Possession
Jezyk
Spoilers: Vague through Season 8
Disclaimer: If I owned them, you would so see this… every week, actually.
Warning: Jack/Sam… PWP
For Christi, to make up for upsetting her.
If there was one thing in the world that Jack O'Neill hated, it was exactly the sort of formal affair he was attending. Attending, of course, in the loosest definition of the word. Yes, he was physically there, but that was about it. He was actually pretending he wasn't there.
He knew that alcohol made him testy and, for him, testy quickly descended into a sort of sullen gloom that invariably then stooped into anger. And even Jack was afraid of himself when he was angry. For those reasons, Jack usually avoided drinking, unless he was alone or with real, live, actual friends whom he would have no compulsion to attack.
Drinking in a room full of buttoned up generals and high ranking government officials, however, was bound to get him in trouble. Those were the sorts of people who made the sorts of decisions that usually left someone dead and, more often than not, that someone was a friend of his. So getting hammered in dress uniform with a bunch of miserable bastards who put the same amount of thought into life and death decisions as they did about whether to get whole wheat or white was probably a bad idea.
But Jack was never able to resist bad ideas and frankly, he was just as likely to hit someone with whom he was choking on small talk. At least being drunk would give him some sort of excuse if it actually came to blows. Jack grinned into his whiskey when he spied Colonel Samuels schmoozing some poor redhead. He finished off the glass in one swallow and decided if he had to let off some steam, Samuels was getting a knuckle sandwich.
He wasn't that bad off yet, though, so he nodded at the bartender and sipped his next double whiskey slowly. No one had noticed him yet, so it wasn't really as bad as it could have been. All they needed to do was jack up the volume on the radio and turn down the lights and Jack could happily pretend he was alone in a grimy bar somewhere.
It was Friday night and he was looking forward to the weekend. He'd never been a fan of them when he was on SG-1 because the weekends often meant that his friends would scurry home to whatever semblance of a life they could pretend to have or, much more likely, they'd have legitimate reasons to work through the weekend, thus having to refuse his repeated offers of companionship, and sending him home to his empty house alone. But now that he worked a desk job, work sucked. He couldn't wait to get out of there on Friday and get as far away from those other drones as he could. So he was bitter about having to spend his Friday night with them.
He was particularly bitter because he'd heard a rumor earlier in the day that made his insides all tingly like he was an adolescent boy on his first date. Samantha Carter was in town. She was there to meet with a bunch of generals who insisted she meet them to prove how important they were. Jack snickered into his drink. As if anyone could be more important than the woman who was solely responsible for saving the world half a dozen times, let alone the half a dozen times she'd helped saved the world.
But the thing that really sucked about his new life was that the bureaucratic rumor mill didn't function quite like the regular rumor mill. The regular one was just as likely to start up something that was completely fictional, but it did so quickly. The bureaucratic rumor mill only ever spit out completely factual information, but it did so at a snail's pace. Therefore, whatever the rumor mill was discussing had already happened by the time anyone got word that it was about to happen. By the time it got to Jack that Carter was going to be in town, he knew she had probably been back in Colorado for a week. Just his luck to miss her.
Annoyed that he was allowing himself to get mad, he downed the rest of his drink. He knew she was terribly busy and had terribly important things to do and was under a terribly great amount of stress, but he was pissed off that it would have taken up too much of her terribly precious time to call him and tell him she was in town for an hour, even if they couldn't have managed to meet up for lunch.
He glanced at the bartender and wonders if he should slow down. He really didn't want to get drunk and make an ass out of himself, but there wasn't anything else for him to do. He lifted his glass and avoided eye contact as the bartender slowly filled it up. He was going to finish that drink, he promised, and then bail. Checking his watch, he figured an hour was long enough to count as making an appearance, even if no one saw him.
He turned back to survey the scene, deciding that he might be willing to chance getting up if General Hammond is around. His eyes caught immediately on the main entrance to the room, on the stunning blonde who has just walked in the room. He was pretty sure the entire room did the same thing.
Because if there was one, single, immutable fact in life, it was that no one wore a slinky, red dress like Samantha Carter wore a slinky, red dress.
Not that Jack had ever before seen Carter in a slinky, red dress, but he knew facts when he saw them. The dress was long, but close-fitting. The neckline wasn't revealing. It wasn't even skin tight. But she looked amazing in it. Jack nearly choked on his drink when she turned slightly to say hello to someone, revealing the back, or lack thereof, of the dress. He tried to take another sip, but came up sputtering when Major Davis, who apparently was escorting the stunning Colonel, placed his hand against the small of her very bare back.
Samuels was getting a free ride that night because Jack's alcohol-induced rage had found a new target. Jack was going to break that offensive hand right off Davis' wrist and nail it to the wall. He poured back the rest of his drink, not even caring that he stumbled a little when he got off his stool. There was no way he could resist, not when Carter hadn't even bothered to tell him she was in town, not when Carter had found the time in her busy life to call Davis, of all people.
Besides, Jack snorted to himself as he approached them, he's shorter than her when she wears heels.
