Title: I once knew a boy
Rating: oh, 16+
Pairing: S/J
Spoilers: really mini ones for season 9, I guess
Disclaimer: not mine
A/N: omg, I've discovered my inner cheese and now I can't turn it off! This is the inverted companion to the famously smutty 'I once knew a girl', which I can't publish here because it just doesn't fit. This isn't exactly fabulous fic, but it demanded to be written so... Three words, people: tongue in cheek.
She was insatiable.
It wasn't that he'd expected her to be unenthusiastic. After eight years without sleeping with another man (in his head he could totally pretend that she hadn't slept with Orlin, or Martouf, or even her fiancé) she was bound to be ready for some of that Jack O'Neill lovin'. He was pretty eager (make that desperate) himself.
But he was beginning to feel like some kind of a stud, and while he really wasn't complaining he did find it a little disturbing. Plus, it was beginning to be quite hard (heh) to keep up with her – he was in his fifties, for crying out loud, and a man had his limits. Very high limits, of course, but still, they could be... limiting.
Of course, he was more than capable of keeping her satisfied even when certain parts of his anatomy failed to rise to the challenge (pun intended), but he was exhausted. She kept him up till late at night and then woke him up first thing in the morning, and there was no way he was going to complain about how she chose to wake him up – she was far more effective than any alarm-clock he'd ever had. Still, he wasn't used to having to nap in the afternoons – it made him feel old. She made him feel like a horny fifteen year old who couldn't keep it in his pants. It was a bizarre but interesting combination.
It didn't help that he was based in DC and she was still working in Colorado – the weekends they managed to take together always seemed to end before they started, and they had a lot of time to make up for. Still, it wasn't as if Sam went unsatisfied when he wasn't around: he'd seen the contents of the top drawer in her bedside cabinet – he was still traumatised by the one with the bunny ears – and she had a certain fondness for phone sex. Hell, she said things that made him blush, and not only had he been with the Air Force for twenty odd years but he'd been married, and Kawalsky had been the one to organise his stag night.
He couldn't believe he was saying this, but he wanted to talk to Sam. He wanted to be friends with her – he'd even be happy to listen her giving one of her lectures on electromagnetic whatchamacallits.
When he was a kid he'd dreamt about having meaningless sex time and time again with a hot blonde, but now he needed more. He needed her heart, her soul...
Sam walked into the room and sat on his lap, straddling him. He needed a lobotomy.
"Whatcha doing?" she asked perkily, moving her hips slowly in a way that felt really damn good.
"Thinking," he managed to gasp out, trying desperately to concentrate with the brain that lived above his belt buckle. It wasn't getting much of a say these days, but it needed the exercise.
Sam leaned forward and kissed him; when she finally broke away his mind had short-circuited, his neurons had fused together into one lump of useless organic material... Maybe he had picked up something from listening to her babble after all. He clung to that thought and used it to pull himself out of the sticky quagmire of desire
"What are you thinking about?" This time her mouth fastened onto his neck and she bit down right there. Gah. He was clinging...
Fired with resolve, he pushed her away, ignoring her protests and the huge blue eyes that gazed sorrowfully into his own. He was wise to her tricks now: she was clouding his mind with sex, and he'd had enough of it.
"Carter, talk to me."
"What?" She looked utterly bewildered, but he stayed firm.
"We never talk anymore." He glared at her accusingly. "It's all about sex and orgasms, and I need more. I can't go on like this much longer – I'm losing all my self-respect, damn it!"
He was aware that Sam was staring at him in disbelief, but somehow he managed not to refute everything he'd just said. Then her whole demeanour changed.
"Right." The shift was fascinating – suddenly he wasn't staring at a blonde who should have had 'dangerous' stamped on her forehead, but at his former second-in-command, brisk and efficient. "We've made some incredible breakthroughs on how to minimise the amount of naquadriah needed for the hyperspace window generator. Did you read my report?"
Jack shook his head, suddenly speechless.
"Well, our original assumption was that the naquadriah was needed for three separate processes, but we've discovered that with the correct catalysts we can cut down the number of reactions it's used in to two – "
Jack sat back and let it wash all over him.
An hour or so later – he guessed, he was too scared to look at his watch to actually check the time – she seemed to be winding down. He breathed a sigh of relief – and then she started talking about the potential waste products of new reaction and how they'd need to filter them out from the combustibles if they weren't to pollute the reaction.
He couldn't take it any more. "Sam." She kept talking, apparently oblivious that he was about to start gouging his own eyeballs out in boredom. "Sam!" Nope, no reaction. Then he realised what was wrong: his second-in-command wasn't called Sam. "Carter."
She stopped talking at once and smiled sweetly at him. "Was that better?"
There were no words. Oh, he was wrong. "Can we have sex now?"
She stood up and approached him slowly, standing before him. "Will it make you feel cheap and used?"
He tried to swallow but couldn't – there was no liquid left in his mouth. "I don't think that will be a problem," he croaked out.
Sam started toying with the top button of her shirt. "Are you sure?"
He grabbed her by her belt loops and pulled her forward, ignoring the fact that her spine just wasn't meant to bend that way. She fell onto him in a pile of limbs and he flinched as some of them landed rather close to a certain area of his anatomy that really wouldn't appreciate the contact. "Carter, be careful!"
She lifted her head, cheeks red and eyes blazing. "You were the one who pulled me!"
He bent forward and kissed her, impressed by his abilities as a contortionist. "Bedroom?" he asked.
Sam eyed him speculatively. "It's an awful long way away..."
He groaned and kissed her again. She was totally insatiable, and he wouldn't change her for the world.