Dressing for the Occasion
by ALC Punk!

She should have gotten over her aversion to the man years ago. A good Air Force officer would have sucked it up and had no problems with him.

A good Air Force lieutenant colonel would be in her dress blues smiling cheerfully at everyone.

Including him.

Most good Air Force officers hadn't been (metaphorically) fucked up the ass by him.

Sam Carter stared at her naked self in the mirror, and considered claiming an illness. She opened her mouth and eyed the back of her throat. Nope. No discolorations. Damn. And Janet would tell her she'd already had mumps, measels, and chicken pox, too. Although -- she peered at the red discoloration on her shoulder. And sighed. No. A hickey wasn't evidence of chicken pox. Too big, for one thing.

A slight flush made her smirk. Of course, the hickey was evidence of a completely different sort.

Sadly, she doubted she could claim she was too busy -- especially as the second person in her equation (while he wouldn't object in theory) probably wouldn't think staying for sex was worth it. After all, they were going to meet the president. And -- him. She made another face in the mirror. Who was she kidding?

All she had to do was present her argument convincingly, and he'd be all for calling in with a claim of, something.

One of them could certainly come up with something creative. After all, they *had* saved the planet. A lot. And the galaxy a time or two.

"Carter." He sounded slightly annoyed as he came down the hall. "Are you *finally* -- whoa."

She half-turned and smirked at him.

"Ya know," Jack O'Neill crossed his arms and regarded her lazily, "While *I* certainly appreciate the view, I'm not willing to share it with others."

"I've got a brilliant plan."

"Oh?"

She began moving towards him, admiring the way his dress blues molded themselves to him, starching him up. Not that she wanted him prim and proper, but she'd take what she could get. "We call in. Claim there's a family emergency. Or something."

"Or something?"

"Hey," she waved a hand and stopped before him, "I can't come up with all of the strategies."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the whole still being naked thing, would it?"

She sighed. "I don't want to wear my dress blues."

"I thought you loved 'em."

"Not for *him*."

"Oh." He made a face, "Know whatcha mean. I don't want to, either. But the president asked. As a favor."

"Screw favors." Sam muttered mutinously, "I refuse to wear my dress blues for that, that FINK."

"Fink. I think I've called Kinsey that, a time or two."

"He's an idiot." She glowered at Jack's shiny buttons. "He doesn't deserve this. At all."

Jack reached out and pulled her to him. "Ah. No, I suppose her doesn't."

Letting out a sigh, she relaxed against him. Then yelped. "Your buttons are cold. And ow. There's a pin sticking out somewhere."

"Sorry." He took advantage of the moment to slide his hand around and caress her ass. "Y'know, if you can think up a plausible excuse..."

"We can stay here and have sex?"

"Maybe."

She sighed. He was lying. "Fine. I'll get dressed. But don't expect me to smile at him."

"I should hope not." Jack casually copped another feel, fingers tweaking a nipple. "After all, I like to think your smiles are all mine."

"Only certain ones."

"Good." his hand smacked her ass. "Get dressed, soldier."

"Sir, yes, SIR." She smirked at him and sashayed back to the laid-out set of dress blues and underwear. She held up her stockings, "Just remember I'm wearing these, general."

"...you're an evil woman."

"I try, general, I try."

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!