[Moments of Adoration]
This was originally supposed to be a sweet, fluffy piece. Then the
porn showed up, beat up the fluff, and took its lunch money. Backup for
the Sam/Jack ficathon. For
"This," Carter said as she adjusted the pillow between his knees and tucked another ice pack into the curve of his lower back, "is all your fault for not telling me you'd thrown out your back."
Peevish at her caretaking and her point, Jack waved her away. It had happened over a week ago, and fuck's sake, all he'd done was pick up a file he'd knocked off of his desk. He'd gone to the doctor that day, even if it was at the demand of his assistant, whom Jack had picked because she didn't put up with his shit, and why had he ever thought that was a good idea? The doctor had sent him home with some really good drugs, and between the pharmacological assistance and his determination to not miss any Carter-time, Jack convinced himself and his still-twinging muscles he'd be just fine damn it in business class on a commercial flight.
Carter crouched down, head cocked to the side, peering at him. "Do you need anything else?" she said. Her fingers, cool from the glass of ice water she'd brought him, stroked across his forehead and into his hair.
"My dignity?"
Trying to have sex in her little Mustang had sounded like a fantastic idea, especially when she showed up looking to Jack like sex incarnate - tousled hair, lips exactly the shade of dark pink they turned after a long, rough kiss, and curved into a bright, lighthearted smile that simultaneously made him grin like a besotted idiot and hold his carryon in front of his suddenly snug pants. In the eight months since they'd started this thing, they'd had all of ten too-short weekends, a glorious five day stretch at his cabin, and all the phone sex they could manage. Following her out of the baggage claim, eyes glued to those long legs, all Jack's intentions to maybe try and spend more of their time out of a bed than in it vanished.
He'd parked his hand on her thigh as soon as her seat belt clicked into place, thumb teasing along the hem of her skirt. He'd whispered what he was going to do to her while she paid the parking lot attendant and maneuvered out onto the highway.
They'd only made it thirty miles up 93 when Carter pulled off behind an abandoned building and crawled into his lap. Jack got as far as unzipping his pants and unhooking Carter's bra before he started screaming.
He'd spent the rest of the drive with the passenger seat reclined all the way, stretched out as best he could, ignoring Carter's concern-and-consternation-tinted glances.
"I would have come to you," she said, adding another pillow here and there as he pointed.
"Sure you would." Squashing, he hoped successfully, the irritation that had been simmering since they'd gotten back on the road, him whimpering in pain, Jack said, "It took three weeks to schedule this weekend because of 'new developments' with that thing you've been working on. I wasn't going to take any chances on you 'losing track of time'." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew he'd hit a sore spot. Carter confirmed it when she jammed the last pillow into place.
"Hey, I'm the injured party here."
Carter rolled her eyes and settled into the arm chair across from the couch, one hand reaching for the TV remote, the other… Jack blinked. Her other hand had fallen between her legs. Her fingers splayed along the inside of her thigh, her thumb rubbing along the hem of her skirt in a mirror mimic of his caress in the car.
"Problem, Carter?" That too, came out more petulant than playful. He ignored the little pang of guilt when she followed his gaze, and a slight flush swept across her cheeks.
But her hand stayed put. "No problem," she said. She plucked at the fabric of her skirt, making a show of tugging the hem higher, enough for a glimpse of the scrap of black cloth that masqueraded as her underwear. "You?"
"Kinda intrigued by this exhibitionist thing."
"Intrigued, huh?" Carter slung one leg over the arm of the chair and wriggled down until her ass was right at the edge of the seat, her skirt now hiked up around her hips. "How intrigued?"
Between the ice packs, and the muscle relaxant and the Vicodin he'd taken in the car, washed down with a too-warm bottle of water Carter had in her trunk, Jack's body had checked out. His brain was chanting, "hell yeah," but nothing else happened the way it should. The whole thing weirded him out a little, and he fumbled for the glass of ice water, choking down the swell of unease with three big gulps. "I'd be more intrigued if you were naked."
"Predictable," she said, and Jack figured that was the end of it. A nap didn't sound like a bad idea anyway. Until Carter's fingers curled under the elastic leg of her underwear; they came away wet.
When he tore his eyes away from her fingers, something that looked suspiciously like a smirk played about her lips. "Are you laughing at me, Carter?"
"With you, Jack. I'm laughing with you." Those last words disappeared into a tiny gasp. She'd pulled the underwear aside with one hand, the fingers of the other tracing along her slick labia with sure, measured strokes. She must have been wet like that through the entire ride from the airport, Jack realized, and the groan that crawled out of his chest sounded pathetic even to him.
