Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story and to all those who reviewed its predecessor. Part 2 is here. Hope you enjoy!
Coffee And Conversation #2
"So, Carter …," the General said. He looked at her over the giant cup of coffee he held.
"Sir?" she said, sipping her own coffee. Mmmm, bliss. You just didn't get coffee like this at the base. While she wasn't as addicted as Daniel, she could appreciate a good cup of coffee as much as anyone.
She and the General had been in the coffee house for about an hour now, chatting casually about anything and everything. It was surprising how easily they could just chat like regular people, considering how much dancing they'd done around each other.
He produced a dog-eared piece of paper. "I want examples."
"Sir?"
"This list you made of my … qualities," he said, and she went pink. "I want examples."
She could kill him right now. It would be worth the court martial. She remembered writing the list during that boring briefing, but couldn't remember exactly what she'd written. "Let's not and just say we did, sir," she muttered.
He gave a low laugh. "I outrank you, Carter," he pointed out. He tapped the paper. "So … examples. Now."
She could do this. She would do this. Then she would buy a gun. And shoot him dead. "Fine," she grumbled. "Give me the list," she said.
He handed it over and she promptly screwed it up and stuffed it into the coffee pot.
"A-ah! Carter; you don't think I didn't make copies?" He made a tsking sound. "I might not be the greatest with technology, but even I know how to work a Xerox machine."
Oh, yes. One dead Major General. Shot by a crazed blonde Lieutenant Colonel.
He dug in his pocket and produced another sheet of paper. "Carter … you know I'm just gonna keep bugging you till you give in, right?"
Her eyes closed. She knew it.
He grinned — a wide open grin much like the one he'd worn when she'd been stuffed into that blue and white Shavadai dress. Leavenworth wouldn't be that bad, she thought. Solitary, clean, hard work, no annoying two-stars …
He flicked a long elegant finger to the sheet, then cleared his throat ostentatiously. "Argumentative."
"You and Daniel," she replied instantly.
He smirked. "Can't deny that."
"Funny."
Sam smiled. She was getting more comfortable with this as he went through the list. And this was an easy personality trait to discuss. "The first time I thought you were funny? When you called Samuels Mister Glass Is Half Empty at our first briefing."
"I knew it," he said triumphantly. "I thought you grinned at that."
"Well … you were such an ass at first," she said, choosing not to add that he'd been a very sexy ass. "It was nice to see you had a sense of humor."
"Back atcha," he replied. "And what was with that line about reproductive organs?" He gave a shudder. "Just … eeuuuuwww!"
"I was nervous, sir," she replied, reflecting that he sounded about fourteen with that comment. "And when I get nervous, I get defensive."
"Noticed that."
"Loving." He eyed her thoughtfully. "And careful here, Sam. I got my bad-ass General rep here to consider."
This was more difficult territory. The General didn't deal well with discussions of emotion. Yet he could be one of the most tender, giving and sweet — yes, sweet — men around.
The way he hugged someone — so rare, yet so right. If he'd been genuinely uncomfortable with hugging, you would have felt it in that contact. But Jack O'Neill hugs were … wonderful. The way his arms came right round you, a hand to the back of your head, head ducking into your neck …
Sam Carter had never been much of a hugger. After her mom had died, her dad had withdrawn even further into his work, and he'd never been good at hugging, anyway. It had taken him blending with Selmak to make him into a Dad rather than a father.
And the relationships she'd had had been mostly based on sex. Except for Pete. Pete had definitely been a hugger, and she'd liked it. He was another one who was good at hugging, and he had no reason to suppress his need to touch her. She'd cared for him … she'd agreed to marry him … But when the General's arm had come around her in that Obs room in a rare hug, she'd known that Pete's most ardent love-making couldn't make her feel what that tender touch of the General's had.
The General had a lot of love to give, and it was unfair that he was alone. He deserved it all. Wife, children, grandchildren in a few years scrambling all over him for funny stories. Children …
"Kids," she said. Jack O'Neill and kids — one of the greatest combinations ever seen.
His mouth tipped up in a half smile and he lifted his fresh cup of coffee to her in a silent toast. "Yeah; I love kids," he said.
"Optimistic." He eyed her like she'd sprouted wings or something. "Me?" He snorted quietly into his coffee cup. "Remember; I'm the miserable, cynical old General here."
She returned his snort with one of her own. "Yes; you can be cynical, but you're also one of the most optimistic men I know," she said. "The way you refuse to leave people behind; there's always a Plan B; we'll always get out." She smiled at him. "The way you always expect me to pull a miracle out of thin air."
He gave her a wide smile. "Ah, c'mon, Carter! You …" — he looked around and dropped his voice to a low murmur — "you blew up a sun, for God's sake! If you don't want people to think you're a bright, sexy genius, then don't act like one."
