TITLE: Duty's Argument

AUTHOR: Nicky Chevalier

FEEDBACK: Yes!!!! NickyChevalier@yahoo.com

CATEGORY: Jack/Sam romance, challenge fic

SPOILERS: None, that I can think of.

SEASON: 6

RATING: NC-17

CONTENT WARNINGS: Sex, of course! *g*

SUMMARY: The SGC security cameras place Sam & Jack in an interesting situation.

STATUS: Complete

ARCHIVE: Heliopolis, SJ Archive, anywhere else just let me know.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Response to the SamJackNC17 list xmas challenge. The fic had to include:
1. Mistletoe.
2. Any type of traditional Christmas food.
3. An item of red clothing.
4. The list motto, "Screw the regs!"
5. NC-17 rating.

Happy Holidays everyone!!

***

This is so not my fault.

As far as a defence goes... that's pretty much the best I can come up with at the moment.

I realise that the evidence-- namely the room's current state of disarray, my rather obvious lack of clothing, and the decidedly provocative matching set of red underwear decorating the floor-- rather contradicts my plea of innocence. But this really isn't my fault.

Much.

Well, I did come here in the first place, so it's a *little* bit my fault. But I wasn't the one who made the dramatic gesture of sweeping everything from his desk onto the floor. That was all him. I take no responsibility for the mess.

I hope his laptop is okay.

Why he did that, I don't know; his office does have a couch that would have been perfectly suitable. Not that I'm complaining. Far from it. That little scenario worked out very well for me, thankyou very much.

Well, until the part where I woke up with a hangover and no clothing. As in, completely and utterly naked. In my superior's office. *Naked*. In the arms of my commanding officer. And did I mention the naked part?

I'm never drinking again.

Truth be told; the waking up in his arms thing? Not the worst feeling in the world. I could get used to it.

It's just the thought of the impending court martial that's got me slightly concerned.

Well, maybe not so slightly. I think I'm gonna be sick.

See, here's the thing a lot of people don't know about me. Well, at least a lot of people who weren't at last night's impromptu Christmas party in the commissary don't know this about me. The ones who were, probably have a fair idea by now that I don't handle alcohol very well.

It's true. I can hit a moving target dead centre from 250 feet away with a single shot, take on an army of crazed Jaffa and live to tell the tale, and kick the crap out of just about anyone who stands in my way. A few shots of tequila, however, will have me out of commission faster than a close range blast from a staff weapon.

Alcohol and I just do not mix. I had this drink once on P3X595, and... well, I woke up naked that time, too.

But there were no security cameras to capture that little adventure. This, however, is an entirely different kettle of fish.

The Colonel is not going to be happy when he wakes up.

At least we're on downtime; we can't get hauled up for drinking on duty, too. Not that that'll help much. I can just see the Judge now. "Oh, you were off active duty at the time? Well, why didn't you say so? Case dismissed."

Yeah, right.

But, on the bright side, I have a plan. Well, kind of. It's not really much of plan, but it's a shot. I'll probably be committing about 150 court-martialable offences in the process, but hey, in for a penny, right?

***

First, though, I have to get up.

His office is cold. Or maybe it's just the loss of his body heat. Either way, clothing would be welcome right now. I just need to find it under all this mess.

I can see my jacket, that's a start. How it got all the way up there, I don't know, but it's probably best not to question it. And I think my pants are under that pile of papers over there. Now if I can just find m-- Oh my god.

You know what the absolute worst sound in the world is, when you're standing naked in the office of your CO?

The sound of someone knocking on the door.

Okay, if I'm quiet, they'll go away, right? Colonel O'Neill, however, who has just woken up and has no idea what's going on, is about to speak. That could be a bit of a problem.

To his credit, he doesn't even struggle when I cover his mouth with my hand. You know you're trusted when you can suddenly clamp your hand over the mouth of a special ops trained USAF Colonel and he doesn't even make a sound.

He nods against my hand, agreeing to my not-so-subtle request for silence, though I'm pretty sure he still has absolutely no idea why. Understanding flares in his gaze, however, when the intruder knocks again, and we stare silently at the door and wait for whoever the hell that is to get the message and go away.

Well, *I* stare at the door. I'm pretty sure his eyes are... elsewhere. But I'm choosing to ignore that at the moment.

Finally we're left alone, and I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. The Colonel, however, doesn't seem to share my relief; he looks panicked. Which is saying something, because Jack O'Neill does not often panic. But right now, he's looking from me, to the security camera, and back to me, and he looks absolutely terrified.

