Title: Better Than Television

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

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

Codes 'n Stuff: S/J PWP. Unabashed fluff. Nekkid silliness.

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

Season/Spoilers: No spoilers. Futurefic. (Finishipper? Me?)

Status: Complete.

Feedback: Sweet! Any and all welcomed.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

Summary: What does Jack do with all his spare time once he retires, anyway?

A/N: Certain people begged me to finish this, but I am not naming names. If you want, you can read it as taking place in the same universe as "Bad." Or not. Up to you. Definitely not a sequel or prequel or nuthin', no need to read that one first (or, you know, at all).

This story is not yet up on my site because the Tripod trolls, having lost their Suz-toy, are now directing their ire at me. Bah!

***

Better Than Television
by nanda (nanda@diary-x.com)
c. February 2003

This was going to be the most welcome bath ever, Sam thought as she tested the water with her fingertips one last time. She dropped her clothes in a heap on the linoleum and gratefully lowered herself into the tub. Ahhh ... she'd been waiting for this for nearly two weeks. Indoor plumbing was a wonderful, wonderful thing.

The mission hadn't been bad. It had just been long, and wet, and cold. They'd got the naquadah they wanted in the end and even returned through the gate twenty-two hours early; she'd showered on base but hadn't been able to shake the chill. Now the heat flowed through her, the steam tickled her nose, and she was not moving from this spot for anything.

She had to call Jack -- she'd told him she would as soon as they returned -- but it could wait ten minutes. He'd understand her need for some nice, clean, hot water. Then again, maybe she should have invited him over to share the bath? It had been her first extended mission since he'd retired, and therefore the longest they'd been apart since they'd started dating. Letting him wash her hair and soap up her back sounded incredibly appealing. As she thought about it, her hand drifted between her legs. But -- no. There'd be something even better later.

Next time, she told herself, slipping lower under the water. Anyway, it was only midafternoon, and he'd probably still be ...

She realized she didn't know *where* he'd be. She wasn't actually sure what he was doing with his time these days. Golf, a pile of books he'd borrowed from her and from the library, a little street hockey; she'd bought him season tickets for the Colorado Avalanche as a retirement gift, but it wasn't hockey season yet. He kept talking about getting a dog. Other than that ... well, that was something she'd have to investigate in much greater depth.

When the water started to cool, she climbed out, dried off, and wrapped herself in one of her favorite big, fluffy towels. She felt so relaxed she almost wanted to go straight to sleep -- until she entered her bedroom and nearly jumped out of her skin.

Her hand flew to her chest. "God, Jack! I didn't hear you come in."

He was sitting on the edge of her bed, still wearing his field coat and a crooked smile. His eyes laughed at her. "Yeah, I got that."

"How long have you -- what are you doing here? Not that I'm not glad to see you," she added quickly. Grasping the towel to make sure it didn't slide off, she bent down to give him a quick kiss.

He seemed vastly amused. And he looked -- and smelled, she noticed -- incredibly good. "A secret source told me they'd sprung you from the base. Welcome home, by the way."

"Thanks," she said absently, trying to think of who -- "Teal'c?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge that information."

She rolled her eyes. "Of course you're not."

"How'd it go?"

"Oh, I'm not at liberty to divulge *that* information," she teased. Strictly speaking, he no longer had clearance to know what she did for a living. And she felt no need to tell him of waking alone in the night in her sleeping bag, the ghosts of his hands on her skin. "Mostly it was cold. And wet. And I really needed a bath. I was going to call you as soon as I got dressed, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." And then, feeling a little shy for some reason, she confessed, "I missed you."

Something in his eyes shifted, softened, though the laughter was still there. It often was, now. "Me too," he said, reaching out for her hand and twining their fingers together.

Suddenly she became very conscious of what she was wearing, or not wearing, to be precise. And she was always precise.

She took a step closer. "Just how much did you miss me, exactly?"

"Uh," he said, frowning a little.

She decided to ignore the frown. It was kind of cute, anyway. "Speechless? That bad?"

"That bad."

She moved closer again, and after a moment's thought he led her towel-clad hips into his lap. He shifted back on the bed a little so she could kneel properly on either side of his thighs. Her hands landed on his shoulders.

"Hey," she said against his lips -- the all-purpose O'Neill greeting.

