Jell-o Isn't Always Enough
by ALC Punk!

"Problems, Carter?"

Shooting her commanding officer an annoyed look, Sam reconcentrated her efforts, this time successfully scooping a square into her mouth.

"Carter."

"Sir."

He shrugged and waved his fork at her.

Colonel Jack O'Neill, she noticed in irritation, was perfectly injury-free from *his* recent little jaunt. Not for him the vagaries and aggravations of super soldiers who just wouldn't die. No, he got to have zombie Mexicans who didn't lay a finger on him.

"You've got that look, Carter."

"Sir?"

He narrowed his eyes and waved his fork again, "I know that look, Major. That's the 'I think you're an idiot' look."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."

"Uh-huh. Finish your jell-o, Major."

"Yes, sir."

He smiled cheerfully at her, "I think you need a vacation, Major."

"Sir, I need to get to work on--"

"AH!" the colonel held up a hand. "No more discussion of work, Carter."

"But, sir--"

"That's an order, Major."

She slumped into her chair, fighting a wince as her shoulder protested, and poked at her jell-o. "Yes, sir."

"As soon as you've finished--"

Her spoon clattered to the table, and she hauled herself to her feet. "I'm done, sir."

"Right, good." He bounced to his feet and gestured, "After you, Major."

Sam stood where she was and crossed her arms. "Where are we going, sir?"

The colonel looked at her. "Major."

"Colonel."

A smirk tipped one side of his mouth. "I'm driving you home, and you're doing something mindless like watching Star Wars, Major."

"Or the X-Files, sir?" One of her eyebrows levitated upwards.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Or that."

Sam gave into the inevitable with a sigh, and walked out of the mess hall. The colonel trailed her all through the corridors, and wouldn't even let her swipe her own card through the reader on the elevator. But she got to swipe the second one, so she didn't kill him.

The airmen at the sign-out seemed surprised she was leaving early, even though she struggled her way through left-handed. Janet had told her on pain of death not to use the arm. Since her shoulder was actually beginning to hurt, Sam had a feeling Janet had probably been right. The damage hadn't been severe, but moving it would hurt. Luckily, Janet had promised her pain pills. Sam hated the things, but sometimes, they were all that worked.

"I get to drive." He was bouncing.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Of course, sir."

He didn't bother helping her into his truck (and for once, she wouldn't have objected), but he did turn the radio down. She didn't ask for his help putting the seatbelt on, either.

Major Carter leaned her head back against the rest and sighed, feeling some of the tension leave her as they started down the mountain.

"Hey. We're here."

Drifting awake, Sam shifted, and bit down on her lip as her shoulder throbbed a protest. "Sorry, sir. I didn't--"

"Carter."

She looked at him, and sighed. "I hate being weak."

"I know."

They both got out, and she led the way up her walk fumbling out her keys when they got to the door. It took her two tries to unlock it left-handed, but he didn't offer his help. Sam stepped into her house and sighed. It had been way too long since she'd been home. There was probably dust everywhere, not to mention a ton of mail on her welcome mat.

Daniel had given her the mat, apparently thinking she'd be amused by the moon and stars which spelled out the cheery greeting. And she was.

Kicking the mail out of the way, Sam pushed the door against the wall, and then looked back at her commanding officer. "Thanks for the ride, sir."

He rocked on his feet for a moment, then shrugged, "Don't mention it."

And suddenly, Sam didn't want him to go. "Sir. You, ah... want some coffee?"

It was one of the most pathetic lines ever. Really. In the history of the human race, Samantha Carter was pretty sure that she had awkward down to a tee. But the colonel half-smiled and stepped into her entry-way. "Coffee sounds good."

She left him to shut the door and made her way to the kitchen, wondering if she'd emptied the coffeepot the last time she'd been home. There was a fifty-fifty chance she'd come home to sludge with mold growing in it. It would have probably surprised a lot of people that Sam Carter was less than attentive to her coffee pot.

"Carter?"

Something in his voice made her stop.

He didn't.

For a moment, she could feel nothing but his breath on the nape of her neck. And then a hand touched her left side. "Carter."

"Yes?"

His forehead dropped to her uninjured shoulder, and she could feel him against her back like a line of heat. "You're alive."

"I noticed." She was disturbed to realize that she was shaking. Or he was. "Jack--"

Because he couldn't be sir or colonel, right at that moment. He had to be Jack. This was personal, this was outside the bounds of commander and commanded. A shudder went through him, and his arms slid around her waist, pulling her tightly against him.

"I'm alive," she repeated, closing her eyes. "You're alive. Daniel's alive. Teal'c's alive. Dad's alive. Bra'tac's alive."

The litany felt almost silly, but it grounded her. The shaking stopped.

He was silent, then his head turned and his lips grazed her neck. "I think I should check Doc's handiwork."

Sam tangled her left hand in his, "Handiwork?"

"Yup." His free hand tugged at her shirt, pulling it free of her waistband before sliding underneath. "Make sure all your bruises are properly attended to."

"Mmm." The shiver was of a completely different variety, that time. "So. No coffee, then?"

"Later," he said firmly, his hand stroking her skin.

"All right." She leaned her head against his for a moment, then walked to her bedroom, bringing the man clinging to her like a limpet with her. "Jack." she informed him. "It would help if you let me go."

