she giggles (because i sleep with a body pillow); sam/jack pg
Title: she giggles (because i sleep with a body pillow)
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: PG
Summary: “Jack O’Neill. You’re telling me that in the two months since you got her, this cat has trained you how to not take up the entire bed?”
Notes: Same universe as It Came Upon a Midnight Clear and propel you through the golden age. Not at all necessary to have read those first; this one actually comes chronologically before the other two.
Jack frowns when Marge runs up to him, meowing urgently as he shuts the door behind him. He’s used to her greeting him at the door, usually wanting a scratch behind her ears or a belly rub before she leads him into the kitchen and looks up with innocent eyes, expecting dinner. But she brushes up against his calf, meowing in the way that he’s come to associate with something being wrong; one time it was a spider in the bath tub, another time it was a toy stuck in the closet, and once when a handyman came to fix the dishwasher while Jack was at work. “Shh,” he whispers, squatting to pick her up once he’s dropped his briefcase and tossed his jacket over the nearest chair.
Marge squirms and he sets her back down on the floor. Bent over, he notices a pair of shoes that aren’t his lined up very neatly next to a duffel bag that also isn’t his. “Ah,” he says, instantly identifying the intruder. He walks down the hallway, Marge trailing behind him making her displeasure known, and comes face to face with a closed bedroom door. “This is what you’re complaining about?” He looks down at the kitten, sitting on her haunches a few feet away next to the heat register. She licks her paw.
Jack knocks softly before grasping the doorknob and twisting, pushing the door open carefully so it won’t squeak. Marge dashes in as soon as there’s space enough for her and Jack rolls his eyes. He usually keeps the door open because Marge tends to whine and scratch at it if he’s inside and she can’t get in; he’d rather deal with her curiosity and habit of jumping on everything than listen to the noise she makes when she doesn’t get her way. He knows he’s spoiling her, but he can’t bring himself to actually lock her out at night.
He smiles and leans against the doorframe when he spies the bed. Sam, wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of his boxers, sprawled across the bed, fast asleep. By the looks of it, she’d tried to sort out the covers but gotten frustrated halfway through and just given up.
Marge jumps onto the chair he keeps at the foot of the bed for her - she’s still too small to make it up on her own - and then onto the bed. She sniffs Sam’s bare foot and jumps out of the way, narrowly avoiding a sleepy kick.
“Didn’t I shut the door?” Sam mumbles into the pillow, pushing at the covers with her toes, trying to hide her feet from interested felines. Marge only considers this a game and jumps on Sam’s blanket-covered feet. Sam makes a truly unflattering noise and covers her head with a pillow, as if that will have any effect on the cat playing with her feet.
Jack chuckles and it turns into a full laugh when he hears Sam mutter go away from underneath the pillow. He steps further into the bedroom and lifts Marge off of Sam, setting her on the floor before he sits down on the bed. “Morning, sleepyhead.” It’s really after seven at night, but Sam’s sleep cycle is so out of whack from being on a spaceship for a few months that he could tell her it was two in the afternoon and she’d believe him.
Sam pushes the pillow off her head and opens one eye. “She wouldn’t leave me alone.” She yawns and blinks at him sleepily, trying to wake herself up. She’s here for a week while the Hammond undergoes repairs and she might as well get in the same time zone as Jack.
Jack runs his fingers through her hair and surveys the bed. “You take up too much space,” he decides, noting the way Sam has stretched out to take up every inch of the mattress, leaving little room for Marge, now back on the bed and nudging Sam’s thigh.
An eyebrow arches, disappearing into blonde bangs. “Excuse me?”
“Not what I meant,” he backpedals.
Sam smirks and turns onto her side, patting the newly-exposed space for Marge. The cat immediately abandons her investigations of Sam’s knee and cuddles up, purring and eager for some attention. “Jack O’Neill. You’re telling me that in the two months since you got her, this cat has trained you how to not take up the entire bed?”
“She was your idea,” he reminds her, returning her smile.
“A good one, if she can do that in the span of two months. I’d been trying for a year and a half,” she grins; she’d spent the early months of their relationship just trying not to fall out of bed in the middle of the night when Jack shifted. “I should get up,” she says, catching sight of the clock on the nightstand and realizing that it is not actually morning.
