffee, trying desperately to think of something to say to him. But nothing came to mind.
"So … are you a scientist geek too?"
You mean you can't tell just by looking at me? Samantha was surprised at the snarky response that shot to her tongue and clamped down on it. "Yes," she said. "And a math geek."
"Don't talk much, do ya?" the soldier said, delving into his pie with relish and making Samantha envy him. He obviously didn't have extra kilos to worry about. In fact, he looked … very fit and youthful – his untidy silver hair merely providing an intriguing contrast.
"No," Samantha said. "Sorry."
"Hey, that's okay," the soldier said. "No law that says you have to talk all the time. But if you could just talk long enough to give me your name, I'd be happy."
Samantha blushed. God, she was such an idiot! "Samantha. Samantha Carter."
"Good to meet you, Samantha-Samantha Carter," the soldier drawled with a cheeky wink.
She could tell he was teasing her rather than mocking her, so she fought back another blush. "So, do you have a name or would you have to shoot me if you told me?" she said, surprised at the teasing tone in her voice.
The silver-haired man snickered, wolfing down another slice of pie. "Jack O'Neill," he said.
Jack O'Neill. That name was familiar. Then Samantha realized that she'd read it in conjunction with many of the reports that had filtered her way over the last two months. "Oh! Colonel O'Neill," she said, sitting up straighter. Being General Jacob Carter's daughter had taught her that much.
"At ease, Sam," the Colonel said. "You're not under my command."
Sam? No-one had ever called her that. But she … kinda liked it. "My name's Samantha," she said.
"And it's a good name," Jack told her. "But Sam suits you – cute and perky."
Samantha blushed again. Was he flirting with her? "Get out of town," she mumbled, sucking down the last of her coffee and standing up. "I'd … uh … better get back to work," she added.
That wasn't true. Her workday had finished several hours ago, but she'd always worked long hours.
"Sam." The man's voice was gentle and it drew her attention to his unusual, handsome features. "I didn't mean to offend you."
"Y … you didn't," she got out.
"Then stay for a while. Keep an old fly-boy company, huh?"
There was something mesmerizing about his eyes. And Samantha found herself sitting back down. "O … okay. But I'm not very good company."
"Cool." He gave her a boyish smile – a mischievous quirk – then got up once more. "I need more pie. You want some?"
Samantha paused and considered it. Then remembered those extra kilos. "Uhm … no thanks," she said.
She watched the handsome older man go over to the counter and snag a piece of pie, giving a ferocious glare to an unsuspecting young Lieutenant who'd just been about to grab it. The poor kid.
He came back over to her, then lifted his hand in a wave as three guys walked in – two human and one Jaffa. They had to be the other members of his team. "C'mon over, kids!" he called.
They came over and settled around the table, looking at Samantha with curiosity. "Who's your new friend, Jack?" a man about her own age asked. He had glasses and blue eyes and wore an open friendly gaze. That had to be their linguist, Daniel Jackson.
Samantha got up, not enjoying being the center of attention. "I really should go. Don't let me interrupt your meal," she said nervously, blushing when the other human looked at her with a frank assessing stare.
"Why? They're house-broken … mostly," Jack said. Samantha giggled at the glares he received from all three of his friends. "Sit down, for cryin' out loud, Sam."
Accustomed to the harsh military bark from years of living with her dad, Samantha sat down abruptly.
"Better," he said. "So … Sam Carter; meet Daniel Jackson, linguist and rock-lover extraordinaire."
Samantha was puzzled. "You're a geologist as well, Doctor?" she asked.
Daniel blinked, then chuckled. "No, an archeologist; but Jack insists on calling my artifacts rocks," he explained. "And call me Daniel." Samantha nodded jerkily, then looked over at the other military man and the mountainous Jaffa. "That's Major Charlie Kawalsky and Teal'c."
"Nice to meet ya, Sam," Major Kawalsky said. "You seem okay for a brainiac."
"Even we brainiacs have our moments, I suppose," Samantha murmured, wondering if he was having a dig. It wouldn't be the first time since she'd come to the SGC two months ago … and she doubted it would be the last. She wondered what he'd do if she kicked him under the table.
He flinched and yelped and she thought maybe she'd developed telekinesis. Then saw Teal'c smile slightly. Maybe not …
"Major Kawalsky; you should not resent all those who are more intelligent than you," he said. "That would be a lot of resentment to bear."
Silence.
Samantha wanted to laugh at the dig, she saw Jack snickering around a mouthful of pie, and Daniel's eyes were dancing with laughter.
