The Treaty of Guinness
by B. Cavis

The Treaty of Guinness
by B. Cavis

It stops being an issue eventually. You can only be in denial for so long, and you can only be miserable for an even shorter time than that. It was just fine when neither one of them knew what was going on-- when neither one of them was willing or able to face this untitled thing between them. That was easy-- all they had to do was keep their heads down and keep their bodies moving.

They weren't happy and they weren't sane, but they didn't know it so everything was okay.

After all, it's only when you realize how screwed up you are that you feel bad about it.

One day, she hit her head against a large piece of moving metal and received a severe concussion. One day, he sat by her bedside and held her hand and wished that she would move again, and was gifted with the sound of his name from her lips when she woke up.

And he had known it wouldn't work anymore. And she had known it hadn't worked in a long time.

That was a gray tinted day. Wrapped up in his memories and soaked in his fears, he stared down at the bottom of a whiskey glass and felt like his entire world had just been sucked boneless and spat out on the pavement to dry, thick and pasty. What the hell was he going to do now? What was going to happen to them now that the status quo had blown to hell? Now that their chances had been eaten by an emotion that had started as a small tickle and then mutated into something large and violent that had to be confronted.

How do you face something that shouldn't be there in the first place? How could he ignore the panic that had built in his chest when he had been faced with the prospect that she might be gone forever in a cloud of space shit? How could he keep himself from crumbling to his knees and presenting her with his pathetic self, begging for mercy and offering her the gift of his entire body and soul?

How could he deal with the fact that he is ass over tea kettle with Samantha Carter while being strictly forbidden from looking at her as more than a pair of boots and a willing soldier to be sent off to die? How could he look at her and not see the beautiful person who holds his gaze when it really counts and laughs when he needs her to?

He'd finished his drink, pulled his ass home, and forgotten everything in the wash of his hangover and dizzy detachment. Jack Daniel's had solved more than one problem for him, or at the very least delayed his confrontation of it. This was no exception.

On her part, Sam had popped a few of the painkillers the doctors had given her and escaped into the darkness it offered her. A few weeks later, she dragged Pete back to her house and tried to forget her problems in the pulse of his heart on hers and the slow steady movement of his cock inside her.

And it had worked for a time. After all, she'd been lying to herself for five years about what she actually felt for the man who maked her entire body shiver when he got within a five mile radius of her. What was a couple of more weeks? Months? Years? All she needed to do, reasoned the part of her that knew she wanted him but also knew she couldn't have him yet, was wait until he retired. And that was going to be any day now, wasn't it? His knee won't last forever, she had thought, half sad, half joyous. And when it finally goes in the end, it'll be me waiting for him on the other end of the door.

Only then he had gone and become a "Jack-sicle" under Antarctica. Thrown himself head first into a situation he couldn't get out of on his own and left her to deal with the issues he left behind. He'd been lost under the ice, and she become lost in her quest for his safe and sound return, and both of them had just been lost.

Her face had gone pale and gaunt by the time he had been found again. Thin hands gave him a salute at his promotion to general. A weak but bright smile had been his reward when he pinned the pips on her and stood back to watch her take his place at the head of SG-1. And a small "congratulations," had been his whispered payment of respect when he had taken over for Hammond.

He'd seen the sadness lurking in her eyes, and he could only hope that she could see the emotion reflected in eyes he always used to be able to shield, but never seemed to get the hang of with her. He'd never felt more disappointed, more like victory had just been snatched out of his mouth and turned to sour ash on his tongue than he did right then and there. To have wanted something for so long...

For Sam's part, when she had watched him step up to the post he deserved so much, all she felt was pain.

Disappointment had ripped up her spine and deep, hot agony had eaten at her stomach while guilt followed swiftly to cauterize the wounds.

How dare she feel sad about her own personal life, her conscious raged. This man had given up everything for the good fight, and now all of his hard work was being rewarded and so was hers. Colonel Carter was the next step in her career because that's what she deserved. She had no right to feel angry or sad about their careers going up to the next level.

The fight is more important, she had told herself. The fate of the world is more important than my own petty issues and my own little problems. This is what really matters. This is what is really important.

But no matter how many times she thought that, it didn't help. And no matter how many glasses of Jack Daniel's he downed in the future, it didn't stop the burn.

So when she showed up on his doorstep one night with a firm decision in her eyes and stepped in without hesitation when invited, it was just the next step in their relationship getting an early start. Just the next part of life and love.

Just the next chapter for Sam and Jack.

She'd paced around his living room in a violent temper he'd never associated with her, and she looked him up and down like he was her enemy, not her commander and friend. Her eyes had been small and angry, and her mouth had been set in a thin, pissed off line. The jeans had been tight. The shirt had been low cut, and she had crossed her arms over her chest in a way that did nothing to help him remember all of the reasons that having her in his bed, sobbing for a pagan god, was wrong.

