FIC: Five other times Cam Mitchell lost his pants (or all his clothes)
macgyvergal wanted "Five other times Cam Mitchell lost his pants (or all his clothes)"
1. Cakewalk. Easy-peasy. Home in time for dinner. Daniel chants Cam's words back at him, huffing them out between gasping breaths as they charge out of the warehouse, six very large, very angry dogs at their heels. Cam's carrying the artifact they'd recovered from the Trust, and of course it can't be something small, so he's the last one to make it to the fence surrounding the warehouse property. Teal'c and Daniel are already on the other side, and Sam's perched at the top yelling something about hurrying. Like he couldn't figure that out, what with Cujo and company howling in his wake.
From ten feet away he heaves the artifact, not bothering to watch it arc up and over as he leaps for the fence. He scrambles up, letting out a whoop of victory that slides into a squeal as sharp teeth nip his skin. Fucking Cujo's hanging off his pantleg, twisting and jerking, and it's all Cam can do to hang onto the fence, shoulders burning as he tried to shake off the damn dog.
Visions of all those teeth waiting below flash like frames of a bad horror flick as he slips a little, and he'll never ever admit how close he comes to pissing his shorts. Then Sam, thank you Sam! is hanging upside down from the top of the fence, those long fingers clenched into the collar of his shirt.
"Your pants!"
Reason kicks through panic and he risks letting go with one hand to fumble at his belt and button fly. He kicks and wriggles as Sam heaves, and dog and denim slip free.
He and Sam tumble over the top of the fence, into Teal'c and Daniel's arms. Sam's sort of half sprawled across his lap, muttering something about "Idiot," and Cam's grateful he decided not to go commando today.
2. He's in a briefing. Jackson's on about something old. Yadda whatever blah blah. Talk is cheap, the old stuff isn't going anywhere, and Cam wants to go, get out and shoot some bad guys.
"All right, enough." Jackson mouth is wide open, mid-syllable, Teal'c's eyebrow is cocked and loaded. "We're SG-1, and screw this old stuff, we need to go kick some ass. Fucking Ess. Gee. One, baby." Cam shoves his chair back from the table and leaps from his seat to lead his team into battle.
Until Sam says, "Forget something, Camshaft?"
That's when he realizes it's a little drafty below the belt.
"Cam?"
Sam again, insistent, and shit, he's got to hide and it would have to be the day we wears those raggedy-ass shorts with "Flyboy" across the seat. But he's cornered and he can't get away, something holding him in place-
Thrashing out of his sleeping bag, he blinks awake to find Sam staring at him quizzically from across the campfire. Right. Some alien planet. Bad dream.
He waves Sam off with an "I'm okay, nothing to see," and huddles back down into the bag.
And he checks to make sure he's wearing his pants.
3. The music is loud, and Cam thinks it's out of tune, but it reminds him a little of "Funkadelic," and he can get down with that. Get dooooown. He swings his hips to the beat: left, right, back, thrust. Somebody whistles and he does the thrust again. Hoo ya. He adds a spin and another thrust, and shit this is good. Loose as a goose. He wants to give a good show, like… like that movie with the British guys stripping.
The belt takes him a few minutes, but he manages to yank it loose and fling it away. He doesn't remember his boots until his pants are around his ankles. Stupid double-knotted lacing. He staggers, bent-double, his head feeling really, really big all of a sudden. Sparkles flare in his eyes, Saturday Night Fever disco ball across his field of vision, and he's tired, and maybe he'll just lay down right-
The next morning Cam pretends the snorts and chuckles are just the pounding of his hangover, even as he uncharitably wonders if his team set him up. He wouldn't put it past them, now that he knew that they were all really petty and kind of childish. Intergalactic heroes, his ass.
Something cool drags across his forehead and he risks opening his eyes. Sam's crouched over him, one of Jackson's bandanas dangling from her finger. She wipes his face and slides her hand under the back of his neck, holding the wet bandana there. "At least it wasn't me this time."