Jack ignores the dig at his sleeping habits. “Chinese?” While he knew Sam was coming in today, he hasn’t yet had a chance to make it to the store this week. His kitchen contains mostly beer, Fruit Loops, and cat food. He thinks there may be an apple in the fridge somewhere. He’s tempted to dump Marge in the hallway, shut the door and greet Sam properly, the way he’d imagined during one of any number of interminably dull meetings he had to sit through today, but knows that if they don’t eat dinner now, it’ll be three in the morning before they think of it again and their options will be severely limited.
Sam nods and rolls onto her back. “Oh, hi,” she says when Marge climbs onto her stomach and curls up. She’s awake now and in no danger of falling back asleep, but the cat certainly isn’t helping Sam convince herself that getting out of bed really is the better option. Sam counts to five and sits up, settling a disgruntled Marge in her lap and placating the cat with a few scratches behind her ears.
As she sits up, Jack catches a glimpse of bare skin between her sweatshirt and boxers. A quick glance forward confirms that she’s not wearing anything underneath the sweatshirt and he’s about to abandon his earlier intention of dinner when his stomach growls, reminding him that it’s been a very long time since lunch.
Sam catches him staring and turns her attentions to him. “I’m here all week, you know.” She smiles and cups his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss.
“Not long enough,” he murmurs against her lips.
Marge meows and scampers off of Sam’s lap as Jack shifts closer.
“She’ll learn to live with the bedroom door shut,” Sam assures him with a smirk when he starts to look a little worried. Her stomach growls and she blinks; she wasn’t aware her body had figured out it was hungry yet. “I believe I was promised Chinese,” she prods; her crew is incredibly resourceful in the kitchen, but they haven’t been able to perfect pizza in space, not to mention General Tso’s chicken.
Jack kisses her once more and stands up to make the call. He hesitates in the doorway, turning back to look at Sam. Marge is already halfway down the hallway, fully anticipating dinner.
Sam follows his gaze and grins. “I won’t put a bra on. Promise.”
Pairing: Sam/Jack
Rating: PG
Summary: “Jack O’Neill. You’re telling me that in the two months since you got her, this cat has trained you how to not take up the entire bed?”
Notes: Same universe as It Came Upon a Midnight Clear and propel you through the golden age. Not at all necessary to have read those first; this one actually comes chronologically before the other two.
Jack frowns when Marge runs up to him, meowing urgently as he shuts the door behind him. He’s used to her greeting him at the door, usually wanting a scratch behind her ears or a belly rub before she leads him into the kitchen and looks up with innocent eyes, expecting dinner. But she brushes up against his calf, meowing in the way that he’s come to associate with something being wrong; one time it was a spider in the bath tub, another time it was a toy stuck in the closet, and once when a handyman came to fix the dishwasher while Jack was at work. “Shh,” he whispers, squatting to pick her up once he’s dropped his briefcase and tossed his jacket over the nearest chair.
Marge squirms and he sets her back down on the floor. Bent over, he notices a pair of shoes that aren’t his lined up very neatly next to a duffel bag that also isn’t his. “Ah,” he says, instantly identifying the intruder. He walks down the hallway, Marge trailing behind him making her displeasure known, and comes face to face with a closed bedroom door. “This is what you’re complaining about?” He looks down at the kitten, sitting on her haunches a few feet away next to the heat register. She licks her paw.
Jack knocks softly before grasping the doorknob and twisting, pushing the door open carefully so it won’t squeak. Marge dashes in as soon as there’s space enough for her and Jack rolls his eyes. He usually keeps the door open because Marge tends to whine and scratch at it if he’s inside and she can’t get in; he’d rather deal with her curiosity and habit of jumping on everything than listen to the noise she makes when she doesn’t get her way. He knows he’s spoiling her, but he can’t bring himself to actually lock her out at night.
He smiles and leans against the doorframe when he spies the bed. Sam, wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of his boxers, sprawled across the bed, fast asleep. By the looks of it, she’d tried to sort out the covers but gotten frustrated halfway through and just given up.