"Look," she said, and took a swig of the beer that he had provided for them both out of habit. "It's not like I'm going to jump your bones just because I start calling you Jack."

And that brand new door that his mother had always talked about when she was feeling like Julie Andrew's evil sister suddenly opened bright and loud in his face. He had blinked. Repeatedly.


"And just because you see me outside of those God forsaken green pants does not mean you're going to tie me to the bedposts, right?"

Well, he had thought, not necessarily... "Right."

And she had sat down, full and furious on his couch, crossed her arms, and glared at him. "Then why do I have to walk around you like we're just one bad day away from ruining each other's lives? And why do we always have to make sure that either Teal'c or Daniel are around when we are together? And God damn it, why can't I have your key on my key chain they way I have theirs?" She put her hands on her thighs and clenched her fists. "You're the goddamned Commander in Chief of the mountain, Jack. You own the whole kit and caboodle, and no body questions you or what you do if you don't want them to. So give me one good reason that I shouldn't be able to treat you like a friend and look at you the way I want to, and occasionally have physical, human contact with you without it being some big forbidden, fucking clandestine thing?"

He had blinked again. Swallowed down half of his beer. And blinked once more. "I don't have a reason for you, Carter. I... that actually made perfect sense to me."

And all of the fire had gone out of her as her back collapsed and sent her sprawled boneless in the chair she had been perched on angrily for the previous tirade. "Oh thank God. If I hadn't managed to convince you with that one, you definitely would have had my ass court-martialed."

Things had progressed from there.

They went to his cabin and he fished while she read a novel on the deck.. He had given her a sun hat to wear, and she had watched it sink down below her eyes with a quirk of her mouth as he giggled hysterically. She had shoved him into the water, sunhat obscuring her vision, and he had pulled her right in with him, hissing and spitting through her own screams of laughter and outrage.

When they had come back, and someone had asked Sam about her tan, she just shrugged. "I spent the weekend with the General getting some R and R in." When a lewd comment had been hinted at, and her own sex life had been poked into the conversation, Sam had raised her eyebrows up to a level that screamed "I AM A COLONEL NOW AND I CAN SO KICK YOUR ASS DOWN TO PRIVATE" loud enough to silence the offending parties.

"I thought you would have had more respect for General O'Neill," she had said simply, and the protestations of innocence and apology had started. Hammond was no one's enemy. O'Neill is the butt of no one's jokes but his own and his team's. And Sam is no one's dirty little secret.

When the investigations and exposÈs of "Life At The SGC" come out years later, no one says anything about the two of them being improper. No one mentions anything but professionalism, followed by love and trust. No one will ever call Jack and Sam into any government office to tell them they are getting court-martialed. No one will ever dare.

Of course, their new mini-treaty had also freed up room for more every day exercises in fun and good times. Now that Sam isn't the unspoken enemy of his professionalism, Jack insists she join in everything he just suggested to her previously. Friday night parties are now "mandatory team meetings."

This took some getting used to, of course. Daniel and Teal'c had become accustomed to the idea that Sam was not one for Friday night get togethers. Whenever she was asked in the past, she had always brushed them off, but that first time, with the cease-fire in place, she had accepted with a jump and a grin. Her leather pants get a lot more action now, and her favorite fuck me pumps have scuffs at the tips of the heels from helping Daniel stumble out after one too many.

The first time is always the hardest, however, and this was no exception. They had gone drinking together with the boys, and Teal'c eyebrow had been up the entire night after Sam showed him the proper way to drink Tequila. Daniel had snorted beer out his nose when the jaffa had asked her to demonstrate the term "body shot," and near fainted away when Sam shrugged and licked the large, quiet man's throat to get the salt to stay. Jack had just grinned. Widely.

Later on, standing at the bathroom urinals and too full of booze to feel uncomfortable, Daniel had thrown his head back and asked what the deal was with him and Sam suddenly being all close and cuddly, and Jack had just shrugged.

"We came to an agreement," he said. "She keeps her sex toys to herself, and I'll stop asking her to bark like a dog."

When they had come back, Sam had scolded Jack for "whatever the hell you did that has Daniel looking like he just swallowed a butt plug," which sent Daniel even redder and Teal'c eyebrow even farther up.

Jack had lost the coin toss to explain to Teal'c what a butt plug was. Sam had been too busy cackling to notice.

After that, things had just sort of slid into place. No one was surprised anymore when Sam and Jack would arrive in the same car to the bars. No one had any questions about propriety when she would sling her arm over his shoulder and laugh like there was nothing wrong in the world that couldn't be fixed by the four of them and a little hard work/booze. There are no questions when for her birthday she comes out of his office with her fingers playing across a small aquamarine ring that he had found years earlier on P3X-873. And the new Simpson's DVDs that shine quietly on his shelf after every major special occasion are watched and loved, but never asked about.