"Sexy?"
"Yeah," he said simply. "Especially during those few months when you strode around the base in BDUs and a black tank top." He rolled his eyes. "What's with you and sweet little tank tops, anyway?"
She absolutely refused to go red, remembering the last time he'd referred to a sweet little tank top. "You know, sir," she said, "I still have that gray tank top."
He gasped and put a hand to his heart. "Oh, Carter; way too much information for an old guy," he said, waggling his eyebrows.
She laughed. "Thought you'd like that," she teased. "And, by the way, you're not an old guy."
They left the coffee house and stepped out onto the quiet sidewalk. Sam was surprised to find it had grown dark, and looked at her watch. "Wow; it's 2230," she said.
"Sam … Don't laugh," Jack warned suddenly.
"What?" she said cautiously; she could swear her face was hurting from how much they had laughed during the evening.
"I want to walk you home."
She smiled. "That's … sweet, Jack," she said.
"Sweet?" He grimaced. "Leave it out!"
"No; it is," she said. She reached over and linked her fingers with his, enjoying the touch of the long slender hands with their rough fingertips, and relishing the fact that it was no longer forbidden. "And I'd like you to walk me home."
"Cool." Then he heaved his shoulders. "Sam; I'm too long in the tooth for hand-holding," he said. He unlinked their fingers, then slid his arm around her shoulders. "Better," he said with a smirk.
"Yeah," Sam replied with her own smirk. She slid her own arm under his leather jacket — Jack O'Neill and leather jackets; another great combination — and round his waist as they walked along the quiet street.
Sam opened her door. "Thanks for tonight, Jack," she said, twirling her key chain on her index finger. "I had fun."
He smiled warmly. "Me too." He brushed a soft kiss over her cheek. "I'm in town for a couple more days. Want to do this again?"
"Yeah, sure, ya betcha!" she said.
He grinned. "Smart ass." He dipped his head and pressed a sweet soft kiss to her lips. "By the way, you never did give me an example of the last thing you wrote."
She blinked at him, knocked off balance by the unexpected sensuousness of the chaste caress. "W-what?"
His wonderful brown eyes danced under her porch light. "You know, Colonel," he taunted.
Smug SOB. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and swung him round so that his back was to the wall, then slid her hands into his thick riotous hair and kissed him. He gasped and she took advantage of his surprise to slip her tongue into his mouth, tasting the coffee and mints he'd had.
She didn't retain control for long, though. Jack's hands slipped down her back to press her tightly against him and stroked his tongue along hers.
"Jack … wait," she gasped, only now remembering that they were out in public.
He pulled back. "Sam?" he said huskily, his lips swollen from the passionate kiss.
"Not out here," she said, grabbing his hand. "Come in?"
Sam woke up, wondering why her back felt like it was on fire, then she felt a hair-rough chin scrubbing gently on her bare shoulder as soft lips kissed her neck. "Mornin, Sam," a sleep-roughened voice said.
She turned over and surveyed him. Eyes puffy from sleep, lips swollen with kisses, hair sticking up all over … and nude. Major General Jack O'Neill lay in her bed completely bare-ass naked. And Lieutenant Colonel Samantha Carter lay in her bed completely bare-ass naked.
So much for conversation! Not that they'd ever really needed to talk — they'd often been able to communicate non-verbally. "Morning," she replied, putting a hand to his cheek and kissing him. "Gah. You have horrible morning breath," she added, pulling a face.
"Yours ain't so great either," he said, then levered himself out of bed, completely unabashed by his nudity. She watched his ass appreciatively as he strode over to her en suite — he really was a fine figure of a man. "Where's the toothpaste, Sam?" he called.
"Cabinet," she called back, stretching her limbs carefully. What a night! She ached pleasantly in places that hadn't ached for a while and regretted that she'd let her exercise routine slip whilst at Area 51. Major General Jack O'Neill was incredibly fit and energetic … and let's not forget creative, her smutty mind reminded her.
"Holy buckets," she mumbled, feeling … feelings. She'd forgotten how good this can't keep your hands off each other part of a relationship could be.
"What's that, Sam?" he said, strolling back out and running a hand through his hair, attempting to smooth the unruly strands. No chance. The cowlicks firmly refused to be tamed, and she wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
She was no shy virgin. She flung back the covers and patted the space beside her. "Get back into bed," she ordered. "We're not done yet."
He whooped with laughter and dropped down beside her. "Toothpaste first, ma'am," he ordered in return.
She saluted. "Yes, sir!" Then she grabbed his head and kissed him hard, exploring that warm mouth, those thin sensitive soft lips, the sensuous tongue. "Mmmm … yummy."