Marge jumps onto the chair he keeps at the foot of the bed for her - she’s still too small to make it up on her own - and then onto the bed. She sniffs Sam’s bare foot and jumps out of the way, narrowly avoiding a sleepy kick.
“Didn’t I shut the door?” Sam mumbles into the pillow, pushing at the covers with her toes, trying to hide her feet from interested felines. Marge only considers this a game and jumps on Sam’s blanket-covered feet. Sam makes a truly unflattering noise and covers her head with a pillow, as if that will have any effect on the cat playing with her feet.
Jack chuckles and it turns into a full laugh when he hears Sam mutter go away from underneath the pillow. He steps further into the bedroom and lifts Marge off of Sam, setting her on the floor before he sits down on the bed. “Morning, sleepyhead.” It’s really after seven at night, but Sam’s sleep cycle is so out of whack from being on a spaceship for a few months that he could tell her it was two in the afternoon and she’d believe him.
Sam pushes the pillow off her head and opens one eye. “She wouldn’t leave me alone.” She yawns and blinks at him sleepily, trying to wake herself up. She’s here for a week while the Hammond undergoes repairs and she might as well get in the same time zone as Jack.
Jack runs his fingers through her hair and surveys the bed. “You take up too much space,” he decides, noting the way Sam has stretched out to take up every inch of the mattress, leaving little room for Marge, now back on the bed and nudging Sam’s thigh.
An eyebrow arches, disappearing into blonde bangs. “Excuse me?”
“Not what I meant,” he backpedals.
Sam smirks and turns onto her side, patting the newly-exposed space for Marge. The cat immediately abandons her investigations of Sam’s knee and cuddles up, purring and eager for some attention. “Jack O’Neill. You’re telling me that in the two months since you got her, this cat has trained you how to not take up the entire bed?”
“She was your idea,” he reminds her, returning her smile.
“A good one, if she can do that in the span of two months. I’d been trying for a year and a half,” she grins; she’d spent the early months of their relationship just trying not to fall out of bed in the middle of the night when Jack shifted. “I should get up,” she says, catching sight of the clock on the nightstand and realizing that it is not actually morning.
Jack ignores the dig at his sleeping habits. “Chinese?” While he knew Sam was coming in today, he hasn’t yet had a chance to make it to the store this week. His kitchen contains mostly beer, Fruit Loops, and cat food. He thinks there may be an apple in the fridge somewhere. He’s tempted to dump Marge in the hallway, shut the door and greet Sam properly, the way he’d imagined during one of any number of interminably dull meetings he had to sit through today, but knows that if they don’t eat dinner now, it’ll be three in the morning before they think of it again and their options will be severely limited.
Sam nods and rolls onto her back. “Oh, hi,” she says when Marge climbs onto her stomach and curls up. She’s awake now and in no danger of falling back asleep, but the cat certainly isn’t helping Sam convince herself that getting out of bed really is the better option. Sam counts to five and sits up, settling a disgruntled Marge in her lap and placating the cat with a few scratches behind her ears.
As she sits up, Jack catches a glimpse of bare skin between her sweatshirt and boxers. A quick glance forward confirms that she’s not wearing anything underneath the sweatshirt and he’s about to abandon his earlier intention of dinner when his stomach growls, reminding him that it’s been a very long time since lunch.
Sam catches him staring and turns her attentions to him. “I’m here all week, you know.” She smiles and cups his cheek, drawing him in for a kiss.
“Not long enough,” he murmurs against her lips.
Marge meows and scampers off of Sam’s lap as Jack shifts closer.
“She’ll learn to live with the bedroom door shut,” Sam assures him with a smirk when he starts to look a little worried. Her stomach growls and she blinks; she wasn’t aware her body had figured out it was hungry yet. “I believe I was promised Chinese,” she prods; her crew is incredibly resourceful in the kitchen, but they haven’t been able to perfect pizza in space, not to mention General Tso’s chicken.
Jack kisses her once more and stands up to make the call. He hesitates in the doorway, turning back to look at Sam. Marge is already halfway down the hallway, fully anticipating dinner.
Sam follows his gaze and grins. “I won’t put a bra on. Promise.”