Somewhere along the line, they become the star crossed love story of the SGC. Neither one of them notices, and neither one of them would care even if they knew.

Thursday nights become theirs, and no one questions it. It becomes common practice to simply call her cell phone when she's needed instead of calling her home. And if it's a Thursday, Daniel will walk up to Jack's front door and knock, and she will be there.

There's no sex. No kissing, no "everything but" involved. This is a relationship, one that grows stronger with each passing day, and they both hold no illusions. If they ever get the opportunity, they will jump each other. He will take her and make her body know him, and she will pull him into her until his entire being is hers and only hers. If they are ever allowed; if they can ever do something without destroying their principles and morals and all of the things they've spent years relying on, they will turn into lovers without a second thought.

Until then, they can be... something else. Something just as intimate, just as soft and meaningful. Just because they've never had sex doesn't make theirs a dull relationship, and just because they want to have sex doesn't make it a mutual jerking off session of massive proportions. They are together in every way anyone could ever imagine, with one exception.

And for the time being, that will have to do because it's the only option they have to keep "you and I" as an "us."

The war ends on a Wednesday afternoon.

Throwing themselves back through the gate, tossing themselves on the mercy of the ramp, SG-1, SG-3, and SG-8 spin head first through the open wormhole and land in history. Behind them, a small burst of fire comes through, a small pop of flames and the smell of burning flesh and dead enemy before the blue vanishes into the air.

Up in the observation area, Jack is on his feet. He's not sure why, but he's on his feet and his entire body is tight with some promise he might have just gotten a taste of, and his jaw is set firmly.

The entire room is silent. The entire base is quiet.

And Sam lifts her head up off the ground, crowned with dried blood and sweat plastered strands of blonde hair, and lets it all pour off of her body in one solid whoop of joy.

The marines follow. The airmen scream. Someone is howling at the hidden moon and someone is calling out his praise to Allah, and everyone is together and whole in this one moment of perfect, perfect achievement.

The death of the system lords through the introduction of the Tok'ra's poison, deadly and far-reaching in radiation form, into a very large, very "angry" sun. A sun that when it exploded, spread little bits of itself and it's radiation throughout the universe and coated everyone with a snake who hadn't taken the antidote.

The Jaffa's unique chromosome, the thing that lets them carry snakes and have holes in their stomachs without massive internal bleeding was thrust deep into the retro engineered virus. The Tok'ra were all inoculated. And the SG teams that remote piloted the ship full of the shit into the supernova waiting to happen fought off the one on ten attack of Baal, then came home.

Daniel and Sam and Teal'c are all hugging, and when they run out of the gate room to find Jack and attack him with their merriment, he is a willing participant. Everyone's arms are around everyone else's, and there are people slapping them on the back and screaming in their ears and crying for sheer happiness and relief.

The war ends on a Wednesday afternoon.

Once the happiness dies down, and once they all offer a near incomprehensible conference call to the President (who starts cheering and screaming along with them when he hears the news and offers Jack and everyone in the SGC a truck load of booze and money and "fine looking women with lose morals") the three teams trek, weary and beaten, down to the infirmary. The blood is cleared off. The twisted ankles and pulled muscles are iced and wrapped.

And in their little section of the room, with Jack by their side, SG-1 (who will always consist of Jack, Sam, Daniel, Teal'c, no matter what their status or postings may be) talk about the future.

"What are we going to do now?" Sam asks. Jack is sitting on the side of her bed, and his hand is resting across her stomach. No one seems to think this is anything odd.

"We're going to keep working," Jack answers, and Daniel glances up from his contemplation of the white gauze wrapped around his arm. "Now that the system lords are gone, we're still going to have to help the Jaffa and the rest of the galaxy. Our mission statement hasn't changed-- go through the gate, bring home new technology to advance society and defend ourselves against threats. We're still the same group. We're just... without a evil glowing eye villainous foil."

Teal'c's eyebrow goes up at the term "villainous foil," and his mouth twitches. There are small scratches on his temples from flying shrapnel, but he wears them with pride. Battle scars from the final battle. "Indeed. However, there are others out in the galaxy who would challenge the freedom of the tauri and Earth."

Daniel sighs. "We can't play intergalactic policemen to the world," he says, with no hint of disappointment in his voice. "That'll just drag us into more and more trouble down the road." They glance in his direction, and he raises his palms up. "No one here will deny the right for people everywhere to be free to make their own choices and their own decisions about life, but we need to be... realistic about this. We just got out of one war. A war that had casualties on both side that couldn't be avoided but shouldn't be taken lightly. The last thing we need to do is go out and spill more blood."

Sam shifts. "So... what? Just ignore that there's injustice out there?"

Jack's hand tightens briefly, and she sighs under the touch. The frustration has been dripping off her and soaking into the sheets for a while now. She lets it go. "Somewhere between the two," he says, "is the right answer. But that's not for us to decide. We follow orders because that's what we do." He runs a hand over his face, and when his hair sticks up in all directions, she reaches out absently to smooth it back down.

