Title: Domesticated
Equines
Authors:
Christi (daisycm83@gmail.com) and Ryuu (karma_aster@yahoo.com)
Rating:
PG
Timeline:
Season 9 or 10 (In our world, anyway.)
Genre:
Tooth rotting fluff. Seriously.
Summary:
Sam and Jack’s first year of marriage, one snippet at a time.
Author’s
Note: I realized when writing this that I haven’t written any S/J since July. JULY, people.
Thankfully, I had a great reason to try to get something down and a wonderful,
wonderful co-author in karma_aster, who totally saved
my butt. Also, managed to throw a sjfanfic10 prompt in at the last second -- mismatched
socks, pink underwear, and missing car keys.
Dedication:
In honor of deejay435. Our thoughts are with you.
--
“Are you
sure you want to go through with this?”
Her eyes
narrowed. “Absolutely. You?”
“Carter,
you have no idea.”
His
emphatic answer both took her by surprise and made her smile. “Why the sudden
question, then?”
“Just checking. You know, long distance relationships are difficult.”
“So I’ve
heard,” she said slowly, uncertain where he was going with this.
“And hey,
we’ve only been doing…this…for, well,
not that long.”
“I
suppose,” Sam agreed – though honestly, at times like this, it sort of seemed
like their relationship was the same as it had always been – sweet, but sort of
confusing.
“And you
know, I’m sort of old. And grumpy.”
Because
she didn’t know how else to react, Sam laughed. “Jack, are you really trying to
talk me out of marrying you fifteen minutes before I’m supposed to come walking
down the aisle?”
“Well, when
you put it that way, it sounds dumb.”
“It is dumb.”
“No. I
just want you to be…really, really sure.”
“Oh, for crying…Jack. Yes. I’m sure. I’m a big girl – if I wasn’t sure, I would
say so.”
For a
moment, he honestly looked skeptical. “Well, you don’t have the best track
record of doing that, you know.”
Glancing
at the heavens, she took a moment to count silently to ten. “Are you trying to piss me off? Now? Really?”
“No! I
just…” he looked a bit lost, and tugged at his tie
uncomfortably. “I really, really want
this. And I need you to be sure, because once this is done and it’s official,
I’m going to be doing really well if I can manage not to lock us up in my cabin
and never let you come out again. Getting rid of me is not really going to be
an option.”
He was so
infuriating. In that really adorable kind of way.
“Luckily, I have no intention of getting rid of you. I’ve become rather
attached to you – in spite of yourself, sometimes.”
He
grinned. “Lucky me.”
“Damn
straight.”
Thankfully,
he then stopped being an idiot and kissed her. Which, as far
as Sam was concerned, was never a bad idea. Ever.
When he
finally pulled away, it was only far enough to lean his forehead against hers,
smiling in a way she didn’t often see. “By the way, you look really,
really…just…well, hot.”
Strange how that had become one of her favorite phrases. So she just smiled up at him.
“So, how about it, are you going to watch my six out there, Jack?”
His
expression was one of mock-scandal. “In public?
Why, Samantha, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
She
couldn’t help it – she burst into uncontrollable giggles.
--
Generally,
Jack mused, having someone tackle you to the floor was a very bad thing.
However,
given that the person in question was his wife who was currently kissing him in
a way that could possibly do very interesting things to his blood pressure, he
was very willing to revise that assessment.
“S-sam…” he managed to gasp out between kisses and the
wonderful distraction caused by the soft, warm curves under his hands. “I…I kinda wanted to take my - oh god - jacket off…f-first.”
“Jack,”
she replied, very calmly, “I haven’t had my hands on you for two weeks.” She nipped at his throat.
“Shut up and get naked. Now.”
“Well,
that’s kind of hard, given that you’re lying on me, darlin’.”
His hands roamed happily southward. “Could we take this to the bedroom? My
knees would love you for it.”
“Bedroom’s
too far,” she mumbled, starting to work on the buttons of his shirt.