He ignored the odd looks he received from people. He knew he looked homicidal. But just when he was within a few feet, a hand fell on his arm. He turned toward the offender, ready to deck him as well.
General Hammond's calm smile met him. "Jack, it's good to see you."
Some of Jack's anger drained from him at that moment. Hammond was such a benevolent man that Jack felt compelled to try to regain control of himself. "Sir, how are you?"
The older man was not unaware of Jack anger or of the target. But he stayed where he was, keeping the conversation going until Jack's temper was in check. Jack noticed Hammond motion someone toward them and he had a sick feeling he knew who would be joining them. Thankfully, someone announced that dinner was about to be served, sparing Jack from having to talk to the happy couple.
There was something else Jack truly hated about formal affairs. No matter how many people he might know in the room, he always wound up sitting at a table full of people he had never heard of or barely knew. He ordered another whiskey when the waiter offered him water, exchanged mind-numbing pleasantries with seven other people who each looked about equally happy to be dining with him that evening, and then turned around in his chair to scan the room for Carter.
She was seated next to Davis, naturally. On her other side sat Hammond. General Landry was there as well as several other people Jack would have rather been around. He contemplated walking over and ordering Davis to switch seats with him as he enjoyed his fourth glass of whiskey. He decided he'd trip before he got there and he didn't particularly relish the idea of having a whole room full of people laughing at him.
Carter turned around, scanning the room. Her eyes met Jack's stare and she looked slightly alarmed. Jack realized he was scowling, but he wasn't exactly pleased with her over her choice of dates. He tried to fake a smile though. He was more interested in beating the crap out of Davis, since he was sure it had been Davis' suggestion and she'd probably only accepted to be polite. She looked worried and confused when she turned back to her table. She hadn't even offered him a smile. Jack told himself it was ok to order another drink because Carter was obviously afraid he was going to beat Davis up and because Carter really ought to have saved that dress for a night when Jack would get to enjoy it.
Jack picked at his dinner, not quite able to stomach much of it due to all the alcohol he'd had. But there was nothing else to do while the people were droning on about something or other because the waiters weren't making the rounds. Jack tipped his head back, making sure he got every last drop of his whiskey out of the glass since he knew he'd have to wait until the speech portion of the evening was over before he could get another one.
Once he finished even pretending to eat, he turned around to find Carter again. He was a little surprised to find her watching him. He'd always noticed that she paid more attention to him than normal when he wore his dress uniform, but there was a look on her face, the likes of which he'd never seen. Her eyes were dark; her mouth slightly open. She was looking over him as though he were a piece of meat. And she appeared to be very, very hungry.
Jack would normally have been flattered and embarrassed. But he had whiskey for brains and he instead was pleased that she was looking at him much the same way he was looking at her. They stared each other down for a long time before Hammond nudged Carter's shoulder, drawing her attention back to the table.
Jack turned back to his own table, loosening his tie the slightest bit. The waiter had returned and offered Jack another whiskey. Jack shook his head, croaking out a desire for water. It was so hot in there that he was sure he was going to pass out.
He didn't wait for the water. He got up without excusing himself and managed to make it to the hallway without staggering too badly. Jack ducked into the men's room, pulling his tie off and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. God damn, that woman did things to him that just weren't right. He'd been trying to be angry and irritable. He'd succeeded in both. But after the way she looked at him, he could add frustrated to the list.
Stuffing his tie into his pocket, he made his way back into the hall. The shindig was being held in the ballroom of a hotel, but it was late and there weren't many people around. He sat on one of the benches against the wall and tried to put together a plan. Plan A - getting drunk - hadn't worked. Plan B - punching out Davis - hadn't worked. He needed a Plan C. And the best he could do at that moment, was something involving getting Carter to alleviate the frustration she'd caused, which he doubted he'd be able to achieve since her date would probably have something to say in the matter and because in all the years he'd known and been frustrated by Carter, she'd never once volunteered to help him out with it.
He decided Plan C would be to forget he'd even seen Carter. He could go home, have some unbelievably erotic dream about her, and then be back to his normal level of frustration with the universe by Monday.
Of course, forgetting he saw Carter would entail forgetting he saw Carter with Davis, and that was impossible, since his thoughts had returned to the happy couple. He was trying to figure out when that had happened, why that had happened, how that had happened, and more importantly, why she was shooting him bedroom eyes across a crowded room when she was there with her boyfriend.
He let out a long sigh and leaned his head back against the wall. If he screamed, it would only draw the attention of everyone in that ballroom that he was trying to avoid. He closed his eyes and concentrated on taking deep breaths.
After a few moments, he knew he was in danger of falling asleep, and if he did, that erotic dream would happen right there on the bench and that would be too embarrassing for him to survive, let alone live down. So he lifted his head, catching a whirl of red out of the corner of his eye as he did so.
He jumped to his feet, following that flash of red. He hadn't noticed any other women wearing red that evening, so he prayed that he was stalking the right woman. She wasn't moving very quickly, which Jack figured was the ridiculously high heels she was wearing, which were rendered even more ridiculous because a woman that tall hardly needed ridiculously high heels. Of course, he thought with a grin, it could also have something to do with the slit that had somehow previously escaped his notice, the slit that was so high on her left leg that taking normal sized steps would have revealed far more skin than he'd ever seen Carter display.
