Sadness, Sexual Situations
This kinda started out as the intended start for a request I’m supposed to write (and I still don’t have any inspiration for. Sorry, Channach!) However, after I showed it to her, it turned out I got the beginning completely wrong.
I didn’t want to scrap it, so I added a few more lines, and changed the existing ones a bit to make this a one-shot. This is set right after the events of the Stargate SG-1 Season 8 episode “Threads”.
Thanks to Raven Clark for beta-ing this.
Sam/Jack — Sam/Jack — Sam/Jack
in the category Hurt/Comfort/Whump
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The day of the funeral is cloudy with soft drops of rain drizzling down on them as they’re standing near a grave at the Washington Memorial Cemetery. She doesn’t cry. He doesn’t expect her to.
Carter’s always been a person to keep it together in public. He knows she did cry because he comforted her after Jacob’s death. He was with her, undemanding and without rushing her, until her tears subsided.
Today, she looks distant and detached in her dress uniform. She accepts all the condolences politely, and shakes what feels to him like a million hands: colleagues of her father, high-ranking generals who want to pay their last dues, friends…
He doesn’t leave. He knows he has no obligation to stay and wait through it all, but somehow it’s an unspoken agreement that he won’t leave her alone in this.
They sit through dinner afterwards, during which she barely touches her food. She’s polite, and smiles a lot, though the smiles don’t touch her eyes. Nor do they light up the room as usual.
Mark’s there with the kids. Which finally gives him a chance to meet her brother. They chat for a moment. Jack decides he seems like a good guy. Then his kids start some kinda trouble somewhere, and he has to leave to call them to order.
When it is all over, she looks exhausted. Not that she would ever admit to it, but he knows from the way she slumps in her chair when she thinks nobody’s watching.
“Let’s get you home.” He holds out his hand to her.
With a hesitant little smile, she accepts the gesture and follows him outside. She needs a good night’s sleep, and there’s no way he’ll let her drive by herself. Not in her state.
Neither of them speaks during the drive, but it’s not an awkward silence. It’s just that he’s grown comfortable enough with her to be quiet without it feeling odd. Is that a good thing? He isn’t sure. Not in light of their working relationship, at least—but that’s a problem that can be fixed should the need arise.
“You wanna come in?” Her words sound almost unreal after their long silence.
“You got coffee?” As if his agreement depends on it. But the joke manages to draw a little smile out of her, so mission accomplished.
Oh, if only he’d stuck to the thought of coffee. But once they’re inside, and she drops her coat and bends down to pick it up, coffee’s the last thing on his mind. His eyes are glued to her ass a bit too long, and when he catches her gaze, she clears her throat.
Damn, O’Neill. Focus. The woman just lost her father. You lost a friend.
She doesn’t seem to have the same doubts. Next thing he knows, she pushes him against the wall and presses her body up against him. Her soft breasts flattened on his chest, she seeks out his mouth. Awkward, but it’s enough to make his brain short-circuit. His body seems to have a will of his own, for suddenly his hands are on her waist, trailing right for her ass. They shouldn’t be doing this. Not when she’s so vulnerable. Not when she’s still engaged.
Concerning that, where had Pete been today anyway? Who cares about the cop?
Her slim fingers fumble with his belt and shirt, her lips blindly locked with his until they break apart, panting.
Okay, if they are doing this already, at least he’ll be the one in charge. He doesn’t like to be passive during sex, and he damn sure won’t start with her. Though, active or not, they still shouldn’t be doing this.
For crying out loud. With a low growl he pushes her back against the opposite wall, his body now pressing into hers, while she grinds into him with a desperate whimper.
He doesn’t care for style or finesse – because apparently she doesn’t either. If she insists on doing it like this, who the hell is he to debate her on it?
It’s the first time he’s kissing her where they’re not in a freaking time loop, or have been brainwashed, or are under the influence of some kind of alien virus. So if she wants it, he’s along for the ride.
It should be more awkward, shouldn’t it? First times are supposed to be awkward.
However, when he slides into her welcoming body and he meets her darkening gaze, it isn’t awkward or strange at all. Which is somewhat odd.
He seems to know where to touch her, how to touch her, as though they’re connected by some kind of telepathic bond. It isn’t long before she shatters against him, her body quivering, her soft sighs of release making his mind go blank.
The awkwardness comes afterwards when she breaks down against the wall, covering her face with her hands, her breath hitching uncontrollably.
He messed up. Shoulda listened to that voice inside of him that told him not to do this. Hopefully, they haven’t fucked up what’s left of their relationship.
“Carter.” He lowers himself next to her, despite the stinging pain in his knee. She brushes his hand away, her palm still covering her eyes.
Okay, so he did fuck up.
Coffee. The thought’s almost random now, but it’s what they came in for after all, isn’t it? He gets up and enters the kitchen. Searches around until he finds coffee and two cups.
When the coffee’s almost done, she steps into the room, her arms wrapped around her body, her eyes red.
“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, but doesn’t look at him. “I didn’t mean to…” She waves towards the front door.
He studies her, then shrugs. “No problem. Nothing to feel sorry about.”
“Isn’t there?” She looks up at him, her blue eyes wide and glistening.
“Look, Carter, if I didn’t want it to happen it wouldn’t have happened.”
“Oh.” She nods and slides onto one of the stools standing at her kitchen counter. He isn’t sure what her ‘oh’ means. She isn’t usually this short on words. But at least she’s here and not pushing him away. She runs her hand over her eyes and then leans her chin on her palm to watch him.
“Here.” He places a cup of steaming coffee in front of her and she takes it, her fingers brushing his. Their gazes meet, and he rests his hand on the cup a moment longer. Just because touches between them are so rare, and after what they just did, he wants to caress so much more than her hand.
Maybe not today. Tomorrow’s another day, after all. His door’s open. Now it’s her turn to either step through, or leave.
The End (26.01.2015)
Author’s Notes – Continuation:
This is a bit of a different style again, where I tried out several stylistic devices, as kinda like a fun experiment. It’s present tense, which I rarely use. It’s Jack’s POV, but a bit more mature and less brief. And most importantly, a lot of this was telling and not showing.
Since this was not supposed to be erotica, though, but more an exploration of feelings, and a missing scene from the show, showing everything wasn’t necessarily the purpose.
Also, this story has a very ambiguous ending. Yeah, I know, I almost pulled a canon-writer thing on you guys, where you don’t know whether they got together or not. I wanted to try it. ;) The gap is there for you to fill with your own imagination.