"Until then," he adds in a lighter voice, "I propose a get together."

Daniel furrows his brow and crosses his arms in a mock serious manner. Sam's lips turn up at the edges. "A get together'?"

"Cake will be involved."

"Oh, well then, hey, cake."

Teal'c's face twists up cheerfully. There's humor somewhere under there. "I shall provide the crisped potatoes and the dip."

Jack grins and jerks his head. "Well, there you go. Tomorrow night, my place. Chips, cake, beer. And Simpsons." He leans down and suddenly there is a kiss on Sam's forehead and her entire being has reached new levels of enlightenment. She grins back at him proudly. "Now all of you get some sleep. I need to go and see if the doc is going to let you all out in time to be irresponsible with me, or if I need to sneak you out in the laundry basket again." And leaves.

Sam quietly glows. Daniel and Teal'c don't share a look and neither one of them stares at her. Somewhere along the line, the idea that Sam and Jack need each other like they do has stopped being a spectacle and it's stopped being something beyond the ordinary.

It's much nicer this way, actually. No more uncomfortable emotions and no more stray thoughts about "is it out of the room now? Did we just see something we're not supposed to?" Everything they see is something they are meant to see. Everything they see is something they can deal with.

Later that night, while Sam sleeps, Jack climbs up on the side of her bed and yawns in exhaustion. He hasn't slept in over 24 hours now. Daniel looks up from the Smithsonian Magazine he snuck in when the "Nazi Nurses" weren't watching and settles his bones into the bed wearily.

"What are you two going to do now?" Jack looks up at him. Sam has snuggled against his warmth and support instinctively. He takes one arm and wraps it around her waist, and she makes a soft little humming noise into his collar as her lips part open. Daniel wonders if Jack even realizes she's drooling on his shoulder, and wonders if it would be more romantic if he was is too blinded by her to feel it, or if he feels it and loves her so much he can't be bothered by it.

Or maybe it's just that he's wearing a thick shirt.

Jack shrugs. "I guess... I'll tell you when we figure it out."

Daniel smiles in appreciation. Sam's his twin sister with a bit more of an edge-- kissing and telling would force him to kill Jack to save her good name.

Not that he really expected anything else from him.

"Good." He looks around him at the wounded and the mild scratches and thinks "Maybe this was too easy. Maybe..." He swallows down his own negativity and shakes his head. "Do you think it's over?"

Jack presses a firm, strong kiss to the top of Sam's head and runs a hand down the side of her cheek. She drools quietly onto his collar. "I don't know. But if it is... you can be my best man." And he untangles himself to go and be the professional he needs to be right now.

The two of them together on the couch is not a "wink wink, nod nod" situation. Daniel and Teal'c take up their favorite chairs in Jack's living room, which leaves the two of them sitting on the couch and twined together like one body.

He is behind her and she is leaning back against him, and the two of them look like one person with two heads. One of his arms is behind his head, cushioning it up against the arm of the couch. The other is wrapped around her waist, holding her gently. Her head rests back on his shoulder, and when he breathes out it ruffles her hair softly.

She has never felt more at peace in her life. She has never felt more jumpy in her life, either. Having him this close to her, knowing what will happen at the end of the night once their two friends leave them is like being on crack and coffee at the same time. Her body is humming and her heartbeat is felt in more than one center of her being.

For his part, he is trying not to breathe the smell of her hair in, because the second he does that, he is going to have to throw Daniel and Teal'c out in the cold and make her scream for her Maker and his touch. Which would be fun, but a little bit rude to say the least.

I've held out for seven years, he tells himself. I can do another two hours.

He hopes.

She lets out a soft sigh as his hand tightens around her waist, and her own trails down to interlock with his. Soon, her fingers tap against his thumb. Just a little while longer.

He really does not want to wait a little while longer. He really does not want to wait at all. Seven years is a long time to want someone without consummation. If she had been any other woman, he would have simply gone out and found someone else to relieve his tensions and frustrations, and forgotten all about her.

If Sam hadn't been Sam, he would have found a tight bodied blonde in a bar somewhere to suck his cock and scream as he pounded her into the mattress.

If he wasn't so ass over tea kettle in love with this woman, who he has just recently started to really know as someone who doesn't wear a uniform 24/7, he wouldn't be here right now. Sitting on his couch with her held up against his body, trying not to get hard at the feel of her.

He wouldn't trade it for anything. But that doesn't mean he's all that content with the fact that he's waited seven years for something that he can almost taste now, while not being able to have.

He squeezes her hand back, and lets out a soft, frustrated blow of air from his nose. She glances up at him and smiles.

