Custom and Convention (Jack solo, Sam/Jack UST) Adult
For sg1_by_hand.
Custom and Convention
by surreallis
Prompt:
Primary Character: Jack
Ship to be included: Sam
Acceptable Humour/Fluff Level: Pure angst
Prompt: He loves her, but he can’t have her.
Rating: Adult (graphic male mast./ graphic sexual language)
A/N: Thanks to Courser for the once-over. : )
++
She smelled good. Better than good actually. Not that she ever smelled bad, but… This was different.
He realized it as she gave him a smile and stepped onto the elevator with him. He was early to work, she was late, and no one else joined them. She slipped in beside him with one of those slightly shy, can’t quite restrain it smiles, even though her eyes were still sleepy, and it broke through his early morning haze and set his senses on edge.
For 45 seconds, as they sank down into the earth, he had her all to himself. She broke the silence to throw some techno-babble at him, her newest project, even though they both knew he wasn’t listening.
The new scent clung to her and just barely reached him. It was light and soapy, not perfume, but it spoke of something new.
Or someone new…
The thought sobered him, and he batted it away. He didn’t think about Carter with other guys, not if he wanted to stay sane.
But the scent stayed with her all day long, and each time he got a whiff of it his mind went to dark places. Places where she knew what she did to him, and where she rose in the morning from a strange bed and used another man’s soap to wash her sins away.
And that was so unfair, because he wanted her to be happy. He really did. Kind of. Just…
He breathed it in as she leaned against him at lunch, reaching over the table to snag a spoonful of Daniel’s Jell-O as Daniel grinned and parried with his fork. Her breast was soft against his forearm and every atom in his body zeroed in on it, imagining size, weight, texture…
His belly tightened, and he opened his mouth to tell them to settle down, except… Except then he realized if he kept quiet she might keep doing it, and that was a much better idea. Her knee pressed his and he didn’t move. Above her head Teal’c’s gaze slid to him, eyebrow lifted. Jack looked away.
It was a slow-moving, routine day. No mission was scheduled until the following week. He had paperwork to do that he studiously avoided. Carter and Daniel lived in their labs.
He sat in her lab and watched as she worked, yo-yo in his hands, humming roughly along with the ear-buds in his ears, MP3 player in his pocket, turned off. He pretended not to notice when she occasionally gave him an impatient glare, but he softened his hums. She bent low over her book, tapping a pen against her frowning lips. He kept humming and his gaze caught on the nape of her neck: fragile, narrow, pale and smooth.
His mouth watered.
This was when it got tough. Not when their lives were in danger and they were bone-tired and dirty and looking to cling to each other in any way possible. It was when the days ran long with routine, when he could sit and observe her and he had time to think, to miss, to need. To want.
Maybe it was the same for her. When he parted from her side to head to his truck at the end of the day, she gave him a smile. He smiled back and turned, but then something made him glance back. She was glancing back too, and her gaze caught his and held. One beat. Two. And three was too long…
She looked a little shaken when she finally turned away for good, and he couldn’t quite muster the will to be relieved. He shouldn’t want to affect her the way he did. God knew he certainly didn’t want her to affect him the way she did.
He drove home silently, radio off, not wanting the distraction. It was like this sometimes. Like he was treading water with her all around him. He went with it because trying to ignore it only made him violent.
He swigged a bottle of beer in front of the TV when it was dark. In his boxers and a T-shirt, and even though he’d showered he still thought he could smell Carter. She’d be the first to tell him that the brain was a funny thing. Ha.
There were crickets outside the window, and the night was growing late, and he’d go to bed except his mind kept creeping over, toward that Carter side. Where he wondered where she was right then. At home, or not at home?
In someone else’s sheets, back narrow and misted, muscles working…
He flipped the channel and drained his beer. It settled warm and heavy in his gut.
How would she move? How would she look? How would she sound? How would she smell? How…
He took a deep breath and thought about getting another beer. He flipped the channel again, and his brain sent up red flags all over the place. WAIT.
