Stargate Fanfic: The Anniversary Tradition
Title: The Anniversary Tradition
Author: LexKitten
Summary: Jack lectures Sam on the importance of traditions - especially the ones that involve drunken kisses.
Set/Spoilers: Late S3/Early S4. Spoilers for S1.
Rating: PG for 'adult themes'.
A/N: For the Sam and Jack Ficathon at GW. Prompt: “Celebrating our anniversary”.
I cannot resist drunken Jack (or drunken Daniel!). They are my favourite muses.
***
If there was one thing Jack liked, it was traditions. And beer. Traditions and beer. So, any tradition that involved beer was high up on the list of Jack’s favourite events.
“Carter, it’s a tradition,” he slurred over the lip of his tenth or eleventh Guinness of the night, sloshing a little on Sam’s coffee table. “It’s sacred. It’s holy. It cannot be violated.”
Sam eyed him cautiously, still nursing her fifth drink, conscious of the numbing effect the alcohol was having on her cognitive functions. She would have to watch herself here. It would be all too easy to fall into Jack’s trap. “What exactly is this tradition, Sir?”
“This,” Jack said, fixing her with an intense stare, “is our anniversary.” He said the last word with a kind of reverence, and the implication that Sam should be equally as respectful of the hallowed holiday. “At 18:38, exactly four years ago today-” he checked his watch. “Huh, it’s oh three hundred already. Ok, four years ago yesterday - you, an’ me, an’ Daniel, an’ Teal’c all walked through the Stargate together, for the very first time.”
“You mean, right after Teal’c betrayed his God, and Daniel’s wife got snaked in the head?” Sam reminded him. “Not a very successful mission.”
“Agreed,” Jack said, raising his beer to her. “But that’s beside the point. It was our first … our first homecoming. As a team. As SG1.”
“Alright,” she said, feeling her heart swell with some of Jack’s familial team affection, “I agree that’s worth celebrating.” She took a slow sip from her beer, eyeing Jack, who in turn, eyed her lips against the rim of the bottle. She swallowed slowly, taking her time before replying, “but I don’t see why that means I have to kiss you.”
“Ah,” He leant back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head with a smug grin. “Because it’s a tradition.”
Sam tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows incredulously. “No, I still don’t follow.”
“Well, since our first celebration, we’ve developed certain habits,” Jack explained. “Certain team rituals that are integral to the Anniversary celebration. For instance-” He leant forward, and grabbed Daniel’s sleeping head by the scruff of his neck and lifted it off the coffee table. “Daniel always gets wasted.” He let Daniel’s head thud back on the table, not waking the sleeping archaeologist in the slightest. “And, Teal’c always insults my premium Irish liquor,” Jack scowled, glaring side-long at the Jaffa who was apparently deep in meditation on the other couch. Jack turned his attention back to Sam, fixing her with a rather roguish smirk that sent pleasant shivers down her back. “And, you always kiss me.”
Sam blushed. “Twice is hardly a tradition.”
“Three times,” Jack corrected, still smirking. “There was Daniel’s last birthday too.”
“You call that a tradition?” She countered. “Seems more like an embarrassing drunken mistake that we both regret the next day and never speak of again.”
“Still,” Jack insisted, “We’re drunk now. We should observe the ritual, so we can regret it tomorrow.”
Sam leant back, distancing herself from Jack’s enticing eyes and rough, wet lips. It helped a little, but not a lot. She was still acutely aware of the Colonel, and their relatively close proximity. “Can’t we just skip the kiss this year?” she asked. “I mean, we’ve had a nice party, and Daniel’s appropriately wasted. What’s the difference?”
“Ah Carter, you don’t understand the importance of ritual in human celebrations, do you? Too bad Daniel’s out of it, or he could explain,” he said. “See, it’s like this. Traditions are events, consisting of little important rituals. For instance, at Christmas, you put up the tree, and you sing carols, drink nogg, kiss under the mistle -toe; all that. Each ritual is important. You have to do them all, or it’s not really Christmas.”
“We spent last Christmas being held hostage on P3X-965,” Sam countered. “And I don’t remember drinking nogg or singing carols.”
“Yeah well, I’m not big on Christmas,” Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t care about all that.” He suddenly leant forward, putting his palms on each of Sam’s cheeks and turning face to his. “I do care about us.”
Something about the way he said it, or maybe the dark glint in his eyes, struck a long suppressed chord in Sam’s chest. “Sir…” she warned him, though even to her own ears, it didn’t sound convincing. It sounded like the last mewing protest of a tipsy, smitten young girl about to submit.
“C’mon Carter,” he said. “It’s once a year. We’re upstanding officers the other 364 days. And it’s our anniversary.”
Sam realised she had been leaning forward as he spoke, and she was now barely inches from his face. She glanced sideways at the sleeping Daniel, and the apparently Kel’no’reem-ing Teal’c. “Right now? Here?”