I should probably get dressed.

***

Despite what they say about gender equality and all that, women in the military are a pretty rare thing. Which, I guess, is why we tend to stick together.

Captain Jennifer Westerholm and I have been friends for about three years now, ever since Teal'c and I shot her with a zat and took over her surveillance station when aliens came through the gate impersonating SGC officers and took over the base. Funny the things that bring you together in a place like this.

Anyway, I'm hoping that friendship will serve me well today.

She looks up as I enter the security station and her grin tells me that she's been here all night. Good. I was counting on that.

"I had a feeling you'd be coming to see me today," she laughs, and I manage to look sheepish. "So, you finally bedded the delectable Colonel O'Neill... Congratulations."

She's still grinning, and I smile back half-heartedly, pulling up a seat and falling into it heavily. "What am I gonna do?"

"Well, no-one's going to be getting a report from me; as far as I'm concerned, I didn't see a thing." She pauses, throwing me a sympathetic look. "Though the security tape may disagree with me."

I raise a hopeful eyebrow at her. "Yeah; about that..."

Her eyes widen. "You can't be serious."

I look pleadingly at her. "I'd have it back here by afternoon. Tomorrow morning at the latest."

She stares at me reluctantly. Not that I blame her. Finally though, she sighs in resignation. "Okay, here's what I'm gonna do. I'm going to turn around right now and check out this monitor here. And if you just happened to pick up that tape sitting right there on top of that pile without my knowledge... well, there's not a lot I could do about it, is there?"

Bless women's solidarity. We're saved. Well, maybe.

She does turn around, and I grab the tape, hug the woman who probably just saved my job, and run for it before she can change her mind.

"You owe me!" Her shout follows me down the hall as I head for my lab.

I grin. If this works, I swear I will spend every day for the rest of my life making it up to her.

And Jack damn well better spend every day... or better yet, every *night*... making it up to me.

Whoa, that thought came from nowhere.

And when the hell did I start calling him 'Jack'?!

***

Alright, here's my brilliant plan. I'm going to erase the part of the tape featuring Ja-- Colonel O'Neill and I, and replace it with a looped recording of the Colonel's empty office. After I doctor the timestamp, it'll be like we were never there. I hope.

...Okay, so maybe 'brilliant' was a bit of an overstatement. Actually, I'm starting to think that 'plan' is also a rather optimistic description. 'Really idiotic way to get us both into incredibly huge amounts of trouble' sounds more fitting.

But hey, I've come this far.

I put the tape into the machine and press play, watching the minutes on the timestamp tick by in fast forward until I see his office door open and close. The Jack on the tape walks into the room, runs his fingers wearily through his hair and drops onto the couch, looking incredibly sober considering the amount of alcohol he consumed in the relatively short time we stayed at the party.

He sits quietly for a few moments, and then I see his head snap up towards the door in surprise as it opens. Oh boy. Here comes my big entrance. I kick the door shut with my foot and just stand there. Waiting; with this 'come-hither' look plastered across my face.

Did I mention that I'm never drinking again? Ever?

This is where I should stop, rewind, and get to work on erasing all of this. But... I don't. I can't help it. I'm mesmerised. The way he's looking at me... I can see the exact second where the last traces of his self-control shatter.

We're not saying anything, just looking at each other, and the elaborate wall we've spent so much time building up between us is starting to crumble before our eyes. I can see the internal struggle he's stuck in between, the one where Duty calmly but firmly recites AFI-36-2909 while Desire jumps up and down chanting "Screw the Regs! Screw the Regs! Screw the Regs!"

I know that particular battle quite well. Right now, for instance, Duty is screaming 'turn that tape off right now, Major!'. Desire is saying something entirely different.

Last night, at least, Desire finally seems to have won out, 'cause one second we're on opposite sides of the room, and the next, we're... well, not. I'm actually having trouble figuring out which limbs belong to which soldier. That wall is a long-forgotten pile of dust and rubble at our feet.

And the way he's kissing me... did it just get hot in here?

His fingers tangle in my hair, holding me steady for his questing mouth. And tongue. I can't see it on the screen, of course, but I remember the tongue. And let me tell you, it's good for a hell of a lot more than making smart-ass wisecracks and yelling at Jonas.

***

His face disappears from view, buried somewhere in the vicinity of my neck, and whatever he's doing there it sure looks like I'm enjoying it. I clutch at his shoulders, my head tilting back to give him better access, my breath quickening. And not just on the tape. I swear to god it just rose about 15 degrees in here.