The half-naked woman on the screen was wearing fatigues. The short blond hair sent a tugging sensation through his gut, his groin. One of those soft-porn cable flicks that showed a lot of tits and ass but couldn’t go further than a lot of thrusting hip shots, good parts hidden.
Oh… damn. Too close to the truth. He found himself avoiding her eyes.
His dick wasn’t as willing to deny it.
Oh, hell no. Not a porn substitute. Just… Not porn. Not when it looked like her.
It might be better that way, he thought. Might be better just to focus on the screen and jerk off; be done with it. Except even as his hand drifted lower over his boxers, heated palm lying heavily over the arched fabric, his eyelids sank shut.
Carter in his bed, BDU blouse unbuttoned and showing more skin than…
His eyes snapped open.
In bed, he gave an honest try toward sleep. With his eyes closed and his room silent, he just thought about the day at first. Her smile, her smell, her neck, her…
He’d long since given up on trying to pretend she didn’t work for him. He’d never been paranoid enough to think she could tell the next morning. He’d tried it every which way: slow, fast, with porn and without, half-asleep and wide-awake. Didn’t matter. When that heavy wave of orgasm hit and he was wrapped up, mindlessly, in the sharp edge of pleasure, it was always Sam there, her handtonguelipscuntheatwet dragging against him.
He propped one knee up and slid a hand under his shirt. He just rested it there for a moment, fingers splayed and buried in the hair on his belly. He knew the taste of her mouth, even if she couldn’t remember. She’d clutched his shoulders, and then her mouth had moved with his, and her hands had tried to pull him closer, not caring that Hammond was staring in shock or that Jack had just turned in his resignation. She’d only cared about his mouth. On hers.
He slid his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, through the wiry hair between his legs, until the shaft of his cock wedged between his middle and ring fingers. He stroked back and then down and around his balls. He hardened again.
Carter making that sound. The one she made when she was frustrated in the lab. The one that sounded tortuously sexual but she never realized…
He curved his palm around his shaft, gripped with his fingers, and gave one slow, long stroke. The answering throb of heat erased all the guilt from his mind. He shoved his boxers down to his thighs, swallowing hard as the cool air rushed around him.
If he pressed, would she give up on the regs? Would she let him sneak into her bedroom late at night and strip her naked?
“Fuck,” he swore. He absently stroked himself, hand twisting slightly, avoiding the head.
She crawled down his chest, hand wrapping around his dick, mouth coming down to envelope him warmly. Her legs spread above his face, and ohhh… God, he could see everything. She licked.
He stroked to the tip, lightened his touch. His own breath sounded loud in the quiet bedroom.
She sucked him into her mouth. He curled his fingers around the head of his cock, squeezed, and held. He exhaled slowly. When she fucked him with her mouth, he slid his hand tightly down then up. It made his hips lift off the bed, and his muscles tighten with a pain that felt so. damn. good.
Too good.
He let go and slid his palm into the hair on his belly again, scratching his fingernails lightly back and forth. His head was a little hazy. “Jesus…” he whispered into the darkness. He hesitated, and then, “Sam…” Just saying her name was a power all its own. He’d stopped using her first name when he’d realized the dreams about fucking her weren’t just a phase. Ironically, it was only in his dreams that he used the name now.
He slid the warm, moist plane of his palm up and down the underside of his shaft. The he put her on top of him, in the moonlight; soaking wet. Her pale hair was slicked back over her head, a few dry strands breaking free to hang in her face. Her wet, black T-shirt clung to her breasts, and he’d always been a man who’d found something left to the imagination sexier than full-on naked.
And she sank down over him, and…
He pressed down with his palm, wanting to feel her so damn bad, and then stopped, breaking the motion to turn to his night table. He fumbled in the drawer until he found the small bottle and then fell onto his back again.
The lube drizzled down into his palm and then he dropped the bottle. He slid his hands together, coating them, heating it up, and when he curled them both around his dick it felt… fucking fantastic.
