It was a breeze. Mark and the kids had arrived earlier than expected, but Jack had just finished tossing a few odds and ends around the house to make the place look a little less like it was owned by single woman with no social life. They met, they shook hands, Jack was his charming sarcastic self, and Mark was disarmed. Then with Jack's arm casually draped over her shoulders she had dropped the bomb.

"Married?" Mark asked incredulously. "Since when?"

"Just a couple of weeks. It's new," Sam told him and leaned into Jack's side. They hadn't even left the entryway yet, and the questions were already starting. Maybe this was the worst idea she ever had.

"I wish you would have said something. I would have liked to have been there," Mark told her with a regretful smile. And now she felt like a heel.

"It was really informal. Really nothing to see," she excused. "Come on, I'll help you with your bags," she offered, and took the princess and super hero suitcase from her niece and nephew. "Jack, would you mind to..." Sam began glancing down at the kids.

"Who likes hockey? Sticks and a net out back in the yard," he told them with an eager clasp of his hands. Sam gave him a look that she probably should have kept to herself. Why did she have hockey gear in her backyard? But it didn't matter right now. Jack gave a squeeze to her arm that she noted was probably just a little more friendly than spousal-they would need to work on that later-and corralled the kids out the door so that she could take her interrogation like a pro.

"That's what you're wearing to bed?" Jack asked, swiping an accusatory finger down her body which was technically covered, but there were far too many bare limbs for this to be a safe arrangement. Probably the same shorts that she had hidden from him earlier were on display now instead of concealed under a tent of a shirt.

"What's wrong with it?" Sam asked.

"Nothing, it's just..." she asked him to continue with her silence. "It's fine."

"You did great tonight," she told him. "The kids loved you."

"Yes, well. Kids are prone to doing that. They're easier to fool than adults."

"Are they?"

"Uh, no, not really," Jack answered, watching her slide under the covers into her bed that was entirely too small for two people. It made sense really, when you thought about it. She was engaged in this rather elaborate ruse, after all, to try to get out of going on a date. So, what was the point of a bed big enough for two?

Except tonight. Tonight, he slid in on his side facing her, with the intention of keeping his hands to himself, but with Carter turned on her side toward him, that seemed like a really bad plan now. Things with her brother had gone smoothly, but that didn't mean it wasn't stressful.

"See," she told him with a sigh, "Just like being off-world."

In some ways, it was. They had slept side by side countless nights, but being asleep off-world was a little like sleeping with one eye open. It was never truly sleep. It was never truly easy.

Jack knew better, but now that the pressure was off and no one was watching, he could relax. He wasn't an expert at what women needed, but he did know Carter pretty well. She could stand to relax too. Her eyes were locked on his as he reached for her, dragging his fingertips up the back of her wrist where it rested under her cheek, up her forearm, and around the bend of her elbow. Goosebumps raised on her arm and she shivered under his fingers.

"Maybe you wouldn't be shivering if you put on more clothes," he suggested, referring to the tiny tank top.

"Not cold," she answered simply, and he concluded with a satisfied grin that this was as good as a signed permission slip.

Jack flattened his palm against her upper arm and skated over her shoulder. His fingers caught in the barely worth mentioning strap of her top, and Jack took it as a sign to stay put. He dug his fingers into the tension knot he found there at the base of her neck, and a grateful sigh escaped her.

"Maybe not exactly like being off-world," he disagreed, and Sam's eyes drooped shut. Jack continued his massage until he no longer felt the hardened knot, and then his fingers turned soft, skating across her skin as smooth as fresh ice.

There was something different about fresh ice and the way it shone. That first slice of the blades on the mirrored surface was at once a crying shame and a soul-deep satisfaction. It was a shame because it would never be so perfect again now that he had touched it and satisfying because he rarely touched anything so untainted. It was a sacred bond between a skater and his ice.

"Maybe off-world should be like this," she mumbled as she wriggled her body closer to his until her forehead bumped against his chin. Jack slid an arm under neck until he could hold her properly.

Their goodnight kiss last night had been one he would never forget, but there was a distinctly different energy in the room tonight. As much as he had enjoyed the needy grabbing hands and hungry kisses of the night before, this quiet, trusting moment when she put herself in his hands and slid deeper into his arms after a stressful evening might trump it.

"Should I talk to Hammond?" he offered teasingly. A change in off-world protocol might be nice. Holding her the way that he was, he felt her breaths stall for a moment before she exhaled.

"What do you mean?" she whispered, and he could feel the heat of her question breathed out against his throat.

