Dusting the Mirror
by ALC Punk!

But... it was just that Sam Carter hadn't expected to arrive home (she was late, as always. Jack had had meetings with half a dozen Washington types and had gotten out early while she'd run an extra half dozen experiments in her lab) and find Jack O'Neill cleaning the bathroom. She hadn't been expecting him for at least a half hour--SG-1 were having their weekly dinner night at her place, this time. Which was why she was home now at all.

Him asleep, or naked, or cooking dinner, she was used to.

Cleaning the bathroom left her almost... disturbed.

"Jack?"

"Almost done," he mumbled absently as he wiped carefully at the mirror

"You're cleaning the bathroom."

"Guess you didn't get that doctorate on luck, Carter."

She crossed her arms, leaning against the doorjamb. "It's... I just never expected to see you... cleaning the bathroom."

His eyebrows went up and he stopped his wiping. "Carter, I didn't have a housekeeper, y'know."

"Except for Edora."

"Yeah."

Now why had she said that? Damn. Maybe this just made her nervous. It was... domestic. Jack O'Neill wasn't normally a man one would associate with domestic. He was a General in the Air Force, for goodness' sake.

"Carter, what are you thinking?"

"That I like having you clean my bathroom."

He blinked at her, then began to smirk. "I suppose that's a good thing."

"Yup." She stepped into the room, pinning his hips against the bathroom sink. "So. Do you do windows, too?"

"Maybe."

Her arms looped around his neck, and she eyed him for a moment. "Good."

"But only," he said, bending his head down and kissing her gently, "if you do the laundry."

"We'll share."

"Mm. Compromise."

"Didn't know you knew that word."

He shifted, turning so she was the one pinned against the sink. One hand lazily played with the collar of her shirt. "I used a dictionary."

"Good for you."

And then she was kissing Jack O'Neill. It was a nice kiss, full of closed lips and vague passion. But then one of them shifted (she was never sure who, not that it mattered, because this was so much better) and it was suddenly much much more. Interested nerve-endings began waking up, sparking her to open her mouth and then suck on his tongue.

Sex on the sink? This could get interesting, she thought. Thought blew away when his hand slid under her shirt. She knew having button-down shirts was a good thing.

Her hip banged against the sink, but she ignored it. A little while later, injuring herself on the edge of the sink was no longer a problem, because Jack had hitched her up onto the edge (making things *much* more accessible). With his hand up her shirt, she arched backwards.

And slammed her head into the mirror. "Ow."

"Mmrf. Sorry." He pulled back slightly, panting. His eyes were dilated which was a cute look for him she decided fuzzily.

"Bedroom," she decided.

"Right. Bedroom."

His hand flexed on the skin it was touching.

"Ja-ack."

"Right."

They didn't make it to the bedroom, because Jack kept his hand under her shirt, and she suddenly decided it was just too much and so she jumped him. Really jumped him. It wasn't the best tackle ever, because she was in the middle of kissing him and groping at the front of his pants. And he kind of fell down willingly, either that, or his knees and legs had given out.

She was giggling when he glared up at her from the floor, and then she wasn't giggling because he was dragging her shirt open the rest of the way and getting his hands under her bra and his mouth on her nipple.

"Jack, maybe we should--" Her breath caught then released in a sound that was definitely not human.

Probably.

His lips were smirking, and she knew he was going to do it again. He was a perverse man, and he *liked* making her do that.

She was right. He did it, then did it again and again until she could barely think in words of one syllable let alone two, three and four. She whimpered. Her shirt was gone, her bra was tangled around her chest, and her pants were open.

Jack, on the other hand, only had his shirt missing.

When his shirt went missing she really wasn't sure. But that was ok because it meant she could rake her nails lightly down the expanse of exposed chest. Which action caused him to growl.

"Hey." Her fingers tangled in his hair and tugged. "Jack."

With a pop he released her breast. "Hrm?" The breath of air on damp skin made her skin shiver.

"I wouldn't mind--"

"This?" He suggested, his fingers sliding into her.

Her response wasn't particularly articulate. Because she, for some reason, hadn't noticed his hand sliding down inside her pants. She had of course noticed that she was straddling him, but that had been natural, considering the whole knocking him over and falling on top of him thing. Plus, it had given her better balance and him better leverage for playing with her breasts.

And now? Oh, dear god, and now he had his fingers inside of her. Sliding oh so slowly in and out. The sensation was almost unbearable. "Jack. Faster."

"Pants, Carter."

Huh? Oh. She groaned a protest as he removed his fingers and then helped her remove her pants. The groan was quickly displaced as his hand and fingers settled back where they'd been. Only this time, there was more room for them to maneuver.