He kept Sam there, above him, head arched back, lips parted (And she’d be quiet, he just knew.) , while he gripped himself with both hands, running one hand all the way up, and then the other. It was slick and warm and… He sank back, eyes closed, and just let go.
She didn’t have to do much except be there, and he lifted his hips, thrusting up into the warm pocket of his hands. He felt hard enough to pound nails, and the pleasure was pooling low in his gut, radiating outward from where it was centered in his groin. His own panting was matching up perfectly with each jab upwards of his hips. He moved faster, his thighs burning from exertion, and maybe that was what did it: That age-old movement of lifting his hips up into his hands, pushing his dick through the tight, wetness of his palms. He wanted her, just like this, and he could see her there, exactly how he wanted to see her, and then the pleasure rippled a bit and caught, sending a tug into his balls. And she was there. Right at that precipice when he tipped back and fell, he could feel her around him, tight and hot, and the desire wasn’t needed, replaced with, “Yessss!”
He came with a groan, fingers rubbing, intensifying it, keeping the jets aimed toward his own stomach. He froze there, riding it out, letting it curl his toes and empty out of him. And Sam came with him, a moan in her throat… maybe her lip caught between her teeth.
Oh, fuck, yes…
He kept his body tight as the climax faded, letting it wash out of him, resting his fingers along the base of his shaft and just feeling. But even with his dick still hard and the euphoria still soaked into his brain, she wasn’t there anymore.
The bottom slipped away from his climax, and he took a quick, deep breath, wincing a bit as he drew a tight grip up his softening dick, working the last clinging drop of semen out of over-sensitive flesh. Then he let go and relaxed into the mattress, listening to his own breathing gradually slow.
He didn’t bother with feeling guilty as he pulled his shorts back up and cleaned his stomach off with a sock. It had happened before, it would happen again. The one constant in his life besides beer and The Simpsons was that he would keep on wanting Carter, and she would keep on smiling at him just out of reach.
And he would smile back and tell himself he wanted her to be happy (so many times that he’d even believe it), because any other option would bury them, one way or another.
~end~
My fingers are so cold I can barely type. Eesh.
Custom and Convention
by surreallis
Prompt:
Primary Character: Jack
Ship to be included: Sam
Acceptable Humour/Fluff Level: Pure angst
Prompt: He loves her, but he can’t have her.
Rating: Adult (graphic male mast./ graphic sexual language)
A/N: Thanks to Courser for the once-over. : )
++
She smelled good. Better than good actually. Not that she ever smelled bad, but… This was different.
He realized it as she gave him a smile and stepped onto the elevator with him. He was early to work, she was late, and no one else joined them. She slipped in beside him with one of those slightly shy, can’t quite restrain it smiles, even though her eyes were still sleepy, and it broke through his early morning haze and set his senses on edge.
For 45 seconds, as they sank down into the earth, he had her all to himself. She broke the silence to throw some techno-babble at him, her newest project, even though they both knew he wasn’t listening.
The new scent clung to her and just barely reached him. It was light and soapy, not perfume, but it spoke of something new.
Or someone new…
The thought sobered him, and he batted it away. He didn’t think about Carter with other guys, not if he wanted to stay sane.
But the scent stayed with her all day long, and each time he got a whiff of it his mind went to dark places. Places where she knew what she did to him, and where she rose in the morning from a strange bed and used another man’s soap to wash her sins away.
And that was so unfair, because he wanted her to be happy. He really did. Kind of. Just…
He breathed it in as she leaned against him at lunch, reaching over the table to snag a spoonful of Daniel’s Jell-O as Daniel grinned and parried with his fork. Her breast was soft against his forearm and every atom in his body zeroed in on it, imagining size, weight, texture…
His belly tightened, and he opened his mouth to tell them to settle down, except… Except then he realized if he kept quiet she might keep doing it, and that was a much better idea. Her knee pressed his and he didn’t move. Above her head Teal’c’s gaze slid to him, eyebrow lifted. Jack looked away.
It was a slow-moving, routine day. No mission was scheduled until the following week. He had paperwork to do that he studiously avoided. Carter and Daniel lived in their labs.
