Title: Seven Minutes

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

Rating: NC-17 (explicit sex, language)

Codes 'n Stuff: Sam/Jack PWP (mostly)

Archive: SJD yes; nowhere else, please. You may link to my site if you want.

Season/Spoilers: Futurefic. No real spoilers.

Status: Complete (1/1)

Feedback: Any and all welcomed.

Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.

Summary: "The secret to pre-mission sex with Samantha Carter was to catch her before she was fully awake."

A/N: Just yer usual run-of-the-mill "Bad" universe PWP.

Thanks: Karen (for the beta) and Michelle (for kicking my ass).

This story is also on the web all pretty and stuff at http://www.angstnromance.net/nanda/fic/sg1/nanda_seven.html

***

Seven Minutes
by nanda (nanda@diary-x.com)

Jack O'Neill didn't know much (or so he claimed) but he did know this: the secret to pre-mission sex with Samantha Carter was to catch her before she was fully awake. Not the night before, as tempting as that was -- she'd be preoccupied with MALP readings and want to get to bed early. No, morning was better. Sweet, sleepy, pre-mission morning sex.

And pre-mission sex was very important. Not for altruistic reasons, though those were nice, too. For entirely selfish reasons, like the fact that Jack would be bored to death the entire time she was gone. Just him, his books, his golf clubs, and two practices a week with the 12 little rinkrats he called his pee-wee hockey team. And his girlfriend (yes, girlfriend, though he winced a little as he thought it because he knew she objected to the word on principle) half a galaxy away, probably getting shot at by snakeheads.

He was getting used to it, though. Really. He was. He didn't regret leaving, and he would have failed a physical sooner rather than later, anyway. He was just ... getting used to it.

He rolled onto his back. The sun had woken him. It always did, here. Her bedroom faced northeast, so the light slanted in at a sharp angle very early in the morning. Being the first up was a good thing, though. It gave him time to prepare his battle strategy. He looked around the room -- mostly white, and very Carter-neat -- and thought about going back to his own house later in the day. They were more or less living together, had talked about buying something together, but when she was offworld it didn't feel quite right to mope around her place by himself. Even if he did always miss the way the light crawled up her bed.

He watched her sleep for a few minutes (not that he could see much, considering her habit of pulling the covers right up over her head -- very cute). He thought she was facing him, but he had to look to be sure -- yup, facing him. Little tuft of blond hair on the pillow, one hand fisted next to her cheek. He pushed the sheet down so he could see her face: lips slightly parted, jaw completely relaxed. *He* wasn't completely relaxed, though. He had the wrong kind of hard-on, so eventually he got up to take care of that.

When he came back, she hadn't moved. He dropped his t-shirt and shorts on the floor and slid into the still-warm bed: time to initiate Operation Sleepy Sex. Mmm.

Light, glancing touches, first. His fingers danced on her shoulder, trailing down to the hand that rested on the pillow. He combed through her hair, massaging her scalp a little. He pushed up her tank top so he could slide his palm over her belly, then drew the backs of his fingers over the dip of her waist, the rise of her hip -- hey. Those felt suspiciously like boxer shorts, and *she* didn't own any. She'd already been asleep when he'd come to bed, so he hadn't seen what she was wearing. Little thief.

Pretty little thief, though.

He kept going past the fabric, following the line of one leg that was bent in front of her, and squeezed her thigh. Then back up -- *my clothes, you klepto* -- to her waist, around to her back where he drummed his fingers lightly on her spine, dipped them under the elastic above her tailbone.

She shifted, still asleep, and sighed happily. *Nice dream, there, Carter?* he thought. Her movement had exposed more neck, so he headed north. Brushed one finger from her ear down to her shoulder, pushing the narrow strap aside. But the neck was just too inviting; he bent to drop a soft kiss on her skin and lingered to drink in her taste with the tip of his tongue.

He heard her breathing change and drew back, returning his hand to her bare stomach. Up with the backs of his fingers, down with his fingertips. He was propped on an elbow, watching her. She hadn't moved, but he knew.

"I know you're awake," he said, his fingers slipping higher along her ribs. Her eyes stayed shut but her lips curved into a tiny smile, and a certain part of his anatomy twitched happily in response.

It was always fascinating, watching her wake up. He'd seen it enough times on missions, not that he'd admit to having paid attention. Then, she had been instantly alert -- always the good soldier, his Carter. Here, though, in her own bed, and to a lesser extent at his place, he could count on at least fifteen minutes of grogginess. Which was just perfect for his purposes today, because the minute she was finally awake she'd be off, in the shower, and out the door.

He found one of her breasts under the stretchy cotton, and tweaked a nipple with two fingers. It stiffened instantaneously, so he moved to the other. Another happy little Carter sigh, and her smile got bigger, too. He drew in to press his lips against hers, just briefly.

"Morning," he said against her skin.