His mouth moved back to her breasts, and she was reduced to a cascade of sounds that in no way resembled the English language. At least she hoped it didn't.

After all the English language was taking enough knocks as it twisted and corrupted itself the world over (and the galaxy over, if it came to that). The one coherent thought that flittered through her brain a moment later had something to do with how evil Jack was.

Then she wasn't thinking at all as she came hard and fast. And loud, surprisingly.

Eventually, she tuned in to the fact that Jack had shifted slightly, his hands gently rubbing up and down her back.

Before he could realize she wasn't lost in orgasmic bliss, she had his fly open and his cock out. Her hand wrapped around it. A groan escaped him.

"Hrm." She moved, straddling him at a slightly different angle. A smirk touched her lips when he groaned again. Then hands were catching her hips and he was pulling at her. "Patience, young Jedi." Damn. She so had to stop paying attention when Teal'c watched Star Wars.

"Young?" His eyebrow arched.

"Hush." One more movement and she was able to slide down onto him letting out a soft sigh.

One he echoed.

They settled into a rhythm, hands drifting over each other's bodies until Sam remembered something. "Damn."

"Huh?"

She met his next thrust with extra oomph. "The rest of the team." A slight wriggle this time, and he growled. "They're coming over to barbecue, remember?"

"Oh." This time his hands caught her. "Carter, watcha doin'?"

"Speeding up," she replied firmly, resisting the urge to remove his hands. Of course, she liked his hands on her, but it would be best for both of them if--one of his hands slid down to where they were joined and his fingers stroked her. "Oh."

Stroke, thrust, stroke, thrust, suddenly, she was wondering just who was speeding whom up. Then she braced herself against his chest and began helping them both along.

His free hand began tracing lines and patterns on the skin it could reach and she arched upwards, giving him more access and changing the angle of penetration. It was enough--more than enough, really. And she shattered again, body clenching and un-clenching, sound spilling from her lips and echoing against the walls.

Someday she might be embarrassed, she thought muzzily.

Moments later he followed her, though not as loudly.

Afterwards, she slumped on his chest, listening to his heart beat under her ear.

"Do you sort your socks?"

"Hrm?" What was he talking about?

"Laundry, Carter. If I'm going to have to do laundry, I need to know, do you sort your socks?"

"No."

"Ah. Just colors, lights and darks, then?"

"No." She shifted, staring at him. He looked perfectly serious. "I usually just make sure it isn't dry-clean only and throw it all in."

He blinked at her. "You don't sort your laundry?"

"...should I?"

"Sam?" The voice drifted to them from downstairs, and they both froze. "I'm sorry I'm early, but I thought I was going to be late, so I left early," the voice, belonging to Daniel Jackson, babbled. It was also getting louder, as if the owner was getting closer.

Damn. "It's all right, Daniel!" She called down. Don't come up here.

Because she really didn't want him to come up here and find her and Jack. Not the least of which was because it was entirely undignified. Air Force Colonels did not get walked in on in flagrante delicto with Air Force Generals. At least not by well-meaning archeologist-linguists. And not all flopped all over the middle of her upstairs hall. Really. A giggle escaped her.

"What?" Jack was eyeing her.

"Sam? Where are you?"

Of course, if she told Daniel not to come up there, he would, out of curiosity. She repeated her thought softly to Jack, then called down, "Upstairs. I'll be down shortly, Daniel!"

"You'd be surprised what you could see in Black Ops, Carter."

"Need any help?"

"No! Go make Coffee, Daniel!" She yelled, nearly ending the statement on a gasp as Jack absently pinched a nipple.

"If you're sure?" Now he was being irritating. She was going to kill him. Or Jack, especially Jack, because the fingers were STILL playing with her nipple.

"Quite sure!" She managed.

"Well, all right." There was the sound of a cough, "And say hi to Jack for me."

Damn.

"Bus-ted." Jack singsonged in a whisper.

She growled at him, then dropped her head onto his shoulder and giggled. This was ridiculous. This was beyond ridiculous.

"C'mon, Carter, we have clothes to find." The hand moved away from her breasts. She let out a soft sound of discontent.

Right. Clothes.

It took some maneuvering (and quite a few stealthy and not-so-stealthy caresses), but they were eventually standing in her hallway. Jack needed a shirt. And new pants. And her own needs were quite similar.

This time they made it to the bedroom.

Sadly, it was only so they could get dressed.

"Here." She tossed a pair of jeans he'd left behind at some point at him, then grabbed new clothing for herself.

"No underwear?"

"Go commando," she suggested.

"Only if you do."