He sat in her lab and watched as she worked, yo-yo in his hands, humming roughly along with the ear-buds in his ears, MP3 player in his pocket, turned off. He pretended not to notice when she occasionally gave him an impatient glare, but he softened his hums. She bent low over her book, tapping a pen against her frowning lips. He kept humming and his gaze caught on the nape of her neck: fragile, narrow, pale and smooth.
His mouth watered.
This was when it got tough. Not when their lives were in danger and they were bone-tired and dirty and looking to cling to each other in any way possible. It was when the days ran long with routine, when he could sit and observe her and he had time to think, to miss, to need. To want.
Maybe it was the same for her. When he parted from her side to head to his truck at the end of the day, she gave him a smile. He smiled back and turned, but then something made him glance back. She was glancing back too, and her gaze caught his and held. One beat. Two. And three was too long…
She looked a little shaken when she finally turned away for good, and he couldn’t quite muster the will to be relieved. He shouldn’t want to affect her the way he did. God knew he certainly didn’t want her to affect him the way she did.
He drove home silently, radio off, not wanting the distraction. It was like this sometimes. Like he was treading water with her all around him. He went with it because trying to ignore it only made him violent.
He swigged a bottle of beer in front of the TV when it was dark. In his boxers and a T-shirt, and even though he’d showered he still thought he could smell Carter. She’d be the first to tell him that the brain was a funny thing. Ha.
There were crickets outside the window, and the night was growing late, and he’d go to bed except his mind kept creeping over, toward that Carter side. Where he wondered where she was right then. At home, or not at home?
In someone else’s sheets, back narrow and misted, muscles working…
He flipped the channel and drained his beer. It settled warm and heavy in his gut.
How would she move? How would she look? How would she sound? How would she smell? How…
He took a deep breath and thought about getting another beer. He flipped the channel again, and his brain sent up red flags all over the place. WAIT.
The half-naked woman on the screen was wearing fatigues. The short blond hair sent a tugging sensation through his gut, his groin. One of those soft-porn cable flicks that showed a lot of tits and ass but couldn’t go further than a lot of thrusting hip shots, good parts hidden.
Oh… damn. Too close to the truth. He found himself avoiding her eyes.
His dick wasn’t as willing to deny it.
Oh, hell no. Not a porn substitute. Just… Not porn. Not when it looked like her.
It might be better that way, he thought. Might be better just to focus on the screen and jerk off; be done with it. Except even as his hand drifted lower over his boxers, heated palm lying heavily over the arched fabric, his eyelids sank shut.
Carter in his bed, BDU blouse unbuttoned and showing more skin than…
His eyes snapped open.
In bed, he gave an honest try toward sleep. With his eyes closed and his room silent, he just thought about the day at first. Her smile, her smell, her neck, her…
He’d long since given up on trying to pretend she didn’t work for him. He’d never been paranoid enough to think she could tell the next morning. He’d tried it every which way: slow, fast, with porn and without, half-asleep and wide-awake. Didn’t matter. When that heavy wave of orgasm hit and he was wrapped up, mindlessly, in the sharp edge of pleasure, it was always Sam there, her handtonguelipscuntheatwet dragging against him.
He propped one knee up and slid a hand under his shirt. He just rested it there for a moment, fingers splayed and buried in the hair on his belly. He knew the taste of her mouth, even if she couldn’t remember. She’d clutched his shoulders, and then her mouth had moved with his, and her hands had tried to pull him closer, not caring that Hammond was staring in shock or that Jack had just turned in his resignation. She’d only cared about his mouth. On hers.
He slid his fingers under the waistband of his boxers, through the wiry hair between his legs, until the shaft of his cock wedged between his middle and ring fingers. He stroked back and then down and around his balls. He hardened again.
Carter making that sound. The one she made when she was frustrated in the lab. The one that sounded tortuously sexual but she never realized…
He curved his palm around his shaft, gripped with his fingers, and gave one slow, long stroke. The answering throb of heat erased all the guilt from his mind. He shoved his boxers down to his thighs, swallowing hard as the cool air rushed around him.
