Title: Still
Author: Ky (Venom_69)
Fandom: Stargate EssGeeWun
Category: Smut, Romance
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: ADULT!
Summary: When he announces that he's leaving, they throw him a party despite his protests.
Archive: My site. Anywhere else, sure, just let me know where so I can come visit.
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, never will. Promise to put them back in the state I found them. Song belongs to Jennifer Love Hewitt.
Author’s notes: I’ve written 30 JC fics in the last month and figured it was time for a change. Many thanks to triciabyrne1978 for all of her help.
Date: 01/01/07
Copyright © to Venom, 2007

***


Oh, say what you had to say
Happy you got your way
There's nothing to discuss

***

When he announces that he's leaving, they throw him a party despite his protests.

It's a half 'Goodbye and Good luck' party and half a 'wow, you actually survived eight years of this place?' party.

They host it at O'Malley's - The original SG-1's ban was lifted a few years ago but their barman, Jerry, still eyes them with caution - with the thinking that if people can eat, they're less likely to get plastered in the first three minutes when they hear the words 'open bar.'

She, the unofficial party planner - meaning the most organized - doesn't believe for a second that it will work and she tells Jerry that he can cut anyone off at any point in the night if it's necessary. Except for him.

As it is, he spends most of his time by the bar and she doesn't see him without a drink in his hand at any time.

People that haven't quite understood the concept of him leaving - meaning that sucking up is no longer required - have spent the night taking him glasses of everything, including one hopeful looking twenty-something with a tequila shot in her hand. They had all smiled at him as they held the beverage out.

She hass heard the words "Sir, may I buy you a drink?" more than once in the evening.

He knows it's open bar - he signed the requisition form - but he says yes and thanks them anyway.

Sam spends a large amount of the night taking care of the little issues that pop up here and there - but holding that girl's hair back after she'd tried to match the General shot for shot? Quite a low point - and she doesn't find a chance to speak to him until almost midnight.

The party is still in full swing and if Sam can say one thing for her USAF buddies, it's that they know how to take advantage of free booze.

Not that she's completely sober herself.

When she finally does make it to his side, she hands him a glass of scotch on the rocks and smiles sweetly. "Can I buy you a drink, Sir?"

He snorts and shakes his head but takes the glass anyway. "Quite a party, Carter."

"Having fun?"

"A blast." He lies.

Jack O'Neill hates parties.

He's known for hating parties, but more know for his inability to remain silent about that hatred.

"Everyone else seems to be having fun."

"I think that was why I agreed to it." He takes a sip of the scotch and Sam sips her own beer for lack of anything to say. "So, how long do you think it will be before I can politely leave these kids to get drunk without their boss watching?"

Ex-boss. She wants to point out sharply, you're the one choosing to leave! She bites her tongue until the urge passes. "You should be good to go in an hour or so, Sir."

"You don't have to do that anymore, you know."

"Do what?"

"Call me Sir." He doesn't look at her when he responds. His eyes focus on something across the room - is Daniel doing body shots? - and the set of his jaw tells her more than anything else ever could.

"You're still a General." She reminds him quietly.

"And you're still a Colonel. But you don't work for me anymore."

"And that changes anything?"

This is so not how she thought they'd have this conversation.

Sam admits that its been on her mind since he announced his promotion to head of Home World Security.

If they weren't working together anymore then, maybe, they could... well, screw like bunnies had been her first thought. Followed quickly by something akin to dating.

Laira, Kynthia, Martouf, Pete, Kerry... none of them matter any more.

None of them matter because they are still both standing at his leaving party and neither of them came with someone on their arms. Sam wants to remind him of that. Remind him that, regardless of everything that has happened in the past, they still always - always - seem to end up alone and together.

Together and still about four galaxies apart.

He looks at her sharply, fixing her with an unreadable expression. "I guess it doesn't."

Why is she arguing with him about this?

She wants this - wants him - and, damn her, she has done for far more years than is strictly healthy. But she's standing next to him, their shoulders barely touching, glasses of alcohol in hand, at his farewell party and all that she can really think is that, come the day after tomorrow, he will be gone and she's never going to see him anyway.

Sam hates it, but she can't screw him once and move on.

It just wouldn't work like that with him and she's not stupid enough to try, damnit.

"You're leaving soon." She reminds him quietly.

"I hear that planes fly pretty regularly from Colorado to DC and back." He gets it, she knows that he does. When she looks at his face, she sees the soft smile that he doesn't try to hide. He gets where her major concern is.

They've both wanted this for a long time and a day and a half, plus all the packing he has to do - which he has not started regardless of what he says - is just not enough.

Before she can respond, Sam watches as the girl from the bathroom saunters - stumbles - over towards them again.

He mutters "Crap" just low enough for her and his expression changes from one of slow seduction to one of complete and utter panic.

"I got it." She smiles and moves forward to direct the girl toward the line of cabs that wait outside of the building, anticipating the fares that will come from this party.

The girl - a Major, if she recalls correctly - protests weakly as she's bundled into a cab. Sam gives the driver directions and calls the SGC and lets them know that 'Drunk and Incoherent Person Number 1' for the evening is on her way back and the guards on duty promise to see her safely to her Quarters.

When she makes her way back inside, much more sober after her battle against the cold April air, the party is still in full swing but their guest of honour appears to have disappeared.

Daniel is drunk - has been for hours - and the fact that he has remained conscious and semi-upright is a source of amusement for everyone at his table. Sam smiles softly and shares a look with Teal'c to ensure that their friends is taken care of before she heads back towards the bar.

"He's out back." Jerry tells her before she has a chance to open her mouth.

"I'm sorry?"

The bartender shrugs and pours another round of the drinks she took last time. "Party boy. Went out the back when you left with drunk girl."