Jack leant forward, letting his breath disturb the curls of hair around her ears when he spoke. “Daniel’s out like a light,” he assured her. “And Teal’c has to meditate all that poisonous liquor out of his system.”
Sam was fairly sure Teal’c was actually faking, but the Jaffa did at least have his eyes closed. Besides, with a few drinks in her system, and Jack’s hot breath on her face, it was pretty hard to concentrate.
She licked her bottom lip. “Well, I suppose it is a tradition.”
Jack knew he had won. He leant towards her; Sam mimicked his movements till their noses bumped together in drunken clumsiness. Sam giggled. And then he was on her, his rough mouth latching over hers and forcing his hot lips against her own. Sam’s body responded before her head could, her tongue lashing out and slipping into his hot, sticky mouth. The Colonel had his arms around her back, and somehow Sam’s hands found their way into his hair, tangling into him. She pulled him towards her, trying to get as much of him near as much of her as possible. He followed willingly, slinking off his couch and onto hers till every inch of him was pressing upon her.
Finally, Sam had to breath. She pushed him a little way off - though keeping her hands firmly locked on his shoulders so he wouldn’t stray too far. Jack smirked. She grinned. “Sir, I think you’ve forgotten how this tradition usually ends,” she said, breathlessly.
Jack raised an eyebrow at her. “With us sleeping together, and then waking up to regret it tomorrow?”
She laughed, and the shakes pushed her chest into his. “Not the last three times,” she reminded him. “Though you can live in hope. No, usually-”
Suddenly, a gurgling retching noise rent the air, as Daniel woke up briefly to throw up all over the coffee table.
Sam smiled ruefully. “As I was saying, usually, Daniel drunkenly interrupts.”
Jack peeled himself away from her, and got up in time to catch Daniel’s head before he passed out again on the now spoiled table. “Great timing Danny,” he growled, shoving him back from the table.
Teal’c awoke from his supposed kel’no’reem just in time to catch Daniel as he fell backwards and pulled him into a standing position. “ Daniel Jackson requires a cold shower,” he announced, heaving the unconscious archaeologist off the ground. He gave Jack a little smirk as he carried their friend to the bathroom.
Jack sighed. “Suppose the moment’s kinda ruined now, eh?”
Sam nodded. “I think I should clean my coffee table.”
“I’ll help.” Jack offered her a hand, and pulled Sam to her feet, so she was once again almost flush with him. “It’s too bad,” he lamented, raising a hand to brush her hair off her hot cheeks.
Sam smirked, and pulled his hand away. “There’s always next year.”
***
Author: LexKitten
Summary: Jack lectures Sam on the importance of traditions - especially the ones that involve drunken kisses.
Set/Spoilers: Late S3/Early S4. Spoilers for S1.
Rating: PG for 'adult themes'.
A/N: For the Sam and Jack Ficathon at GW. Prompt: “Celebrating our anniversary”.
I cannot resist drunken Jack (or drunken Daniel!). They are my favourite muses.
***
If there was one thing Jack liked, it was traditions. And beer. Traditions and beer. So, any tradition that involved beer was high up on the list of Jack’s favourite events.
“Carter, it’s a tradition,” he slurred over the lip of his tenth or eleventh Guinness of the night, sloshing a little on Sam’s coffee table. “It’s sacred. It’s holy. It cannot be violated.”
Sam eyed him cautiously, still nursing her fifth drink, conscious of the numbing effect the alcohol was having on her cognitive functions. She would have to watch herself here. It would be all too easy to fall into Jack’s trap. “What exactly is this tradition, Sir?”
“This,” Jack said, fixing her with an intense stare, “is our anniversary.” He said the last word with a kind of reverence, and the implication that Sam should be equally as respectful of the hallowed holiday. “At 18:38, exactly four years ago today-” he checked his watch. “Huh, it’s oh three hundred already. Ok, four years ago yesterday - you, an’ me, an’ Daniel, an’ Teal’c all walked through the Stargate together, for the very first time.”
“You mean, right after Teal’c betrayed his God, and Daniel’s wife got snaked in the head?” Sam reminded him. “Not a very successful mission.”
“Agreed,” Jack said, raising his beer to her. “But that’s beside the point. It was our first … our first homecoming. As a team. As SG1.”
“Alright,” she said, feeling her heart swell with some of Jack’s familial team affection, “I agree that’s worth celebrating.” She took a slow sip from her beer, eyeing Jack, who in turn, eyed her lips against the rim of the bottle. She swallowed slowly, taking her time before replying, “but I don’t see why that means I have to kiss you.”
“Ah,” He leant back in his chair and folded his arms behind his head with a smug grin. “Because it’s a tradition.”
Sam tilted her head to the side and raised her eyebrows incredulously. “No, I still don’t follow.”