"Just give it an hour or two," she whispers into his ear. Teal'c and Daniel are oblivious and half-drunk. "Then we'll lock the doors and take the phone off the hook and holler just as loud as we want to." And her tongue comes out to trace the curve of his ear with the perfect mixture of affection and dirty, hot need.

Naughty, he glares at her. Evil, he mouths, and she grins cheerfully as she snuggles back against him and flutters her eye lashes flirtatiously. On the screen, Homer is playing The Beer Baron.

"Always," she whispers softly, and laughs both at the pinch he lands on her ass and the scene on the screen.

"See?" Daniel says, his letters slurring together. "I think Mayor Quimby would make a good goa'uld system lord. He wants a harem, and he walks around wearing that sash thing."

Jack's eyebrows go up. "Daniel, goa'uld's don't wear sashes."

Daniel waves a hand. "Yeah, but they wear robes and stuff. Robes, sashes-- same difference. Bad fashion choice."

Sam giggles. "I think Quimby pulls it off. And if you want to talk about bad fashion-"

"We don't," Jack interrupts.

"Quiet Jack-- if you want to talk about fugly clothes, try the Tok'ra. I have never met a man who could pull off legging, lace up the leg boots, and furry vests. They look like rejects from The Flintstones."

Teal'c raises an eyebrow. "They match the sand. But so do our uniforms. On more than one occasion when meeting with the Tok'ra, I was extremely pleased the Tauri did not have uniforms that consisted of hoods and... leggings."

And they laugh because it's one thing to have Sam say it, but to have Teal'c talk about it is just a little bit too funny for their Guinness-filled bodies to take without cackling.

Jack had thought that the joy he is currently feeling had died along with his son and marriage. He thanks whatever deity led him here, with three people who are his new family and his friends-- three people he trusts with his life and his soul.

Whomever decided to give him this woman, who holds his hand in hers and makes him forever feel like he's a teenager looking at his first pair of naked breasts, deserves his thanks and praise. Whatever circumstances led him here, with her curled against him as they laugh about something that is only really funny to them; thank you, he mouths towards the ceiling.

Two hours later they go their separate ways. Daniel is falling asleep in his chair, and Teal'c has amused Sam and Jack with every Jaffa joke he knows. It's time to go home. It's time to stop for the night.

Thank you God, both Sam and Jack think.

They wave good bye to Daniel and Teal'c from the door, making plans to meet tomorrow at noon for brunch and some sober conversation. Everyone had a little bit to drink tonight, and since Daniel is the light weight above all others, he is too drunk to remember anything they talked about for more than five minutes at a time. Teal'c helps him out to the car and drives away with a nod through the window.

Sam and Jack just stand there, watching them leave.

Watching all of the restraints fall off them and their lives.

All of it.

The door is closed in front of them, and they look at each other with awe in their eyes and faces.

"Is it really over?" she asks softly, and he swallows down all of the doubt that his old soldier's mind likes to cling to in order to make the rest of him miserable and paranoid. He saw the reports, the videos. Heard the eye-witnesses who watched the goa'uld scream in agony as they boiled inside of their hosts' heads.

It's over.

"Yeah," he whispers. "I think it is."

And her arms are around his neck and his hands are holding her hips, and suddenly the door is all that keeps them from slumping to the ground and dying from the delicious, unbelievable pleasure that they are receiving from each other's mouths.

His tongue running over her teeth, her hands pulling at his head to keep him where she needs him to be. Little noises are being released into the air, wrapping around them like fog.


It's over.

He pushes his entire body up against hers, and her back is flat against the door as he takes his grip on her waist and transfers it to her butt and lifts her up. Her legs are wrapped around his waist and her weight should be bothering his knees but it's just not happening. She pants against his mouth, and the erection he's had for her for seven years is up against the heat she's held for him for just as long.

He pulls his mouth away from hers and nips at her bottom lip. She throws her head back and breathes in, deep and needy.

"Jack," she exhales, and her fingers are in his hair because if she lets go she is going to lose her grip on the world and slip into a different reality. She pulls his head off her neck and meets his eyes, and the look she finds there is so incredibly hot because she knows he can see the same one on her face. "It's over," she laughs breathily, and he grins back at her before leaning forward and grabbing her mouth with his again and sucking all thought out of her.

"Yeah," he grunts. "It's over."

The words are unbelievable-- never in their wildest dreams did they think the war would actually end with them both still in the SGC. Never in their realistic estimations did they think it would end while they were both alive.

She has always had the sick feeling that the fight against the enemy that is now no more would consume her life and then take that of her children as well. She is happier than she ever thought she could be that reality has proven her wrong.

His hips are grinding a rough rhythm against hers, and she grunts every time he hit's a spot that hasn't been properly stimulated in way too long. There are a lot of them.

She is fire and magma and heat against his body. He pulls her shirt up in back because he needs to feel her right now, and her skin burns his hands and fuses them to her. He can feel his body burning white and blue as she lights him.