If he pressed, would she give up on the regs? Would she let him sneak into her bedroom late at night and strip her naked?
“Fuck,” he swore. He absently stroked himself, hand twisting slightly, avoiding the head.
She crawled down his chest, hand wrapping around his dick, mouth coming down to envelope him warmly. Her legs spread above his face, and ohhh… God, he could see everything. She licked.
He stroked to the tip, lightened his touch. His own breath sounded loud in the quiet bedroom.
She sucked him into her mouth. He curled his fingers around the head of his cock, squeezed, and held. He exhaled slowly. When she fucked him with her mouth, he slid his hand tightly down then up. It made his hips lift off the bed, and his muscles tighten with a pain that felt so. damn. good.
Too good.
He let go and slid his palm into the hair on his belly again, scratching his fingernails lightly back and forth. His head was a little hazy. “Jesus…” he whispered into the darkness. He hesitated, and then, “Sam…” Just saying her name was a power all its own. He’d stopped using her first name when he’d realized the dreams about fucking her weren’t just a phase. Ironically, it was only in his dreams that he used the name now.
He slid the warm, moist plane of his palm up and down the underside of his shaft. The he put her on top of him, in the moonlight; soaking wet. Her pale hair was slicked back over her head, a few dry strands breaking free to hang in her face. Her wet, black T-shirt clung to her breasts, and he’d always been a man who’d found something left to the imagination sexier than full-on naked.
And she sank down over him, and…
He pressed down with his palm, wanting to feel her so damn bad, and then stopped, breaking the motion to turn to his night table. He fumbled in the drawer until he found the small bottle and then fell onto his back again.
The lube drizzled down into his palm and then he dropped the bottle. He slid his hands together, coating them, heating it up, and when he curled them both around his dick it felt… fucking fantastic.
He kept Sam there, above him, head arched back, lips parted (And she’d be quiet, he just knew.) , while he gripped himself with both hands, running one hand all the way up, and then the other. It was slick and warm and… He sank back, eyes closed, and just let go.
She didn’t have to do much except be there, and he lifted his hips, thrusting up into the warm pocket of his hands. He felt hard enough to pound nails, and the pleasure was pooling low in his gut, radiating outward from where it was centered in his groin. His own panting was matching up perfectly with each jab upwards of his hips. He moved faster, his thighs burning from exertion, and maybe that was what did it: That age-old movement of lifting his hips up into his hands, pushing his dick through the tight, wetness of his palms. He wanted her, just like this, and he could see her there, exactly how he wanted to see her, and then the pleasure rippled a bit and caught, sending a tug into his balls. And she was there. Right at that precipice when he tipped back and fell, he could feel her around him, tight and hot, and the desire wasn’t needed, replaced with, “Yessss!”
He came with a groan, fingers rubbing, intensifying it, keeping the jets aimed toward his own stomach. He froze there, riding it out, letting it curl his toes and empty out of him. And Sam came with him, a moan in her throat… maybe her lip caught between her teeth.
Oh, fuck, yes…
He kept his body tight as the climax faded, letting it wash out of him, resting his fingers along the base of his shaft and just feeling. But even with his dick still hard and the euphoria still soaked into his brain, she wasn’t there anymore.
The bottom slipped away from his climax, and he took a quick, deep breath, wincing a bit as he drew a tight grip up his softening dick, working the last clinging drop of semen out of over-sensitive flesh. Then he let go and relaxed into the mattress, listening to his own breathing gradually slow.
He didn’t bother with feeling guilty as he pulled his shorts back up and cleaned his stomach off with a sock. It had happened before, it would happen again. The one constant in his life besides beer and The Simpsons was that he would keep on wanting Carter, and she would keep on smiling at him just out of reach.
And he would smile back and tell himself he wanted her to be happy (so many times that he’d even believe it), because any other option would bury them, one way or another.
~end~
My fingers are so cold I can barely type. Eesh.