(originally published on Livejournal)

Martouf tapped his foot absently, eyes not drawn to anything on the SGC walls. He made a small noise as he tracked one hairline crack on the ceiling, waiting for Samantha to come so that they could get the official business out of the way. After the failed zatarc mission, things were becoming very...intense between them.

*You don't need to fantasize about her,* Lantash pointed out.

*I wasn't,* Martouf protested. *Merely stating facts.*

But he returned his gaze more firmly to the ceiling, a flat grey without even the breaking patterns of crystals. The best that could be said for them was that the smoothness was admirable. They were certainly not carved with rudimentary tools.

*Their dwellings are more dull than ours,* Lantash snorted, simply unimpressed.

*It does seem odd. Given the vibrancy of their culture.* Martouf took another look, almost frowning.

*Perhaps they are more interested in what goes on in these buildings, than how it looks. We have only seen this one underground dwelling.* But Lantash sighed, and Martouf looked up at the clock. He grimaced, realizing that Samantha still had not taught them how to read this time. Numbers, they were so vague.

Then the door creaked, and in relief, Martouf turned his head.

"Sorry I'm late, I got called in to give my two cents on a science project," Samantha said. But Martouf barely noticed her words—what humanity was in him made his eyes draw down to the surprising garb. Gone was the usual jacket of dull green or blue, buttoned neatly to the top. Instead, Samantha hardly looked like an Earthling at all. Her long legs were clearly defined in shimmering black leather, and her matching top, sleeveless and scoop-necked, made her askew hair look more appealing than endearing.

Martouf had to clench his fists at the sudden attraction coiling deep down, but even more at the way that Lantash seemed all afire at once. "We were not waiting long," he managed to say, swallowing to lessen Lantash's burning attraction on his good sense. *Mission first,* he ordered sharply.

"So, have you gone over the document?" Samantha asked. She opened the folder that she'd carried under her arm, spreading it across the table and leaning slightly across it. It was exactly the best—and therefore the worst, for now—angle to point out how that leather vest was very much something that Samantha should wear.

"Not—exactly—" Martouf stepped up, a little awkward. *I cannot think,* Lantash murmured in his head. "We talked about the terms with your general, of course, but this is something..."

Samantha glanced up, wide blue eyes guardedly curious.

Martouf felt his mouth starting to gape at the picture she presented, and though he could blame half of it on Lantash, the pleasant discomfort buzzing in his body was no accident. Not when Samantha looked like a queen.

"Something wrong?" she asked, her tone light as she still leaned over the table.

*Let me speak,* Lantash demanded. Knowing his thoughts, Martouf gritted his teeth and refused sharply. They were diplomats. "In a way, yes," he said, raising a hand to his brow with tense frustration, wiping away the beginnings of an awkward sweat.

Samantha blinked her further question.

"You do realize what you are wearing," Martouf blurted. "And that, more than most Tok'ra, we are—Lantash is—very—attracted to leather."

Samantha stood up slowly, her figure resplendent in the garb, tall and long and curved. Lantash longed to have control, to reach for her. Martouf just tried not to stare.

"Oh, I had no idea," Samantha said, glancing down. Martouf felt like a fool, and continued the sharp repression of Lantash, almost incorrigible. But then, her blue eyes danced up again, sparkling. "No idea at all."

Had he not been a Tok'ra, Lantash would have leaped forward and taken her in his arms at once. Martouf merely broke into a wide smile, taking a step forward. "Ah, I see."

"I do know you, you know," Samantha said with an amused look, swaying slightly as she smiled up at them.

"So you guessed how Lantash would be demanding control, seeing you like this?" Martouf asked, as Lantash all but battered at his brain, protesting at Martouf's way of taking it slow.

"That was half the plan," Samantha said, with a slight chuckle.

Martouf couldn't take it any more. He leaned down, kissed her smiling lips, and groaned at the perfection of it. She tasted like everything he had ever imagined when he thought of the name Samantha. And she wound her arms around him, slow and sweet as she brushed his lips with the tip of her tongue. Martouf shuddered, both with her and with Lantash, so aroused that he might set Martouf on fire with the level of desire.

*Martouf, I beg of you, please...*

"Lantash is not pleased with me," Martouf said, breaking the kiss almost breathlessly, fingers teasing at the zipper on the side of the vest. Samantha let her arms drop around his waist, a playful grin on her face as she pressed her body comfortably against him. "Yes, I know, not a surprise," he continued.

"Well, I wasn't planning to tease him forever," she said.

Martouf grinned, and with a slight dip of his eyelids he drew back. Lantash sprang forward, taking control of muscles in barely a second. He scooped Samantha in his arms, spinning around so he sat on the table with her on his lap. She laughed, but when he reached for her hips she wrapped her legs around him.

"You are too beautiful," Lantash said, voice more gravelly than usual as his hands caressed needily up her spine.

"You sure?" Samantha teased, leaning into him. "I'm not sure I believe it yet."

Lantash captured her mouth in a searing kiss, wrapping her tightly in his arms. She hummed against his lips, kissing with enough force to let him know that there would be no diplomatic discussions. Not for quite some time._