He strips off my jacket, throwing it playfully over his shoulder as his lips cover mine again in a heated embrace. Ah, so *that's* how part of my uniform ended up dangling from a corner of his bookshelf.

He tugs at my shirt, trying to lift it over my head, but my hands are obviously far too busy exploring the hard muscles underneath his own shirt to cooperate. He growls something too low for me to hear, so I hit rewind and turn up the volume.

"Help me out here, Carter."

On the screen, my arms lift obediently and he pulls the shirt off, his hands making quick work of our clothing until we are both left naked to the waist. Now blessedly free to investigate his upper body without the constricting fabric of his uniform, my mouth joins in the exploration and he groans my name in what must be the most arousing tone of voice I have ever heard in all my life.

His hands now on my lower back, he pulls me against him, and I can tell by the way I arch into him that I am *really* enjoying the contact. His lips trail over me again, now moving at an agonisingly slow pace towards my breast, and it's my turn to groan, I'm not sure whether in protest at the torturous pace or as encouragement for his obvious intention.

His lips brush teasingly over the hardened peak of one nipple, the contact fleeting. He's testing me, seeing how much of this particular brand of torture I can take.

As much as you can dish out, thank you very much.

His lips begin moving again, towards my other breast, the pace even slower this time. He's trying to kill me, I'm sure of it. But hey, I can think of worse ways to go.

His hands aren't idle either, gliding smoothly over the planes of my back in a way that--

Oh shit! Stop. Stop; where the hell is the stop button?!

Someone's just walked into my lab and I can't even turn this damn thing off. I whirl around to face Jonas, still fumbling with the control buttons. I have a PHD in astrophysics for Christ's sake, you'd think I'd be able to operate a simple machine.

"Hey Jonas," I say quickly, standing in front of the screen with what I'm sure is a very guilty look on my face. "What are you doing here?"

Finally managing to complete the apparently difficult task of pressing the button marked 'stop', I manage to relax a little, sending him a nervous smile.

Either he doesn't notice my discomfort, or he's choosing to ignore it, because he simply holds up a green sprig of mistletoe, examining it with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. "Something weird is going on."

Uh-uh. "Jonas, you're gonna have to be a little bit more specific. This is the SGC; something weird is *always* going on."

"There's something wrong with some of the personnel on base," he informs me, looking at me suspiciously. "You're not affected too, are you?"

I narrow my eyes questioningly. I'm pretty sure I know where this is going. "What *exactly* is wrong with them, Jonas?"

"I think they're under the influence of some kind of organic drug," he says knowingly, handing me the mistletoe. "I've had four women chase me today with that stuff." He looks serious. "We've seen the Goa'uld use mind-altering chemicals before; but you're probably immune, what with the naqaudah in your blood and all. I thought you'd want to check it out." He lowers his voice, looking around as if for spies. "I wasn't sure who else I could trust. You never know who else has been affected..."

He trails off at my barely suppressed laughter, his eyebrows arching in confusion. "What?"

"C'mon, I'll explain over lunch."

***

The corridors are strangely quiet as I make my way quickly from the commissary, trying to resist the urge to break into a run. The Christmas cake was bad, but not that bad; and me sprinting through the halls of the SGC is sure to attract attention.

At least Jonas is sufficiently distracted; so I can get back to... work.

I open the door to my lab and stop abruptly in my tracks. Oh. My. God.

He's watching the tape. Jac-- Dammit, *Colonel O'Neill*-- is sitting in my lab. Watching the tape.

Okay. Damage control. If I back quietly out the door, there's a good chance he won't see me, and I can just have him paged to the infirmary or something and make him go away, and then I won't have to talk to him, or--

"Carter."

Oh boy. So much for that plan. I close the door.

"Sir."

I'm not sure who's voice sounds more strained, mine or his. He clears his throat uncomfortably, gesturing towards the screen. "Nice choice of... viewing material you got here."

Oh god. How the hell do I respond to that?

"Yeah..."

Oh, nice one.

Right. Time to say something intelligent. Explain. Clarify. Rationalize. It's what I do, right? So why is my voice suddenly not functioning?

"I-I... was gonna... Jonas interrupted... I was..."

Okay, so the talking thing is obviously not working as well as it usually does.

"Jack..." comes a breathless voice from the tape. "Please. I want you."

Oh dear god.

Apparently this inability to speak is a new affliction, because my voice was obviously in perfect working order last night.

