Voyeur
Author: Gillian Slater
Disclaimer: As always, these characters do not belong to me, they are the property of the show's creators, and I'm borrowing them for my own sinister purposes...
He wasn't exactly sure when it started, probably a few months ago now, but he'd developed the rather unsavoury habit of loitering around the women's lockers after returning from a mission. No one had noticed so far; only the occasional comment from Daniel that he was getting showered and changed at lightning speed these days had even come close to the dodgy reality.
Guilty? Yeah, sure he felt guilty, quite often, though never as much as he did those increasingly frequent times when he found himself staring at Major Carter across the briefing table. Then she would catch his gaze and somehow he felt she must know, or at least suspect something. She was the smartest woman he knew... not that he knew that many, or cared to any more.
He should stop. And yet, here he was again, peering through the steam, his conscience screaming and his stomach heavy with ambivalent guilt and arousal as the towel fell from Carter's waist. Absently, he wondered what the consequences would be; what if she turned right this second and saw him? Shock, outrage and hurt, for sure - her wrath would be a tornado. Then obviously she'd report him to General Hammond... Hell, he'd be lucky if he walked away with a court martial, but knowing George's fierce morality and concern for his officers' wellbeing, Jack would most likely end up with his CO's massive fist in his face. Rightfully so, too, he knew.
But none of that really scared him. No, the worst punishment of all for his shameful conduct would be the irreparable damage that would be inflicted upon his relationship with Carter. Right now, he had it pretty sweet: they were friends, colleagues, and then there was that forbidden, unspoken but very tangible agreement between them about their mutual feelings. This was what was really in jeopardy.
And he could save it by simply walking away right now. He had to draw his eyes away and douse the flames in his loins, kick the nasty habit in order to preserve his future.
A supreme effort, a stern talking to the little devil on his shoulder and a minute later, he walked hurriedly back down the corridor toward his quarters. Inside, he closed the heavy grey door firmly and almost collapsed against it, huffing out a breath of release. Proud to have exercised this extraordinary self-control, he rewarded himself with a generous measure of scotch.
FIN