Saturday Night And Sunday Morning
by ALC Punk!

"Carter--"

"Sorry," she paused to half-snort, then buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking.

A huffy sigh came from him.

"Uhm, Jack," Daniel sounded confused, but that was Daniel, when it came to humor. Or, at least, the Colonel's humor.

"Yes, Daniel?" Oooo. He sounded downright testy now.

Sam manfully (womanfully?) wrestled her giggles down and straightened in her chair. "So, Daniel, you were telling me about Sha're."

"Oh. Right!" The archeologist's eyes lightened behind his glasses and he began to gesture with his hands which knocked over his bottle of beer. "Oops."

"Daniel!" Yep. Testy.

"Sorry, Jack." Carefully mopping up the spilled drink, Daniel stood. He swayed slightly. "I, um... Wow. Beer on the table."

Aha. So he was a cheap date. She smothered a giggle behind her hand and waited to see what would happen next.

"Sit down, Daniel."

"No." Sudden stubbornness took the man and he crossed his arms, actually *pouting*. It looked ridiculous, with the floppy hair and the bleary blue eyes behind glasses, and the civilian clothing that he wore less well than he'd worn his Abydonian robes.

"Oh, for cryin' out loud, Daniel."

"No. No, I think I'm going to go home." With that firm decision made, Daniel turned towards the door of the bar. He stopped, though. "Jack?"

"Yes, Daniel?" Now, the tone was of a man who had suffered many many torments.

Like the torments of Tantalus. Sam smothered another giggle. Oh, yeah. Daniel might be a cheap drunk, but she was beginning to suspect the same of herself. Or it was all Jack's fault.

"Did I drive?"

"No."

"Oh." Logic seemed to take Daniel an inordinately long time to decide what he was going to say next, because he weakly flapped one hand, finally, and said, "How did I get here?"

"Well, Daniel, your parents liked each other a lot, and--"

"JACK!"

Sam Carter gave it up and laughed out loud this time.

Daniel shot her a wounded look. "I meant the bar, Jack."

"Ooooh. Well, Daniel, I picked you up."

"Oh." Daniel considered this, logic still only having a nodding acquaintance with his brain before nodding firmly. "Take me home, Jack."

"What? Daniel, this is only our first date."

It really wasn't *that* funny, Sam tried to convince herself. And she didn't fall off her chair. Just. But Daniel was finally tired of her giggles, and he nailed her with another wounded look from tired and worn blue eyes. And it suddenly wasn't funny anymore. "Sir."

"Captain."

"I, uh, don't think any of us is in any shape to drive."

The Colonel raised an eyebrow, then glanced at Daniel, then nodded. "All right. Cabs?"

"We can share one, sir."

"Putting up with me for that long, eh, Captain?"

"Yes, sir." Okay, so he wanted her to call him Jack, but she couldn't do it except in her brain, which, well, sort of worked. And she didn't think Daniel cared either way, and-- She broke off thinking and blinked at the hand in front of her.

"Earth to Carter."

"Oh. Sorry. Were we all going now?"

"Yep."

"Jack, you have such a soporific effect on women." Daniel sniped, getting some of his own back. And, hey, he was drunk. So it was almost funny.

"Well, Daniel, it could be worse. We could have to pull men off Carter here."

Blushing at the implication, Sam shrugged, "Just as well, sir."

"Yeah. Sam's more interested in the stuff I brought back from Ernest's Planet anyway. Aren't you, Sam."

Not really, but he could become really whiny, and she still had to share a cab with him. "You could say that."

The Colonel did *not* miss the slight sarcasm in her tone, and the look he shot her was amused. She fought another blush and was successful, this time. Wouldn't do for her commanding officer to find out how easily he could make her turn red.

"See?" Daniel nodded, and the movement was apparently too much for his equilibrium, because he staggered and caught himself on a table. "Wanna go home now."

"Sir?" The bartender looked at them with amused eyes. "Your cab's here."

"Thanks." The Colonel paid the tab, adding a nice tip, and they left.