"Hey yourself."

The kiss was long and soft and it warmed her almost as much as the bath had. But then cold air abruptly touched her skin again, and his tongue in her mouth was so distracting that it took her a few seconds to realize he'd divested her of the towel.

"Hey! I was wearing that!"

"You were wearing too much." He spread his palms across her back, pulling her closer until her breasts pressed into the worn cotton of his t-shirt. His hand then trailed lower to cup her behind, while the other curled around her neck and held her at the right angle. Oooh, that was nice. He sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

"You're still wearing too much," she said as he began to kiss a path down her jaw to her throat.

"Nah." His tongue curled into her ear. Mmm. She'd always liked that, and it hadn't taken him long to figure it out.

He dragged soft fingers down her side and back up, lightly circling one nipple. Her head fell back and a low, happy sound came from somewhere in her throat.

"Like that, do you?" His teeth nipped at her earlobe.

"Ooh yeah." Her back arched completely without her consent, curving her bottom into his hand. No complaints there, except perhaps that his long fingers could be put to better use. She arched a little further, trying to give him a hint.

"Something you want there, Carter?"

"Mmm ..."

And suddenly she was flat on her back, her head on the pillow, and Jack was stretching out on his side next to her. She remembered that her hair was still quite wet and shivered, missing his heat. But when she reached for the waistband of his jeans, he pushed her hands away and carefully placed them over her head.

"Later," he said, sitting up to take off his jacket and drop it on the floor. Hey. When had he lost his shoes? "Gonna do a little sightseeing first."

"Sightseeing." She tried to sound nonchalant but he was busy covering her belly with his hand. Her hips wriggled. It was a challenge not to move her arms, but she played along.

"Oh, yeah. See, there's this woman I know -- spent seven years trying to get into her pants, in fact --"

"You spent seven years trying not to tear my pants *off*," she said. "Colonel."

"Retired. And whatever. Semantics. Anyway, I know this woman," he winked at her as his fingers inched lower, "biblically, I might add, and she has the most amazing orgasms."

And oh, didn't her ovaries do a little flip as he said that. God, he could play her like -- hmmm, like a Game Boy? Like a P-90? Neither was particularly flattering, and either should have embarrassed her. She felt many things at the moment, but embarrassment was not one of them.

"She's better than television," he concluded. His eyes were dark and far too enticing. She pouted, hoping he'd get the hint and kiss her. He did, too briefly. Damn. And why was she suddenly dizzy?

"So, uh," she tried to remember what they were talking about, "you thought you'd just -- uh -- sit back and watch for a while?"

He didn't answer, which only made her more eager, and his eyes teased her as his fingers slowly snaked through her curls. She hooked one leg over his to give him easier access, but it didn't make him move any faster. Frustrated, she dug her hands into the pillow to try to stay still. Then she whimpered, desperate, and felt her eyes slip shut.

And that's when his open lips landed on her already taut nipple. She arched into his mouth but he was gone too quickly, heading for the soft crease below. His tongue darted out to trace the circle outlining her breast just as his fingers finally, softly, caressed her. Oh, God. The very tip of one finger dipped inside and back out. She squirmed, trying to follow his hand as it moved away. He also pulled his mouth back, and blew a stream of cool air across her chest.

Before she could voice a complaint, his hand lightly covered her again. He began a soft exploration, still testing her responses to each touch and, she knew, making note of every one. The delicate scratch of a thumbnail made a deep shudder radiate out through her body. Painstakingly slow circles with two fingertips felt intimate and warm, with an occasional heavier pressure that drew the heat from her pelvis up through her chest.

Under her knee, his jeans felt rough to her sensitized skin. She ran her bare foot up the back of his calf and was absurdly proud to feel his hand still for just a second in response.

Watching him was impossible; her eyelids were just too heavy. Still, she could feel his gaze burning into her as he slowly drove her out of her mind. It was incredibly erotic, knowing he was studying her so closely, but it made her a little self-conscious, too. She did have that nasty perfectionistic streak. Right, Samantha, she thought to herself as her hips began thrusting uncontrollably against his touch, because it would be so wrong to come in a less-than-perfect way.

