In Time: The Ritual
Title: The Ritual
Summary: Jack and Sam have a Sunday ritual.
Timeframe: Future/any
Characters/Pairing: Established Sam/Jack
Genre: Fluff
Rating: G
The Ritual
Arriving home after a week spent with a group of scientists in an off-world lab, Sam would have known it was Sunday night even if she’d been unaware of the date due to her absence.
Wandering into the sunken lounge after putting down her bag and kicking off her shoes, Sam found her husband in his usual spot at eight o’clock on a Sunday evening. He was sprawled on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and a bowl of popcorn on the cushion beside him. Jack was sans shirt, wearing only a pair of yellow and blue boxers with an image of a drunken Homer Simpson and the bold words: I hope I didn’t brain my damage. On the back, she knew it also said: Too late! with a crazed-looking Homer on one side. While watching his favorite show, Jack absolutely had to be wearing some form of Simpsons apparel. It was part of his ritual. Sam found it sort of endearing in an odd, dorky sort of way.
Sam couldn’t help but smile at Jack as the show went to a commercial break and he turned his full attention to her. She wouldn’t trade coming home to this for anything, no matter the goofiness of her husband’s Sunday night ritual.
Jack flashed her a wide grin and patted the spot next to him after pulling the popcorn bowl into his lap. “You comin’ over here, or what?”
Sauntering over and sinking down into the comfortable cushion beside Jack, Sam leaned into him and rested her head on his bare shoulder. He was warm and smelled of Irish Springs soap. “Mm, you smell good,” she murmured absently as she inhaled his scent.
Jack chuckled with a soft, “Why thank ya, ma’am.”
As The Simpsons came back from the commercial, and Jack was immersed in the show, laughing at the characters’ antics, Sam was reminded just how much she loved this man, loved the sound of his laughter, and everything about him. Even his quirky habits and odd rituals.
Sam reached for some popcorn, lifting her chin up briefly to kiss Jack’s cheek. He dragged his attention from the TV momentarily to capture her lips in a sweet kiss before she pulled away.
Hunkering down and leaning against Jack again, Sam took over control of the television remote when his show ended. She switched over to the Discovery Channel to watch a special on classic motorcycle restorations and smiled when Jack was eventually lured into sleep beside her.
This Sunday night ritual would never get old for Sam, bringing a sense of comfort and security to their otherwise rather hectic lifestyle. She sighed contently, totally relaxed. When Jack grunted in his sleep a short while later, mumbling a slurred and mostly incoherent, but familiar Homer Simpson phrase, Sam couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Yep, this was their ritual, and she wouldn’t change a thing.
.End.
Summary: Jack and Sam have a Sunday ritual.
Timeframe: Future/any
Characters/Pairing: Established Sam/Jack
Genre: Fluff
Rating: G
The Ritual
Arriving home after a week spent with a group of scientists in an off-world lab, Sam would have known it was Sunday night even if she’d been unaware of the date due to her absence.
Wandering into the sunken lounge after putting down her bag and kicking off her shoes, Sam found her husband in his usual spot at eight o’clock on a Sunday evening. He was sprawled on the couch with his feet on the coffee table and a bowl of popcorn on the cushion beside him. Jack was sans shirt, wearing only a pair of yellow and blue boxers with an image of a drunken Homer Simpson and the bold words: I hope I didn’t brain my damage. On the back, she knew it also said: Too late! with a crazed-looking Homer on one side. While watching his favorite show, Jack absolutely had to be wearing some form of Simpsons apparel. It was part of his ritual. Sam found it sort of endearing in an odd, dorky sort of way.
Sam couldn’t help but smile at Jack as the show went to a commercial break and he turned his full attention to her. She wouldn’t trade coming home to this for anything, no matter the goofiness of her husband’s Sunday night ritual.
Jack flashed her a wide grin and patted the spot next to him after pulling the popcorn bowl into his lap. “You comin’ over here, or what?”
Sauntering over and sinking down into the comfortable cushion beside Jack, Sam leaned into him and rested her head on his bare shoulder. He was warm and smelled of Irish Springs soap. “Mm, you smell good,” she murmured absently as she inhaled his scent.
Jack chuckled with a soft, “Why thank ya, ma’am.”
As The Simpsons came back from the commercial, and Jack was immersed in the show, laughing at the characters’ antics, Sam was reminded just how much she loved this man, loved the sound of his laughter, and everything about him. Even his quirky habits and odd rituals.
Sam reached for some popcorn, lifting her chin up briefly to kiss Jack’s cheek. He dragged his attention from the TV momentarily to capture her lips in a sweet kiss before she pulled away.
Hunkering down and leaning against Jack again, Sam took over control of the television remote when his show ended. She switched over to the Discovery Channel to watch a special on classic motorcycle restorations and smiled when Jack was eventually lured into sleep beside her.
This Sunday night ritual would never get old for Sam, bringing a sense of comfort and security to their otherwise rather hectic lifestyle. She sighed contently, totally relaxed. When Jack grunted in his sleep a short while later, mumbling a slurred and mostly incoherent, but familiar Homer Simpson phrase, Sam couldn’t help but chuckle softly. Yep, this was their ritual, and she wouldn’t change a thing.
.End.