"The Ties That Bind" by AC

Title: The Ties that Bind

Author: AC

Status: Complete

Category: Sam/Jack established relationship, smut, Christmas smarm

Rating: NC-17 (explicit sex)

Archive: SJA, Heliopolis2

Season/Sequel info: none

Spoilers: none

Summary: A Santa hat, silk scarves, and sappiness. Any questions?

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and places are the property of MGM, World Gekko Corp and Double Secret Productions. This piece of fan fiction was created for entertainment not monetary purposes and no infringement on copyrights or trademarks was intended. Previously unrecognized characters and places, and this story, are copyrighted to the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Author's Notes: Thanks go out to Ann, the alpha and omega of betas. Dedicated to the Horsewomen, who daily prove that one can be both intelligent and a Sam and Jack shipper at the same time. Feedback is wonderful and I love it, especially if you send your honest opinion and not just what you think I'd like to hear. Copyright December 2000, A. Cheek.

* * * *

Normally, if I wake up with my hands tied to the bedposts, I'm a little concerned. Add in the fact that I'm naked, with only a light blanket covering me, and there'd be some real cause for worry. But I'm home, and the soft flicker of candlelight as I open my eyes reminds me that I'm safe and secure. Still fighting the last drowsy yearnings for sleep, I turn my head from side to side, looking for Sam.

"I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up," I hear her soft voice from across the room. Lying back in bed, I slowly stretch, testing the strength of the silk scarves that bind my wrists to the bedposts. They're secure, but not too tight, and if I really wanted to I could free myself within seconds. But I think I'll just stay right where I am, because Sam has something planned for tonight.

Damn, she's a good actress. When I'd gone to find her after SG-1's mission debriefing, she was working her fingers to the bone in her lab, and the rest of SG-18 were scurrying around, carrying out all her orders with desperate efficiency. She kept me waiting for another two hours before she was ready to come home, slumping wearily in the passenger seat of my Jeep. When we got home she ate dinner mechanically, then led me to bed, crawling in and collapsing into peaceful slumber.

Just now, I'm wondering how much of that show was actual fatigue instead of trying to get me asleep so that she could arrange things. I didn't notice it earlier, but the bed is made with the new Egyptian cotton sheets we bought, the ones that are so smooth against my skin, and the soft fleece blanket covering me is also new, a bright cheerful red. The glow of candles fills the room, along with the scent of warm wax and spices. Finally, I lift my head from my comfortable pillow and look at Sam, who's sitting in the chair across from the bed.

Oh my God.

Especially since she's gotten her own command, Sam maintains this aura of poise and control at work. Sure, she gets enthusiastic about her job, particularly when her team has got a new piece of technology to play with. And she's still warm and friendly -- she's never been an ice queen. Still, she seems absolutely untouchable at times, as though she's a goddess come down to Earth. Wrapped up in a mantle of authority, beauty, and dignity, she can intimidate new recruits to the point that they can't get out a coherent sentence in her presence. Not to mention that except for when it's time to head home, you'd never know from her behavior that I'm anyone to her apart from a colleague and former commanding officer.

There are times, however, when I'll pass her in the corridor, and a single glance from those cool blue eyes will have me counting the hours until we can be alone, and eternally grateful that the jackets on my BDUs extend just below crotch level. I don't know if that's what the people who designed them had in mind, but it's one hell of a design feature in my book.

Nights when we're both on-world, she comes home with me. Me, Colonel Sarcasm. Rough around the edges and snarky to a fault. I've seen the incredulous glances other men on base send my way, like they can't believe my luck, and it takes considerable self-control not to look too smug. Because around them, she's always in control, always the perfect officer.

But when I get her home, she's mine. There are times when we make love and I look down at her face -- her cheeks flushed with passion, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open and gasping for air, her hair messed up -- and I know that I'm the only one who ever sees her this way. Even better is the knowledge that I'm the one responsible for reducing her to a quivering bundle of nerves whose only thought is to dig her fingers into my ass and tell me not to stop.

I gotta tell you, it makes me feel like a *god*.

Right now, Sam's not looking untouchable. She stares at me from her chair, eyes smoldering with intent. And what she's wearing... oh my God.

"You're going to give me a heart attack one of these days, you know," I scold her, trying to ignore the immediate stirring in my groin.

Moving closer, she just smiles, her body revealed in the soft candlelight. "Maybe. But you'll die with a smile on your face," she promises. And she's probably right. Sam doesn't usually go in for lingerie, but in the spirit of the holidays, she must have decided to make an exception. A sleek cherry-red satin negligee skims her curves, the hem just barely covering her ass. She's even wearing sheer black stockings with seams up the back and high heels. The mere sight of her is enough to make me beg for mercy, but I decide against it. The anticipation of what she'll do keeps me silent and submissive.

With a wicked grin, she turns towards the dresser, and I sigh at the sight of her long, shapely legs. She *knows* what those stockings do to me, and she shifts from side to side, showing off, aware that I'm watching. Then, picking something up, she turns to me again, pulling it onto her head.