Sensation is all there is. His hands on her and her cunt pressed up against his cock through their clothing; the world is only them and they are the only beings in the universe right now. She lets her hand trail down his body, relishing the feel of strong muscle and hard male under her palm. She's felt him before, of course-- there have been various cease-fires over the years that resulted in hugs or touches, and the Treaty of Guinness has opened up those sorts of doors for them.

But never like this. Never with him grinding against her and growling into her mouth, and devouring her senses.

She grabs his ass and squeezes, and he throws his head back, lips ripping away from hers, and hisses. His hips jerk even harder against her, and her own head falls back in response.

"This is a bad place to do this," he groans, and she whimpers her agreement.

"A very bad place. Very... naughty." And they're both laughing without air, and his hands hike her up his body again before pulling away from the door. "What's the matter Jack?" she purrs, wrapping her hands around his neck again and taking the opportunity to bite down on his neck and lick his unshaven cheeks. He stumbles and almost spills them both to the floor. "Don't you want to be naughty with me?"

"I am going to kill you, you evil, wicked woman," he groans, and she's the only one laughing this time. "Laugh it up, Sam. Your ass is grass when I'm through with you."

He trips into his bedroom, the door slammed open by the mass of the two of them moving blindly through the house. Somehow or another, their lips got mashed together again, and they are feasting on each other's mouths for sustenance and salvation. When they fall back onto his bed, they are already half way gone.

His weight presses her in the mattress, and she arches up against him as her fingers pull at his shirt impatiently. She's waited to be able to actually look at him for nine years. She's so fucking tired of waiting for everything.

Apparently, so is he. Just as she pulls away to demand he get naked, she finds herself sans a shirt.

She's lying in a bra and pair of jean shorts on someone else's bed, as he stares down at her like she's the most captivating creature he's ever seen. This is so reminiscent of her teenage years it's funny.

She stretches her arms up above her head, thrusting her chest out as she does so. His throat works up and down gently. "Jack," she murmurs, "I'm not going to vanish if you touch me."

His fingers, those industrious little helpers of depravity, flick the front clasp of her bra open, and he looks down at her, naked and beautiful for the first time ever. "That's what you always say," he chokes out, and that little hint of need and long suffering desire makes her entire body flush red and bright in anticipation.

His skin on hers. His legs tangled in the sheets. His cock in between her thighs.

Waiting is overrated.

His fingers cup her, hold her, and own her soft and sweet. His thumb flicks her nipples, and they were hard before but now they ache. He is too good with his hands, she thinks desperately as he learns her breasts. Way too fucking good.

She can feel her panties sticking to her. Her shorts are itching in all of the wrong places.

"You're fucking beautiful," he groans gently, and all of his fantasies have been out done by the reality of this woman in his bed and her skin under his. She isn't a size DD cup, and she doesn't scream for him just because he runs his hands over her body.

She's real, and that is the greatest turn on he could ever imagine when it comes to this woman. She hasn't evaporated under his hands and he hasn't woken up to find her a figment of his overworked, under sexed mind. She's here. She's... Sam.

And that thought sends his mouth open and groaning as he leans down to capture the first nipple he can find in the trap of his teeth and tongue and lips, as she gasps at him and wraps her fingers in his hair.

She tastes like life and satisfaction and the honey soap she uses, and he devours her in time with the beat of his heart and the throb of hers. Fucking beautiful, fucking amazing. He can never let this woman go, and he sure as hell can't let her leave.

Never leave, he tells her as his teeth bite down hard enough to make her gasp out his name and pull at his hair, yanking it up from the root.

"Jack, you have too many clothes on and I have too many clothes on and please just let's get naked right now before I die?" When did he reduce her to rambling, he wonders, and switches breasts as his fingers pinch the nipple he just abandoned to the cool air. "Jack," she whines, and he bites down on her again for good measure.

Don't rush me, he begs her mentally. Don't keep me from memorizing ever second of this and every reaction of yours.

And the pull on his hair has become painful, and he pulls away snarling and hissing, and she throws him over onto his back with one of the black ops moves he taught her all those years ago when Conrad's men had pulled her into a truck and snatched her from view. He looks up at her and she closes her thighs around his chest, squeezing threateningly.

"My turn," she says, and his shirt is suddenly off and thrown to the four winds. She plants her hands on his stomach and just... touches.

Looks. Learns his skin just as she does her equations, and she will never forget the look or feel or texture of him for as long as she lives. She leans down and runs her teeth over his collarbone, and the feel of it makes him grunt as he thrusts up into thin air.

Her fingers pinch his nipples, and his head falls back limp against the bed, chest rising and falling rapidly. She bites down on the skin just above his heart. "I've waited for this for way too long," she tells him, and he grunts in agreement. Way too fucking long, he thinks.