Outside, the night air was full of crickets and people and cars and a slight breeze that promised rain (if they didn't get smog, first). It reminded Captain Samantha Carter of Abydos, a strangely busy stillness that said something that spoke to the bones and the soul that this was *home*.

Colonel Jack O'Neill, on the other hand, apparently didn't notice anything soul-searching. He chose that moment to belch rather loudly.

Tossing aside the deep philosophy, Sam concentrated on keeping Daniel upright and then maneuvering him into the cab and sitting next to him. She considered not making the man sit in the middle, but that would require re-arranging things, and that would take too much effort.

Five minutes later, she was regretting that as Daniel scrambled over her to puke out the window.

"I forgot, Carter. Sorry." The Colonel sent her an apologetic look. To her murderous glare, he shrugged, "He got car sick on me last time."

As if that made it all better. She continued to glare, then relented as Daniel slumped back into his seat. It really... well, it sort of was. Ideally, she could start to blame everything on Jack. THAT could be fun. And strangely liberating. Considering this idea caused her to study him for a while, the light from the streetlights cascading over his face in ever-wavering bands. And she was suddenly reminded that there were a few nurses who were *intensely* jealous that she worked with Jack O'Neill. A slightly possessive smirk touched her lips. Yup, she got to come to work to *that* face every single day.

Kind of made it all worthwhile.

Not that the whole jumping through a wormhole to a distant part of the galaxy studying alien technology and fighting for her life didn't help, too. But there was something special about Jack.

And he was hers.

Okay, so, not HERS hers. But he was on her team, and--she was so going to stop this train of thought before she considered just how much fun flirting with Colonel O'Neill was. Especially when he got that look in his eyes that said "I bet you look nice naked." Not that he used that look on her all that often. But... Sometimes, she wondered.

"Carter, do I have something on my face?"

Oh. Oops. "Sorry, sir. Just... uh, lost in thought."

"Uh-huh."

"She's wondering what you look like naked."

Oh, THANK YOU, Daniel.

No one spoke for several minutes, and Daniel was still smirking as he left the cab at his apartment. Luckily, he also then tripped over the front step. The curses that floated back to them were probably in at least four different languages.

Silence was still there when they got to her apartment, and Sam was suddenly struck with a thought. "Sir--"

"Good night, Carter."

Fumbling, her statement broken off before it could start, she straightened and started to close the door. But then she stopped, beer and irrationality making her just that reckless. "Coffee, sir?"

His eyes and face and most of his body, in fact, were obscured in the darkness, only one shaft of streetlight landing on the hand he had on the back of the seat. "Coffee, Carter?"

"Yes. Sir. You drink it. It makes you sober." I don't want to be alone again. The thought wasn't something she'd thought before. Or at least, not here, and not now, with this man. And he was suddenly a man and not her commanding officer and she wondered if she was drunker than Daniel because this wasn't something she normally did.

"Good night, Carter." His tone was almost as weary as she suddenly felt, and she closed the door and stepped back onto the curb.

The cab pulled away and disappeared into the night, and Sam wondered, for a moment, if there was something she was supposed to have done differently. But then she shoved that thought away viciously and stalked into her apartment and almost slammed the door. But that wouldn't be kind to her neighbors. THEY weren't the reason she was irritated.

--

Sam had made coffee for herself, feeling the need to give the original gesture some sort of legitemacy. Not that there wasn't any. Not that, say, Daniel was right. She didn't want to see Jack naked--okay, she did. But it wasn't a big thing, and it wasn't because... She sighed. Janet should never have loaned her that stupid romance novel.

Her commanding officer was an attractive man, she liked to flirt with him, and she'd kind of like to see him naked.

So. What.

The world would not end if she caught a glimpse of Jack O'Neill sans boxers.

It would not end if she saw more than that, if she stared at him for a good long time and then had *sex* with Jack O'Neill. And, dear god... That was so not something she wanted to contemplate right now. Not when it had been months since her last date and longer still since the last really good participatory orgasm.

And she'd sort of forgotten that she needed new batteries, and she was just drunk enough to not want to do *all* the work, and--damnit.

It was time to go plant herself in front of the t.v. and watch stupid infomercials. She sure as hell wasn't going to be able to fall asleep yet. Not with the way her nerves were happily buzzing away on the alcohol and mental stimulation.

