|
Title: Admissions
Author: Ky (Venom_69)
Fandom: Stargate EssGeeWun (Why, yes, that *is* in my Spellchecker
– your point?)
Category: Smut, romance, thoughts, humor.
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: Adult
Summary: Their
lips meet and after that, all bets are off
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’s not
mine either.
Author’s notes: "If you love me you'll write me smut" - Who could say no when it's put as nicely as
that? Not me, apparently. Dedicated to the only person in my life with the ability to emotionally blackmail me for smut and
still make me laugh about it.
Date: 20/12/2005
Copyright © to Venom, 2005
***
There have been times in
his life when he's wanted nothing more than to sit back, rest his hands behind his head, put his feet up on something soft
and just sigh contentedly.
Random moments throughout the years that he has looked upon in reflection as perfect. Times
when he has known for sure that if he had died in that second, he would have died a very happy man.
Now, looking back?
He remembers that those moments were particularly nice and he was particularly happy, but they were nothing compared
to this. ‘This’ being what he does now, with her. What they do.
Jack O'Neill has been in love before. He's
been consumed by lust before, too. Neither have ever - ever - felt like this.
She is the first thing on his
mind when he wakes in the morning. She is the last thing that he thinks about before sleeping at night.
Throughout
his last days at the SGC in the Big Chair behind the Big Desk - who said size doesn't matter? They lied! - he would think
about her more often than he was prepared to admit. Not much has changed there, he muses.
When she hurts, he feels
it. When she's happy, it's contagious.
It scares him more than a little that his emotional well being is this dependent
on another person, but he thinks that, at the very least, he's in good hands with her.
He doesn't like to think about
the Pete Incident - as he calls it - very often. He likens that kind of thinking to beating ones-self over the head with a
hammer multiple times; after the first few painful strikes, you tend to get the message and you just don't do it. She seems
to feel the same way, because she doesn't mention her little 'indiscretion' any more than he mentions that brief stint with
Kerrie.
They're good at not talking about stuff. They’re better at being together.
Sometimes, usually
when it's late at night, he thinks back to when he first met her. She was little more than blue eyes, an hourglass figure
and legs up to her armpits then.
About three seconds after his initial impression - which he admits hasn't really wavered
any - she turned in to more than something pretty to look at when it became apparent that he could add brains to her growing
list of attributes.
He wishes that he could defend Men And Their Way Of Thinking by saying that his first thought about
her didn't involve bending her over the briefing room table and finding out if she was a screamer or not, but then he'd be
lying.
He admits that that hasn't changed much over the years, either.
The only difference is that, now, he
can confirm that she is a screamer. And he can quite happily - and proudly - confirm that he has the ability to make
her scream. Loudly. Multiple times.
It sucks more than a little that they don't technically live in the same state
anymore, but thanks to his buddy Thor, they don't have to worry about the hassles of conventional travel. For some strange
reason, the little grey guy likes him enough that Jack now has the ability to go from his office to her living room in a convenient
flash!
He's taken to surprising her when he knows that she's at home. There is a certain thrill that comes with
popping into her house while she is in her comfort zone, going about her normal routine. (Okay, so it's more of a thrill if
he knows that she's just stepped out of the shower, but he's a guy.)
There might be a slightly voyeuristic aspect to
it, but he'll take what he can get.
The other bonus is that he can also 'beam' - and Thor still doesn't get the Scotty
nickname - her to him at will. He doesn't do it very often, especially if there's a potential that she's not alone. But knowing
that he can gives him a nice little tingle.
This time, however, she's in DC with about a hundred other SGC officers
for a Presidential Ceremony. He doesn't really remember what it's about - he does - and he's not sure exactly why he has to
attend - he knows - but all that he really cares about is that, for the next two days at least, she will be in his hotel room
with him. Alone.
He wants to jump up and down. But he doesn't.
They haven't had more than a few hours alone
together since they started this... thing... between them and he finds himself excited at the prospect of having her to himself
for the whole weekend. Well, minus a few hours on Sunday morning for the ceremony, naturally.
He would like to say
that he has lots of grand plans to take her out in public with him and behave like a normal couple, but he suspects that they’ll
be lucky to make it to the bed.
When they started this ‘thing’, they started in the "Oh My God it’s
been a really long time and I love you and please let us get naked now" phase. They don’t appear to have left that as
yet. He’s thinking that it might happen some time before his 60th birthday and that’s a depressing thought.