Then the Major laughed too and pointed his fork at the big Jaffa. "Good one, T!" he said affectionately. He looked over at Samantha. "Sorry, Sam," he said. "Guess my Momma never taught me any manners, huh?"
"It's all right, Major," Samantha replied. "Besides, some of the scientists on this base would leave a bad impression." Naming no names.
Speaking of whom … "Ah, Carter … surprise, surprise you're still here," Doctor McKay said derisively. "You really think this place will fall apart if you're not here? Go home."
Samantha closed her eyes, wishing that the floor would open up and just swallow her. Why was she such a wimp? Why couldn't she stand up to him? "I … I was just catching up on some of my work," she stammered.
"Yes, because you're so essential and vital," McKay sneered. "You're not, Carter; it's time you realized that."
"And you're a pompous ass, McKay," Jack said. "Sam can stay in here as long as she wants – you don't control what she does off duty."
"Sam is it?" McKay's eyebrows rose in a kind of snooty surprise as he looked at the four men of SG-1. "Figures you fly-boys would go for the dumb blondes."
"Oh, go suck a lemon, Rodney!"
Samantha clamped her hands over her mouth. She couldn't believe she'd said that! He was so going to fire her!
"Way to go, Sam!" Jack murmured into her ear.
She cut off the shiver at the feel of the older man's warm breath near her neck, then looked up at McKay. "I … I'm really sorry," she managed to get out.
"That's okay," McKay said. "I like a bit of badinage now and then."
He put a hand to her shoulder and squeezed it. "And that sexy librarian thing of yours? Love it!" he murmured.
Oh, brother! Samantha thought she preferred it when he was criticizing her.
Then he was gone.
"Ugh." Samantha pulled a face, then looked at the faces of her companions. "I hope he … he didn't spoil your appetite." Bad enough she had to put up with Doctor Egomaniac!
"Little spoils my appetite, Sam Carter," Teal'c said, giving her a small smile.
Samantha returned the smile, then looked at her watch. "I really should get home," she said. "It was nice to meet you all."
"You too, Sam," Jack said. "I'll be back in a couple, guys." He got up as she did and followed her out of the commissary. "So … can I have your number?" he asked.
"My number?" Samantha blurted out. "For what?"
"Your ATM number – I want your money," Jack drawled. Then chuckled huskily. "Your phone number, Sam; I want to call you."
"Uhm … why?"
"For cryin' out loud; you're a cute single woman, I'm a not-so-cute single guy," Jack said, raking his hand through his already tousled hair. "I thought we might get together one night … go on a date, ya know?"
"A d-date?"
So much for her brains! She couldn't even string together a proper sentence!
"Yeah." And now he gave her a cute lopsided grin. "Dinner, a movie, maybe a little dancing afterward."
"I can't dance," she said. A date? She didn't date often – probably wouldn't remember what to do on one!
The lopsided grin broadened. "Neither can I," he said. "So … I'll just wrap my arms around you and we'll sway. Anyone can do that."
Samantha pulled her top lip in between her teeth as she considered the handsome, sexy older man standing in front of her. Then pictured those long arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his firm strong body.
Why her, for God's sake? What could she possibly give him that he couldn't get from any number of women?
"Sam; I'm dyin' here," Jack told her. "Yes or no? I can take it."
Come on, Samantha! Do you really want to spend your life in that lonely little shell? Time to shake things up.
"Yes," she said boldly. "I … I'd like that."
"Excellent!" he said, sounding exactly like Mister Burns. "Then gimme your number, Sam."
As she wrote down her number and passed the piece of paper to Jack with shaky fingers, she had the feeling her life would never be the same again.
One week later:
"So, Jack; you and Sam; first date tonight, huh?"
Jack nodded, watching warily as Kawalsky approached him in the locker room. "Yeah," he said.
"Never would've figured you for liking the brainiacs." Kawalsky chuckled. "She's pretty cute, got an excellent ass and great rack, but what the hell are you gonna talk about?"
Jack tapped his forehead. "This isn't just a hat-rack," he pointed out, trying to squelch the urge to beat his friend to a pulp for his description of Sam's … assets. "I can make conversation."
"Just ignore him, Jack – we all do," Daniel offered, pulling on his jacket. "She seems nice, if pretty timid. Just … be gentle. Don't scare her off."
"Thank you, Doctor Phil," Jack muttered grouchily, pulling on his leather jacket and eyeing his reflection. Black pants, black tee shirt, black jacket – would he look too intimidating for the cute but anxious scientist?