"Mmm. Morning." Her hand stole behind his head to pull him into a longer kiss that tasted deeply of sleep. When he moved back her eyes were open, and shining. Still not quite alert, though. He watched them drift shut again, and laughed as he gave her a gentle shove onto her back. The sun had slanted further up towards the pillows and it fell across her chest, reminding him how much he loved what was hidden underneath.

He curved his fingers under the hem of her tank top and pulled, Sam moving just enough to accommodate him. It ended up on the floor with his clothes. One of her arms stayed above her head on the pillow, and he felt fingers in his hair.

He'd never get enough of this, just touching her, though watching her body respond was pretty great, too. He dipped one fingertip into the hollow of her throat, traced a line between her breasts and down to her navel, pushing the covers aside as he went. Her back arched and she took a deep, deep breath.

His blood was beginning to hum and his growing erection prodded at her thigh. She smiled at that, eyes open to tease him. Oh yeah. She needed to be naked. Now.

He tugged at the shorts and she wriggled to help him, finally drawing up her knees and using her hands to pull them all the way off. She kicked the sheets away and there they both were, exposed, and she handed him -- yes, not only *his* boxers, but his very favorite *Simpsons* boxers. The ones with Santa's Little Helper on them. Geez, and last week she'd "borrowed" his Magic 8-Ball ones.

Scowling as well as he could manage, he stared at them as they dangled from his hand. "Not enough underwear of your own, Carter?"

She raised a sleepy eyebrow, unrepentant. "I like yours better."

*Probably look a lot better on her, too,* he thought. And it was hard to even pretend to be annoyed when her hand was still in his hair, and her breasts were a little flattened by gravity and oh-so-inviting, and his cock was straining to get at those dark blond curls. He threw his favorite boxers over his shoulder and returned to his survey of the enemy terrain.

His fingers drifted down her chest again, past her belly, through the spray of hair, and kept going. "Mmm, you're wet. Good dreams?" He teased her clit and watched her pelvis tilt in response.

"Good alarm clock," she said.

"Oh yeah?" His finger slid lower and massaged her perineum -- it had been a very nice surprise to learn how much that turned her on.

"Ooh -- yeah -- my favorite alarm clock." Then she rolled over and he watched, a little puzzled, until she perched on her knees and elbows, behind held up high. Oooh. Pert, pretty Carter ass -- possibly his favorite piece of her anatomy. Well, maybe second favorite.

"Lazy," he teased, patting her bottom as she wiggled it a little.

She smiled at him sideways, face half buried in a pillow. "You know you love it."

"Hell yeah." Oh, how he did. He crawled around behind her, musing that one of the big positives of the military was having to stay in shape, and cupped her buttocks in both hands while she squirmed. Kneeling between her spread legs, he covered her back with his chest and dropped kisses on her neck. She slowly ground her hips back against his erection and he responded by tracing her arms with his hands -- strong shoulders, shapely biceps, elbows -- finally weaving his fingers through hers and holding tight.

She murmured his name as he nuzzled her hair, which by now had sunlight glinting in it.

"Beautiful," he whispered in her ear.

"Want you." And she squeezed his fingers, but much as he wanted to, he couldn't give in to her request without letting go. He tweaked both nipples on the way back up and she squirmed. Oh, so very, very sexy.

He entered her easily and she pushed back to take him in further. Then he bent down to take her hands in his again while their hips flowed together in small, smooth motions. Her back arched; she rolled her neck and made a long, low keen of encouragement that he happily echoed.

The best thing about this position was that if he aimed down, he could sometimes make her come without using his fingers. And that made him ridiculously, adolescently proud, so he did it as often as possible. Eventually he'd have to kneel up and take hold of her hips, but right now the heat of her back against his chest was too nice to give up. He squeezed her hands and nibbled on her shoulder, letting the tension build in slow motion.

By the time she gasped, "Jack. Now," he was about ready to explode, so he didn't take much convincing. He pulled back, kneeling, and got it right impressively fast. *Score one for the old guy,* he thought as he felt her lose it and almost immediately followed.

As she mewled her satisfaction they shifted onto their sides, facing each other. She grinned at him and rubbed her palm over his hair; he knew she liked the feel of it when it was that short.

"Very favorite alarm clock," she said.

The sun had moved up to the headboard. He nudged her foot. "Shower time, Colonel Carter. Coffee?"

"Not yet. I still have" -- she rose up to look at the alarm clock over his shoulder -- "seven more minutes until the other alarm goes off."

"Cool."

She chuckled, then drew her hand down to his neck, the smile fading into simple tenderness. "I know it's hard for you when I'm away."

His first instinct was to crack a joke. Then he remembered: supposed to be working on this communication thing. Right. He shrugged. "We knew we'd be apart a lot."

"Doesn't make it easier."

There was only so much genuine communication he could manage at this hour of the morning, with a lazily post-coital Carter looking at him like that. "I'm getting used to it. Besides," he smirked, dragging a finger between her breasts, "the benefits are pretty good. Even when you steal my underwear."

She leaned in to kiss him, laughing, and he pulled her close -- no way was he going to waste those seven minutes.

***

fin.