Jack
had offered to pick her up from the airport, like all good – ugh – boyfriends should, but she had been adamant
that she could make her way to his hotel all by herself. So he’s left twiddling his thumbs as he paces the length of
his temporary living room.
He still technically lives in Colorado, his house is still as he left it –which means
there’s some milk in the fridge that has probably grown legs and spawned some kind of mutant army and a cucumber that’s
probably grown so much that even Anubis wouldn’t have taken in on – but the Air Force have put him up in a nice
hotel while he’s in DC.
Although he’s in the Penthouse, there are other suites on the floor with him. He
doesn’t have any neighbors though – Helloooooo Screaming Sam! – and he’s never been more grateful
for that then he is now.
Most of the other SGC officers attending the ceremony will be staying in the hotel and it
isn’t until he hears a lot of cars consecutively pulling up outside that he starts to get excited. Nerves plague him
– does he look OK? Is the suite tidy enough? Shit, is his underwear from this morning still on the bedroom floor? Has
he changed the sheets? Or made the bed for that matter? – and he has to sternly remind himself that he is not
thirteen years old and she wouldn’t care anyway.
When he hears the doorknob turn he’s not sure exactly
what to do with himself. Would it look better if he was sitting on the couch? By the window? At the door to greet her?
It
occurs to him that he’s over-thinking this because he’s blinked and suddenly she’s standing in the little
foyer in her dress blues, kicking off her heels and dumping her overnight bag on the floor.
OK, he tell himself.
We’re aiming for suave here. "Hey." Mentally, he hits himself upside the head. Well done, dork.
"Hey."
She walks towards him and her hips do a little sway that makes him tingle. "I missed you."
Jack has every intention
of replying up until her hand wraps around his neck to pull his head down to hers and her body presses against his. Their
lips meet and after that, all bets are off.
One of his hands cradles her head, fingers threading through the silky
hair that she is so kindly growing out at his request – score! – while the other migrates to her hip to pull her
closer, if that’s possible.
"Really… missed you… Carter." He is talking around her tongue because
she seems to have no desire to remove it from his mouth. And he’s OK with that. Very OK with that, in fact, because
she tastes like strawberries.
Her breath is coming in little pants. "Me too."
Jack really wants to take it slow
but they can never seem to quite manage that one. They don't seem to have grasped the concept of conversation, either, but
he's OK with that. He only lets himself contemplate their speed for a few heartbeats before his hands reach down to pull her
skirt up.
She’s wearing nylons under her dress uniform and as his hands trace a fast path up her thighs he can
feel the suspenders keeping them in place. God, she is so hot.He’s tempted to pull back and look, but her mouth
is warm and inviting and he doesn’t ever want to stop kissing her.
The skin of her thighs is taunt, a testament
to her active lifestyle. He feels her flesh pimple in desire as his fingers trace inconsequential patterns across the inside
of her thighs. She’s a tactile person, he discovered that early on. Nothing turns Samantha Carter on like someone just
touching her. And he’s more than happy with that.
He brushes a hand briefly across the material covering her
mound and sighs as he feels the silk. She wears silk to make him happy and he doesn’t have to look to know that it’s
black, he knows and he loves her just a little more for it.
Her breath hitches in her throat and he swallows the moan
that escapes her as his hand makes another pass. He can feel warmth through the thin silk that separates him from her entrance
and he cups her while the other hand snakes around her waist to hold her firmly to him. She’s wet, and it’s beginning
to show through her panties.
There's no patience left in him - not that there's ever very much, anyway - so he doesn't
bother removing her underwear; the friction will help her to the edge. His fingers curl around the side until all he can feel
is wet flesh and liquid fire. Her scent starts to spread as he touches her and it doesn't take long for it to hit him.
God...
His
middle finger moves to her clit, working it's way under the protective hood to rest on the little bundle of nerves there.
He swears blind that he can feel her physically throbbing under his touch. When he starts to move his finger in a circular
motion that he knows Carter likes, she shivers continuously against him.
Her hips make unconscious, barely there, thrusts
towards him, and her thighs close tightly around his hand in order to get him exactly where she needs him while she rocks
against him in search of her release. His finger never looses the pace that he set to begin with and he knows that, if anything,
consistency works best for her.
Jack suspects that he gets a little too much joy out of watching her for it to be healthy,
but when she's panting and biting her lip in concentration, he can't find it within himself to care. He knows that she's close;
her eyes are screwed tightly shut and there's an insanely hot little mewling sound coming from her on the back of each breath.