While the idea was vaguely tempting, she was going to have to be around other people (Jack didn't count as other people, especially since going without underwear was kind of useful and strategic where he was concerned). So. Underwear was needed. "I can't loan you a pair of my underwear, Jack."

"And it's not laundry day. Darn."

Considering the way he was looking at her, they could ruin another set of clothes. And then it *would* be laundry day. "I'm going to go brush my teeth."

A lame excuse, but it got her out of the room. And into the bathroom, where she could attempt to remove the sweat and dirt and smell of Jack O'Neill from her skin.

It really wasn't fair to the others to smell like Jack O'Neill around them. Even if she liked smelling like him. Oh, dear GOD. She was hopeless. Utterly. Hopeless. A shower would help--a cold shower would be even better. She settled for a quick wash with a washcloth and soap.

She wandered back to the bedroom, another washcloth in hand. Jack hadn't put his shirt on, instead becoming (apparently) fascinated with the magazine she'd been reading the night before.

Moving behind him, she dabbed at the scraps on his back. Oops. Must have knocked him to the floor harder than she'd thought. Either that, or her nails had done them. She paused to check and compare. Nope. There must be a nail in the carpet. When he still hadn't moved or acknowledged her, she moved to look over his shoulder, her arms going around him naturally. "Whatcha readin'?"

"Black holes."

"Hrm." Distracted by the scent of him, she kissed his shoulder. "They're wrong, of course."

"Mhmm."

Another kiss, this time on the nape of his neck. "After all, we do have more first-hand," a kiss to the right of his neck. "Knowledge."

"Yup."

She sighed and settled against his back, chin on his shoulder. "Gonna be long?"

"Almost finished."

"I'll go down and make sure Daniel hasn't burned the coffee."

"'k."

Irritated, she pulled back slightly and then bit him.

"Ow!"

"Miss me just a little while you're reading that."

"I always miss you, Carter." He turned slightly, met her eyes.

"Oh." Damn, he was good with those eyes. "I'll, uh, coffee." She scrambled back off the bed and headed for the door, then stopped on the threshold. "Jack?"

"Hrm?"

"I miss you, too." Then she fled. She, Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter, ran. Well, walked.

Daniel hadn't burned the coffee. He was even beginning the preparations for their dinner. He looked up at her as she walked in, then looked back down. "Were you ever planning on letting us in on the loop?" His tone was mild.

"Yes." She shifted, grabbing an empty mug and making her way to the coffee pot. It gurgled at her.

"Oh? When?"

"I don't know." Obscurely, she suddenly felt guilty. "Daniel--"

He was looking at her, amused blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses. "Sam."

She glared. "How long have you known?"

"You... probably don't want to know." He hedged.

She narrowed her eyes more. "Daniel."

"Oooh, Sam, you've almost got the O'Neill bite on that."

"Daniel!"

"There ya go." Daniel smirked. "How long have you two been doing this?" He gestured vaguely.

"Breathing, Daniel?" asked Jack, who'd finally wandered in. She was disappointed to see he'd remembered to put on his shirt.

"No, having sex."

Oo. Bald statement. Sam was blushing. Hell. She was an Air Force Colonel, Air Force Colonels were NOT supposed to blush. Damnit.

"A while," Jack said, hedging slightly.

"Uh-huh. Then I've known about the two of you and the sex. For a while."

Damn. He was almost as evil as Jack. Sam gave a dramatic sigh. "Fine. Be mysterious. Just remember that YOU get to do the dishes."

"And I," said a deep voice from the doorway, "Have known for longer."

"Teal'c."

"Actually, Sam, it's Jack's turn to do the dishes." Daniel objected.

For some reason, her brain conjured up the image of Jack O'Neill washing dishes naked. It was oddly erotic. "Ah." Best not to mention that, of course.

"I'll wash 'em in the morning." Jack whispered in her ear.

"Ah." Maybe she'd suggest the idea to him--later. Her eyes widened as he stepped away to begin removing food from her refrigerator. Morning. He was planning to stay the night again? She considered glaring at him, since he hadn't asked, but... She wasn't a teenager, and he didn't have to ask her permission to stay over. Really. In fact, she was almost glad he was comfortable enough to assume he could just stay.

"Colonel Carter, I believe it is time to light the grill."

Almost. "Right, Teal'c. I'll get the lighter fluid."

"I'll get the matches."

"Lighter fluid?!" Jack O'Neill sounded almost scandalized. "How many times do I have to tell you, Carter? Lighter fluid is an invention of the devil."

"Or the goa'uld?" she called over her shoulder as she went out the back door.

"Yeah! Or them!"

It was an old argument. But it was comfortable. And she was happy with that.

-finis-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!