She squirmed and he pushed a little harder, but still not quite enough. He'd drawn out the torture this long; she knew she was in for a really powerful climax. The thought made her whimper again and she heard his low, satisfied chuckle. She wasn't going to beg, she wasn't, but oh, she wanted to. Surely he knew how close she was, if only by the fact that her hips kept bucking off the bed.

And then his touch changed again. Oh! God, knuckles. Rough and hard and incredibly, unbearably fast, a blur of motion and sensation that filled her until she was sure she would burst. Finally, she did: her orgasm came in one great WOOSH, like a black hole pulling her body down into the bed and then apart. Her ears actually rang. She thought she heard him say "Sam something something beautiful," but she really couldn't be sure.

By the time her brain reconnected with her body, she was still panting and it took her a few tries to blink open her eyes. His smile was -- well, it was something else. Exactly what, she wasn't sure. But she liked it. Oh yes.

"Welcome back," he said. "Again."

The only way she could manage to express her satisfaction was with a groan.

"Speechless?" he teased. His fingers, she realized belatedly, had moved inside her to feel the occasional pulse of an aftershock; his thumb rested warmly on her clitoris and felt very, very nice.

"That was," she managed finally. "Wow."

"Glad to hear it."

She found herself rolling onto her side and curling up against his chest. She wasn't finished with him yet, but the combined effects of the bath and that near-out-of-body-experience had left her spent, and quite possibly brain-dead.

Jack just laughed and pulled her closer, burying his nose in her hair with a happy "Mmm."

"Good show?" she asked drowsily.

He kissed the top of her head. "Oh yeah."

She actually dozed off after that. She never, ever dozed. When she awoke -- she didn't know how long it had been, but hoped not more than a few minutes -- she was able to prop herself up on one elbow and meet his gaze. "Sorry about that," she said.

His hand slid to rest on her hip. "Hey. Naked blonde in my arms. Totally not complaining."

"Hmm," she agreed. "But we have some unfinished business, don't we?" Her fingers zeroed in on the denim at his groin, and he jumped.

"Jesus, Sam!" His hips actually pulled back, out of her reach.

Well, that was odd. Not just the fact that he was now at the other edge of the bed, but ... she'd expected to find him, well, a lot more aroused than that, certainly.

"Jack? You okay?"

"Uh. Yeah, yeah. Fine." His eyes darted about the room, avoiding her. Odd.

"So don't you want --"

"Nono. It's okay. The spectator thing is really working for me today."

She sat up, narrowing her eyes a him. "You know, it's no big deal if --"

"Shit," he said, his head falling onto the pillow as he rolled over onto his back. He flung an arm over his eyes, hiding from her. "It's nothing like that. God. Believe me, I can. I definitely can." His shoulder was already *off* the bed; if he tried to retreat any further he'd be on the floor.

Sam just waited, watching him. She had a feeling, judging by his flustered response, that something very amusing was about to happen. She couldn't imagine what.

"I, uh," he said finally, "I really missed you, Carter."

"Right ..." she said slowly, confused. "We've established that. I missed you too."

One eye peeked out at her from beneath his arm, while the other hand gesticulated wildly. "No, I mean, I *really* missed you."

She blinked. She had no idea what he was trying to tell her.

Exasperated, he finally sat up to face her. "You know, for a genius, you can sometimes be really slow on the uptake." But the way he said it, it was impossible to take offense. "I had to take matters into, uh, my own hands." He grimaced at the terrible metaphor. "You know?"

Realization suddenly dawned. "Oh!" she said. "You ... right." She would not laugh. She would not. She also wouldn't make the obvious pun on his name. He'd probably heard it plenty of times in the locker room in junior high.

And anyway, it was kind of flattering. Sweet, even. Verging on adorable. She assembled the facts together in her head, and put together a rough timeline of events. "And you didn't expect me home until tomorrow, so you were just --"

"Before Teal'c called. Yeah."

"Which was, what, forty-five minutes ago?"

"I guess." He looked absolutely miserable. He was actually blushing, but she wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been so close. She remembered that he was just enough older than she was to have been taught that certain things were unmentionable in mixed company, under any circumstances. Interesting. She filed that knowledge away for future use.

And she tried very hard not to say it. She really did, but she couldn't help herself. "How old are you again?" she asked.

He groaned, but she could hear the humor in his voice, too. "Carter!" Both hands flew wildly above her bed. "*Really* missed you," he said. "Really."