He
squeezed her thigh. “Well, if you want to carry a crippled old man to bed
later, baby…”
Sam let
out a long-suffering sigh and crawled off him, holding out a hand to help him
up. “Fine. And don’t ever call me that again.”
“Cuddlekins?” Jack replied, getting to his feet
with a faint groan and promptly folding her into his arms.
“Don’t
make me decide to make it a month, Jack,” she threatened, slipping her hand
under his shirt.
--
“This? This laughing you’re doing? Is not
helpful. And it’s starting to piss me off,” Sam remarked.
Still
chuckling a bit, Jack just kept watching her. “I can’t help it. You’re
practically inside the dryer.”
She blew
out a heavy breath, backing out of the dryer and sitting down on the floor. “I
had two socks when I put this load in the dryer! Two nice, matching socks. Now, I have one
white sock and one navy sock. How can you go from two matching gray socks to a
navy sock and a white sock?”
“Maybe
there’s a transdimensional something or other inside my dryer?” Jack suggested
unhelpfully.
From her
position on the floor, she glared up at him. “Don’t talk to me right now. I
don’t like you.”
“Why, because I have two matching socks? I can’t help it if my dryer likes
me better than you. It knows me.”
And now,
she was sulking. In a really cute way. “And your
washer made my underwear pink.”
He
shrugged. “Pink is better than white, anyway.” He thought it best to point out
that the color changing underwear had less to do with his washer and more to do
with her somewhat adorable ineptitude at laundry.
“Okay
then, mister, since you’re so smart, where have the car keys gotten to? I have
a plane to catch, you know.”
Jack
reached down and pulled her upright, then helped her onto the top of the dryer.
“Oh, that’s easy. I hid them.”
“Why…why
would you do that?”
Honestly,
it had just seemed like a good idea at the time – put off Sam leaving for as
long as possible. “Well, I didn’t know it would send you into this
pre-departure frenzy where you insult my appliances. I just thought it might
distract you long enough for sex.”
“You…I
really don’t like you.”
He
pouted, then leaned forward and nibbled on her neck. “Not even a little?”
“No.”
“Damn.
Anything I can do to change your mind?”
She
pretended to consider this very carefully. “Well, I could probably come up with
one or two things that might work….”
Success!
Who said that being evil never pays? Leaning in closer, Jack nuzzled her ear,
then, between kisses, muttered, “Hey Carter?”
“Hrm?”
“You have
dryer lint in your hair.”
--
“I’b dot sick.”
Sam eyed
her husband huddled rather pathetically on their couch. “Oh, you’re dot, are you?”
“Doh. I’b dot,” he insisted
stubbornly.
With an
exasperated roll of her eyes, she dropped her bags in the hall and hung her
coat up before walking over to him and checking his temperature with the back
of her hand. “Jack, you’re burning up.”
He just
continued to sulk. “You haben’t been here in foreber. I’b dot sick!”
“A week
and a half is hardly forever, Jack. We’ve certainly gone longer.”
This
didn’t seem to console him much. “It felt
longer.”
Really,
how could she argue with that? It always felt like longer. Plus, he really was
rather pathetic. “Well, here I am. And if you’ll let me just get settled a bit,
maybe I will bring you a blanket. And get you some soup.”
This
seemed to perk him up a little. “Soup? You’re going to
make soup?”
“Well,
I’m going to open a can and warm it up on the stove. But yes. Anything else?”
Now
playing it up for all he was worth, he sniffled a bit. “Baybe
we could watch some Simpsons?”
She
laughed and brushed a kiss on his forehead. “See, you’re getting better
already.”
--
“So, your
flight comes in on Tuesday?” Sam asked.
“Yeah.
You think Daniel can help me with some essays?” Cassie asked.
“Probably. Or I could,” she replied.
“Sure you
and Jack won’t be too busy?” Cassie teased.
“Cass!”
Sam could
visualize the wicked smirk on the younger woman’s face as she responded, “What?
You think I don’t know you two are at it every chance you get?”
“Cass!”
The reply was more a yelp, given that Jack had decided that it was the perfect
opportunity to kiss the back of her neck. She squirmed away, scowling at him,
and he shot back an unrepentant grin, settling his arms around her waist and
tugging her against his chest where he nuzzled her hair happily.