Mental. Hah.

She was so screwed, she decided as she flopped into her chair, careful not to spill her coffee (and... people would so MOCK her if she said she drank coffee to calm down.). Jack O'Neill (or any man) could have the key to her soul. And she'd never be able to get it back without a damned good fight.

Suzanne Powter wanted her to stop the madness.

"I'm trying. Damnit."

Oh. Shit. Talking to the t.v., Sam. This had to be a sign--she stared at the tangled sweaty bodies on the screen. It was almost tasteful porn. And how the hell did she end up with a porn channel? This was so unfair...

The next channel was something naturish. Okay. Nature. Sure, she could handle it.

Except that it was about the mating habits of lions and tigers and cheetahs.

"Damnit. Doesn't anyone talk about anything but sex anymore?"

Throwing the remote at the floor, she slumped further into her chair. And shifted slightly. Ah. Hell. Maybe she should go back to that porn...

No. That would be like rubbing salt in an open wound.

It was time to go to bed.

To dream of naked Colonels. Who were not there. Damnit. Resolutely standing, Sam walked over and turned off the t.v. then went back and picked up her mug of coffee. She next wandered into the kitchen and flicked off the coffee maker. She made a quick round, turning off the lights and making sure the door was locked and then she headed to bed.

--

04:23. And thirty seconds. She'd been counting. This was... This was ridiculous. She had to sleep. Because getting sleep was good, even if it was Sunday and she didn't have to go to work.

And she refused to believe that she was still awake because she hadn't had sex.

Really, that would be completely and utterly stupid. She couldn't sleep because she was sober. Right. Oh, THAT made sense all right. She considered it. There was that bottle of chardonnay she was planning to give Lieutenant Crystal Owens for her engagement. But the girl was barely old enough to drink. Maybe she wouldn't appreciate it... No. That wouldn't help. A buzz would proably just make her hornier.

Damnit.

04:26.

Maybe if she stopped looking at the clock. She tried this, turning over onto her left side, staring at the darkness of the wall there.

Nope. Still not helping. And now she couldn't tell how long this was taking.

Well, hell.

Flopping onto her back, she resolutely rearranged her legs and slid a hand inside her pajama bottoms. There. Yup, horny all right. Shifting slightly she sighed. Okay. So. Maybe this could work.

Closing her eyes to slits, she concentrated on what someone else would do if he were here. His fingers sliding into her, flicking upwards to caress her clitoris. She let out a slow breath, surprised at the heat now dancing along her skin. Another breath in and she caught it as she changed the angle and it suddenly was intense and *there*. And. Damnit. For a moment, the tension filtered away, her body suddenly reminding her that it was 4:30 in the damned morning, and it was Sunday, and she was supposed to be sleeping.

Except she couldn't, and so she was masturbating, and her soberness was working against her.

She shifted again, spread her legs wider and then arched her pelvis, reaching for the penis that wasn't there. And her own mental commentary was just too damned much. A giggle escaped her and she pulled her hand out and sighed, turned onto her side and stared at the clock.

04:43.

Well, at least she'd wasted a little time.

Predictably, her doorbell rang.

--

It took her thirty seconds to decide to answer it, and then she was halfway there when it occured to her that half-dressed is not the way to answer the door, even if it is only drunken fratboys (dear god, don't let it be drunken fratboys). So she grabbed her raincoat off the peg and pulled it around her before opening the door.

Shit. She should've checked through the peephole. Saved herself the embarassment of standing there in her raincoat.

The Colonel was also apparently disturbed by her attire.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, then she stepped back and gestured, "Um..."

"Hey."

"Hey."

But he was inside now and she could close the door. So she did.

The silence began to stretch, and she shifted. "So. Um, coffee?"

Yeah. That would be Sam Carter for 'ravish me ruthlessly, please.' God. She was pathetic. Where had the woman who was mocking herself for her bad porn thoughts gone? The woman who'd been turned on by lions mating, and the Colonel walked like a giant cat, all predatory and--DAMNIT. Ah. There she was.

"Carter?"

