Sacrificial Lamb
by ALC Punk!

"Hrm?"

A finger prodded his bare shoulder, but he refused to remove his head from the pillow and face the owner of it.

"You were looking at those women."

Women? Images slowly filtered through his brain. Topless dancers, Elizabeth Weir, scantily-clad sexily muscled warrior-women. Oh. "Jealous?"

"I could look like that."

Oh. His brain and other bits of his anatomy sort of froze at the sudden mental images.

The finger poked his shoulder again. "It wouldn't take much, really. Just a few silly animal skins."

If he'd been a dog he was sure his tail would have been wagging. Or maybe his leg would have been flopping like it wanted to scratch something. Either was possible with the way his brain was misfiring its synapses. "I'm an old man." he finally managed, his voice strained.

"A dirty old man." The finger was replaced with lips for a moment, then a tongue.

Dear god. She was evil. He'd always known it. "You like me that way." Wow. Still had the power of speech. Go, him.

The finger and the hand it was connected to drifted down the front of his chest. "Mm. Possibly." Her mouth settled under his ear and she nipped gently. "Of course, that was before I found out you had wild Amazonian fantasies."

"Carter," he managed, as her hand reached its destination and closed gently around him. "You're my favorite Amazon."

"Good. And I am not jealous." She informed him.

She had been, though. And it was cute. Yeah, he was a sap. And old. Very very old. And creaky. And if she didn't stop what she was doing with her hand right this instant, he wasn't going to be responsible for the consequences.

Which seemed to be exactly what she had in mind.

"You know," her lips and tongue were still playing havoc with his neck, "I wouldn't mind seeing you in a loincloth."

It was really pathetic to feel smug about that.

"Of course," the lips were smirking against his shoulder. "I'm not sure anyone else would."

She was so paying for that. But, later, when her hand wasn't being fabulously talented and he wasn't enjoying every movement of her fingers, and-- ah, who was he kidding. With a twist of his shoulders and more effort than he would have liked, he turned and caught her beneath him.

"Hi." She was smirking. One leg came up to twine around his waist.

"Carter." He said, pausing as his brain scrambled again when her hand slid him into place and he automatically thrust forward. And his eyes rolled back into his head. Yeah. He was saying something, wasn't he?

"Yes, Jack?"

Oh. Right. "I do not," he shifted, grinding against her the way she liked it, and being rewarded when her back arched.

"Hrm?" A soft gasp escaped her.

"Wear." Fingers sliding down her skin. He always liked her skin. It was distracting stuff, making him think of peaches and almonds and spaghetti sauce (he was a little weird.).

She really wasn't paying attention to him, concentrating more on biting the skin of his shoulders and arching and gasping.

"Loincloths."

A groan escaped her, and he rolled them, pushing her up into a sitting position that definitely caused his vision to go grey.

"Not even for you," he managed as she descended abruptly, nails digging into his chest.

"Jack?"

"What?" he managed as she shifted again and brought more pressure to bear (it was good pressure, damn, but it was good).

"Shut up."

Right. He could do that. He could be very very quiet and watch her writhe on top of him. There was, in fact, very little more that he liked. Well, aside from the whole participating in making her writhe. And not feeling his age because she was always gentle on his knees, and--

He was distracted because she leaned down and bit his chest.

Okay, so maybe distracted was the wrong word. Maybe concentrating very hard was. He decided to forget anything but her and lost himself in her eyes when she cried out in orgasm. The spasms pulled his own out and he found his eyes closing.

"So," he managed when his breath was back and she was still sprawled across his chest, gasping softly. "No chain mail bikini?"

"Did I say that?"

She was smirking again. He so knew it.

"Carter..."

"We have to get up for work in the morning, Jack."

So they did. Except that now he had images of her in a chain mail bikini dancing through his head, and it was doing bad things to his blood pressure. "Fine."

A soft kiss landed on his chin and then she slid off and curled into his side with a soft sigh. "But if I do the chain mail, you gotta do the loincloth."

No deal. But he was suddenly too tired to argue with her and bargain down to something else. Not Speedos, though. Or a thong. Neither sounded appealing. "Night, Carter."

"G'night, Jack." She yawned.

He closed his eyes. Then opened them again. "You would be far hotter than they were."

A soft snort. "Go to sleep, Jack."

"Yes, ma'am."

-finis-

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© 2005 ALC Punk!