A Santa hat. Her cheeks flush a bit, as they always do when she knows she's being silly, but her eyes maintain that languorous heat. "Tell me, Jack," she drawls, slowly licking her shiny red lips, "have you been naughty or nice this year?"

I laugh, but my body doesn't find any of this the least bit amusing. I want her over here, now! But I've got a reputation to uphold, so I reply in kind. "That depends," I say, the huskiness of my voice belying my casual reply. "What sort do you prefer?"

Slowly walking closer to the bed, she smiles wickedly. "Hmmm," she purrs, sitting down on the edge of the mattress and kicking off her shoes. "Tonight? Naughty."

"Oh. Good. I can do that." I smile lazily, ignoring the insistent throb of arousal. "I've been very, very bad this year. What are you going to do about it?"

Leaning forward, she kisses my forehead softly. In this position, I get a great view down the front of her nightgown, but I can't touch her. The scent of her perfume tantalizes me, but all I can do is lie here and take whatever she dishes out. God, I'm so lucky. "Punish you, of course," she whispers, quickly tracing the curve of my ear with her tongue. I choke back a sigh and she laughs, next moving her mouth along the underside of my arm, setting my nerves ablaze wherever she touches. Meeting my gaze for a moment, she asks in concern, "This isn't going to bother you, is it?"

She's talking about my experiences as a POW. Four months of my life that I don't care to remember, although sometimes the memories surface in nightmares. But lately, when I wake up trembling with shock, she's here with me; not trying to calm me with whispered platitudes, but holding me close, accepting that just being next to me is the best thing she can do. It's not enough to make the nightmares go away completely, but it's a damned sight better than waking alone and drowning my recollections in too much beer. These days, if I drink, it's not alone.

That must be why she left the knots so loose. She knows I enjoy these little games we play with each other on occasion, but she didn't want to do anything that might hurt me. She leans against me on the bed, passion and solicitude warring within her, waiting for my decision. "No, Sam. This is just fine," I tell her hoarsely. She's not only a million times more beautiful than anyone I saw in Iraq, but she loves me. She might drive me crazy before she's done, but she'll never hurt me.

Tossing the hat to the floor, she slides under the blanket to join me, the cool smooth fabric of her lingerie and stockings making my skin prickle. Then she proceeds to drive all thoughts of my military career straight out of my head. Her hands and mouth tease me mercilessly, and she concentrates all her attention above my waist, ignoring my whispered requests and suggestions about what else she could do. I wrap my hands around my bonds and arch my back, sighing her name as she kisses a trail of fire across my chest.

"Tease," I grate out between clenched teeth as she rubs one silky leg against mine. Twisting onto my side, I press against her, but she only laughs, easily sliding away.

"You're the one who said you'd been naughty," she reminds me. However, apparently I haven't been that bad, because she slides the straps of her negligee off her shoulders. A few quick twists of her hips slide the fabric down to pool at her feet, where she steps out of it.

Standing in front of me, clad only in a garter belt and stockings, she's completely revealed to my gaze. I know every inch of her body, from the curve of her hips, the arch of her feet, and the weight of her breasts in my hands; yet she still steals my breath and turns my mouth as dry as dust. Lifting one foot onto the bed, she reaches for the clasp of her garters, prompting me into speech.

"Leave them on," I tell her, and she raises her eyebrows, then smiles. Sliding back onto the bed, she pushes the blanket aside, giggling at my reaction as the fabric brushes against my erection. I barely have time to stifle my moan before her warm hands grasp me, and I raise my hips against her.

"Don't move," she whispers, settling herself between my legs, and rubbing her smooth cheek against my stomach. Her hands slide up and down my shaft, never providing quite enough pressure; just enough to keep me gasping and begging for more. Then, because I've never been one to just lie back and do nothing, I slide one of my legs between hers, raising my knee until I can feel her skin against mine. Sighing with approval, she presses against me, slowly rubbing back and forth as she kisses my stomach and sides.

Then, after thoroughly exploring my ticklish spots, she leans forward, trapping me between her breasts. Helplessly, I moan as she moves her warm skin over mine, the soft friction unbearably erotic. Briefly, I consider slipping my wrists free and just grabbing her, but while I'm deliberating over my actions, she shifts lower, and takes me into her mouth.

The sudden increase in sensation is overwhelming, and my hips arch off the mattress until she gently pushes me back down. Leisurely, she wraps her tongue around my shaft, always varying the pressure and suction to keep me on the edge. Cupping my balls in one hand, she toys with me, teasing me until I have no ability to think, speak, or do anything except lie back and feel. Then, when she decides I've had enough torture, she increases the pressure, sucking hard and lightly scratching me with her teeth as she eases me in and out of her mouth.

Eyes squeezed shut, I have only enough cognitive skills left to know that I want to come inside her. "Sam, please..." my voice trails off as she strokes me once again, and I concentrate furiously on not climaxing.

"Hmmm?" she inquires, swirling her tongue around my swollen tip.

"God!" Oh dear God, has anything ever been this good? "Need you," I beg, and she smiles with satisfaction, sliding back up my body to kiss me. I return the kiss with equal passion, then moan again as she grazes her teeth over my shoulder. Then, straddling me, she slides back, pressing her damp flesh against my aching shaft.