Yeah, it definitely was sweet, though he'd hate to be told that. And she didn't feel like laughing anymore, though she knew she was wearing a thoroughly smitten smile. She crawled towards him and curled her fingers against his cheekbone. "Well," she said, trying to sound seductive, which was something she really didn't consider herself to be expert at, "Maybe I can help you out?"

He laughed, more to show her that he appreciated the sentiment than because it was genuinely funny, she thought. "Give me a few hours. We'll get dinner, I'll --"

"I don't want to wait a few hours."

"One hour?"

She just looked at him.

Eventually he shook his head, obviously trying not to laugh. "Samantha Carter, wanton sex fiend?"

This time she shrugged. She could live with that assessment. She did like sex an awful lot.

He gave her a lopsided grin as she reached for his t-shirt. "You sure you're up for this, Carter? I mean, you *have* been incredibly busy in my imagination these last few days."

"Have I now. And just how long have I been playing an active role in your ... imagination, Jack?" The shirt ended up somewhere across the room.

"*Totally* cannot divulge *that* information," he said. Then his expression changed, and he regarded her strangely. "Don't try to tell me you never --"

"Of course I do!"

His raised eyebrow said something along the lines of "Duh." What actually came out of his mouth was, "Never doubted it for a minute. I meant when we were working together, smartass."

"Um. Maybe once or twice?" They both knew it was a lie, and damn that fair skin of hers. She concentrated very hard on unbuckling his belt.

"Once. Or. Twice?"

"Had enough of this conversation now," she announced, fully aware that her face was telling him something completely different. "Strip. That's an order."

He smirked. "This command stuff's going to your head."

"Yeah, and I'm good at it. Come on, what are you waiting for? Off, off!"

Laughing aloud now, he complied. His jeans momentarily landed on her head before she tossed them elsewhere. "I'm really not as young as I used to be, though, Carter," he objected as he shimmied out of his boxers. Hmmm. This stripping thing was kind of fun. "I'm not sure it's gonna happen right now."

"It is," she said, determined. "If I have anything to do with it." She was not accustomed to failure. Playfully, she pushed him back on the bed -- thoroughly enjoying his grin as he looked up at her, waiting.

"Your having something to do with it is kind of the point," he said.

"Oh, right." She ran her hands up the insides of his legs and he jokingly protested again. But she was having none of that.

Instead, she bit at his calf. Dropped a kiss on his knee. Tugged at a few rough hairs with her teeth. Followed the outline of his slim hips and then laid her hands flat on his stomach, to hold him still.

He hadn't been lying -- he definitely needed some help. Well, she'd always liked a challenge. And hey, she figured, no need to go slowly. In one smooth movement she sucked him into her mouth and laved at the tip with her tongue. He jumped, unintentionally pushing himself further in.

"Whoa," he said. "You could give a guy some warning there." But his fingers lightly danced over her scalp and she could feel him straining against the impulse to pull her closer. She drew her teeth ever so lightly up his skin, teased just under the head with the tip of her tongue, and lifted her eyes so she could see his face.

He was still watching her, intently, with an expression she'd grown very fond of in a relatively short time. Their eyes met and held, and she smiled to realize that the contact was making her job a lot easier. Finally she sat back with a satisfied smirk, then crawled up his legs to straddle his hips. He still wasn't fully erect but she thought it would do, and it did.

Jack gave a long sigh and she had to resist the urge to ride him mindlessly -- much better, at the moment, to rotate her hips as slowly as she could bear. And the feel of him growing harder inside her -- God.

"Jesus, Sam," he mumbled, grabbing her hips and encouraging her to change direction.

"Better?" she asked.

"Oh yeah. Jesus."

Lowering her chest to his, she kissed him while curling her arms under his shoulders. "Over," she said in his ear. He made a little sound of affirmation, pulled her close, and rolled them both very carefully. She ended up on her back with her feet in the air and her hands pulling her knees so far apart she thought she might split in two. The position always made her feel alive and exposed and loved and, yes, even a little wanton, as he'd joked earlier. She had to use her stomach muscles to meet him and she knew she'd be pleasantly sore later.

He rose up a bit on his arms, taking in the sight of her, and faked a leer. "Where's that digital camera when I need it?"

