Category: Romance, Humor
We of the SJFic group were invited to submit ficlets for one of the old challenges. This is one of mine! Hope you like.
20,000 feet up:
Jack O'Neill was seriously – seriously – irked.
Peeved.
Annoyed.
Pissed off.
If he'd thought ahead, he could have spared himself the hell of flying coach and waited the extra two hours for the military connection.
But no-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o. Had to be spontaneous, didn't he? Couldn't have thought ahead, could he?
You never think ahead, you mook. You're allergic to planning.
When had his inner voice started to sound like Daniel? Frankly, it was creepy.
And he did plan. Those pretty ribbons on his chest weren't just for decoration, ya know!
Of course, some of those ribbons had been earned because of spontaneity rather than rigidity.
But … whatever … The fact remained that this little act of spontaneity was giving him a headache the size of a mothership. It throbbed in time with the kicks that an obnoxious brat was giving to the back of his chair. Jack usually liked kids, but he could see himself committing murder before this flight was over.
Remind me why I'm doing this again?, he groused silently.
And pictures filled his mind.
Blonde hair, big blue eyes, gigawatt smile.
Soft creamy skin, long legs, great curves, sweeeeeeeeet tank tops.
Yeah. Okay.
SJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJSJ
Nevada:
Jack signed through the various security checkpoints, somehow feeling better at the alarm on the various geeks' faces at his presence.
After all, it wasn't very often the Head of Homeworld Security showed up at Area 51 unannounced.
Ostensibly he was here to discuss the development of the Mark IX with Lieutenant Colonel Carter – she of the sweeeeeeeeet tank tops. That was his story, and he was sticking to it.
But he simply wanted to see her again.
He was a sap. He could deal with that.
He strode along the corridors to Sam's lab and stuck his head cautiously in, hoping not to catch any techno-babble.
It was catching, you know. He'd found himself using the expression 'electro-magnetic pulse' in a discussion just the previous day. And he'd used it in context.
Gah.
"Oh, for crying out loud!" came Carter's dulcet tones and he smirked.
Apparently they were rubbing off on each other. And in more than just the friction-y, Newton's Laws kinda way.
A-ah! Brain. Hurting. Here.
It really was catching.
She of the evil infectious techno-babble burst out of the opposite lab, lips set mutinously, blue eyes flashing murderously, chest heaving … enticingly.
She was brainy.
She was dangerous.
She was insanely hot.
"Hey, Carter!" he said cheerily, the last of his bad mood gone as he took in his former 2IC's flushed features. He knew just the trick for dealing with a pissed off Carter.
He'd lost ten pounds during the month after their respective transfers. And his blood pressure had dropped too. His doctor had asked him how he'd done it; Jack had somehow managed not to brag. Had to keep up the officer and gentleman façade, right?
"Sir …," Carter said. In an evil purring tone.
Maybe it was sick, but when she called him 'sir' in that tone, all sorts of things happened down below.
Last time she'd done that, it had been during a briefing at the Pentagon and she'd walked away from the briefing table, techno-babbling with Jack's aide.
Leaving Jack with a … ahem … big problem.
At least he could do something about it this time.
Suddenly, a slim hand grabbed his dog-tags and the hot blonde Colonel pulled him into her on-base quarters, lips fastening quickly onto his.
Oh yeah; totally worth it!, he decided as those slim hands quickly rid them both of all their clothing.
Although next time he decided to surprise his wife, he was so not flying coach!