Then again, nearly everything intimidated her, he'd learned over the last few days. They'd met up a couple times in the commissary and she'd chatted quite happily to him over his pie and her … yuck … low-fat yogurt, but as soon as more people joined them she clammed right up.
Ah screw it. She'd take him as he was, or not at all.
He turned to the third member of his team. "So, T? Care to stick in your two cents'?" he asked.
"No, O'Neill," Teal'c said. "You are both adults – you can manage your own lives without interference on my part."
Jack grinned and clapped the big Jaffa on the shoulder. "And that's why you are my man, big guy!" he said.
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Samantha had only been this nervous once in her life – the day of her doctoral presentation. It should have been a glorious day; the day she presented her thesis and graduated from MIT as a Doctor of Theoretical Astrophysics. But she'd choked – hadn't been able to cope with all those eyes on her – and had failed the final presentation.
She'd come to terms with that devastating failure several years ago. Not everyone was meant to lead exciting lives. Many people had to do the mundane things so that the smarter people, the braver people, could carry on with the business of being smarter and braver.
And she could accept that she would never have an exciting life. But that didn't mean that she had to become a recluse.
She stood naked in front of her bathroom mirror, perusing her reflection critically. It seemed like her diet was finally working. She'd lost several pounds over the week, but would never be sleek. She didn't get enough exercise and she was far too fond of her sweet treats.
She sighed … boy; did she miss her blue Jell-O! But it would be worth it if it meant she could fit into her old clothes once more.
She began to dress quickly, stepping into silk panties and hooking up the matching bra. One of Samantha Carter's few vices was sexy underwear. She spent a small fortune on beautiful silky scraps of nothing in a veritable rainbow of colors. No-one ever got to see it, but she loved the feel of it on her skin.
Then she pulled on a straight black skirt that came to just above her knees and teamed it with a crimson tee shirt. She eyed her reflection once more, and was surprised at the faint flush in her pale cheeks and gleam in her eyes. Was it nerves … or anticipation? After all, dating was something Samantha didn't do, and having someone as handsome and exciting as Colonel Jack O'Neill ask her on a date was very, very new.
She quickly applied some brown mascara to darken her pale eyelashes, then slicked on some lip gloss. Just in time too, as the doorbell rang.
Dead on seven o'clock. Jack was a military man through and through, and his time-keeping was impeccable. "C-coming!" she got out through the nerves that threatened to choke her.
She went down the hallway, curling her toes into the plush carpeting, then opened the door.
And gasped.
Jack O'Neill stood there, looking like a walking sin. His hair was tamed for once, he was dressed entirely in black, his pants hugging his rear very nicely, and he smelled … delicious.
Breathe, Samantha, breathe! He's just a man. Beautiful, but just a man. And way out of your league.
"H-hi," she got out breathlessly.
"Hey," he said, his warm brown eyes traveling the length of her body – from shining blonde hair to curling toes. "You look great," he said.
"Oh, th-thanks," she murmured. "Well, sh-shall we go?" She was nervous and anxious, sure that this was going to be a horrible experience. And like any horrible experience, she just wanted to get it over with.
"Whoa there!" he teased. "You need shoes first. Don't want those cute little pink toes to get frost-bite!"
Cute little pink toes? The man was so strange. "Right," she said, stuffing her feet into her favorite black sandals then straightening and catching up a black cardigan.
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Jack looked at the blonde knockout standing in her hallway. Her cheeks were pink, as if fresh from a shower, her hair curled around her shoulders, and legs … Legs up to her armpits.
And for someone so shy and timid, she certainly liked bold colors, he mused, eyeing the red and black ensemble.
"Jack?" she murmured, the pink in her cheeks deepening.
Quit staring, moron!, he chided himself, then offered his arm to her in an old-fashioned gesture. "Your chariot awaits, milady," he said.
Sam looked at him as if he were insane, then she gave a small laugh, and put her hand through the crook of his arm. "Thank you, kind sir," she replied.
No over-powering musk for Sam Carter, he realized. She smelled of citrus and flowers – clean and springlike, and very sweet. She seemed completely oblivious to her sexuality, charmingly innocent.
And you are no innocent, O'Neill, he reminded himself, so no jumping over her like some old horn-dog!
They went out to his big truck and Sam eyed it dubiously. "Don't look," she told him.
He turned, then in a juvenile moment turned back to see a flash of garter and soft pale skin as she peeled up the skirt to step into the truck. "You looked!" she accused him, going pink.
"What?" He shrugged innocently. "I'm only human, and you've got great legs!"
