*ahem* So, in reading all the reviews for The Letter (thank you all so very much), it occurs to me that I broke people. I feel like I owe some of you an apology. :-) Here it is.

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Jack O'Neill whistled a tune to himself as he trotted up Sam Carter's porch steps. The supply chain issues for Odyssey and Apollo were fixed sooner than expected, he'd moved his flight up a day, and his leave was off to a damned good start.

Of course, walking into Carter's house unannounced a day early also greatly upped the odds she'd shoot him as a burglar, and he considered knocking. And then decided not to. Letting himself into her house whenever he damn well pleased was one of the perks of this whole "relationship" thing, and he intended to take full advantage.

But he wasn't a complete idiot. "Surprise!" he called into the house as he pushed the door open.

"Jack?" her voice echoed back.

Setting his bag near the hall table, he taunted, "No, the other guy you're sleeping with."

"Oh. Well, come on in, then. Jack won't be here until tomorrow."

With a chuckle, he headed into the living room… and things only got better. She'd been reading on the couch, reclined against some pillows at one end. And she was in her underwear. Okay, not just in her underwear; she was wearing a robe, too. Kind of. She hadn't tied it, and it lay puddled around her like the pictures from the best Victoria's Secret ads. Even in plain gray lingerie, she was stunning. "Is it laundry day? I love laundry day!" She was so incredibly OCD about washing everything, which meant she always ended up wearing nothing.

"I know you do," she answered with a chuckle, setting her book on the table behind her before threading her fingers behind her reclined head. It made her chest stick out and Jack's mouth water. "Sorry, I couldn't wait until tomorrow. I was running out of things."

"Thank God I moved my flight up. I would hate to have missed this," he pressed.

A slow smile made its way across her face. "And yet you're not participating."

He blinked at her, confused. "Uh…. I didn't exactly… bring you my dirty clothes."

Her eyes lit up as the smile reached critical mass. "You're wearing them," she told him. "I suggest you take care of that."

"Ah! Yes. How foolish of me." He ditched his shoes, his pants (and socks; she had a thing about socks), then tugged his sweater and undershirt off together until he stood in front of her in just his boxers. She reached for him then, and he happily crawled in between her thighs to kiss her hello. And "miss you." And "love you." And any other excuse he could find to have his lips on hers and her half-naked body pressed close. "Laundry day got so much better when we hooked up," he mused against her lips.

Pushing her head back into the pillows a bit, she raised an eyebrow at him. "Hooked up?"

"Started dating," he edited. "Slept together. Had intercourse. Did the horizontal tango. Made the beast with two backs."

A single laugh escaped. "Did you just quote Shakespeare at me?"

"Fornicated. Got it on," he pressed. "Boinked, boned. Stuffed the muffin."

"No!" she interrupted in horror, though she was still chuckling.

"Shook the sheets. Rolled in the hay."

"Stop!" she cried. "God."

"Well, that was fast."

"What was?" She obviously wasn't sure she wanted the answer.

"You calling me God," he told her. "That's usually a little further along in the process."

The roll of her eyes made him grin. He loved driving her crazy – in any and every way possible. "Would you just get on with it?" she huffed, exasperated.

Jack bobbled his eyebrows at her before dropping his lips to her neck. "Yes, ma'am."