samandjack.net

Story Notes: Email: sg1flygirl@yahoo.com

Category: Drama, Angst, Comedy, smidgen of Romance.

Spoilers: None

Season Info: No specific date.

Rating: R for pseudo-adult content.

Summary: Carter walks in on O'Neill in the shower.

Disclaimer: STARGATE SG-1 and its characters are property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the concent of the author.

Author's Note: This is the reply to a friend's need to see O'Neill all wet and lathered up. Enjoy, Sir! *salute*


Closing his eyes, he placed his hands on the tiles and leaned forward. He had turned the water up as hot as his skin could stand, the heavy drops turning his back a deep scarlet. Slowly he moved, guiding the stream to all his aching spots; the small of his back, his right shoulder, and his neck. Arching his back, he angled the water for the top of his head, his hair melting down through the stream over his forehead. Blowing out a breath to spray the water from his mouth, he stood up straight again.

Taking the shampoo bottle in his hand, he squeezed a bit out into his palm and snapped the lid shut again. Tossing it to the floor, he began to message his scalp. He turned in the stream of water as he scrubbed at his head, allowing the stream to pelt against his chest and shoulders, the rivulets of water trailing down over his abdomen to his thighs. Soap bubbles ran down over his face and back as he stepped beneath the stream again, letting the pressure do all of the rinsing, wiping the excess water from his eyes. Leaning forward, he rinsed off his back; the water beginning to pool at his feet. Slowly the lines of shampoo bubbles slid down the drain.

He stretched; his arms flexing as his shoulders round down, a yawn spreading over his face. Picking up his wash cloth and soap, he lathered till the terry was foamy then set the bar on the ledge. He buried his face into the suds and scrubbed as if he was washing away a year's worth of grime. Satisfied, he moved to his neck and chest, the dog tags rattling as he turned them around to dangle down his back. He reached for the soap again, scrubbing the bar against the washcloth a half-dozen more times. He washed his arms and down the sides of his chest, flipping the cloth over a shoulder to scrub his back. It felt incredibly soothing, the rough cloth itching a few patches of dry skin. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back, a smirk crossing his lips. He understood the gluttonous pleasure of a grizzly using a tree for a scratching post.

When his skin was raw, he turned around to rinse, pulling the dog tags back to their proper resting place along his sternum. He paused under the shower, guiding the stream to his lower back again. Bracing himself against the tiles, he twisted his hips, popping vertebra to elevate his pain. Twisting in the opposite direction, he moaned, the release soothing. His eyes still closed; he reached for the soap again.

Passing the cloth over his stomach, he turned it over his side to his lower back, messaging the aching muscles as he washed. It trailed the curve of his glute as it lowered, rounding back once before sinking to his hamstring. Switching hands, the terry repeated the process, following the shape. It dove gently around his front, washing carefully before sliding against his inner thighs.

The washcloth made quick work of his long legs. Lifting his foot, he scrubbed the bottoms, passing a corner of the cloth between his toes. With both feet done he rinsed off the wash cloth and hung it up. Letting the water pour over him, he rolled his neck, realigning the joints. Slowly he opened his eyes and gasped.

"Jesus, I didn't hear you come in." He turned to face the wall, looking over his shoulder at her. She blushed and looked down, a hand going to her face.

"Sorry Colonel. I though you were Lieutenant Fallon. We were playing racket ball." Captain Carter tried to take her eyes away from him, but found herself unable to. O'Neill's profile was nice even if he was tense at the moment; his muscled arms and chest sloping down onto a flat stomach. Well in shape for his age, he had nothing to be ashamed of. Her eyes fell onto the angled curves of his behind as it sloped down into defined thighs, and she swallowed.

"Go for it, Captain. I won't be much longer." His hand flagged in the general direction of the showers, his other hand covering himself as well as possible. She hesitated, unsure as to what to do. Finally she figured there wasn't any harm on starting when he was there, and took the shower opposite of his. Turning on the water, she got it hot before taking off her robe. Standing with her back to him, Sam put her head under the stream. Cautiously, he found himself glancing over his shoulder in the interest of fair play.

Sam had a nicely proportioned body that was rarely shown off in the issued fatigues; way too big and bulky to be feminine. Her dirty blond hair was matted over the back of her head as the water beat down. Great strength resided in shoulders that were smooth, her arms flexing as she fumbled with her shampoo. Lifting her arms to her head made the Colonel's eyes follow down to her narrow waist and sloping hips, finally around the arching concave of her bottom. Her lean legs were slender and muscled down to her small feet. Jack reluctantly turned off his water.

"Aw shit." She looked down into her shower kit.

"What?" He asked, wrapping a towel about his waist.

"Forgot my soap. Used the rest of it last night." Sam looked over her shoulder at him.

"Here, use mine." He picked up his bar of soap and padded across the tiles.

"Thank you, sir." She took it from his hand without turning around. Standing next to her, O'Neill looked down her soaked chest and swallowed.

And then he saw it. A perfect little mole rested on the crest of her left breast; rich mahogany brown no larger than the diameter of a pencil eraser. Smiling to himself, he remembered the conversation she had had with her clone on Harlan's planet. We are identical, right down to the mole on our... Hey, hey, hey! Shut up!

As if knowing he was looking at her, she raised her arms to cross over her chest. Her face blushed crimson and the mole was hidden from him again.

"No problem." A touch he had done thousands of times felt awkward then; he brushed his hand against her shoulder. Her wet skin was smooth beneath his touch. She shivered and looked at him. Mumbling, he shook his head.

"Sorry Carter, I didn't mean that." He looked away, shaking his hand.

"It's okay, Colonel." Sam smiled, the water running down in a way that caused it to blow from her mouth when she spoke. Slowly he turned to walk away.

"Sir?" He turned back towards her, a half-expectant look on his face.

"You left your kit." She pointed, her arm across her chest.

"Oh, right." He smiled tensely, crossing quickly to pick up his shower implements. Looking more flushed than she had ever seen him; O'Neill vacated the shower room. Sam turned back to the pounding water, desperately trying to stop smiling. She lifted his soap to her nose, its bouquet intoxicating.

"Oh my God, was that Colonel O'Neill?" Lieutenant Rachael Fallon paced quickly to the shower next to Sam's and disrobed. She turned on the water and held a hand in the stream before stepping into it when warm enough.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sam whispered harshly, turning towards the woman who was promptly getting soaked head to toe.

"Ensign Richards gave me a few unAirforce-like glances in the hall. Had to put him in his place." She smiled enthusiastically from the triumph over her latest victim.

"I walked in on him thinking it was you!" Sam smacked the woman's bicep in a reprimand.

"Oh poor you!" Fallon jested. "Like you haven't had any delusional fantasies about him in the shower anyway."

"Christ, not so loud!" A violent flush rose to Carter's cheeks. "He's still out there!" Panic seeped into her face.

"Captain Carter, I'm ashamed of you!" Rachel whispered loudly, her face spreading into a smile. Sam shook her head. "Tell me something though."

"What?" Sam lathered his soap on her washcloth.

"Is he as well hung as they say?" Fallon leaned close, a greedy look crossing her face. Sam swallowed, shaking her head again, a smile beginning to seep into the corners of her mouth.

"Oh, yeah!" She started giggling, leaning against the tiles for support. They both started laughing hard, gasping for breath beneath the heavy stream of water.

"Oh, yeah!" Sam reiterated when she caught her breath.



The End.




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