He went swiftly round to the other side of the truck and got in, settling himself into the driver's seat. "Besides, I saw you checking out my butt back there, little miss butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth."
The pink deepened until her whole face and neck glowed a rosy red, and Jack felt a pang of guilt.
Then she laughed. "Guilty as charged," she admitted. "You're … pretty nice to look at," she added, clicking her seat-belt into place.
Jack blinked at the rather bold admission from the shy young woman. "Back atcha, Sam," he said.
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Several hours later:
So far, things were going well. She'd learned that he was divorced – about four years now – and had a son whom he saw on the weekends. The boy was named Charlie, after Major Kawalsky who it turned out was one of Jack's best friends.
"Do you have a picture?" Samantha asked him.
Jack plucked out his wallet and took out a small picture – of him and Charlie holding a baseball trophy. The boy was fair-haired with light eyes – presumably took after his mother – but there was definitely Jack O'Neill in the mischievous grin. "He looks like you," she said.
Jack grimaced. "Not so much, but the poor little bugger did inherit my hair," he said, sweeping a hand through the soft gray strands. "Luckily, spiky hair is all the rage at his school."
"I like your hair," Samantha said. There was something so … chaotic about it, it made her smile. It was boyish and very appealing, and softened his hard-ass military persona.
Jack pulled another face. "You're pretty weird Sam," he told her. "But that's okay – I like weird." He took the snapshot back. "Anyway! Enough about Jack O'Neill. What about Sam Carter?"
"Nothing to tell," Samantha said, shrugging her shoulders. "Never been married, no kids, no pets." No life.
"Hey, marriage isn't the be-all and end-all," Jack said. "When it's good, it's the greatest, but it can suck at times."
"I suppose," Samantha replied. "I've never really considered it."
"Ah. A career girl, huh?"
Some career. Without her doctorate, Sam's choice of jobs was very limited. She'd resigned herself to being a grunt for the rest of her life. "Something like that," she replied. "Though I'm hardly a girl anymore. I'm thirty three."
Jack groaned. "God, I'm so old," he said. "Sam; I'm fifteen years older than you."
"Well, you look good on it," she said frankly, her eyes flickering over his strong tanned arms, and lean handsome face.
Then she could have died when his face split in a wide grin. What the hell had happened to her 'edit' button? "Thank you," he said solemnly.
Samantha gave in. There was just something so charming about the man that she didn't mind making an ass of herself in front of him. At least, not too much. "You're welcome," she told him just as solemnly.
"You mentioned being an Air Force brat," Jack said, leaning over to top up her wine and brushing his arm over her breast as he passed.
Her body tingled in response to the brief touch and she forced herself to concentrate on his words. "My dad," she said. "He reached the rank of Major General before he died a couple of years ago."
Cancer. An ugly, horrible, painful death. They'd never been on good terms, but had managed to reconcile shortly before he died.
"Wow; brass, huh?" Then his forehead wrinkled. "Major General … Carter. You're Jacob Carter's daughter?"
Samantha hadn't realized his low baritone could go so high. "You've met my dad?"
"Once," he said. "He was one of the guys I would've reported to if I'd accepted the promotion to Brigadier and gone to the Pentagon."
"You turned it down?" Samantha couldn't imagine turning down a promotion. Not that she'd ever been offered one. But still …
Jack grimaced. "Yeah," he said. "I'm not ready to fly a desk, and I was … less than diplomatic about it."
Samantha giggled. "That's hard to imagine," she teased.
He poked his tongue out at her. "Smart ass," he replied. "Anyway, let's just say, General Carter was less than impressed – reamed me out pretty well."
"Yeah; he was good at that," Samantha offered.
She sat back, and put her spoon down with a contented sigh. "You're right, by the way," she said. "That creme brulée was gorgeous."
"Hey, I don't know much, but I know desserts," Jack said with a grin. He dug into his profiterole and held the spoon out to Sam. "Want some, Carter?" he teased.
"Don't," Samantha groaned. "I'm trying to lose weight, and you're not making it any easier."
"Why?" The man looked perplexed. Then he looked disgusted. "Don't tell me you're one of those women who thinks a flat ass and no tits is sexy? Trust me on this, Carter, it ain't."
Indelicately put, but she could see he was sincere. "I …," she said.
"Sam; you've got great legs, a sweet rack and a cute little rounded ass – it works for ya," Jack added with conviction.
"I … I see," Samantha said faintly, unsure what to do. The look of lust was unmistakable in the man's eyes – what exactly did he want from her? If it was what she thought, he was doomed to disappointment.
