Every Step Taken
by ALC Punk!

Shanahan is standing on his deck, looking through the window at him. The sun has already set, and the mosquitos are out, and it's the man's wedding night. And he's here, on Jack's deck. They've been doing this off and on for over a year now. Meetings in clubs, back alleys, once or twice at the SGC itself.

The door opening makes him turn, and he stares some more. "I thought..."

His wedding night.

"She's asleep."

Asleep. For just a moment, he can think of the image of Carter, asleep and exhausted, limbs splayed. He's seen her that way, once or twice. Never exhausted with sexual abandon, though, and it hurts to think of her like that.

The moment slips away, and Shanahan is on his knees, hands delving into Jack's pants. "She's asleep."

Repetition doesn't make the image better, but he can't escape the moan of pleasure as Pete's mouth closes on his limp dick.

It takes the cop only a little time before his skillful ministrations have Jack placing one hand on his head and grasping the kitchen sink with the other. Low-throated gasps and moans echo in his kitchen.

The rush comes fast, and he wonders if this is the last time, or the beginning of a new stage to their not-relationship.

Sound at the door makes him glance up.

A tiny part of his soul (he's still surprised he has one, really) dies as he watches Sam Carter watch him get his cock sucked by her husband.

On her wedding night.

She doesn't make a sound, just watches, her face blank, her eyes dark.

Jack can't help the hot feeling that rises in his gut. The extra degradation her presence provides sends him crashing over the edge and he sags against the sink as Pete sucks him down.

A shudder goes through her as Shanahan stands.

"Were you ever going to tell me?"

The detective, for once, is at a loss as he whirls to stare at her.

It's Jack who answers. "You weren't supposed to know. Ever."

There's something lost in her expression as she looks between the two of them. Something bitter cracks through the room, and Jack realizes she's laughing. "You couldn't have me, so you have him."

"Yeah."

Shanahan regains his composure. "Sam, this..."

"It looks like my husband sucking off my commanding officer, Pete." Her tone is almost playful, now, but Jack can see the whiteness of her skin and the spasmodic clenching in her right hand. "On our wedding night, even."

"Carter--"

"You have no say in this." Her hands clench, finally, then she moves, and the rings are off and hitting the far wall with a metallic ring that makes her flinch. "Isn't the divorce rate in America great?"

"Sam."

"No." Her hands are clenched again as she looks at Shanahan. "This is it. No more." Her back goes ramrod straight, and she can't look at Jack. Which is fine with him, as he feels sick. "Sir, I'm still taking my downtime. I will be back to take my position as leader of SG-1 at the appointed time. Until then, I don't want any contact from you."

"Granted."

She is gone before either of them are completely ready for her to leave.

Jack absently zips himself back up, then turns to Shanahan. "I assume you'll start the proceedings."

"This is the end, isn't it."

Not a question.

Jack looks down at the kitchen sink and nods.

"You need me." Shanahan snaps, his tone fierce. "Both of you do. To be the one in-between, your little pawn."

"On your wedding night, Shanahan."

"I guess it's a good thing I learn fast." A snort, then the cop strides to the door, "General, let me give you some advice. Don't do anything illegal."

Jack doesn't respond, still staring at the sink. He can almost see his reflection in the brushed steel.

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!