"Don't wanna."

Rolling her eyes, Sam turned and kissed the side of his head. "I'm not going anywhere, Jack."

He heaved a sigh and released her. "Fine."

"Besides," she looked at him, "if I'm stripping, so are you."

"Taskmistress."

"Yeah sure, you betcha, honey."

"Honey?"

Sam was sure his eyebrows had raised. She eyed her boots with irritation, and decided to strip off her shirt, first. With care, she lifted the sling off of her neck and then tossed the contraption over her desk chair before pulling her shirt up. It took a little bit of struggling to get it off, and she didn't bother putting it on the chair, just tossed it towards her dresser. Irritatingly, her bra was going to require help. Her shoulder was telling her it was NOT going to be bent in the required manner.

More frustration came when she realized she'd have to bend over to get her boots untied, and her right hand didn't want to unbutton her pants.

Cursing, she yanked them down her hips, taking her underwear with them, then hobbled to the bed, turned, and sat down, working the material down to her feet before stopping to glare at the tied laces as if they'd set out to offend her in some manner.

"Need some help?"

She looked up to find a naked Jack O'Neill standing in front of her. The sight took her breath away. "Yes." She knew she sounded angry and upset, and suddenly didn't care.

"Hey."

Sam stuck her feet at him, glaring at them. Jack dealt with them, undoing the laces, then yanking the boots off. They landed with thuds near her dresser. Her pants and underwear followed them.

"C'mere."

Eyeing his proffered hand, Sam considered telling him to go the fuck away.

She didn't.

When she was on her feet, he gently turned her and removed her bra.

It went the way of the rest of her clothing.

She shivered. "It's cold, Jack."

"I noticed."

"So--"

"Sssh." His lips slid along her left shoulder. "Quiet, Major."

"Jack--" She gasped as he bit down gently.

"Stand. Still."

Trying to do as he ordered, she spent the next several minutes feeling his breath along her shoulders while his mouth did amazing things to her neck and his hands gently slid along her skin. He was very careful not to brush her shoulder, or touch her breasts, spending his time instead on the skin of her stomach.

"Jack," she finally said, tone demanding.

His hands drifted lower, his fingers traced lines on her hips and ass until she was pushing against them.

"Jack."

"Major."

She shivered again, "Stop teasing."

"In a moment." His lips trailed up her neck, his chest pressed into her back.

She sighed, "Jack."

A chuckle reverberated in him, "You whine, Carter. I didn't know that."

"Oh, that's it." She pulled out of his arms and turned, glaring, "On the bed, Colonel. Now."

"That an order, Major?"

"You bet your ass, Colonel."

"Mmm." He kissed her, then moved to comply, flopping on the bed and turning onto his back. "Now what?"

She studied him for a moment, then shook her head and climbed onto the bed after him and straddled his hips. One of his hands slid up her leg and dipped between them, stroking her. She sighed and rocked into him.

And then he stopped.

Her eyes flew open and she stared at him.

"Thought you were plannin' something, Major."

Narrowing her eyes, she slid further upwards, carefully balanced (irritated to find that she almost needed both hands and her shoulder still wasn't cooperating), then slipped down on him with a sigh.

He groaned.

It always amazed her that having sex with Jack O'Neill was that easy. In the beginning there had been all sorts of angst. About her career, his. Their positions on SG-1. Of course, after a while, they'd both realized they were already completely compromised anyway. All four of SG-1 would willingly lay down their lives for each other. And then some.

So it had seemed only natural to have sex.

It didn't happen often, of course. Just enough to make them feel connected to the world. To each other.

Or after a particularly bad mission.

Jack shifted beneath her, hand sliding to her waist, urging her to sit up more, and she complied, sighing at the shift in angle. His thumb stroked across her clitoris.

A shudder went through her, and she let out a surprised moan, then another. Suddenly, her arm didn't hurt so damned much. He pressed up, she ground down, her leg muscles quivering as she tried to keep their rhythm constant.

Then his free hand began groping every inch of sensitized skin it could reach, and she came with a sharp cry, abused muscles complaining even as they twitched.

Sam collapsed forwards, catching herself with her left arm and kissing his chin.

Without any finesse, Jack grabbed her hips and he thrust quickly a few more times, then came himself.

"God, Jack..."

"That's what you get for having sex with an old man, Carter." He panted.

She bit his shoulder.

"Ow! Damnit, Carter!"

"What?"

"Just for that, I'm making you get your own damned towel."

Sam kissed the abused skin, then dragged herself out of the bed, wrinkling her nose. "Actually, I think I'm taking a shower. The infirmary never leaves my skin feeling all that clean."

"Throw me a washcloth, then." He called sleepily.

"Yeah, yeah." She muttered, but her lips were stretched in a soft grin. And she even warmed the water before plunging the washcloth underneath the tap and then wrung it out. Jack was nearly asleep when she tossed it at him. It splatted on his chest.

"Ow."

"That did not hurt."

He stuck his tongue out at her.

Sam went to take a shower, rolling her eyes at his childishness. Really, if he wasn't so useful, she might consider kicking his ass out of her house.

But, she reflected as she stepped under the warm water, he *was* an excellent cuddler.

-f-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!