Jack could've kicked himself. She reminded him rather of a skittish foal – all long slender legs and huge vulnerable eyes. "Carter; I'm sorry," he said. "Most of the time, my mouth's in drive, my head's in neutral." Or the big head was anyway. Seemed as if the little head was controlling his mouth this evening.
But she was so damn sexy – and it was all unconscious. The sweet natural scent, the way she chewed her top lip, the pink glow when she blushed. Christ, O'Neill; when did you turn into such a sap?
She fiddled awkwardly with her napkin, the camaraderie he'd been enjoying sucked abruptly away. "Uhm … I think I should go home," she said. "You … uh … I think you want more from me than I can give."
She stared at him with huge eyes, almost as if she was expecting him to ravage her right there on the table. He was many things, had done many things, but he'd never forced any woman. And he resented the implication.
"Sam; I've never forced a woman in my life," he said. "No means no, in my book. But I'm not gonna beg – I've never done that either." He sighed and got up, signaling to the waiter to bring the check. "You're scared – I don't know why, and I'm not gonna ask. But at some point, you're going to have to put your fear aside, otherwise you'll spend the rest of your life alone. And you're too young, too beautiful, and too nice to have to live alone."
Sam merely watched him with those huge eyes, chewing nervously on her lip. "I'm … I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I … didn't mean to imply …".
Christ! Next thing; she'd be wringing her hands together! What on Earth had possessed him to ask her out?
Yeah, she was beautiful and sweet – charming in an old-fashioned way – but they had zip in common.
She was young, brainy, quiet and shy.
He was going over the hill, loud-mouthed, sarcastic and had a pilot's need for speed.
The waiter brought the check and Jack dug out his credit card. "I got it, Carter!" he barked when Sam pulled out her own wallet.
She flinched, then her eyebrows lowered. "Don't bark at me," she snapped right back. "I'm not one of your damn Air Force flunkies."
It was about damn time she stuck up for herself, he mused, as she handed over her credit card to the poker-faced waiter. "C'mon; I'll drive you home," he said.
"I'll get a cab," she said obstinately, her eyes flashing fire at him.
He liked this passionate stubborn version of Sam Carter better than the timid hand-wringing one of a couple minutes earlier. This was how she'd been during those friendly chats in the commissary – she'd blossomed under the casual friendliness of SG-1 and Jack's own particular brand of sarcastic charm.
Before things had gotten personal. Before he'd mentioned her assets.
Was she that blind to her own charms? Couldn't she see what he and Kawalsky – and even McKay, for cryin' out loud – could see lurked under the shapeless white lab coat and untidy school-marm bun?
"Sam," he said more gently. "I'll drive you home."
She looked at him, her arms still folded over that nicely rounded bosom – No! Bad Jack! – then she sighed. "All right," she replied.
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God, she was a social disaster! Samantha chewed on her lip as she watched Jack go over to his big black truck. What on Earth had made her think she could go on a date with this man? He was exciting, dynamic, a full-blooded passionate man. In comparison, she was barely out of diapers.
He was so out of her league – hell; she was peewee, and he was Major League.
She groaned in humiliation and self-flagellation. Did he honestly think she feared him? She didn't – not in that sense. She trusted him that no meant no. He was a good man, an honorable man.
She was scared that she'd disappoint him if they went on more dates. After all, dating could lead to a relationship, which would lead to sex. And how could she carry on dating him without revealing her complete lack of experience? She'd never even properly kissed a man, for crying … For God's sakes!
Oh sure, there'd been brief soft kisses on the lips as a good night on the few dates she'd ever been on. But those kisses hadn't made her feel anything. Not the shivers she felt at Jack's gentle touches on her arm, his warm breath near her ear … She'd given up on the dating scene – she just didn't have the capacity for that kind of passion.
"Jack?" She touched his free hand gently as he pulled out of the parking lot.
"Mmm?" he grunted.
"I'm sorry you wasted your time and your money," she said. "I … I shouldn't have agreed to this date."
"Then why did you?" He sounded gruff, but no longer angry.
"I … I've enjoyed getting to know you over the last week," she told him. "I thought … maybe we could be more than friends, but …". She closed her eyes. "I'm frigid," she admitted.
There was silence.
Then hearty laughter came from the man.
She'd never seen him laugh so hard. He pulled to an abrupt halt, his shoulders shaking and his beautiful eyes squinched tightly shut as he heaved with laughter.
"It's not funny," she murmured, hurt beyond words. "I thought I owed you the truth … I …".
