Title: Promises Part 2 - Jack

Author: Tracy

Email: thehuntress@gmail.com

Rating: R – does 'softsmut' mean anything to anyone? LOL

Summary: Jack was in so much trouble. She was going to make him pay for what he'd done.

Pairings: Sam/Jack

Spoilers: None.

Archive: If it's worthy - SJNC17, SJD

Disclaimer: Sam and Jack belong to each other. And a company called Gekko, which apparently isn't a cute li'l lizard. Go figure.

Notes: This is my first ever Sam/Jack fic, so any notes, suggestions, feedback, or hell, even chocolate, will be welcomed. Chocolate will also be shared with my beta, Rae.

~x~

Later, after his eyes had rolled back to their proper position and stars weren't crashing around in his head, he'd say that their little lapse wasn't as bad as they thought it was. That they could refile it in the room with the last time – and the time before that, and that it didn't have to change anything.

She wouldn't believe him, but he'd say it anyway.

~x~

Jack was in so much trouble. He knew it as surely as he knew that Carter had calculated just how many places the Stargate actually went. She was going to make him pay for what he'd done. Oh boy, was she going to make him pay. There was nothing he could do about it – hell, there was nothing he *wanted* to do about it, except wait for it to happen and ride the wave when it did. So he picked up his beer, settled back into the couch beside her, and didn't even try to hide his smile.

She refused to look at him – refused to take the bait just yet, so he knew he'd have to reel her in a little more before she bit him. Figuratively speaking, of course. Or maybe not, if her rigid posture was any indication. Mmmmm, Carter teeth. He let his smile turn into a smirk, because he knew that for some strange reason that would absolutely infuriate her. More than the broken promises, more than the way he'd played her body, even more than the hungry noises he'd coaxed from somewhere deep inside her that still hadn't fully recovered. Yep, the fact that he sat beside her smug and knowing, and completely unremorseful would piss her off to no end.

And he knew that she'd just have to do something to wipe that grin off his face. All he had to do was wait a little while longer . . .

"Stop it."

Aha, a nibble. "Stop what?" he asked innocently.

"You know what you're doing."

"Just watching the movie here, Carter."

"Right."

She was *so* gonna make him pay.

He was *so* gonna enjoy it.

He was so wrapped up in the anticipation that when she finally made her move it caught him unaware. He twitched and bucked his hips once, but that was enough for a sly little smile to take up residence on her lips and mock him with its existence.

"Uh, Sam?"

"Mmmm?"

"Whatcha doing?"

"My hand slipped," she said, all innocence and sweetness, and he knew damn well that that was a lie.

"Okay then."

What else could he say? Because, just like the time he had to negotiate a treaty with the Goa'uld, words failed him, and he didn't think that Daniel would appreciate a phone call. Not on this topic anyway. And why Daniel's name had even entered his thoughts at this time was completely beyond him. He was *so* not someone he wanted to be thinking about right now.

Okay then. Back to the reality of Carter. She was barely touching him . . . hell, she wasn't even touching him where he so desperately wanted her to touch him, but if she moved her hand just a little higher . . . and to the left . . . and . . . oh, yeah. That was the spot.

"Jack?"

Carter remembered the spot. He loved Carter and her photographic memory. Really. *Loved.*

"Jack?"

He loved her, but he had no illusions. Carter was evil. Carter and her hands were evil. Carter and her hands were doing slow, strokey kind of things that made his head loll back against the couch and his eyes glaze over. And Carter and her hands were . . . hoo boy . . . going for his zipper and reaching inside and doing the rubbing and squeezing and cupping things that made breathing very, *very* difficult.

"Jack!"

And Carter was speaking. How long had Carter been speaking?

"What?"

Carter was laughing at him. "Little help here?"

Oh. Right. Jeans. Needed to come off. Carter wanted his jeans off. Anything Carter wanted. They were so off . . . and hey! They really were off. Oooookay then. When had that happened?

Carter induced blackouts – cool. He'd have to tell her. After. Because right now her breath was raising goosebumps on his flesh and her tongue was bathing a trail up, up, up. And her mouth. So warm and wet and smooth and velvety and God! He was being sucked to heaven and back again. Things were buzzing and tingling and racing and the pressure was building and he couldn't control the thrusting anymore, but that was okay because she didn't seem to mind, she was even encouraging it, and he was going to explode, because she was totally, totally killing him.

Death by Carter.

What a way to go.

And then she stopped.

He growled. He couldn't help it. "Sa-man-tha." It was a warning he didn't even try to hide.

She was toying with him. Evil Carter. He'd make her sorry for that. "Jack."

Then he saw the meaning in her eyes, and smiled. He'd make her sorry later.

"Not the couch," he said, thinking of his back and his knees, and how he'd rather have trouble walking tomorrow for reasons other than trying to have sex on a too-small couch.

"Of course not," she replied, lifting her shirt over her head.

"Where?"

"The floor."

He slumped off the couch in record speed.

He was *so* there.

End.

--

~Tracy