Why don't you just climb on my cock right now, he asks her silently. Just hop on babe, and I'll make sure you can't remember the waiting at all when I'm done. He knows he can make her scream if he works hard enough, and if there's one thing Jack isn't afraid of, it's a little bit of hard work for a good cause.

This is the best cause he has ever worked for.

And then her thighs loosen from around his chest, and her warmth leaves his body, and he jerks his head up just in time to see her ass as she crawls off the bed and stands bathed in the light from the street lamps and the hallway.

Is she leaving? Did he do something wrong? He starts to feel the world closing in on him once more, and his fists clench by his side-- to have wanted her for seven years only to screw it up now? Way to fucking go, Jack. Way to...

Her fingers trail down her own naked chest to the waist band of her jean shorts. He watches her hands come to rest over the fly, and the small pop he hears makes his jaw loosen. She unbuttoned her waistband. And when her hands take the zipper in hand and pull, his eyes follow the procession of it down.

The Promised Land has nothing on Samantha Carter, and as her shorts and the white silk panties she has underneath them lose the fight with gravity and slide down her long legs to crumble on the floor, he seals her image in his mind and swears on a stack of mental bibles that he will never forget it.

Naked Sam.


She just stands there, not saying anything, not moving in any direction, not shifting uncomfortably. Her skin is the most powerful weapon he's ever seen her use, and when she tosses the hair out of her eyes, he swallows his response down and holds her in his vision.

"You're gorgeous," he whispers, and she smiles, blushing soft red on her face and chest. Has she always done that, he wonders, and thinks back to all of the times he has made her drop her head to hide her face with her hair and smile, embarrassed with some comment he's made or another. He's been making her body respond to him for years with his words and his actions.

Hey. Cool.

And he stand up, in front of her, towering over her just enough to force her to look up at him. She tilts her chin up, thinking he might kiss her, but instead his hands go to his belt. Her eyes focus in on the movement of his fingers. The leather slips free of the metal, the loops on his pants tugging with the movement of it being torn away. She watches it fall to the floor, and steps forward because she really wants to do this part herself.

Her proximity makes him still and docile, and when her fingers slip the first button on his fly out of it's hole, his eyes don't look away from her face. Is there a world outside of this one?

Pop. Second button. She licks her lips, and the bottom one sticks out to tempt him. The urge to bite down on it tickles at the back of his head, and he shakes it away.

Samantha, he thinks to himself calmly and peacefully, and the third button is gone.

She steps into the cradle of his chest, and when her chin tilts up this time he does kiss her. Holds her mouth with his and runs his tongue over the soft inside of her cheeks as she tastes his teeth slowly and surely. The forth button is down.

"Want you," she gasps against his teeth, and he nods to her and himself.

"I know. Want you so bad." And as her hands take the waistband of both the boxers and the pants in hand, he feels the last restraint on their lives fall away and join the other boundaries on the floor.

She twines her arms around his neck again, and when she presses closer this time, she traps his cock between their bodies and sighs. He can feel his body revolting against him.

"Sam," he grunts, "bed."

"Jack," she giggles, "no argument."

And she pushes him backwards towards the bed, as he takes her by the waist and spins her around, and the end result is them both falling to the bed, with him on top of her, and laughter spilling from one throat or another.

"Sorry," he offers.

"Not," she laughs, and grabs his back muscles in her hands and squeezes.

There is a heartbeat pulsing between her legs that is driving all rational thought out of her and spilling her juices down her legs to dampen her thighs. She has never wanted anything more than she does right now.

He settles himself on top of her to keep from bruising any part of her that she doesn't want bruised, and she finds him looking down at her, again, like she is the only thing he ever wants to see.

His eyes are telling her that he is going to make her beg for mercy and no mercy in the same breath. She can see his intentions in the clench of his hands on the bed next to her head, and she loves what she sees there. Like he's going to absorb her through his skin and make her love it.

Hey, she thinks, works for me.

"Jack," she purrs, and her hand trails down his body to grab his cock. He thrusts into her hand involuntarily, and hisses as she trails her fingernails up the side of him. He looks thick and hot in her palm, colored violently and dark, and she loves the idea that she is going to be able to do this to him again for as long as she wants for the rest of her existence. She can do this now. She can blow his mind apart now.

"Jack," she says again, "I really need you to do something for me." He leans back on his heels. His fingers are wrapped around her thighs and she can feel him pulling her open wide and wet.

"What's that, Samantha?" he asks darkly, taking his cock from her hand and putting it against the soft pink cunt that he has seen in his dreams many times, but never as perfect as it is now. She rubs up against him, and he plants one hand next to her waist as she grips at his arm with her hand and fingernails.

And then he's slipping into her, thick and hard and wide, and her body is trying to find room to fit all of the sensations he is causing in her right now and failing miserably. Half of it spills out of her mouth in a deep groan of satisfaction.

"Never mind," she gasps. "I think I'm okay now."