Samantha gulped back the tears that threatened. She didn't think she'd ever hated anyone as much as she hated Colonel Jack O'Neill right now. "Go to hell!" she said, unclipping the seat-belt, then stomping out of the truck.
The heavens opened, but she was damned if she was getting back in that truck.
"Sam?" Jack yelled, splashing through the rapidly-forming puddles after her.
She ignored him, putting her head down as she plodded through the rain.
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Frigid? She thought she was frigid? She was lovely, warm and passionate and was beginning to show an evil sense of humor. But, somewhere along the line, she'd gotten the idea that she couldn't respond to a man.
That was … ridiculous.
"Sam?" he said again as thunder pealed through the sky.
Nada.
He lengthened his already long stride and caught up to her. Damn, the woman could move quickly! "Sam; I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," he told her. "I just … the idea that you're frigid is ridiculous."
"Glad to amuse you," she said in a tone that would've caused his balls to retract entirely if the cold rain wasn't already making its own attempt.
"Carter … dammit. Quit the snotty attitude and get back into the truck."
"I'm walking home," she told him. "I'm not one of your subordinates and I'm not your child. I'll do whatever the hell I want." She turned to face him, her hands on her hips and her chin thrust upward.
"Better," Jack said, with a nod of his head and a small grin. He much preferred this Sam to the timid one.
"What?" The woman's big brain was clearly stumped by his sudden change in mood.
Jack wasn't about to tell her. "It's ten miles to your house – you planning on walking the entire distance?" he said instead.
"Why not?" Sam said. "You military grunts do it all the time."
Okay, so maybe she could lose some of the attitude. She was becoming freakily like him.
"I'll see you later, Jack," she said, then began walking once more, uncaring of the fact that she was now soaked to the skin.
And that her clothes were plastered to her spectacular body.
The sky was split apart by lightning and Jack watched, mesmerized, as she came to a halt and turned her face upward, big eyes wide and a smile on her lips.
He loved thunderstorms – he always had. There was something … primal, untamed, erotic about them. He never felt right in calm sunny weather. This … now this made his blood sing.
And it looked like it called to Sam in the same way.
"Magnificent, isn't it?" she said in awe-struck tones. "The noise, the energy, the … the passion."
And Jack was undeniably turned on. His erection pressed suddenly, painfully, against his fly as he watched the child/woman watch the broiling night sky. "Like hell you're frigid," he mumbled to himself.
"Carter; you're gonna catch your death!" he told her.
"That's a myth," she shot back, perching on a wall and watching another fork of lightning. "You don't have to stay," she added. "I'll grab a cab."
Jack couldn't have walked away if his life depended on it. She was soaked to the skin, her hair forming ringlets around her sweet face, clothes molding tightly to her body. If he looked closely, he could even see where the cold rain had caused her nipples to tighten and push outward, calling out to be suckled.
"Shit …," he groaned, pushing his fists into his eyes. You really are a dirty old horn-dog.
"Jack?"
"Nothin'," he said innocently. "Think I'll watch the storm for a while. I like 'em too."
She eyed him warily as he sat down next to her and he held his hands up. "I'll be good, Carter!" he promised.
"Stop calling me Carter," she complained. "McKay calls me that."
Euww, euww, euww! He wouldn't be doing that again. "Sorry, Sam," he said. Then gave her his best sweet smile. "Better?"
She gave a small snort of laughter and punched him gently in the arm. "How come I can't stay mad at you?" she asked.
"My effervescent charm and winning personality of course," Jack said, dropping his eyelid in a lazy wink. "What else could it be?"
"Of course," Sam said, dropping into the light teasing manner that featured in much of their interactions. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as the lightning continued to rend the sky.
"For God's sake …," Jack mumbled, unbuttoning his leather coat.
"Jack; I'm already soaked," she said. "There's no point in you getting soaked too."
"Shut up, Sam." He pulled her into his lap, then buttoned his coat around both of them, entrapping her within the soft aged leather. He wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder, and she shuddered.
"Jack …," she murmured uneasily, wriggling in his embrace.
"Yeah; I like having you in my lap," he told her. "A frigid woman couldn't do that to me."
"Playboy can do that to men," she said, but stopped wriggling. Perhaps she realized that only made the problem … ahem … bigger.
"Point taken," Jack said amiably. "But I know you're not frigid."
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God, he was one stubborn son of a bitch! Samantha sighed heavily. "I think I know me better than you do," she argued.
She couldn't believe that she was sitting in a man's lap, feeling his erection pressing against her. Shouldn't she be more scared?
