Release
by ALC Punk!

They hadn't meant to do this. *He* hadn't meant to let it get this far.

But he couldn't take it back.

"I have done some damned distasteful things!" The words had been there, from before.

Now they seemed to echo.

Teal'c was back with them, they'd had a team night at his place. Daniel and Teal'c had left hours before, both pleading something to do at the base. Or maybe that was wishful thinking. He wasn't sure why Carter had stayed, hadn't meant-- but they'd been drinking. God, they'd been drinking.

She'd brought scotch. An entire bottle was gone now, maybe more. He wondered if the tequila was why there was that singed feeling at the back of his throat.

And they'd talked.

Somehow, she'd slid past his defenses, asked him about something... and a hundred bad memories had suddenly erupted from him. Blood and death and slit throats in the dead of night. Men young enough to still be going to junior high dead at his hand, women, sometimes children (and they were the worst). All in the service of this great nation, this country.

There were no words, he decided. Nothing he could take back.

As if sensing his sudden confusion, she moved. Gently touching his cheek, fingers splaying to slide into his hair.

He couldn't... couldn't do this. Couldn't bury his sins in another woman and forget.That had been his method long ago, back when things had been *good* with Sara (and he shouldn't think of Sara, even as the pain rips deeper). It wasn't fair to her, she had no--her grip tightened and she pulled his mouth to hers. She tasted of alcohol and chocolate and popcorn and Carter. The combination snapped something inside of him and he pulled her against him, arms tightening behind her back.

A soft sound came from her throat, and she twisted her free hand, pushing and pulling to suddenly get under his shirt.

There really was no reason for words.

She stopped, suddenly. Pulled away and stepped back. And he was expecting that. He understood it, really. She couldn't, after all, really want to do this with him. Couldn't really want to taint--she was stripping. Hands pulling at her shirt and then the buttons on her pants and she hadn't undone her boots first, and they almost tripped her up and knocked her over.

Jack wondered if, perhaps, he was dreaming. Sam Carter was stripping with haste in his living room.

Then she was moving towards him again, lips finding his. Magnets, he decided, discovering that her skin felt really nice. Okay. He wasn't dreaming. Especially not with her nails tickling over the flesh of his chest.

When had her hand gone under his shirt?

The haziness of the alcohol was swiftly disappearing down the drain in his head. He had a drain in his head? Heh. Doc Frasier would be amused.

Maybe it was where all of that stuff Daniel kept talking about went.

Lips on his distracted his rapidly changing thoughts, and then he really wasn't thinking. He was groaning as the naked woman in his arms began efficiently stripping him. Her hands undid his pants, then yanked them and his boxers down.

She seemed irritated, suddenly, and he tried to figure out why before carefully applied leverage toppled him backwards onto the couch. His knees were bent, luckily. And she landed on his lap a moment later, her nimble hands yanking his t-shirt upwards. It got tossed over her shoulder with a distracted flourish.

Before she could do more to assault his senses Jack caught her hands. She stared at him, meeting his eyes for a moment before leaning forwards against the slight restraint and kissing him gently.

"Sam." His voice was husky with suppressed need and something that might have been lingering sadness.

"Hush." Her lips closed over his again.

And there were no more words to be said. He released her hands and began touching her, gently, carefully, until she grumbled against his lips and *bit* his chin.

Then he became more insistant, pulling at her, tugging, touching flesh that was at once soft and hard, the muscles rippling as he slid his hands here and there. He shifted his lips from her mouth and began kissing her neck. She arched closer, neck angling so that he could get the best spots. Behind her left ear he found a spot that she *really* liked and spent some time there.

One of his hands finally settled on a breast and he began kneading it slowly, finger occasionally brushing over the nipple.

His other hand gravitated downwards, discovering that she wasn't exactly ready. But with a little encouragement... He slid a finger inside of her and she groaned, grinding down onto it, her head thrown back.

Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, he leaned in to lick her collarbone, trailing from one side to the other. She clutched at his shoulders, as he slid the finger in and out, in and out.

"Oh..." Her voice broke off into a moan and her fingernails dug into his shoulders.

Encouraged, he changed his rate and speed as she began flexing her hips. She was slowly becoming slicker, and he felt a masculine smugness at making her do that. Before that smugness could translate into anything more than a thought and a twist of his lips, she was suddenly moving. Her hand grabbed his and she pulled it up to her mouth, suckling herself off of his finger.

Her other hand wrapped around him, guiding as she shifted on his lap. And then he was there, where his finger had been. Her head dropped backwards and a guttural moan broke from her throat as she sank completely onto him.