Oh. She'd been standing there, staring at the coffee mugs. Right. Coffee.

Luckily, the stuff she'd made earlier wasn't too cold.

"Here."

Taking the mug he sat at her table. And just looked at her. And she looked back.

"Well, someone say something."

Damn. She'd said that out loud.

"Something."

A grin caught her lips and she fought it back. That hadn't been *that* funny. And she really needed to stop swearing. And watching the Colonel drink cold coffee. He didn't seem to notice that, though.

That silence was back, except that he was suddenly looking fidgety. "I should, uh, go."

"No!" Eek. Much too vehement, there. "No. Um. Please..."

And suddenly it was so completely awkward. She was propositioning her commanding officer in her apartment kitchen at--the clock on the microwave was blinking 12:00 again. She'd have to fix that, later.

"Sam?"

He was standing in front of her. Shit. When did he stand? When did he start nervously running his fingers through his hair? And. Ooh. Jack's hair. Because if there was sex, she was so claiming that hair. She liked how it stood up oddly, and sometimes, she wanted to make it do that herself. She hated it when Jack's hair was restrained and combed perfectly, because, well... Just because.

Reaching out a hand she grasped his collar.

"Why a raincoat?"

"You could have been drunken fratboys."

The answer made him blink and then he stepped closer, almost bringing their bodies into contact. Sam stepped that last five inches into him and half-smiled. "I'm glad you weren't."

He smirked.

The first kiss wasn't particularly great. He was adjusting to her height and they bumped noses twice before she slid a hand into his hair and tugged one way. A soundless "Ah" escaped him and then. Lips. Ooh, lips. And there were hands, too. Yup, she could so get into this.

Unfortunately, one of the hands grazed a precise nerve-ending, and she jerked back. "Hey! No tickling!"

Jack blinked at her. "Ticklish, Carter?"

"No."

His eyebrows arched up. But he let it go, apparently much more interested in kissing her again. And this time there weren't any bumping noses.

Not that she was complaining. Especially not when those hands figured out how to unbuckle the raincoat (when the hell had she done that? Oh. Right. Fratboys--guh. Hand on bare skin. Calloused hand on bare skin that really really likes the owner of said hand). Letting out a soft sigh that echoed one from earlier she slid one hand down his chest.

He must have liked that--along with the lips thing--because there was definitely something impinging on her lower region that wasn't legs. And his hands were beginning to busy themselves underneath the raincoat. He seemed surprised when he discovered her lack of shirt. Well, hell, that HAD been the reason for the raincoat... Definitely approved of it, though, as he immediately began running his hands all over the exposed flesh.

Pulling back from his lips (not that she wanted to) she said, "Jack."

"Mmm?" He bent his head and began kissing his way down her neck.

For a moment, she couldn't remember what she'd been thinking, and then--ah. She actually groaned in happiness when he found that one spot. He was definitely a quick study.

Oh! "Bed. Jack."

"Bed?"

"Not that I wouldn't--ahhhh--mind..." She felt her brain stop as his finger and thumb finally stopped teasing and rolled a nipple between themselves. That flushed feeling was back, and her earlier dampness was spreading. She shifted against the counter and could feel the itchy-slippery feel of herself. It would be really nice if she could get him to slide his fingers in--or something thicker and much more suited to the task. "Jack. My kitchen floor is too cold for sex."

He paused. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Well." She shifted again. "If we're not, uh... You should probably leave now before I figure out the proper way to drag you into my room."

"Proper?"

His lips were doing that smirking thing again.

"Jack. Damnit." Hadn't she said she was going to stop thinking that?

He pulled back and met her eyes, his own dillated, the pupils wide in the light from the overhead light. "Okay. Lead the way."

Once in her room, she paused, staring at him, and then the bed, and then him again. It was awkward again, and she could almost see that he thought it was, too. And there was the whole maybe he should leave, actually. But she didn't give him a chance to say anything, just shrugged the raincoat off her shoulders and tossed it to the side then stepped out of her pajama bottoms.

Jack blinked, once. Then he pulled his own shirt off and dropped it, and began on his pants.

"Boots."

"What?"