"Right. Thanks."

Sam takes the glasses and manoeuvres her way through the crowd.

Some people are dancing, some are playing pool, some are just sitting around their large area of tables and chatting. Daniel's drunken ramblings have a quite a following and she smiles as she makes her way towards the back entrance of the bar.

When she pushes the door open with a classy move involving her hip and her elbow, she is hit with the cold air again and thankful for the coat that covers her.

He is leaning against a wall, staring up at the stars.

She makes no attempt to silence her approach and when she reaches him, he takes the glass of scotch automatically.

"She get off OK?"

Sam nods. "The base is expecting her."

"She was the one that was trying to match me shot for shot, right?"

"Yes." Which brings Sam to wonder exactly how he's still standing when the girl is plastered and about fifty other people have offered him shots of various things.

"You ever seen that movie with those chicks that dance on a bar, Carter?"

What...? "Can you narrow it down?"

"The one where they dance and serve people? A blonde sings at the end, I think."

"Coyote Ugly?"

"Mmmm," He nods. "Seen the bit they do with the spit bottle?"

Sam laughs. "Very cleaver."

"Jerry's idea." He shrugs and looks at her. "Kinda glad for it now."

"We never got to finish what we were discussing inside." They've never been good at talking, especially when the topic of conversation was them.

"I think we said enough."

"Oh."

"Carter, I'm ready to leave now."

"Right." She smiles tightly, ignores any prickling that she may or may not feel at her eyes. "Cab?"

"Sure. You want a lift?"

They live on opposite sides of the city. Sharing a cab with him is utterly pointless in terms of time and economics. He knows that as well as she does.

"That would be great. Thanks."

***

Sam thinks that they behaved reasonably well in the cab.

They had started on opposite sides of the back seat but, without a seatbelt on, every corner had found her sliding closer and closer to him until they had been touching form shoulder to ankle and his hand had moved to her thigh to steady her. It had been perfectly innocent. He was merely keeping her from sliding across the seat.

But then his thumb had started to trace little patterns on her jeans and that hadn't been quite as innocent.

She hadn't said anything thought because, really, what was left to say?

Her head had turned into the crook of his neck and her teeth had closed around a bit of skin and when she breathed in, her senses were assaulted with a scent that she knew was all him.

When his hand had move up - quite far up - her thigh and pressed at her through her jeans, her hand had closed around his wrist and she'd sighed heavily into his neck, moving her hips just enough to keep a smile on her face.

"Are we really gonna do this here?" He'd asked quietly.

Sam had pushed herself a little harder against his hand, her mouth against his ear. "I can't say I'm against it at this point."

And then he'd kissed her.

For their first real kiss - she doesn't count alien viruses or hallucinations or a multitude of fantasies - it had been surprisingly comfortable.

Passionate, hot, probably a little graphic, but definitely comfortable. His tongue had been in her mouth, tasting her, while his hand had remained between her thighs, pressing and rubbing and all sorts of good stuff. Sam's own hand had been working it's way towards the tell-tale bulge in his pants when they'd pulled up at his house.

A polite cough had been what had finally separated them.

He'd left the grinning driver a really big tip.

Now, as she stands in his living room, watching him hang their coats up, drop his keys on the table, Sam can't help but think that he looks so domestic and so right.

Finally, he turns to face her and takes a small step forward. "You want a drink?"

"No."

"Something to eat?" Another step closer.

"No."

"TV on?" And another.

"No."

One more. "A less obvious way to back out of this?"

Sam takes the last step, bringing their bodies into contact. "No."

"We could talk."

Her arms wind around his neck and she has to stretch a little which moves her body against his. She can practically hear her nipples doing a happy dance. "We said all that we had to say."

"Planes run regularly from Colorado to DC and back." He agrees, his hands moving to her hips.

One hand slips below the fabric of her top, running over the bare skin of her back and she has to think before she can formulate a reply. "They do. And we can join an Air miles program."

"This is why you're the smart one here." He dips his head, tasting the skin of her neck as she had done to him in the cab.

"Thank you." She breaths and wonders if she's thanking him for the compliment of for the talent of his tongue as it runs across her neck and shoulder.

Pulling their hips apart - damn him - his hands move to the buttons on the front of her jeans and he pauses. "Last chance to back out, Carter."

Sam keeps eye contact with him and, somehow, manages to work her hand underneath his to pull the zipper of her fly down. "No."

He smiles once and pops the button. The jeans that she wears are tight and make little movement, but the pad of his fingertips brushes over the exposed skin of her belly and her muscles flutter in response. He smiles, pleased with the reaction.

"Bedroom."

She nods. His knees wouldn't take it if they ended up on the floor - or the sofa, kitchen bench, against the front door, against a wall... not that she's thought about it much - and she has no desire for this to be over simply because they didn't think about it.

They head towards his bedroom but it turns out that they have to stop every few steps to kiss and work at removing an article of clothing. Her hands run over his skin constantly, touching and learning as she watches his tanned body move. He has scars, so many scars, and she traces each one that she can see, vowing that, by morning, she will know them all by texture and taste.

"We're not gonna make it." He warns when she pulls his boxer shorts and reaches for his erection.

But they do make it and they stand at the foot of his bed, tongues duelling and bodies pressed together. He bends her backwards slowly - and she's not quite sure how people their age manage such a controlled fall but she doesn't complain - until she feels the cool softness of his comforter against her back.

Her logical brain automatically goes to protest against this. He is her superior, regardless of his job title, he most certainly can not be naked and on top of her, their bodies pressed tightly together with the head of his penis rubbing between her folds, nudging inside.

And then he thrusts and her brain dies.

She whimpers, once, low in her throat and when his name escapes her lips, she knows that this is exactly how things were supposed to turn out for them.

"Jack."

***

End