Title: Bad

Author: nanda (nanda@diary-x.com)

Rating: NC-17 (explicit m/f sex, naughty words)

Codes 'n Stuff: SJR/PWP/fluff/futurefic (I hang my normally angst-ridden head in shame.)

Archive: SJD yes; all others please ask first. I usually say yes.

Spoilers: A wee one for S6 "Abyss."

Feedback: Any and all welcomed.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

Summary: "They might be smack dab in the middle of their can't-keep-our-hands-off-each-other phase, but hey, he did have to leave the house occasionally."

A/N: I. Have. No. Willpower. Also, this marks the third fandom in a row in which I've debuted with a smutfic. Shit.

***

Bad
by nanda (nanda@diary-x.com)

It was on a Thursday night, at precisely 22:03, in one of the classiest restaurants in town, that he finally, absolutely lost it.

Colonel Jack O'Neill, USAF, four weeks and three days into what he called his golden years (oh yeah, she'd smirked at that) had known it was a bad idea from the beginning. But he'd never let *that* stop him before. So, like an idiot, he had, in public, asked his former second-in-command to describe to him exactly what she wanted him to do to her when they got home.

During the main course, even.

Yeah, not a good idea at all. But what could he say? They might be smack dab in the middle of their can't-keep-our-hands-off-each-other phase, but hey, he did have to leave the house occasionally.

Still, it wasn't until the third or fourth filthy word issued from her pretty little mouth, oh-so-close to his ear, that he realized just exactly *how* bad the idea was. Truly, stunningly, astoundingly bad. Um, yes -- and here he had to fight not to squirm in his seat -- excruciatingly bad. Absolutely the worst idea he had ever had, which was saying a lot.

And as her hand snaked under the table to settle (far too comfortably in his opinion) rather high up on his inner thigh, his brain went *SNAP*.

His fork, not coincidentally, fell with a clank onto his plate.

He grabbed her wrist with one hand and signaled the waiter with the other. "Leaving now, Carter," he said tightly.

She sat back in her chair. "Now?"

He spared her one quick glance, and he had to admit: she was good. She was actually managing to look confused, surprised, aroused, and innocent all at the same time. And that, he knew, was bad, bad news for him.

Um, in a good way. Bad news in a really good and hot way. Right.

The waiter brought their bill, trying politely to ask if there was anything else he could do for them. Jack waved him away and caught Carter trying to hide a smile out of the corner of his eye. Oh, that was it, the last straw. He grinned and moved closer to her ear, mirroring the position she'd been in a few moments earlier.

"In about sixty seconds," he said slowly, stretching the words out, "I am going to fuck you senseless right on this table. So I think we'd better leave." Then he pulled back quickly enough to watch her eyes go wide and her cheeks go pink. Perfect.

At least, until her entire face broke out in one of the biggest Carter-smiles he'd ever seen. Sweet! No, wait ...

"Really?" she asked.

"Not funny, Carter," he grumbled, ignoring her soft laugh and the way she bit her lower lip.

He let go her wrist so he could count out the cash from his wallet -- no way in hell was he going to wait for credit card approval -- and thought that the poor man would have no idea what he did to deserve a forty percent tip.

"Shall we?" He offered his hand as they stood.

Carter kept her head down while they walked, and he just knew, without looking, exactly which expression she wore on her face. He intentionally touched the small of her back as he held the door open for her, nodding tensely at the hostess who thanked them and asked them to come back soon.

At the moment he was pretty sure that dining here again would be a very bad idea. Not quite as bad as the one he'd had earlier, but pretty far up there.

The place had been much busier when they'd arrived, so his truck was at the far corner of the lot and relatively isolated. Thank God, because he could have been parallel parked on Main Street at noon and it wouldn't have made a difference in what he was about to do.

He bundled her wordlessly into the tight back seat and followed her in. They were both too tall -- not to mention too old -- for this, but he really, really did not give a shit.

"Here?" she asked, with genuine surprise in her voice.

"Would you prefer the table?"

Her grin was absolutely priceless (and really, really hot) but he wasn't going to tell her that. "You're impossible," he muttered. She just raised an eyebrow in return.

Right, then. He wasn't getting any younger (though he sorta felt it, lately) and he wasn't wasting any time. He'd have to kneel in the few inches of floor behind the passenger seat to get this right, but oh, it would so be worth it.

He coaxed her into a half-sitting, half-lying position, pushed up her skirt (it was a pretty blue; did she know how much he liked her in blue?) and pulled her panties (hey, blue silk) down over her shoes. God, she was wet already; he could smell it in the close air of the truck. He didn't look at her face, didn't kiss her. He did catch himself trying not to growl as he pushed her thighs apart, buried his face between them, and set his tongue to work.

Jack had learned more than a few things in the last four weeks, including the fastest and most efficient way to melt her into a puddle of Carterish goo.

Her voice was ragged. "Oh, God, Jack ..."

He smiled against her flesh and ducked two fingers inside her. One of her hands flew to his head, the other still holding her in her awkward pose against the seat. He wasn't entirely sure where her feet were, but he didn't particularly care, either.