He thanked his black ops training for allowing him, even drunk, to sneak right up on her before she noticed him. "Carter."
She jumped in shock, swaying slightly as she turned to him. "Jack?"
He might have been drunk, but there were three things that he noticed immediately. First, she'd called him Jack; second, he could smell the wine on her breath; and third, her hands were clutching his suit jacket to steady herself. She was as tipsy as he was. He grinned. "Yeah?"
Her hands released his coat. One of them dropped to her side; the other fell against his chest. "I was looking for you." She smiled at him. "I thought you left."
"I'm right here." The anger was completely drained out of him at the sight of her smile. The fact that she'd come looking for him didn't hurt either.
"Are you ok? You looked angry earlier."
His head was spinning from all the booze. His body was burning from the light touch of her hand on his chest. He couldn't resist the suggestion his body made at the idea of her being so close. "Come here."
He grabbed her arm, dragging her with him as he ducked through the first door he found. It was the coat room, dark and quiet and empty, except for a few hundred coats. He pressed her against the wall, feeling every inch of her body pushing back against him.
"What are you doing?"
He stared at her in the dark for a second. Her eyes were burning into his. Her body was shifting slightly against his, but he didn't believe for one second that she really wanted space. He was pretty sure she just wanted more leverage than his hold was allowing her. He leaned in closer, letting his breath fall against her lips. "You're mine, Carter." He waited for a reaction, for a spark of anger, for a slap.
All he saw was a grin. "Are you expecting an argument?"
His head spun a little faster as he smiled back. "Yeah, a little." She didn't answer him, so he carried on, pressing his lips hard against hers. He was still expecting her to argue, to put up some sort of a fight, but the only fight she offered was for control of the kiss.
He decided fairly quickly that kissing Carter had narcotic effects. He was addicted after the first kiss and he couldn't stop. The more he felt of her, the more she responded to his roaming hands, the more he wanted. His mouth slid away from hers. His fingers trailed along her chin and down her throat. His mouth followed. His fingers pulled the thin material of her dress down to bare her shoulder. His mouth followed once again. He knew, without a doubt, that they were going to consummate their decade long courtship right there.
Until he felt her stiffen under him. "Jack."
He groaned as his lips returned to her neck. He had to keep her from thinking because if she stopped him, he would probably die. "Please." He didn't care if he sounded pathetic. He didn't want to let her go.
"Jack, someone could walk in here at any moment. And most of them outrank me."
He pulled back the slightest bit to find her eyes in the darkness. "So?" He shrugged nonchalantly. "They'll walk in, see that it's occupied, and find another room to make out in."
She giggled, the wine she'd consumed causing the pitch to be a bit higher than normal. "Jack, come on."
He hated himself. He really did. Because he knew, deep down, that even if it did kill him, he wasn't going to cajole Carter into having sex with him. No matter how very sure he was that it wouldn't take much cajoling. "Carter, you're going to kill me." He sighed again, very unhappily, and stepped back, trying to fix her dress in the dark. "Your date's probably looking for you."
"You're my date, Jack." Her hands moved over his, righting the folds of the dress deftly. "I've been trying to get a hold of you all day, but you didn't answer your phone."
He was glad it was so dark so she couldn't see the sheepish blush on his face. "I didn't recognize the number, so I figured it was someone I didn't want to talk to." He'd actually left his phone at the office so he could pretend he hadn't even heard all the ringing. "But what about Davis?"
She laughed again. "You thought I was here with Paul? No, Jack, this dress was definitely intended for you." She turned away, poking her head out the door to make sure no one would see them. Then she reached back and snagged his hand, leading him. "I bumped into him in the lobby. He asked me where my ticket was and I said you had it."
Jack let out the breath he'd been holding since he'd first seen them walk in. "Oh, thank God." He couldn't hold back the grin. "That is a very nice dress, Carter. I actually noticed it before I noticed who was in it."
She giggled again, a delightful sound that Jack swore he would try to elicit at every opportunity. "Luckily, Paul's an idiot and believed me."
"Luckily, I didn't have a date." Jack wanted to congratulate himself on the fact that he was walking and talking coherently while holding Carter's hand. Usually physical contact, as rare as it was, rendered him incapable of thought.
"There's nothing lucky about it." She punched the button for the elevator and Jack noted happily that she actually had a room key. "You didn't have a date for the same reason I didn't have a date."
He thought he should be insulted that she assumed he didn't have a date, but he was too busy being very happy with her. "And what reason was that again?"
As soon as the elevator doors closed, she spun around, pinning a dazed, but happy Jack against the wall. "Because you're mine, Jack."
He grinned against her mouth. "Absolutely."
Somewhere in the wee hours of the morning, after not having gotten much sleep at all, Jack smiled into the darkness. If there was one thing in the world that Jack O'Neill loved, it was exactly the sort of formal affair that ended up with a happy and content Samantha Carter curled up in his arms.
AN: That's the end, kids! Please review if you enjoyed it!