4. He's in bed. He's naked. He aches everywhere, but it's good, like after a good hard run or a good hard-
Oh, fuck.
There are breasts pressed against his shoulder - soft, nice size, and he gets a little distracted for a second by puckered nipples just inches away, until they shift a little and he looks up.
Sam.
Sam's breasts. Sam's really awesome breasts, which he now remembers holding cupped in his hands as she straddled him.
Her eyes stutter open, heavy with sleep and satisfaction. "Hey."
"Hey." Smooth, Mitchell. But really, maybe he deserves some slack. This wasn't exactly in the job description. "So. Did the aliens make us have sex?" It's rhetorical, really - he can smell it on her, on him, on the sheets of their alien love nest. And he's remembering bits and pieces: what she sounds like, what she tastes like. Which is totally hot, but makes it damn hard to look her in the eye.
"Yup." Yawning, Sam stretches. It's a languorous affair of undulations that ends with her stretched out on her side facing him, and his dick hard as a rock.
"And you're so calm about this because…?" He's trying for calm too, and hopes his voice didn't go as high as it sounded to his ears.
She pats him on the thigh as she slips out of the bed and his dick twitches. "It happens all the time."
5. PSX 976. They're on an overnight survey - quick, dirty and boring. The most boring planet he's been to yet, so he's damned surprised to wake up the morning with no sign of his pants. Cam repacks his pack four times, turns the campsite upside down, even does a quarter mile perimeter sweep.
In the end, he holds his head up high as he marches back through the gate in his boxer briefs. His team's pretty good about the whole thing, keeping the ribbing to a minimum, faking their sympathy pretty sincerely, and eventually he decides to just let it go.
Then Daniel lets slip, about a month later, that he found Cam's pants in Teal'c's pack. And he decides he's still going to let it go, because Cam's pretty sure that while paybacks would be sweet, escalating anything with Teal'c would guarantee he'd lose in the end, and last thing he wants is to end up in the gate room bare-assed and saluting the general in the entirely wrong way.
1. Cakewalk. Easy-peasy. Home in time for dinner. Daniel chants Cam's words back at him, huffing them out between gasping breaths as they charge out of the warehouse, six very large, very angry dogs at their heels. Cam's carrying the artifact they'd recovered from the Trust, and of course it can't be something small, so he's the last one to make it to the fence surrounding the warehouse property. Teal'c and Daniel are already on the other side, and Sam's perched at the top yelling something about hurrying. Like he couldn't figure that out, what with Cujo and company howling in his wake.
From ten feet away he heaves the artifact, not bothering to watch it arc up and over as he leaps for the fence. He scrambles up, letting out a whoop of victory that slides into a squeal as sharp teeth nip his skin. Fucking Cujo's hanging off his pantleg, twisting and jerking, and it's all Cam can do to hang onto the fence, shoulders burning as he tried to shake off the damn dog.
Visions of all those teeth waiting below flash like frames of a bad horror flick as he slips a little, and he'll never ever admit how close he comes to pissing his shorts. Then Sam, thank you Sam! is hanging upside down from the top of the fence, those long fingers clenched into the collar of his shirt.
"Your pants!"
Reason kicks through panic and he risks letting go with one hand to fumble at his belt and button fly. He kicks and wriggles as Sam heaves, and dog and denim slip free.
He and Sam tumble over the top of the fence, into Teal'c and Daniel's arms. Sam's sort of half sprawled across his lap, muttering something about "Idiot," and Cam's grateful he decided not to go commando today.
2. He's in a briefing. Jackson's on about something old. Yadda whatever blah blah. Talk is cheap, the old stuff isn't going anywhere, and Cam wants to go, get out and shoot some bad guys.
"All right, enough." Jackson mouth is wide open, mid-syllable, Teal'c's eyebrow is cocked and loaded. "We're SG-1, and screw this old stuff, we need to go kick some ass. Fucking Ess. Gee. One, baby." Cam shoves his chair back from the table and leaps from his seat to lead his team into battle.