She
comes long and loudly as his name falls from her lips. That never gets old.
There's a very male-driven satisfaction
involved with making her fall apart in his arms. Something primal that snaps within him and demands that he just fuck her
until he dies and she screams. Nothing turns Samantha Carter on like someone just touching her and nothing turns him on like
knowing that he can do that to her.
When her breathing resembles something normal again and her
eyes finally open, she smiles at him. "You're proud of yourself for that, aren't you?"
He could deny it, but that would
be pointless. "Yup."
"If you weren't so good at it, I'd probably kick your ass for being smug."
"You're hot
when you're trying to be mad."
A pretty little blush spreads across her cheeks and heads southward. He’s been
patient, he tells himself, now he wants her naked.
It takes very little effort to rid her of all her clothes, though
her panties stick to her a little and she winces when he tugs them down. He kisses her temple in a brief moment of tenderness
and sympathy, but then she’s completely naked and that’s forgotten.
“Table.” He orders gruffly
and she grins.
Samantha Carter, straight-laced good little Scientist/Air Force Colonel, likes being told what to do.
She once told him that all of those years spent calling him ‘Sir’ had ingrained within her a great desire to be
ordered in a more, ah, personal way and he is more than happy to comply. She’s a kinky little thing, his woman
is.
She also has no shame around him, which he loves. She’ll parade around naked any chance she gets and she
does so now. Floating across to the dining room table to bend over it and present him with a rather delicious picture. He
totally wants a photographic memory. Or, at the very least, a good digital camera.
Her elbows move to support her and
he instinctively grabs a cushion to place on the edge of the table to support her hips. He doesn’t want to mark her
perfect skin with bruises unless they come from his own hand.
Jack doesn’t bother to remove any of his own clothes.
His fly comes down, his penis comes out and he stands behind her, one hand gripping her hip firmly for leverage while the
other guides him to her entrance. She is tight and warm and willing and by God he missed this.
Missed her.
The
sound that escapes her throat isn’t quite human, but it’s got to be one of the hottest sounds in the world right
now. He silently agrees with her non-verbal declaration; the first thrust is the best.
Feeling her tight muscles stretch
around him, engulfing him in a cocoon of warmth. It’s a perfect fit and he pulls at her flesh until the head of his
dick touches the neck of her womb. He knows that it wont take either of them – her, again – long to reach the
edge. It never does the first time, but it never ceases to lessen the effect.
Pulling out slowly, he can feel a wave
of cool air circulating around his heated flesh. The contrast makes him groan as he pushes back into her welcoming body with
a hard thrust. She is pushing back to meet him each time he enters her and her internal muscles are fluttering around
him as she works towards another climax, he will be seconds behind. His right hand holds her hip a little tighter.
She
screams.
***
The ceremony starts early in the morning and his body is painfully reminding him that the amount
of sex he’s had in the last twenty-four hours is probably not all that good for him. But then he looks over,
sees her smiling and her eyes shining of satisfaction and he thinks that, in the grand scheme of things, it was totally worth
it.
Most of the speeches pass in a blur of memory for Jack. His brain is still in a pile of goo on the bed –
or possibly the dining room table - in his suite and he can hardly be expected to have the ability to think after last
night, can he? He hopes not.
He's more than a little surprised - though not displeased - to find Jacob standing beside
him. He hadn't known that the other man had been invited to their little shindig - nor had he known that he'd even been on
Earth, for that matter.
"Jack."
"Jacob."
“Jack.”
"How're you?"
They don't look
at each other, staring at the stage as the President finishes up his speech about how wonderful they all are. "Oh, you know,
can't complain. You?"
"Been better."
"Everything OK?"
"Accommodation kinda sucks here."
"Where
are you staying?"
"The top floor."
Jack had expected nothing less, really. "I thought the penthouses were quite
nice..." Though it may have been the hot naked blonde in his that contributed to that opinion, he admits.
"I'm prepared
to kill you, you know."
Huh? "Jacob?"
"Slowly and painfully."
What...? "Jacob?"
"There may even
be some cutlery involved."
"Jacob!?" He did not just squeal like a three year old girl.
"Let's
get one thing clear, Jack. I do not care what you do in the privacy of your own hotel room. I do not care what you do when
I'm not around. Having said that, I do not want to hear you with my daughter. The hotel rooms aren't soundproof." And as the
President finishes his speech, the older man walks away, leaving Jack staring after him, open-mouthed.
Shit...
***
End
|