"You okay?"
"No, no I'm not." Jack crossed his arms, an awkward flail of elbows in his current position. "You're over there having way too much fun and I'm…"
"Really dumb for trying to man it out?"
"Not. Helping."
Carter didn't even have the grace to fake an apology; she just spread her legs wider and ran two fingers in a slow drag from clit to perineum before easing them inside, her ring finger pressing in against the small pucker of her anus.
"Fuck," Jack breathed. Her answering laugh was sweet and bright, broken up by tiny panting breaths. "This is incredibly unfair, and aren't you supposed to be naked?"
"No." Carter's shoulders twitched back, arching her spine as she pressed harder against her anus. When her finger slid in, Jack poked at his crotch, because that was so fucking hot his dick must have noticed. It had not. It had in fact gone ahead with the nap. He banged his head against the arm of the couch.
A muffled curse yanked his attention back to Carter, who was squirming out of her underwear. They landed on the couch right behind Jack's head, soaking wet, and he inhaled deeply as the smell of her washed over him. "Play with your nipples," he said.
She hooked both legs over the arms of the chair this time, the muscles along the insides of her thighs corded tight. "I'm not taking orders, Jack."
The retort held unexpected steel under her strained breath. "Carter, I was just-"
"Shut up, Jack."
He did. Jack knew Carter's buttons pretty well by now, but he was usually a little preoccupied by this point in the game. So he watched: how fast she flicked her thumb against her clit, how hard she scraped her nails along the inside of her thigh, how deep she thrust her fingers.
When she came, in an all over shudder that broke up the whine that climbed high in her throat, Jack's fingers were clenched deep into one of the decorative pillows surrounding him. "Christ, Carter."
"Mmm." The happy hum wasn't diminished by her slight grimace as she dropped her legs from the arms of the chair. "Oh, I am going to feel that tomorrow." She stretched, a languorous affair that came to an abrupt stop when she blinked at him.
"Jack?" Her gaze rested on his hands, still clutching the pillow.
Prying his fingers loose, he flexed them, trying to shake away the ache from his death grip. "So. You weren't trying to tell me something, were you?"
Resting her elbows on her knees, Carter sat forward, her cheeks dimpled from an impudent grin. "Why? Guilty conscience?"
"What's that supposed to mean? I can't make a request when you're having all the fun?"
She straightened out of her casual slouch at the frustrated snap he couldn't quite force from his voice, all trace of her smile gone. "It's about not the sex, Jack. Look at you. Instead of asking me to come to you, you just decided how things would fall out and bulled your way through. You didn't even trust that I'd be able to make a good decision about what to do. You just had to… be you and do it the hard way."
The tirade stung, and Jack swung back. "Well, you're no picnic when it comes to that."
"Jack, I'm not trying to pick a fight."
"Just make a point?"
"Fine, yes. I was making a point. Poorly, it appears." Carter shoved up out of the chair, yanking her skirt back into place. "I'm going to go clean up."
"Wait." Wondering how the hell they'd gone from incredibly hot voyeuristic sex to incredibly bitchy sniping, he grabbed at her hand as she edged around the coffee table, holding tight when she tried to pull away. "Carter, wait." Finally she met his eyes. "I get that I'm not, you know. In charge. With us. Of us. Just so you know that I know." Her hand remained limp in his grasp. Shit. "Sam. I'm an ass, yes, but you do know, right?"
The tight set of her shoulders gave way in a sigh, and she threaded her fingers through his. "I know. And I didn't mean to ambush you like this." Her smile reappeared, subdued and apologetic, but there. "I guess I just like doing things the hard way."
"Hey, if the hard way is watching you getting off, I'm not complaining." Jack tugged on her hand, drawing her to sit on the edge of the couch, and in against his chest. "Did we just have our first fight? Because I think we did it backwards. Isn't the sex supposed to come after?"
The short laugh she choked out was muffled against his neck. "We do everything backwards, Jack."
"Hey, next time I'm doing it the hard way," he murmured into her hair, "you'll say something, right? Preferably before I get on a plane and try to break myself?"
"I think I've proved I would." Carter pressed a kiss against his forehead before pushing to her feet. "But don't worry, you'll get a chance to redeem yourself."
Jack watched her walk away, disappearing down the hall, hoping she'd wear those boots again when he did.