Until Sam says, "Forget something, Camshaft?"
That's when he realizes it's a little drafty below the belt.
"Cam?"
Sam again, insistent, and shit, he's got to hide and it would have to be the day we wears those raggedy-ass shorts with "Flyboy" across the seat. But he's cornered and he can't get away, something holding him in place-
Thrashing out of his sleeping bag, he blinks awake to find Sam staring at him quizzically from across the campfire. Right. Some alien planet. Bad dream.
He waves Sam off with an "I'm okay, nothing to see," and huddles back down into the bag.
And he checks to make sure he's wearing his pants.
3. The music is loud, and Cam thinks it's out of tune, but it reminds him a little of "Funkadelic," and he can get down with that. Get dooooown. He swings his hips to the beat: left, right, back, thrust. Somebody whistles and he does the thrust again. Hoo ya. He adds a spin and another thrust, and shit this is good. Loose as a goose. He wants to give a good show, like… like that movie with the British guys stripping.
The belt takes him a few minutes, but he manages to yank it loose and fling it away. He doesn't remember his boots until his pants are around his ankles. Stupid double-knotted lacing. He staggers, bent-double, his head feeling really, really big all of a sudden. Sparkles flare in his eyes, Saturday Night Fever disco ball across his field of vision, and he's tired, and maybe he'll just lay down right-
The next morning Cam pretends the snorts and chuckles are just the pounding of his hangover, even as he uncharitably wonders if his team set him up. He wouldn't put it past them, now that he knew that they were all really petty and kind of childish. Intergalactic heroes, his ass.
Something cool drags across his forehead and he risks opening his eyes. Sam's crouched over him, one of Jackson's bandanas dangling from her finger. She wipes his face and slides her hand under the back of his neck, holding the wet bandana there. "At least it wasn't me this time."
4. He's in bed. He's naked. He aches everywhere, but it's good, like after a good hard run or a good hard-
Oh, fuck.
There are breasts pressed against his shoulder - soft, nice size, and he gets a little distracted for a second by puckered nipples just inches away, until they shift a little and he looks up.
Sam.
Sam's breasts. Sam's really awesome breasts, which he now remembers holding cupped in his hands as she straddled him.
Her eyes stutter open, heavy with sleep and satisfaction. "Hey."
"Hey." Smooth, Mitchell. But really, maybe he deserves some slack. This wasn't exactly in the job description. "So. Did the aliens make us have sex?" It's rhetorical, really - he can smell it on her, on him, on the sheets of their alien love nest. And he's remembering bits and pieces: what she sounds like, what she tastes like. Which is totally hot, but makes it damn hard to look her in the eye.
"Yup." Yawning, Sam stretches. It's a languorous affair of undulations that ends with her stretched out on her side facing him, and his dick hard as a rock.
"And you're so calm about this because…?" He's trying for calm too, and hopes his voice didn't go as high as it sounded to his ears.
She pats him on the thigh as she slips out of the bed and his dick twitches. "It happens all the time."
5. PSX 976. They're on an overnight survey - quick, dirty and boring. The most boring planet he's been to yet, so he's damned surprised to wake up the morning with no sign of his pants. Cam repacks his pack four times, turns the campsite upside down, even does a quarter mile perimeter sweep.
In the end, he holds his head up high as he marches back through the gate in his boxer briefs. His team's pretty good about the whole thing, keeping the ribbing to a minimum, faking their sympathy pretty sincerely, and eventually he decides to just let it go.
Then Daniel lets slip, about a month later, that he found Cam's pants in Teal'c's pack. And he decides he's still going to let it go, because Cam's pretty sure that while paybacks would be sweet, escalating anything with Teal'c would guarantee he'd lose in the end, and last thing he wants is to end up in the gate room bare-assed and saluting the general in the entirely wrong way.