"You think you're funny," she said. Not exactly her best comeback.

"Yes. Yes, I do, actually. Very funny. Yes."

"Well, I think that you're going to be left to your own devices again if you don't get to work." Oh yes, doing much better in the comeback department now. And feeling pretty fine, too.

He smiled indulgently, letting her have the last word for once, then rested his elbows somewhere near her shoulders. Drew himself as far out of her as he dared, and agonizingly, inch by inch, pushed back in. And again. And again, over and over.

He was watching her face with intense concentration as he moved. In. "You need some help?" Out.

She shook her head regretfully. He had been very thorough, earlier. "Too tender. This is great, though." God, yes, the perfect friction and pressure as he slowly, slowly fucked her. With each stroke she tightened around him, trying her best to hold him in. Fantastic.

"Mmm. Pretty great. Yeah." And after another few seconds, "You feel incredible."

She grinned. "You always say that."

"It's always true. Wait -- hold on -- " He stopped just long enough to shift his upper arms under her knees, freeing her hands. She touched his back, his hair, his ears (like a puppy, he loved it when she rubbed just behind his ears), the back of his neck where the Goa'uld scar should be but no longer was. She wanted to reach his ass but her arms weren't quite long enough. Damn.

The stretch in her thighs was exquisite, and the look on his face was not bad, either -- eyes shut now, with that dreamy smile she'd seen a few times over the years but had only recently learned to interpret correctly. She laid three fingers on his lips and he sucked them into his mouth, capturing them tightly and moving his tongue in concert with his body. Oh yeah. Long and slow and deep and so very perfect.

His breath was growing labored so she pulled back her hand, but there was no shutting up Jack O'Neill. "For the record?" he said. "This is ... way better ... than my imagination."

Her fingers combed through his hair. "Um. Thanks. I think."

He fell quiet after that, moving faster and faster until, with a sharp cry, he went still and trembled in her arms. And in the aftermath she gently pushed him onto his side so they faced each other, still joined, with one of her legs tightly hugging his hips to her.

"Really missed you," he said quietly, leaning forward to touch her lips with his own.

She rubbed his back while his breathing steadied, and his hands cradled her head. She couldn't help her vocal, satisfied sigh. She loved the feel of his hands in her hair -- such a simple thing.

"Hey, Carter?" His eyes were suddenly wide open, and she could tell they were back to O'Neill standard operating procedure.

"Yeah?"

"Now can we get some dinner?"

She nudged him with her shoulder, giggling a little. "Now I need another bath," she said, as grumpily as she could manage.

"Not unless you let me in with you."

"It's funny you should --"

"And not until after we get some food. You wear me out, Carter."

His foot tapped against hers until she gave in. "Okay, okay," she said. "God, you're impossible."

He grinned and kissed her once more before jumping up. Stark naked (ooh), he moved quickly around the room to collect his scattered clothing. Sam allowed herself a few seconds to appreciate the view and then began to look for some clean clothes of her own. Oh yeah, definitely a little sore, but absolutely the best kind of sore.

The towel, she noticed, was on the carpet near the bedroom door. And she didn't even want to know what her hair looked like now; between the pillow and his fingers it must have dried into a horrible mess. Maybe another bath really was a good idea. Not alone, though, this time.

She was in the closet when it came to her. She snorted. Actually, she kind of choked.

Already smiling at the joke he hadn't heard yet, Jack looked up from the floor where he was pulling on his socks. His chest was still bare, his t-shirt slung over his shoulder. "What?"

"Um. Nothing." Of course she was going to tell him, it was just worth drawing out.

He whined. "Carter ..."

"Okay, okay. It's nothing, really." She was careful to appear nonchalant, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she selected a burgundy twinset. "When I was in the bath earlier, I was just thinking that I don't really know how you've been spending most of your time while I'm offworld. And now I --"

His groan was as entertaining as it was predictable. "For crying out loud, Carter!"

And the look on his face, as she turned to catch it, was something she never wanted to forget. How had he put it?

Better than television. *Definitely.*

***

fin.

"You're so cute when you're frustrated, dear." ~ Interpol

Soundtrack: Warsaw, Joy Division, and Interpol; the tiny bit of Smiths towards the end was entirely cgb's fault.