For just a moment, he wondered if this was heaven. Or if it was merely like a hundred other encounters he'd had over the years. Cynically, he considered writing her a check after this. But he didn't want to cheapen it, so he shoved the thoughts away. Which was just as well, because she began moving, and he really couldn't think anymore. And wasn't he supposed to be not-thinking, anyway?

When her hips twisted slightly, he realized he was a hell of a lot closer than he'd originally thought. And he tried to slow her down, catching her hips, slowing her. But only for a moment because she grabbed his wrists, and for that moment, they were looking directly at each other. And something shimmered darkly in her eyes, something that made him realize this wasn't just for him, she was using him, too. And he let her tug his hands away.

She resettled his hands on her breasts, then released them to go back to gripping his shoulders. He took the opportunity to study her breasts, working his way inwards, they were a nice shape. Pert, but not completely perfect. Slight flaws in the flesh caught at the callouses on his hands, but that only made him more intrigued by what was before him. And when he finally turned his attention to her nipples they were already taught. He slowly rolled one, and her rhythm broke, as if his action distracted her.

A growl escaped him, and her eyes closed and she jerked back into the rhythm, flexing her inner muscles around him. And he felt himself getting closer.

He didn't want it like this, he suddenly decided. Not with her vulnerable on his lap (and that's really a strange thought, because he's the one who laid his soul bare to her. And she's not taking advantage, she's merely taking). Except that he wasn't in control. No more than he had ever been. Given orders, told to execute them, BAM.

A twist from her hips pushed him that last inch, and he cried out as the world exploded (although this has less to do with pyrotechnics and more to do with coursing electricity down neural pathways--and this science things has to be *her* fault).

Something that might have been a soft chuckle came from Captain Carter. And he couldn't understand why he was so formal in his head.

"Not bad. For an old man." Her voice was taunting, and she leaned close and met his eyes.

"Don't push it."

A snort, and she moved, getting off of his lap and standing. For a moment she stood there, proud and naked, slick fluid creeping down her legs. Then she was gone, striding from the room. He suspected the bathroom, but wasn't really coherent enough to think about where she'd disappeared to.

Part of him was poking, trying to remind the rest that there was this whole male pride thing, and that the woman who'd just fucked his brains out was still unsatisfied.

A different part was starting to remember that she was his second in command.

He ignored that one.

After about ten minutes, he got up and went after Carter. Captain Sam Carter. Sam. He wasn't going to be able to pretend there wasn't something there between them. Not after tonight. Goodbye to all that innocent flirting they did.

She was sitting in the kitchen, her gaze distant as she stared out onto the deck.

"Sam?"

"Hrm?" Her head turned and she blinked at him, seeming to come back from wherever she'd been. Considering their travels, it could have been a hundred million miles. Light years, even.

"I..." He ran a hand through his hair, suddenly uncertain.

"Don't worry about it."

"But..." He floundered, uncertain how to bring this up, precisely. Suddenly flustered because he was trying to apoligize for not making her come. And she'd initiated it, but the responsibility was shared, and-- "Sara used to kick me out of bed when I did that."

Yeah. Bring up his ex-wife. THAT'S gonna make her relax.

But a slight smile touched her lips. "I knew I liked your wife, Jack."

"Ex."

Making a decision, he walked over to her and pulled out the chair at the head of the table, and sat. "Come here."

"What?" She blinked her eyes, and they were sapphire in the dark, glittering with things he wasn't sure he wanted to name.

He patted a hand on the table top. "C'mere."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but she moved to comply, hopping up onto the table in front of him, her legs dangling down. He took a moment to admire the flawless length of them, even ran one hand from her hip down to her knee, then he nudged them further apart and shifted his chair until he was between them, staring up at her.

"Oh." Her voice was surprised.

He smirked up at her. "No talking."

The eyebrows went back up, but she smirked back.

For a moment, he eyed his plan of attack. Then he leaned forward and began licking a line from her hip to her belly button. Her flesh rippled in reaction, goosebumps dancing along it. He pulled back to eye her. "Lean back."

She did, Her elbows propping her up.

Again, he eyed everything, taking in the really hot image of Sam Carter leaning back on his kitchen table. Stark. Naked. Sam Carter. Oh, yeah. Never buying another kitchen table again. Ever.

With that thought in mind, he went back in, licking and suckling, and discovering exactly what Sam Carter tasted like. She was spicy and sweet and sour and tasted slightly like him, which didn't bother him (after all, how many times had this been his way of apologizing to Sara?), although it had been a while. Her breathing sped up again, soft whimpers exiting her body as she tried to obey his injunction of silence.