“Well, since our first celebration, we’ve developed certain habits,” Jack explained. “Certain team rituals that are integral to the Anniversary celebration. For instance-” He leant forward, and grabbed Daniel’s sleeping head by the scruff of his neck and lifted it off the coffee table. “Daniel always gets wasted.” He let Daniel’s head thud back on the table, not waking the sleeping archaeologist in the slightest. “And, Teal’c always insults my premium Irish liquor,” Jack scowled, glaring side-long at the Jaffa who was apparently deep in meditation on the other couch. Jack turned his attention back to Sam, fixing her with a rather roguish smirk that sent pleasant shivers down her back. “And, you always kiss me.”
Sam blushed. “Twice is hardly a tradition.”
“Three times,” Jack corrected, still smirking. “There was Daniel’s last birthday too.”
“You call that a tradition?” She countered. “Seems more like an embarrassing drunken mistake that we both regret the next day and never speak of again.”
“Still,” Jack insisted, “We’re drunk now. We should observe the ritual, so we can regret it tomorrow.”
Sam leant back, distancing herself from Jack’s enticing eyes and rough, wet lips. It helped a little, but not a lot. She was still acutely aware of the Colonel, and their relatively close proximity. “Can’t we just skip the kiss this year?” she asked. “I mean, we’ve had a nice party, and Daniel’s appropriately wasted. What’s the difference?”
“Ah Carter, you don’t understand the importance of ritual in human celebrations, do you? Too bad Daniel’s out of it, or he could explain,” he said. “See, it’s like this. Traditions are events, consisting of little important rituals. For instance, at Christmas, you put up the tree, and you sing carols, drink nogg, kiss under the mistle -toe; all that. Each ritual is important. You have to do them all, or it’s not really Christmas.”
“We spent last Christmas being held hostage on P3X-965,” Sam countered. “And I don’t remember drinking nogg or singing carols.”
“Yeah well, I’m not big on Christmas,” Jack said, waving his hand dismissively. “I don’t care about all that.” He suddenly leant forward, putting his palms on each of Sam’s cheeks and turning face to his. “I do care about us.”
Something about the way he said it, or maybe the dark glint in his eyes, struck a long suppressed chord in Sam’s chest. “Sir…” she warned him, though even to her own ears, it didn’t sound convincing. It sounded like the last mewing protest of a tipsy, smitten young girl about to submit.
“C’mon Carter,” he said. “It’s once a year. We’re upstanding officers the other 364 days. And it’s our anniversary.”
Sam realised she had been leaning forward as he spoke, and she was now barely inches from his face. She glanced sideways at the sleeping Daniel, and the apparently Kel’no’reem-ing Teal’c. “Right now? Here?”
Jack leant forward, letting his breath disturb the curls of hair around her ears when he spoke. “Daniel’s out like a light,” he assured her. “And Teal’c has to meditate all that poisonous liquor out of his system.”
Sam was fairly sure Teal’c was actually faking, but the Jaffa did at least have his eyes closed. Besides, with a few drinks in her system, and Jack’s hot breath on her face, it was pretty hard to concentrate.
She licked her bottom lip. “Well, I suppose it is a tradition.”
Jack knew he had won. He leant towards her; Sam mimicked his movements till their noses bumped together in drunken clumsiness. Sam giggled. And then he was on her, his rough mouth latching over hers and forcing his hot lips against her own. Sam’s body responded before her head could, her tongue lashing out and slipping into his hot, sticky mouth. The Colonel had his arms around her back, and somehow Sam’s hands found their way into his hair, tangling into him. She pulled him towards her, trying to get as much of him near as much of her as possible. He followed willingly, slinking off his couch and onto hers till every inch of him was pressing upon her.
Finally, Sam had to breath. She pushed him a little way off - though keeping her hands firmly locked on his shoulders so he wouldn’t stray too far. Jack smirked. She grinned. “Sir, I think you’ve forgotten how this tradition usually ends,” she said, breathlessly.
Jack raised an eyebrow at her. “With us sleeping together, and then waking up to regret it tomorrow?”
She laughed, and the shakes pushed her chest into his. “Not the last three times,” she reminded him. “Though you can live in hope. No, usually-”
Suddenly, a gurgling retching noise rent the air, as Daniel woke up briefly to throw up all over the coffee table.
Sam smiled ruefully. “As I was saying, usually, Daniel drunkenly interrupts.”
Jack peeled himself away from her, and got up in time to catch Daniel’s head before he passed out again on the now spoiled table. “Great timing Danny,” he growled, shoving him back from the table.
Teal’c awoke from his supposed kel’no’reem just in time to catch Daniel as he fell backwards and pulled him into a standing position. “ Daniel Jackson requires a cold shower,” he announced, heaving the unconscious archaeologist off the ground. He gave Jack a little smirk as he carried their friend to the bathroom.
Jack sighed. “Suppose the moment’s kinda ruined now, eh?”
Sam nodded. “I think I should clean my coffee table.”
“I’ll help.” Jack offered her a hand, and pulled Sam to her feet, so she was once again almost flush with him. “It’s too bad,” he lamented, raising a hand to brush her hair off her hot cheeks.
Sam smirked, and pulled his hand away. “There’s always next year.”
***