Where do I hide

Warnings: Sex, bondage

Pairing: S/J

Disclaimer: not mine, I make no money, etc.

A/N: Many thanks go to Ryuu for betaing this for me, and for being LOVELY (smooches). About a week ago I wrote a little PWP where Jack ties up Sam and has his wicked way with her (cheesy? moi?), which I'd have loved to post here had it been a little less explicit. Then someone requested a sequel where Jack gets to be the one tied up and I originally just intended it to be smut, but it came out a little differently - and here it is. Since the original fic had no plot, it should be fairly comprehensive. So.

At any other time his attention would have been focused on the curves of the naked blonde who knelt on the bed next to him, but as he fought to lie still, he found himself scrutinising her face instead. Her earlier playfulness had subsided, giving way to something more serious.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked.

For a moment his mind screamed at him, and then he remembered what it had been like having her tied down before him, begging him for just a little more as she squirmed in pleasure and frustration. He considered the eventual rewards of having Carter gradually drive him insane, and he remembered the look in her eyes when he'd handed her a certain pair of stockings.

One slow nod, and he was watching the curve of her stomach and hips as she gathered his arms together above his head, doing his best not to focus on the quiet snick of the handcuffs closing about his wrists. They were padded and earlier he'd thought them rather ridiculous, but now he was glad that Sam hadn't chosen metal: these were enough. He bit his lip and tried not to tug at them.

Warm breasts slid against his chest as she draped herself over him, kissing his collarbone before devoting all of her considerable attention to the hollow of his neck. Jack groaned, shifting his hips against her restlessly. "Christ, Sam!"

She laughed, and the sound made him relax slightly. "You okay with this?"

His mouth was dry. "I think that depends on your point of view." She nipped his skin playfully and then licked the mark her teeth had left, or so he presumed. He pulled at his restraints, already feeling the strain in his arms.

She pulled back so that they weren't touching any more and he watched as she retreated to the foot of their bed, holding a gauzy scarf she'd retrieved from the dresser. Fear slammed into him as she looped the cloth around his ankles, and then he caught her eyes and was reassured by the steadiness he saw there, diverted by the flush that had spread across her skin. He was very aware of the coolness of the air on his neck and the way her eyes had darkened; they seemed almost black as she leaned into him to secure the blindfold over his eyes, and then he couldn't see them any longer. His skin pricked with tension and he lay very still, fighting down panic and listening hard for any sound that would tell him where she was.

Except she'd had training on how to be stealthy and he could only hear the buzz of cars in the distance, and the chirping of crickets that the breeze carried in through the window. He didn't want to speak or show his uncertainty. But. "Sam?"

"I'm right here." Then warm lips covered his and he moaned into her mouth as she settled over him again, her weight pleasant rather than an encumbrance. Then nails scraped down his sides and he was arching, though not enough, and he cursed her thoroughness in not even leaving his legs free. It was only when lack of oxygen was becoming a serious problem that her tongue retreated from his mouth, and he panted for a few seconds before gathering enough breath to speak.

"Carter?"

"Uh huh?" She sounded entirely unrepentant.

"Is that all you've got?"

For a brief, agonising moment she wasn't touching him at all, and then her hand was wrapped around his cock and she rubbed a thumb over the tip. He thrust his hips upwards again, desperate to see her and touch her, and taunt her as she was taunting him. Then her grip loosened and her touch on him was the merest glide of fingertips, and he couldn't hold back the obscenities that hovered on the tip of his tongue any longer. He heard her laugh, and then she wasn't touching him any more and he was straining into the air, pulling at hands and feet. "Jack, say please."

Dry mouth, fear prickling. It was all dark, and she wasn't touching him any more, but it was fine, all fine, and she was still there, and it was all fine, and the darkness didn't bother him. It was hard to swallow, and harder to force the teasing words out. "And if I don't?"

Silence, except for a faint rustling. He breathed in deeply, trying to calm himself, but he wasn't sure what was going on, and suddenly the loss of stimulus was too much. He could remember another time he'd been tied up and hadn't been able to see properly and suddenly there was no air at all. He sucked in lungfuls of air, blinking frantically against the blackness and the ringing in his ears; someone was speaking but the voice sounded so far away, and everything was black and he couldn't move, and then he was blinking in the dim light, trying to force blurry eyes to work again. His wrists came free first and he immediately bent to untie his ankles, pushing Sam's hands away.

He was off the bed as soon as he was free, pacing the end of the room while he looked for his pants. Sam approached him slowly, still speaking softly in a voice that obviously intended to soothe. He stepped away as she reached for him, grabbing clothes from a drawer of his dresser and pulling the clothes on as fast as he could through the shaking of his hands. His shirt clung unpleasantly to the clamminess of his skin, but that was unimportant, and he headed for the door.

"Jack!"

