Jack wants to be gentle and go slow, wants to make her understand but she's angry and hurt and wants nothing of the kind. He can't stop himself from squeezing her breast harder than he wants to and thrusting in that much deeper after she digs her nails into his back and spits a harsh "Fuck you, Jack O'Neill" into his ear. Later, she's arching off the bed and screaming obscenities at whatever deity that's listening.
She doesn't leave afterwards, but she doesn't look at him either. Jack watches as his subordinate gets out of his bed, goes into his bathroom and, from the sounds from the other side of the locked bathroom, takes a long shower.
He doesn't wait around for her to finish. Instead, he goes to his fridge, takes out a beer and goes out back to let her escape in solitude.
When he comes back into his living room half an hour later, chilled both inside and out, Jack almost jumps to find her sitting on his couch in the dark, bare legs and arms crossed where the towel is not covering. He can just make out that her hair is almost dry and sticking up.
This is new and he's not sure what to do. For a minute he just stands still, looking around for reinforcement forces to muster strength but the bottle is nowhere in sight.
"Something wrong?" He asks. He tried to go for nonchalance but ends up in apprehensive territory. It makes him wince.
She snorts but doesn't respond. She still hasn't looked at him.
He tries a different approach then. Much more risky.
"Look, its late. Why don't you come to bed?" Jack's tone is less wary and softer than before.
He's moving slowly towards her, carefully approaching her defensive position on the couch. He's letting his own defenses down for this.
Its when he's almost in range that she explodes. "Oh, because that just fucking solves everything, huh, sir?"
Suddenly Sam Carter is on her feet and facing him in all her livid glory. She's caught him unprepared and he's speechless.
"You do something like that and everything's supposed to be ok after a quick screw and a few hours of sleep, is that it? Sir?" She practically spits the word out and he's reminded of just why it is that he has red welts all across his back. He didn't expect her to be happy with his orders, but he wasn't expecting this, either.
"Sam, that's not what I meant." Even in the dark he could see the fire jumping in her eyes at his use of her name, but she says nothing.
"Look, what do you want me to say!" Because he sure as hell doesn't have to explain himself to her. And he shouldn't even need to by this point. She knows him well enough.
She doesn't answer his heated question, just gives a short, bitter bark of laughter and shakes her head.
"Tell me," She starts, her eyes narrowed and accusing. "Did you pull this shit with Sara, too?"
The muscle in Jack's jaw clenches in response and in protest of the direction in which he knows she's headed.
"Carter..." There's a warning there and he unconsciously shifts his body with the tension. She either doesn't hear it or doesn't care.
"You ever think that maybe that's why it didn't work out between you two after Charlie died?"
"That's enough, Major!" He yells. He really needs her to shut the hell up right now.
Jack's fists clenched as she spoke and just now he's barely controlling himself from taking those few steps towards her.
This is not a topic up for discussion, ever. Not even for her. Especially not her.
She's still glaring at him with so much heat, but something subtle in her eyes changes as she takes in his rigid body, calculating. He doesn't catch it.
Sam knows this is dangerous territory but had decided to risk it anyway. There is always the possibility that she's misjudged him and he won't react the way she's expecting him to. He might shut down, as she's seen him do on these occasions before. There's always that. Still...
"Oh, just because you say it is? Or is that an order? Sir!" Her tone is openly confrontational and she's walked right up to him. Close enough to see his twitching jaw and white knuckles, fingernails digging angry marks into his palms. She thinks she hears him growl. At this point, there is always the threat that he might hit her, too. She waits with bated breath.
"Get out." The words are pure malice as he whispers harshly, eyes fixed on some point behind her head.
They shock Sam. No, this isn't what she wanted. Not at all... Shit. The chill that sweeps her body is instantaneous.
"Colonel..." She starts backtracking, but he cuts her off.
"Get out of my house. Now." Its cold and its final and it makes her panic.
Sam's miscalculated. For every action there's an equal and opposite reaction, but something's gone wrong in the equation this time. She pushed him and he was supposed to push back. He's supposed to be yelling and angry and volatile. Not this. This deadly silence and stillness only acts as a foil for the fury rolling in waves off his taut body and, Sam's hoping, ready to crash upon her. Now it's a question of too far or not far enough and she hesitates. Takes a breath. Takes a big chance.
"I'm not going anywhere until– " She gasps at the feel of fingers digging mercilessly into her forearms as he jerks her against him violently. A second later their mouths, all lips and teeth and anger, clash together.
His body is wound so tight she thinks he might really do some damage here if he explodes and she delights in the fact that its all her doing. If before he was the calm before the storm, just now she can see the first big waves swelling off the port side.
And she's there to meet him. Her grip on his hair is almost vise-like but it only encourages him to rip the towel from her body and harshly palm her chest. She moans into his mouth.
They stumble, only stopping once during their frenzied trip to the bedroom and that's when he slams her naked back against a wall and roughly pushes a long, deft finger inside her. The shoulder that she's sinking her teeth into muffles her cry as she pushes off the wall to get him closer.
They make it to the bedroom and he shoves her to the bed, releasing her only long enough to divest of his own clothing. By the time he does she's standing on the bed on her knees and pulling him down on top of her, his worn, scarred body pushing her perfectly sculpted one onto her back, hands roaming all over her body. One rough hand finds a breast and squeezes, a hard nipple caught between two fingers as he grinds his thigh into the apex of her legs mercilessly.
Sam has his bottom lip between her teeth and bites hard as he thrusts against her unexpectedly, too much sensation for the delicate area. Every nerve ending in her body is screaming and the metallic taste delicately flooding her mouth makes the situation all the more desperate. He pulls away from her when the skin breaks, body acting on instinct to this new attack. He retaliates.
She finds herself on her knees facing away from him, elbows holding her body up even as she arches against him. The anticipation has been building ever since he walked back into his house and she's more than ready for it when he slams fully inside her. Still, she can't control the loud hiss that escapes her lips at the welcome intrusion or the mewling sounds coming from her throat every time he pushes so damn deep inside her.
Its neither pleasure nor pain.
The angle they're in now is almost too much for her over-sensitized body to handle. It wouldn't be if he was gentle, but he's anything but, pushing against her for all he's worth as his hands leave marks on her hips and waist. And oh, the angle allows him to hit just that spot that makes her scream. Neither pain or pleasure, but definitely both.
Sam smiles humorlessly even as tears well up in her eyes. This is what she wanted. If she wasn't so busy moaning and gaspin she might have patted herself on the back. As it is, her hands are clutching at the crumpled sheets.
When she comes she screams to God and muffles her voice in the bed while her hips arch painfully for him. The sensation of it is simultaneous, coming both from the base of her spine and the back of her neck, shooting shocks along her whole body. He keeps moving, losing rhythm completely for the the last few, brutal seconds. Finally he collapses on top of her after, moving off only slightly so they can both breathe.
Its all over now.
They're both exhausted, her more physically and him emotionally. He has never lost control like this with someone else before.
When she falls asleep she's curled up in a ball, blanket pulled up halfway at her waist. Her face is dry now and he's wound tight right behind her, a boneless arm around her waist. Every now and then his body trembles ever so slightly.
He thinks he just might hate her for this, even as he cradles her bruised body gently in his.
TBC. Tell me what you think.