A soft sigh escapes her lips as she rubs against me, never enough to actually take me inside her. Her warm juices coat both of us, and she bites down on her lower lip, whimpering at the insistent desire. When she leans forward once again, I capture a tight nipple in my mouth, flicking my tongue over the pebbled surface. She sighs softly as I do the same to her other breast, writhing over me. Then, grasping me in one hand, she quickly positions herself, and slowly slides onto me, sheathing me in her heated flesh.

We pause for a moment, catching our breath and savoring the feel of our bodies so closely joined, then she leans back, grabbing her legs and thrusting her hips forward. I move with her as best I can, digging my toes into the sheets and arching upwards on each stroke. Soon, the rooms fills with the sounds of our lovemaking: soft sighs, groans, and the occasional louder cry. Resolutely, I keep my eyes open, reveling in the sight of her above me. Her back is arched, her strong arms supporting her frantic movements, and her head falls back as her eyes squeeze shut, oblivious to anything but the sensuous feelings we bring forth and fulfill with each other.

When she gives one loud, startled cry, I know she's close to release, and I purposely slow down; carefully unwinding my hands from their restraints, and gritting my teeth against the ecstasy that threatens to overwhelm me. Then, finally free to touch her, I bring my hands to her hips. Holding her still, I thrust upwards forcefully, as deeply as possible. She shudders helplessly, her muscles beginning to quiver around me, then falls forward, a impassioned cry torn from her lips. Catching her in my arms, I hold her close as she trembles with release, gasping my name.

Then, clasping her hips tightly again, I rock against her slowly, drawing out the pleasure as my climax approaches, finally overcoming me with exquisite urgency. I lose all control, moaning loudly, and Sam raises her head from my shoulder to look at me, her eyes dark with love and passion. We roll onto our sides, embracing each other gently as we relax, our desire finally sated.

Later, she gets out of bed and goes into the bathroom. From my comfortable viewpoint, I watch as she washes herself and removes the garter belt and stockings. Still gloriously bare, she walks back towards me after blowing out all but one of the candles. Her hair is tousled, eyes drowsy and satisfied, and just like every time I see her this way, I thank God that she's mine, that she found in me someone she wants and loves.

Pulling the blankets back onto the bed, she joins me under the covers, and we curl up in each other's arms, tired and happy.

"So," I whisper softly, "if that's the punishment bad little boys get, I'll be sure and be bad every year from now on."

She chuckles, a quick vibration against my skin. "I'll be sure and let Santa know."

"Why? Are you here in an official capacity tonight?"

"Mmm hmm," she mumbles drowsily.

"Taking Santa's place for the evening?" She just nods, yawning. "So that would make you Subordinate Clause, huh?"

Quickly raising her head, she opens her eyes and glares at me. I can't control my wide, self-satisfied smile. "You're lucky I'm too tired to beat you up," she scolds me. "That was awful, Mr. Punster."

"But you love me anyway," I remind her.

Smiling tenderly at me, she gives me a vicious poke in the side, then kisses my nose. "You got that right." Grabbing a pillow, she snuggles against me and closes her eyes.

"Love you too, Sam." Lying in the semi-darkness, I smile. She claims to hate my puns and sarcastic comments, but she almost always smiles, anyway. She understands my moods and puts up with them, because there are times when she'll have them too. Maybe we've both had too many scars and wounds for anyone else to be able to handle us. But it doesn't feel like I've settled for her, or vice versa.

Love can't conquer all battles and soothe all wounds. But for both of us, what we have is enough. I don't have to keep everything about my career a secret from her, and it's amazing how comforting it is that we both know what the other's been through. I've stopped looking for total victory against all my demons, but I know that when I have to fight them, she'll be there with me.

Despite my occasional pestering, she still hasn't agreed to marry me, claiming that she still has to finish her misspent youth. It doesn't matter. We may not be legally joined, but our shared experiences and mutual love bind us together more tightly than words on paper could ever do.

Closing my eyes, I listen as her breathing settles into the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. We both have to work tomorrow, but after that we'll have four days of leave. Her brother and his family arrive from San Diego tomorrow night, and Jacob is due in tomorrow morning. It will be our first Christmas together, and I know she's looking forward to it.

A few days ago, I caught her fretting over a list of gifts yet to be bought, and I know there's a package inexpertly hidden in the back of my closet, oh-so-casually covered with one of her sweaters. Sam wants everything to be perfect, and no doubt I'll spend the next few days following all of her orders to help create a holiday as precise and complete as she desires. But as far as I'm concerned, I already have the perfect present. I have her.

When she spoke with Mark on the phone yesterday, apparently his kids were bouncing off the walls with excitement -- it'll be their first Christmas with snow. I'm a bit nervous about whether having kids in the house will bring back painful memories of my son, but I can't hide from my memories of Charlie, and I don't want to anymore. I need to remember him, to stop trying to forget, and perhaps, to even allow myself a small measure of forgiveness.

I'm sure that our first Christmas together will have liberal amounts of both the bitter and the sweet. But that's a damned sight better than just bitterness.

The End