I'm trying to remember if I've ever been more embarrassed in my entire life as I am right now. Unfortunately, standing in a room with your CO listening to the sounds of the two of you making wild drunken love on top of his desk is a little hard to top in the embarrassment stakes.

I hear the answering growl, and can't help but look surreptitiously over his shoulder, though why I bother to hide it I don't know, since his own eyes are now glued unashamedly back to the screen. This is *really* not how I thought I'd be spending today.

I take a few steps forward, carefully avoiding any kind of physical contact as I take a seat beside him. "Sir," I start the military rank/regulations/protocol/consequences/court-martial speech, "we shouldn't be--"

"Sam."

That silences me. He doesn't want to hear we shouldn't.

Neither do I. Yep, and here comes that familiar battle again... 'Turn off the tape,' says Duty.

'You know you want to watch it,' says Desire.

'This is a serious breach of protocol,' says Duty.

'Screw protocol; watch the damn tape,' says Desire.

Oh, to hell with it. We may never get a repeat of last night. May as well relive it while we've got the chance. Looks like Desire is on a winning streak.

***

This is insane.

I'm sitting in a top secret military base, next to my commanding officer, our arms just barely touching, watching a tape of us... this is really *really* insane.

Incredibly arousing, yes, but still completely and utterly insane.

I keep telling myself that this is just a simple fact-finding thing. I've got a few blank spots in my memory of last night, and, I'm sure, so does he. We need to know what happened, we need to have all the facts. To know what we're dealing with. It's the first rule of battle; know your enemy. Too bad the enemy is us.

Well, us and a bottle of Tequila.

And if it weren't for our proximity, I'd almost believe this whole clinical detachment facade. But it's a little hard to convince myself of anything with the way he keeps casually brushing up against me. Like it's an accident. Subtle enough to escape the attention of the security camera in *this* room (we are *not* making that mistake again), but blatant enough to send little frissons of electricity shooting up my arm.

On the screen, our uniforms disappear quickly into a pile on the floor. And then there is only us. No military, no protocol, no AFI-36- 2909. Just us.

He's backing me up to stand against the desk, his arms encircling my waist to guide me since I'm not looking where I'm going. My face is buried in his neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down his throat to his collarbone.

There's an almighty crash and the sound of amused laughter as everything is swept onto the floor to make room for me, his kisses soon stifling my laughter into something more befitting our activity.

Slowly, *really* slowly, his mouth inches over my skin, and the pace is driving me crazy now, so last night it must have near killed me. Which is obviously what he wanted; he's torturing me and loving it.

Oh so slowly, his lips move over my stomach, pause at my navel, and continue downward until, an eternity later, he's at the juncture of my thighs. The first touch of his tongue has me clutching at the edges of the desk, and a slight pain pulls my concentration away from the screen. It's my fingernails, digging into the palms of my hands. I force myself to relax and return my attention to the monitor.

I'm clutching at him now, pulling him up to lie over me, pressing into him with a hungry urgency, and he groans, sinking into me with a look of total rapture on his face. My god I love this man.

We instantly find a rhythm, his fingers clutching at my hips, guiding my movements as he steadily quickens the pace. "God, Sam..." he groans, his mouth still moving over me, momentarily taking a nipple between his teeth before releasing it with a swipe of his tongue. And then I see my body arch suddenly against him, and I am crying out with the force of the ecstasy flooding through me.

He stills for a moment, letting me ride out the tremors, and then begins to move with reckless abandon, striving for his own release. His low groan signals it's arrival, and he shudders against me for several long moments before he collapses over me, spent.

It is a long time before either of us move, and then it is only to drag our weary forms to the couch, where we promptly collapse onto it, a tangle of arms and legs, and fall asleep.

***

Apparently the ability to speak is now a skill lost to both of us.

Neither of us move, we just sit staring at the screen until the silence becomes overbearing. I should say something. I'm just not entirely sure what.

I listen for the voices in my head, pulling me in different directions, taunting me with the familiar arguments that I've come to expect. But I hear only one. This time, there's only one direction.

I stand, retrieve the tape, and walk towards the door. Halfway there, I turn and catch his eye.

"Jack."

That's all I need to say. He's up and standing beside me almost before I can blink, ready to start four days of downtime which I'm fairly certain will be spent somewhere where there are no security cameras. I'll work on the tape later.

So Duty and Desire finally settled their argument.

Duty's gone on temporary vacation. I have a feeling it's going to be doing that a lot.

***
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