Epiphany in Motion
Sam/Jack, Rated M.
She shivers as his hands move to the buttons at the front of her blouse, despite her best efforts to hold herself still and submit to his ministrations. His fingers don't tremble but pop the buttons deftly, as though he's done this before.
They haven't. Not together. Not before.
They shouldn't be doing it now, but something broke between them, and this is the only way they can fix it.
With that in mind, Sam lifts her chin, no longer content to be a passive partner in this dance they're doing. She raises her arms and he stops, lifts his head to quirk an eyebrow. Her hands don't still his as she knows he's expecting; instead, they frame his face and draw it down to hers.
A hum escapes her as he abandons his attempts at undressing her and instead throws himself into the kiss. He fights her for dominance, for control, and she bites a little on his bottom lip.
No, she tells him silently. She'll let him take control of a lot of aspects of their life but this is theirs, jointly.
If there's a price to pay for this indiscretion, blame to be appointed, it will be theirs to share. For better or worse, they're in this together.
Jack's hands return to her blouse but they're impatient now, his control pushed to the point of breaking. One of her legs wind around his hips, pressing him closer and he tears at the material instead. Buttons go flying over the floor of her hallway; she didn't like that blouse anyway, she thinks.
And then his hands are on her satin-covered breasts and she forgets how to think completely. His fingers tug and tease and she pulls her mouth free so she can gasp a breath.
Yes. "Yes."
She arches her back, her hips pressing into his as he places gentle kisses along the column of her neck. Those hot lips close around her nipple through the cup of her bra and bite gently. Heat floods her core, and she wants more, needs more but isn't sure how much she can take.
Hell, if she dies, it's a hell of a way to go.
Her own hands are restless, wanting – needing – to touch him. So she does. Her fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, diving under it, nails lightly scoring over the skin above the waistband of his jeans. She feels him falter, just a little, and her touch goes from light to bold, fingertips digging into to muscle.
She wants this, she wants him, more than she's wanted anyone in her life.
More, she thinks, than its healthy.
Certainly, more than she should.
She's divested – again – of the ability to think when he moves his lips back to hers, the kiss a searing duel, tongues chasing, tasting, and all she can focus on is Jack O'Neill. The taste of him, the smell of him, the feel of him.
Jack O'Neill is kissing her in her hallway and the world could end right now for all she cares as long as he doesn't stop.
Please, don't stop. She tears her mouth away, reluctantly, to draw in a gasping breath. "Please!"
He takes the panted word as a command, and it's a thrill she hadn't anticipated to be able to order him around in such a way. The shoe is on the other foot (well, both of her shoes are somewhere on the floor) and she likes it. A lot.
Just as she likes it – loves it – when he drops his head to her shoulder, bites down enough, she thinks, to leave a mark and lifts her so she has no choice but to wrap both legs around him.
The fact that he's strong enough, tall enough, to pick her up and carry her as though she weighs nothing is another thrill. She'd never thought herself one to have a need for a height difference or a particularly strong partner, but there are benefits to it she'd never considered. Like how he can lift her like this, support her weight like this.
It's like he was made for her, she thinks giddily, lips latching onto his neck so she could suck and lick and taste the skin there like she was made for him and no one else.
It's never been like this with anyone, never so intense. She could theorise that years of sexual frustration and longing for one another has helped the build-up, and later will suggest they test the hypothesis. He'll ask her seriously how long she thinks it'll take, how many times they'll have to be together to see if the intensity fades, and she'll tell him just as seriously that the rest of their lives might just be long enough to reach a conclusion.
And then they're in her bedroom and she's on her bed, and he's on top of her, his weight pressing her down as his hands are busy underneath her to unfasten her bra. He's trying to remove it even as he kisses his way from her throat down the valley between her breasts and she loves it but it's not enough.
Never enough.
She wants to taste him, all of him. She wants to feel every inch of his skin as it presses against hers, burns her, brands her. Finally, she's his and she wants to feel it in every cell of her being.
When she decides to take control, she tugs his mouth back to his and rolls them over. Jack makes a small noise of protest against her lips, which she swallows. When she sits up, straddling him, bracing herself with her hands on his chest, he grins up at her, that wicked grin she's seen only glimpses of but which has fuelled many a fantasy over the years they've known each other.
Over the years she's wanted him.
Now he's hers as much as she is his, and she's determined to learn all of his body's secrets and commit them to memory. She wants to know what makes him moan and what makes him hiss, what makes him writhe beneath her mouth and hands and how to get him to beg and how it sounds when he says her name near the end. She wants to create a map of his scars, to know their stories, to learn what made this magnificent man the one she loves so utterly and completely that it takes her breath away.
But first, there's the matter of the material still keeping a barrier between them and removing it becomes her first task. Fortunately, he's on board with the idea without her needing to do much else other than pop the button of his jeans. They work together, exchanging slow kisses and soft touches, exploring the new skin as it's revealed until finally they're laid bare in every way possible.
Her heart is in her eyes and she can see his reflected back at her. They share a long look, tender and intense, sharing breath, sharing a thought.
Is this really happening?
Yes. Finally.
And then they're moving again, desperate to touch and taste and feel and be.
Next time, she swears, next time they'll go slower. Next time she'll learn him the way she wants to, and teach him in return. Her lips curve into a satisfied smile against his chest; she knows without a doubt that there will be a next time.
His body covers hers, his lips hot on her neck. She reaches between them, takes him in her hand. Her fingers tease and torment until he grumbles against her sweat-slicked skin and she guides him to where she needs him.
A groan of completion escapes him as she gasps, thighs tightening around his hips. She digs her heels into the muscles of his ass and shifts her body beneath his in silent encouragement, and slowly they begin to move. She cants her hips in time with his thrusts, meeting him move for move. They are as in sync in the bedroom as they were in the field, a fleeting thought that almost makes her laugh but then he twisted his hips in a way that caused her to gasp again.
She runs her hands over every part of him she could reach, nails trailing down his back and back up, digging into his shoulders as she threw her head back, tearing her lips free of his so she could gulp in air and breathe out his name.
He lifts his head to meet her gaze as they near the end. His eyes are darker than she's ever seen them, his mouth moving soundlessly, lips forming her name. She knows the feeling, understands the disbelief and the awe and the wonder that this is her, him, them, and it's going to be them for always from now.
The pleasure builds and bursts and she thinks she actually sees stars. She distantly hears her name torn from his lips. When she comes back to herself, it's to find him trying to roll off and away so she tightens her hold, keeping him against her.
She welcomes his weight, his warmth, the feeling of him all around her surrounding her making her feel like home in a way she'd never experienced before. He raises his gaze to hers and she knows he feels it, too.
After a long instant, she loosens her grip and lets him go. She's only without him for a few moments and smiles as she's drawn into his arms, his face buried in her neck as he spoons around her, keeping her safe and protected in the cocoon of his arms.
"Sleep, Carter," he murmurs, his voice a muffled vibration she feels echo throughout her body. It's not an order but she finds herself obeying nonetheless.
Sam falls asleep with a smile on her face that matches the grin she can feel curving his lips as he presses them against her shoulder in a sleepy goodnight kiss.
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