"We could get smaller tents. I'm sure Daniel and Teal'c wouldn't mind snuggling." Her body relaxed into him again, and he felt her chuckle. Cautious fingers slipped across his cheek, smooth and soft against the crags and ridges of his face, and Jack wondered if this arrangement had her considering the possibilities the same way that he was. "What did you think I meant?"

Sam went quiet, drawing her hands up tightly against her chest and tucking herself thoroughly into his body. Her knees bumped into his, and he pulled one in between his own, hugging her entire body now.

"Does it matter?" she asked sadly.

"I wouldn't ask if it didn't matter," he tried to assure her.

"I guess I was thinking that you can't always get what you want," she answered cryptically.

"No. But if you try sometimes..." he continued the lyric, hoping she would continue down this line of thinking.

"If only song lyrics governed the world," she mourned, and that was all he needed to know. She wasn't ready yet.

"If only..." he added with a squeeze of her body that apparently hadn't gotten the memo.

First light had always triggered Sam's wake response. It was a sign that she was either late or about to become so for as long as she could remember. But she wasn't late today. She was on downtime. Mark and the kids were visiting, and Jack O'Neill was in her bed. She knew that he was in her bed because she was warm, almost too warm, where his body pressed against her back, and his arm lay against her stomach.

She could have worn something different, something less provocative, last night, but the truth was, she was enjoying this too much. She was enjoying the way his fingers played at the hem of her top that was too short and riding up her torso. She was enjoying the way his fingers tangled in it and pushed it up further to make room for his flattened palm against her skin.

Sam wasn't proud of the way her body reached for his from head to toe, needing any kind of union she could have, but as she arched backwards, warm lips landed on her neck and she writhed, positively writhed, in lust for more of those lips. She wasn't proud of it, but she was enjoying it.

Jack obliged her squirming body, kissing down her neck and across her bare shoulder. Acting involuntarily, she reached her hand back to stroke into his hair, holding him close to her. Her leg slid back over his, pulling his knee between hers, and she didn't realize until his hand slid down from her hip across her bare thigh that her little leg maneuver had opened up her body for potential assault of the most tempting variety.

But he didn't take advantage of her stretchy, inviting morning lust.

Not much anyway.

He kissed her neck where she still held him hostage, and he stroked her thigh, up, down, outside, inside, shifting just in time to avoid her more delicate areas.

With a frustrated groan her hips rocked back into him, needing to know if he was able to be so controlled because he just wasn't as aroused as she was by the reality of waking up in bed together. But he was aroused. Painfully so, if the reciprocal push against her backside was reliable evidence.

Falling asleep with him last night had been so sweet. Such a soft contrast to the night before when they had both been seemingly desperate for one another. It wasn't that she was hard up for sex or anything, but—okay, she was, but that wasn't the point.

She just needed to know if the other night against her car was a fluke, a momentary flash of what could be, but nothing that would be repeated. And now, with his fingers teasing under the leg of her admittedly too short sleep shorts, she had her answer. Not isolated. Not a fluke. He wanted her.

If only... she repeated his words from the night before to herself. She forced herself to remember that want or no want, they couldn't really have this. Not for keeps, anyway. The memory cooled her need, and she began, limb by limb, to disentangle herself from him, finally turning onto her back to look at him. He looked inscrutable, propped up on an elbow and his temple resting on his fist.

"Morning," he rumbled, looking far too indifferent for her taste, considering that he had just been sucking on her neck a few moments ago. "What's the plan for today? Should I go get breakfast?" Apparently, they weren't going to acknowledge the way they had woken up.

"Uhh, no. I'll make something," she answered, and sat up, combing her fingers through her hair with her back to him. She didn't need an audience for the pout she knew she was sporting on her face. It wasn't that she was a child, it's just that she was feeling petulant about not getting her own way.

"Anything I can do?" he asked from behind her, and she was fairly certain he didn't want the answer to that question.

"Just uhhh, keep the kids busy, maybe? It'll keep Mark from asking you too many questions."

"And it'll keep us from being together... needing to perform."

"Right," she answered with a scoff, resenting him a little for using that word 'perform.' She didn't want to perform with him, but that didn't mean she didn't want him close to her in front of her brother with his hands casually giving her those small touches that he had last night when it had been needed. It didn't mean that she didn't want to sit too close to him on the couch with their legs brushing and his arm around her while they talked about the kids's school play or the new car Mark had just bought like they had last night. She did want it. She wanted it in front of her brother and in her bed behind closed doors. She just didn't want it to be a performance.

But then, you can't always get what you want.