"Hah," he mumbled into her neck, causing her to shiver. But not from cold. "Sam; trust me?"
"Uhm … yeah," she said. Then gasped when his warm lips brushed up to her jawbone, and he planted little nipping kisses along the bone. "Jack?" she queried.
"Ssshhh," he murmured, lips now working at a very sensitive spot just below her ear. His arms tightened around her and he nipped at her earlobe, then licked the tiny wound.
"Mmmmmmmm."
Was that a purr that came out of her chest? She'd never felt anything like this before! Was this what she'd been missing out on all these years? And she hadn't even known she was missing anything!
And the man hadn't even kissed her on the lips. She shivered at the promise. "Kiss me," she said, turning awkwardly in his embrace and sliding her arms around his neck.
A husky chuckle came from the man, and he settled his lips in the hollow of her throat, suckling softly on the tender skin. "Kinda thought that's what I was doing there, Sam!"
Smart ass. She smacked him lightly on the back of the head. "You know what I mean," she said, hoping her previously undiscovered courage would hold out.
Jack looked up from her neck. "Okay," he said, losing the teasing grin. Maybe he could hear the odd combination of fear and determination in her request. "Just remember; no means no. I'll stop as soon as you tell me to."
"Okay," she said.
His soft lips met hers. So far, so good. Not outside the realm of her experience. Although the heat that shot through her at the kiss was new. It went right from her lips down to her uterus.
Then a hot wet tongue ran along the line of her lips. And she flinched. Then smacked herself mentally. It was just a tongue. She could do tongue. How hard could it be?
"Sam," he said, breaking away, "have you ever kissed a guy before?"
Crap. She was so busted. He was going to think her such an idiot. "Uhm … what kind of kissing?" she said lamely, then tightened her hold on him. "Does it matter?" she asked, pressing her lips to his, delighting in their warmth and softness.
Slowly, tentatively, she opened her lips and traced her tongue along his lips. Nice. She could do this. It was nowhere near as disgusting as it looked in the cheesy soap operas.
Then his own lips opened once more and she pushed her tongue gently into the hot moist cavern, tasting the coffee and chocolate of his dessert. His tongue sat patiently, making no move to encounter hers, and she pulled away from him. "Jack; I'm not going to break," she told him.
When the hell had she gotten so bold? Where was shy, frumpy Samantha Carter now? Samantha Carter was gone – leaving behind Sam. She swept her tongue into his mouth once more, then carefully curled the tip around his own tongue.
Finally, finally, his own tongue moved, stroking and curling, battling with hers. He pulled her against him and mapped her mouth with his tongue, stroking along her gums, her teeth, her palate and tangling once more with her tongue.
Then a light shone in their eyes. "Hey, you kids! Break it up!"
Sam broke away from Jack with a disappointed groan, then blushed bright red.
Charles Kawalsky stood there with his arm around Doctor Janet Fraiser, both of them covered by an umbrella and laughing their asses off.
"Funny, Kawalsky," Jack grunted.
"I thought so," Kawalsky said.
Two months later:
Samantha – or Sam, as she now preferred to be called – and Jack had been dating pretty steadily for the last seven weeks. Except for that one week when he'd been off-world. She was amazed at how much she had missed him. How quickly he had ingrained himself into her life.
She was leaving work at a decent hour, she was eating more yet not putting on weight as she joined him in his work-outs, and McKay seemed to have lost interest in ragging on her every three seconds.
In short, she was happy. Guy-happy, Janet Fraiser had described it. The petite doctor and she had become friends over the last few weeks, sharing in girls' nights in – sometimes with Janet's adopted teenager Cassie, sometimes without her.
The nights without the youngster had been a revelation for Sam, unaccustomed as she'd become to close friendship. Janet was bold, outgoing, fiery and sexual – everything that Sam had never been. And some of the things she'd shared with Sam …!
Janet nudged her now, as they lay sprawled in Sam's living room in front of the big fire. "So … when are you and Jack gonna …" She thrust her hips upward several times and grunted.
Sam blushed. "We're taking it slowly," she said. "It's all pretty new to me, and Jack … he's being very patient."
Maybe a little too patient. Sometimes she had the feeling he thought she would faint if he got naked. She'd felt his warm skin during their many make-out sessions, sliding her hands under his shirt to caress a firm chest and taut abdomen. And his hands had cupped her rounded breasts, squeezing them gently, rubbing against the tips. But only over her clothes.