A wicked thought crossed his mind, and he pulled back slightly, slowing down his speed.

"Jaaaack." Her voice was frustrated now, and she shifted on the table, trying to get him closer.

He pulled back even further. "Didn't I tell you not to speak?"

The whisper made her growl.

Dear unsnakey-gods. Sam Carter was growling at him. He obeyed the inherent threat, and moved back in, quickly sliding his lips over her clitoris and sucking.

Of course, it was possible that part of this whole taunting thing was because he wanted her to come so hard she didn't remember anything else about the night. He wasn't that petty, was he? Oh, yeah. He was. He didn't need her understanding the stains on his soul. And so he took a breather and slid two fingers inside of her, mimicking his earlier movements. She had definitely liked that, then.

If her breathing was anything to go by, she liked it now, too.

He increased the speed and changed the angle, absently wondering if his wrist was going to hurt in the morning. Probably.

But it was so worth it. Because Sam was beginning to come apart on his kitchen table, her body clenching and tightening. And then he leaned back down (his back was going to hurt, too), and bit her gently, his lips tight around the bud of her clitoris.

She arched up off the table, her breath going out in one solid gasp. Then she drew it back in and groaned, "Oh, Gooood."

Her legs twitched and flexed and one of them popped up to loop over his shoulder. It wasn't a comfortable position, but it did draw him closer -- inwards. And she didn't seem to mind, moving her hips and rubbing herself against him as the aftershocks subsided.

"Um... Sam?"

"Hrm?" The sleepy, satisfied sound of her voice was rather... cute. But his back was beginning to protest this position. And he really wasn't sure if he could remove himself without falling out of the chair. Or knocking her off the table. Neither option really sounded great.

"Move your leg."

"Wha--oh. Sorry." The leg moved, flopping back onto the table. "Thank you."

He straightened and winced as his back cracked. "No need to thank me."

One elbow propped her back up, and she met his eyes, "Yes. There is."

"You're welcome, then." Awkward again, he shifted in the chair, wondering how fair it was that she looked completely relaxed, and now he was... damnit, he was turned on. Again. By the sight of his second in command lying on his kitchen table looking supremely satisfied.

"I'm cold." She sat up abruptly and hopped off the table, leaving him sitting in the chair.

"Where ya goin'?"

She didn't respond as she left the room, but the living room light turned on a moment later, and he heard her rustling around in there.

Deciding he should at least find out what this was about, he stood and sauntered into the other room. "Sam?"

Half-dressed already, she paused and smiled at him. "I should go home, sir."

Sir.

"Oh."

Something in his voice must have alerted her, because she paused, and sighed. "Jack... This was..." She waved a hand at the bottles of alcohol, at his scattered clothing. "It was nice. But..." Her head ducked, and she seemed to be trying to come up with the right thing to say.

"But you can't see yourself settling for a broken Colonel who's done horrible things." His own voice was brittle, and he wondered why he'd thought she would understand anymore than Sara had.

"No!" Her swift denial brought her head up, and those blue eyes speared him, gaze fierce. "It has nothing to do with that, Jack."

"Then what?"

She feebly gestured, then sighed. "I have a career, Jack. A life to lead. It doesn't..."

"Include me."

"As a friend."

"Friend. Friends don't fuck each other insane, Carter."

"Don't they?" Her voice was now just as brittle as his. Bitter, even. "I care about you, and, yeah, this was fun. But I'm not going to give up my dreams just to find out that in a year there isn't anything here."

And he really shouldn't ask it of her. Really couldn't, if he wanted to be honest. He sighed, too. "I know."

Sam moved to stand in front of him, her shirt dangling from one hand. "Jack, I..."

He touched her cheek. "I'll call you a cab."

"Yeah. Better do that." She turned away and busied herself with her shirt.

Finding the phone, dialling, relaying the instructions kept him busy for a few minutes. When he got back to the living room he found her carefully dabbing at the couch with a towel. Uncomfortable again, he shifted. "The car'll be here soon."

"Good." She looked up at him, and he realized she felt just as awkward as he did. "A little soap and water should get the rest of this up. And I was... careful, about the carpet and the floor."

A horn honking from outside stopped anything he might have said, and he swore. "Cab's here."

"Right." She stood and grabbed her purse and practically ran to the door. But then she stopped and looked at him. "Sleep well, sir."

In the half-light of the hallway, he could swear she had tears in her eyes. And then she was gone, heading out the door and down the path in the misty half-light of the late hour. And maybe they'd only been tears he'd wanted to see.

"You too, Sam."

-finis-

Back to index

© 2005 ALC Punk!