He chuckles, and his other hand comes to rest on the other side of her hip. He's sitting up and fucking her as she lies down, and the angle is just good enough to make her shiver without actually making her climax. She feels her skin impaled on a million invisible needles, and when he eases back and then thrusts into her, hard, her clit is suddenly pieced by the sensation, and she squeals.

"Oh fuck me," she laughs to herself, and he smirks with her for as long as he can keep his concentration in two places at once, which with the feeling of her body around his, isn't very long. His shoulders lock into place, and he gazes down at her while his hips move apart from the rest of his body and brain.

He has a feeling all logical thought has left him. He's not sure what exactly he can do to fix that, of if it even deserves fixing.

Sam moans hot and dirty under him, and he grips her waist in his callused hands in reply. Don't get distracted.

Don't think. Just react.

Her cunt is squeezing him tighter than he ever thought she could. Her own hands are trailing over her breasts and the skin that he traced with his tongue earlier. Her fingers pinch her own nipples, and she gasps just as his jaw drops open in praise of the sex gods.

"God you're so hot," he grunts, and she twists and arches under his body. "I could look at you like this forever." She searches for breath and finds none. She tries to form words but her vocabulary has seeped out of her body. He's fucking rational thought out of her, and the idea is incredibly hot.

Making love can come later. They have years for making love.

Fucking is for first times. Fucking is for release.

His chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate with the release he's seeking from her body. She can feel her clit begging for just a bit more contact because it's almost good enough but not quite. Her hands are gripping his arms and her body is arching and she can't let go of him because if she does she is never going to be able to find her way back and she just can't handle that idea.

Don't let me leave, she begs him mentally. Don't let me, don't let me.

And he doesn't. Instead, he offers her what she needs. His hand comes down to pinch at her clit with all of the subtlety of a Mack truck, and he is pulling and rubbing and fingering her as his cock moves in and out of her and his body tenses and flexes, and she is going to see the sun and there it is and-

"Oh God," she groans, throwing her head back and thrusting her body against his hips as her entire universe collapses in on itself in one gigantic whoosh of release.

She's squeezing him, contracting around his body and coming and moaning, and he feels his mind go white with relief. She's come, it's okay now-- he's made it good and now he doesn't have to worry and now he feels like everything's going to be okay because she's bouncing and moving and oh wow, her breasts look great when she shimmies, and she is real and she is alive underneath him and she is real and he is gone.

She's real, he thinks desperately as he gasps for breath and life and energy. She is shaking underneath him, and he tries not to crush her but has a feeling he's failing. Her hands wrap around his back and hold him where he is, and he stops worrying.

She wants to be crushed.

When his breathing is even enough to be reliable, he picks his head up out of the dust and looks down at her with the eyes of a man who was just offered his dream on a silver platter, and links his mouth to hers with a gentle pressure.

She smiles. Satisfied and happy.

"Jack," she sighs.

"Sam," he answers, and slips out of her and off of her body with a little grunt. She finds his side with little trouble, and fits perfectly into the niche that has apparently been carved just for her by his heart and body during all those years of wanting her exactly where she is now. He wraps his arms around her waist like he has been doing it for years, and she listens to his heartbeat with her eyes closed for a long minute.

"You are mine," she whispers to him, and he presses a kiss against the top of her head the way he has wanted to for years upon years.

"And you are mine," he responds, and that is enough.

Brunch involves large mimosas and small pancakes. They toast just about everything they can think of, and smile at everyone who walks by.

The world is easy going when you've saved it.

Later, standing outside in the parking lot and watching as Sam tries to teach Teal'c the right way to sit on a motorcycle, Daniel and Jack stand with their backs against the building and don't look at each other.

"Are you happy with your decisions?" Daniel asks, nonjudgmental, and shoves his hands in his pockets.

The corner of Jack's mouth turns up gently. "Yeah."

"Good. I'm glad you two have found happiness," he says. "I love you both, you know that, right?"

"Yeah. The same way we love you guys."

"I want you two to be happy no matter what. And if that's together? All the better." He shuffles in place, and his sneakers make soft little scuffing noises on the pavement. "So what happens now?"

Teal'c manages to stay balanced on the motorcycle, and Sam laughs and claps her hands together in glee. The big man grins wide and pearly at his accomplishment, and the deep laugh that never comes out to join the rest of them spills from his mouth now. Daniel and Jack watch and smile to themselves in camaraderie.

The future is never clear until we're there, and even then it can be a little bit misty. They look around themselves and honestly aren't sure what they're even doing now.

But it feels right. And for the moment, that's more than enough for them.

"I don't know," Jack says finally. "But whatever it is, it's gonna be a hellava trip, isn't it?" And he slaps Daniel on the back as the two of them push off the building and go to join their two team mates.


Well? I know, I'm dabbling in the future.


I like the future. It has possibilities, and cool hoover cars. Feedback to B. Cavis