Janet waggled her eyebrows. "You know; sometimes guys like the girl to make the first move," she confided. She looked at Sam who, sure enough, was blushing again. "And in your case, I think it's necessary. You can reassure him all you want, but Jack's more a man of action. If you get my drift?" The eyebrows waggled again. "He's not my type, but he's a sexy man with a guh-reat butt."
She was so not sober.
She sat up and propped herself up an elbow, guzzling down the last of her wine. "Hey, it's your two-month anniversary tomorrow. That'd make one hell of a present for him, wouldn't it?"
It would, Sam reflected with a small grin. But did she actually have the courage to seduce such a sexy man? She knew what to do in theory – but theory was much different to reality. "What if I freeze?" she asked quietly. "Or what if I do something wrong?"
"Sam; you're over-thinking things again," Janet chided. "There's no guarantee of a perfect first time – even with two experienced partners." She laughed. "Charlie and I weren't inexperienced – hell, we've both been married before – but the first time wasn't wonderful. It was fun, but there was nerves and a … lack of coordination. It took a while to learn what the other one liked." She nudged Sam and gave a dirty laugh. "We learned quickly of course."
Sam laughed. "Well, I've always been a fast learner," she said.
"Just go slowly, let him explore you, you explore him. Don't try and set up some big seduction scene," Janet continued. "Don't wear … satin night-gowns if you don't usually. Those kinds of trappings will just make you more nervous. But do wear your favorite underwear. It'll make you feel confident and comfortable."
Sam thought. Which underwear? Then remembered the matching black lace set she'd been wearing the day she'd met Jack. Very appropriate. "I'll do it," she said.
"Yes!" Janet pumped her fist in victory.
The next morning:
"You're certainly in a good mood, Carter!" Rodney McKay commented, nudging her as she set up her microscope.
Sam blinked at her boss, a little confused at the non sequitur.
Right. Last night, she'd actually seduced Colonel Jack O'Neill – a small part of her wanted to run around squee-ing in a girly way – and what had she gotten for her courage? A night of tender love-making, interspersed with some truly naughty moments.
Heh. Like she'd said to Janet, she'd always been a fast learner!
She ached in places she'd never realized she had, but she felt incredibly … good. Not even Doctor 'Snarky' McKay could bring her down today.
"Yeah," she replied. She stretched languorously, then pulled on her lab coat.
McKay stood near her as she began work until she was ready to scream. Just what was his problem? He'd become less of a bastard over the last few weeks, and she was starting to get used to his biting sarcasm.
But he was still a downer. And not one she wanted to deal with on such a happy day.
"Hey, Carter …," he said.
It's my happy day!, she whined.
"I was thinking …"
Don't you know it's my happy day?
"Yes?" she said, sitting up and nearly crashing her head into his.
"When did you get so hot?" he asked. "I mean; you've had the sexy librarian thing going on for a while, but now …". He indicated the bouncy ponytail and her favorite crimson tee shirt.
She wasn't going to blush! She wasn't going to …
She blushed.
Ah, crap.
And he grinned maliciously at her.
Sam was suddenly very angry with the man. What made him think he could talk to people like they were dirt under his feet?
"McKay; just because I didn't drop my pants for you the second I saw you doesn't mean I'm frigid," she said, ignoring the stares of the other scientists. "I'll have you know that I spent most of last night and the wee hours of this morning ravaging a hot silver fox!"
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Okay; so that might have been a bit loud, she decided, as several SFs poked their head in through the open door.
"Yeah." McKay snorted. "Sure. I believe you."
Sam shook her head and gave up. He was never going to believe her.
Then a certain hot ravaged silver fox – who didn't need naming! – stepped into the lab. "Hey, Sam," he said. "Just thought I'd pop in before going off to the lovely B6Q 7PX. So … my place or yours tonight?"
"Yours," she said, resisting the urge to kiss that smirk off his lovely lips.
Oh, the hell with it! "And stop smirking, you smug son of a bitch – you've gotten laid before," she added, wrapping her arms around his neck and capturing his lips in a deep, intense, bruising kiss.
He gulped audibly as they parted with a pop. "Hmm! Okay!" he said, gathering his wits. "Ahh … see you tonight, Sam," he added. "McKay," he said coolly, then strolled out.
Mmmmm; sweet butt!
"Carter?" Rodney McKay goggled at her.
"Yes?" she murmured demurely.
"He's a bit old for you, isn't he?" the scientist objected.
"Just because there's snow on the roof, it doesn't mean the furnace isn't burning brightly," she replied cheerfully, then turned back to her work.
And that moment heralded another first for Samantha Carter – her first smug-bastard smirk.