She leaned against the doorjamb and pointed down, "Take your boots off first. Unless you want to fall over."

For a moment, the passion was completely banked as he eyed her. "Seen that happen before, have you?"

"Done it myself, actually." She stopped talking, though. Because old lovers were just not something you talked about with the man you wanted to knock onto your bed and have your wicked way with.

He seemed to realize that, too, because he didn't press the issue. Just stooped and undid the laces, stepped out of them, and pulled off his pants and boxers together. Sam decided, hazily, that this had so been a good idea. The Colonel was a very nicely put-together man. And he shifted as if self-conscious. "Carter?"

"Looking my fill." She replied huskily, her eyes travelling everywhere, taking it all in--and she'd seen most of it before, but, dear god. He hadn't been hers to fuck, then.

He wasn't hers now. But he was here.

And that made all the difference.

He moved towards her, making his own perusal of her before reaching out and pulling her into him. "Now, where were we..."

Lips again, and hands in new places, and skin against skin. And, yep. She'd been craving this. He wasn't completely sure of her even now, his touches tentative until she arched into them, impatient, and he pressed harder, splayed his fingers as he glided his hands over her back and sides and stomach. Rough callouses on smooth skin, and her own hands aren't that soft, and his skin is like touching silk and velvet at once.

Before too long she was sliding a foot up and down his calf, and they were hastily staggering towards the bed, so involved they missed his boots until they'd toppled onto the bed--and. Oooh. Skin touching in new places.

Unfortunately, they hadn't quite worked out who was going where and what fitted here, and an uncertain movement on her part jabbed an elbow into his side and he rolled in protest, and they were falling again.

Only this time, it wasn't quite so forgiving a surface. Well, not for Jack at least. The breath whuffed out of him--twice--as Sam landed on top, smacking one hand into the bedframe and banging her head into his shoulder.

They'd. Fallen. Out. Of. Bed.

A giggle escaped. And then another.

"Carter!" He sounded irritated.

"Sorry, sir." It was automatic, and. Shit. Now he was staring at her, as if having second (third, fourth, fifth...) thoughts. "Jack."

"This--"

"Kiss me."

Once again there were lips and then tongue. Hey, new thing, that. He was fast becoming her favorite kisser. And his hands were back at work, one apparently deciding to slide further down until he was touching her where she was damp and definitely ready for him. She spread her legs, hoping he'd take the unspoken encouragement (her mouth was rather busy with his). He did, after a moment, fingers carefully probing and touching.

He broke the kiss and blinked up at her.

Fighting down a blush, she half-smiled. She was so not explaining. And he seemed to suddenly get why, his eyes widening slightly. And then he slid a finger inside of her, eyes still meeting hers. She groaned softly.

The smirk was back, but it was only lurking slightly as he began to find a careful rhythm with his finger. So. Damned. Slow. She shoved her hips against him.

The smirk deepened. The finger stayed slow.

"Ja-ack."

"Yes, Sam?"

She stared down at him, wondering if she could put into words exactly what she wanted. The finger slowed even further. Damn. She almost made a joke about it, almost but it was hard enough (oh, there was a great thought) to put into words what she needed. And she'd never been very good at getting past the embarrassment of it. "Harder, please."

And harder it was. Quicker, after a moment, and then she whispered something more, her lips next to his ear. "Another finger."

It slid in sweetly, and she moaned. Lips suddenly caressed her throat, and Jack's tongue found that spot again. And she arched up, bracing one hand on the floor and pushing her pelvis down, trying to get those fingers in deeper, trying for more feeling. And maybe he understood, because he didn't need a prompt to slide a third finger in.

He stopped abruptly, and she groaned a protest.

"My ass is cold."

Oh. OH. She'd sort of forgotten the whole being on the floor thing. "Sorry, Jack."

Scrambling off of him she accidentally brushed his erection. And for a moment, she paused to admire it. Of course, penises were, as a rule, rather silly looking things. But they were useful. So Sam wasn't averse to admiring them. Especially not before they proved that usefulness.

They got onto the bed with less difficulty, and figured out the proper order of bodies, and Sam even pulled out condoms. She firmly ignored the clock.