Something in her voice got through to him and he turned, studying her while averting his eyes from the bed. She was obviously trying to look calm, but the way she'd wrapped her arms around herself spoke of her vulnerability, and her blue eyes were wide with alarm.

He rubbed at his wrists. "I need to go out."

"Where are you going?"

He didn't want to look at her any more, she made him feel guilty and he couldn't feel guilty while the images and memories played in his head. "Out!" and he walked down the stairs, slipping on a pair of sneakers and heading out the house.

The night air was cold on his back, and he soon realised his mistake as he became racked with shivers: no jacket, no money, no phone. He wiped his forehead and tried to think, but nothing was clear in his mind and he cowered away from dealing with it all, the thought of having to see Sam when he got back. He increased his pace until he was jogging on the sidewalk; the jeans rubbed uncomfortably against sticky flesh, but the pain seemed entirely removed from him and he didn't bother dwelling on it.

His knees ached though. That was harder to ignore.

He jogged past his house several times, and then walked past a couple more before he was ready to go in. Lights blazed from every window, and he dully noted that it couldn't be a coincidence.

She wanted to help. It was sweet, but he didn't want to talk about anything.

He headed upstairs, only to frown and force himself to enter his bedroom. Their bedroom. Again, the lights were on and the windows were open; the breeze that wafted in carried the scent of the pine trees that encircled the back garden, and Jack breathed in deeply. The room was pristine and the bed had been remade with fresh sheets and covers; he shuddered, and looked away.

She wasn't there.

He retraced his steps downstairs and found her curled up on the couch in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt that swamped her: Sam Carter's choice of a non-threatening outfit. He nodded curtly to her. "I'm going to shower."

Her eyes traced his face as if she could find the answers to all her questions in his cold eyes and the grooves that lined his face, and then they fell to the floor. He smiled humourlessly and walked out.

He was still far too cold, and he turned the shower up as hot as he could bear. Steam filled the cubicle, clouding the air, and he ducked his head under the flow and let it beat down on him, while thoughts swirled aimlessly through his mind. She wouldn't make him talk, but if they didn't then he might as well just leave, and part of him wished she'd just join him in the shower so that he didn't have to think any more and could just lose himself in the feelings, except he'd done that once already that night and maybe he wasn't ready to do it again.

The last time he'd lost control like that in front of someone had been decades ago, or never, or maybe in front of Ba'al. He'd sworn never to do so again.

This time the clean clothes didn't stick to his body, and he cast a look at their bed before stepping out into the hallway and staring longingly at the spare room. There was no way he was going to sleep that night but he didn't know whether or not he wanted her company, or if she'd come and find him if he did.

Reluctantly he returned back downstairs to the sitting room, deciding that it would be impossible to relax if he didn't. She was still sitting there, without a book for once, and just staring into space, only now she was looking at him with eyes that seemed to see too much. He remained standing.

"I don't want to talk about it." His voice sounded croaky and he wanted to clear his throat, but somehow that would have made him look vulnerable and he wasn't ready for that in front of her again.

Images, voices, feelings... He didn't want to feel, not the cold, not the ache of tiredness running through his whole body, and certainly not anything else.

She leaned forward till she was on the edge of her seat, looking as though she wanted to get up but wasn't sure whether she should or not. "You scared me."

"I'm sorry."

"I didn't mean that you should apologise –" She broke off, running a hand through her hair. "When I asked... I didn't know you'd feel like that, or I wouldn't have. Asked, that is. And I didn't mean to hurt you."

His fury was subsiding: she'd never seen him like this before, and it wasn't her fault for knowing. He'd never talked about any of it, never intended to. But the lights were too bright and his head was throbbing in the close air of the room. Slowly, concentrating hard on the movement, he nodded towards the door. "I'm going to sit on the deck."

"Can I come with you?"

"I – " He didn't know what his reply was but apparently Sam did, for she nodded and stood up to join him. Together they walked outdoors and sat on one of the steps, close but not touching. Clouds obscured the sky so that none of the stars were visible. The crickets were louder outdoors and he was grateful for the distraction.

"I don't want to talk about it," he repeated, looking straight ahead into the garden.

"That's fine." Sam shifted slightly until their thighs were touching and they were so close that she could have rested her head on his shoulder. Warmth seeped into him from the line of contact, and he felt like a kid again, sitting on the steps with a girl and waiting for the right moment to kiss her. Heat and dust and a face flashed into his mind again, but in the cool night air the sting seemed to be gone, for now at least.

"I don't mind listening though."

For a moment he flinched, cringing. Then the heat of her leg against his was gone and he panicked, grabbing her thigh. She relaxed against him again and he sagged, slipping his arm around her instead. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, as it had so many times before, and he breathed in deeply. "I know."

She turned her head and kissed the fabric of his shirt, bringing him closer to contentment than he'd once dreamed he'd ever be again. He tightened his arm around her and closed his eyes.