Her fingers slid through his hair and pulled him closer. God, she was So. Incredibly. Hot. and he couldn't remember how he'd managed to work side by side with her for nearly seven years without embarrassing himself on a daily basis. Of course, if he'd known then the sound she made just before she came -- a tiny, completely un-Carter-like squeal that was, no contest, the sexiest thing Jack had ever heard -- he probably wouldn't have made it through their first mission together. Her hips wriggled and bucked under his ministrations and she whispered his name again -- his second favorite sound.

It wasn't easy to undo his khakis and pull himself out of his shorts one-handed, but he managed. At the same time he listened carefully for her telltale squeal, pushed on just the right spot inside her, and focused his tongue on the stiff little bundle of nerves that would set her off.

Oh yeah. Jack O'Neill could multitask with the best of them.

And she was so, so close. He heard her suck in a long breath and knew it was time to make his move -- quickly up her body to capture her mouth as she squealed and her orgasm washed over her. He felt the waves as he withdrew his fingers and replaced them with something else.

She tossed her head madly against the seat back (So. Incredibly. Hot) but he followed. Her low moan, as he settled deep within, was more of a hum that he felt through his teeth. He stilled for a moment, just enjoying the feel of her despite his body's almost unbearable need to *move*. (He had actually, to his lasting shame, used the ancient, corny cliche about this being his favorite place in the universe on their third night together. Well, it had sounded romantic at the time.)

He lifted her hips and dug his fingers into her shapely behind so he could slam into her, hard ... or as hard as he could in their cramped quarters. And now he knew exactly where her feet were, because her ankles locked behind his back. The heel of one shoe angled into his spine just the smallest bit, but it was good, so good. Her tongue swept through his mouth though he could tell she was still breathing heavily. He was starting to have trouble in the oxygen department himself. But her hands clutched his head tightly to her, no escape.

So. Incredibly. Hot. And evil, pure evil. And humming again, one long note that vibrated through his bones and straight to where their bodies merged. He managed to pull away from her once to gasp in some air, and as she dragged him back for another deep kiss he exploded. He actually heard a low, predatory cry that startled him until he realized it was coming from his own mouth. And then he collapsed, his forehead falling to rest on her collarbone as he tried desperately to fill his lungs again.

He dropped a light kiss on the skin exposed by her v-neck sweater (not blue, too bad), and realized that she was drawing soothing circles on his back with the palm of one hand. Mmm, nice. And she pulled him up a little, so they were both -- almost -- lying on the bench seat.

Thank God that damned sarcophagus had fixed his knees two years ago, or he'd be in deep, deep trouble right now.

When he was pretty sure he could talk again, he raised his head to find her wiping her mouth with two fingers, and looking way too pleased with herself.

"You're a menace, Carter," he said.

She toyed with his hair, which he had to admit felt really good. "Well, you did ask."

"I'm not exactly known for my brilliant ideas." He sat up just enough to reassemble his clothes. "And that was a spectacularly bad one."

"Oh, I don't know. I kind of liked it."

"You would." He bent down for a quick kiss, to seal the point, then finished zipping up.

Carter leaned to the edge of the seat, reaching to the floor to find her underwear, and Jack had an idea. A good idea, this time. "No," he said, grasping her wrist as he'd done in the restaurant. "Leave 'em off."

She widened her eyes, and swallowed, but nodded anyway. A smile played with the edge of her mouth as she tugged her skirt down. Then she somehow -- he was sure he'd never know exactly how she'd managed it -- climbed into the front passenger seat.

Jack couldn't hope to match that. He had to push the driver's seat forward, open the door, and climb out, all while pointedly ignoring her sweet "Do you need some help?"

He was about to climb back in when he realized he'd been spotted by a parking lot security guard about ten yards away. Crap. Getting arrested for indecent exposure would so not look good on Carter's permanent record.

Of course, the entire thing was her fault, so it might be only fair.

The guard aimed his flashlight right at Jack, who was busy telling himself *not* to look at Carter.

"Uh, hi," he said, raising one hand in a half-wave and feeling completely, utterly ridiculous. "How ya' doin'?" He didn't wait for a response before jumping behind the wheel and locking all the doors. Apparently that was Carter's cue to collapse into a fit of slightly hysterical giggles -- his third favorite sound.

"Your fault," he said grumpily as he started the engine.

"Just because you have all the self-control of a --"

"AH! Stop right there!" He held up a hand but he couldn't stop grinning like the idiot he was. "I could have all the self-control of a eunuch and I'd still be no match for you."

Wait. Had he really just said that? Shit.

She looked ... smug. Way too smug. And it was definitely payback time.

"So, Carter," he drawled as he pulled out into traffic, "Wanna hear what you're going to do to me when we get to your house?"

She bit her lip and bowed her head, trying hard not to smile.

So he told her. In exquisite detail. And ... oh, yeah. The way her chest tinged pink? The way she squirmed restlessly in the seat? The way her breath caught in her throat, so quietly that he almost couldn't hear it?

So. Totally. Worth it. All of it.

Huh. Maybe they'd be back to that place after all. She did have the entire weekend off for once ...

***

fin.

Soundtrack: A seriously kick-ass, eclectic mix I made for Amanda C. but have not mailed yet because I am enjoying it far too much.