"Not just yet."

She looked up to find Jack staring down at her. And his hand sliding back down to continue what it had been doing. Only he'd added some refinements to the technique, like bending over and pulling a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while his thumb brushed against her clitoris on a downstroke.

Oh. Oh my. He was good at this, no doubt about it. Blew the three fantasies she'd had right out of the water. Of course, the fact that he was here, breathing, and real definitely helped with that.

And he was watching her, and she was reaching that plateau again, where it seemed like nothing had been accomplished. Except that it had.

For just a moment, she worried that it wouldn't work. That all of her mental stimulation and Jack's hands and lips and tongue would culminate in nothing much. And then the wave broke. It wasn't the best orgasm she'd had, not by a long shot. But that didn't matter, because she wasn't the one who'd caused it. The whole second person in her bed thing? Not something to mock. And if they kept this up, it could so get better.

"Jack." Her voice was nice and breathy, though. Heh.

He removed his hands and kissed her. She slid her own into his hair, pulling at it, twisting. She pulled back and reached over to grab the foil-wrapped condom. It took a few moments of them both fumbling to open it, and she let him put it on. Maybe later, she could practice her technique. Right now, they were only learning. And she was really hoping this wouldn't be the only lesson.

Then they were kissing again, and she was shifting and spreading her legs, and discovering how much she'd missed the feel of a man sitting right there, pressing her down. Skin to skin contact and he carefully reached down and slid in. Slowly. Because, as wet as she was, it had been a long time.

But not that long. Within moments she was perfectly happy with the stretching and moved her hips.

A groan escaped him, and she did it again.

The groan was more strangled this time, and she suddenly realized just how close he was to the edge. Smug, now, she began moving. Up. Down. Slight jiggle here--and, oooh, yeah. He *definitely* liked that.

Another groan and he began moving himself, thrusting in and out, catching a rhythm that was slightly different from hers and she adjusted accordingly, pulling one knee upwards to change the angle of penetration. Definitely a better angle, because now *she* was beginning to feel that tension dancing along her nerves. There really wasn't time for it to build anything (and she was already half wanting to fall asleep on him, poor man. But that wouldn't be particularly fair), but it was nice to feel.

He didn't last much longer, and she wondered if part of that was the fact that it was nearly 05:30, or because he'd been slightly drunk, or maybe he had been horny, too. Didn't matter, because moments later he was coming inside of her, arching that one last bit. She twisted her hips, tightening her inner muscles on him (which weren't responding all that well).

A sigh escaped him as he sank down onto her.

Sam was suddenly aware that they were both sweaty and sticky, and the bed was damp with various bodily fluids. Damn. She hated sleeping in a slippery bed.

"Jack."

"Nngh?"

She almost giggled again, but there really wasn't a lot of energy left. "I've gotta get a towel."

"Nngh."

"You need to get off me, Jack."

"Don't wanna."

"Why?"

"Like where I am." He yawned, settled his head onto her shoulder.

"Jack O'Neill, either get off me, or I'm shoving you onto the floor."

"What, again?"

"That was an accident."

"Uh-huh." One eye opened and he lifted his head to meet hers.

She shifted. "I need to take care of the condom." Okay, so it was really damned bald to say. But she was sleepy, for cryin' out loud.

"Oh." He removed himself, flopping onto his back and banging his elbow into the wall. "Ow."

Quickly doing what she needed, Sam also took the moment to wash her hands and then grabbed the towel from over the shower bar. It would work, even if she really wanted to change the sheets. But she was too dang tired. And Jack was already snoring.

Damn.

Now she might not get to sleep.

A soft giggle escaped her as she re-entered the room. He was sprawled out everywhere, and she wasn't really sure she could fit there. But there was the application of elbows and so she didn't go and sleep on the couch. The towel was placed, a few well-placed jabs, and then she was settled against his side with barely a quarter of the space. But she was the only one with a blanket. Firmly being smug about that, she closed her eyes.

Moments later, she was asleep.

-finis-

Further note: A.j. and Alryssa are totally to blame for the falling out of bed thing. And I can barely type anymore... Night!

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© 2005 ALC Punk!