“I’ve got
to get to class,” Cassie said, happily unaware of Jack’s current location.
“I’ll call you later tonight?”
“Sure.
Bye, Cass. Love you.”
“I love
you too, Sam. Tell Jack I said hi.”
The phone
disconnected and Sam turned her head, groaning as Jack kissed the side of her
throat.
“You have
got the worst sense of timing, Jack…”
--
He first
noticed it on the pizza box. He went into the other room to change out of his
entirely too uncomfortable clothes and when he got back, there were strange,
indecipherable scientific symbols scrawled all over the pizza box.
He
ignored it because really, it was just a pizza box.
Then, it
was the bathroom mirror. Scrawled into the condensation and dripping down to
make a rather disturbing image as he brushed his teeth, the numbers made him a
bit dizzy as he tried to make them out and quickly gave up.
Still, it
didn’t matter. Just one of the perks of living with an astrophysicist, he
supposed.
But
honestly, this was taking a bit far.
He had
thought something was tickling him during the movie. He just hadn’t expected it
to be his wife, scrawling physics equations all over his knee in ballpoint pen.
Gently, he took the pen from her, and she snapped out of her reverie, looking a
bit sheepish. “Sorry.”
“It’s all
right. I just don’t think science equations would be my tattoo of choice. Something on your mind?”
“Just
work. I’m trying not to work this
weekend.”
“Much to
the woe of every flat surface in the house,” he teased.
Now she
was starting to look annoyed. “I said I was sorry.”
He
shrugged. “It’s fine. Really. Just try to avoid
writing crazy science things on the walls. Daniel’s already our resident white
padded room guy. I don’t think any group of friends needs two.”
--
"Headache,"
Sam replied, shortly.
"But-"
She
glared. "You've got two working hands, Jack. Get to it."
"It's...it's
not the same..." Jack replied, looking forlorn.
"Jack.
My head feels like it's about to split open. I am mentally and physically
exhausted," Sam replied, her eyes narrowing. "I don't really care if
it's not the same. I am going to bed. You are sleeping on the couch."
"Carter-"
"Couch,"
she repeated, walking into the bedroom and shutting the door firmly behind
her.
"...can
I least change clothes?" he asked plaintively.
The door
remained ominously silent.
He peeked
in to find her huddled on one side of the bed. "Carter?"
"Don't
care," was the muffled reply.
Jack
moved around the darkened room, stripping down to his undershirt and boxers. He
glanced over at her huddled form, took a deep breath, and slid into the bed
behind her.
"...thought I told you to sleep on the couch."
"You
did," Jack replied, cuddling up against her back.
"This
isn't the couch."
"Nope." He kissed her shoulder. "Let's get some sleep,
huh?"
"What
about the blue balls?" she grumbled.
"I'll
live."
She
grumbled more, her body relaxing against his. Jack kissed her shoulder again
and slid his arm around her waist.
"I'm
sorry you've had a bad week."
"Yeah. Me too." She sighed. "I want my
head to stop hurting."
"Want
me to get you some aspirin?" Jack asked.
"No.
Just want some sleep," she mumbled.
Jack
raised his head enough to lean in and kiss her cheek, then cuddled up against
her back and stroked her hair lightly. "Sleep.
I'm pretty sure the nice visiting General at work could get you the day off
tomorrow."
"Doesn't
have to," she mumbled, her voice drowsy and indistinct. "Just need a
good eight hours."
His hand
moved, gently massaging her temple and stroking her forehead. She let out a
soft sigh. He kissed her neck. “Good?”
“Mhmm…”
“Good.”
He kissed her neck again, his fingers tracing tender patterns down her cheek
before they returned to stroking her forehead. “I love you.”
“I know,”
she whispered, suddenly turning and cuddling close to him, her hand slipping
down to stroke his thigh. Jack slid his hand down and twined his fingers
through hers, leaning in to kiss her warmly.
“Sleep,”
he repeated. “I’ll look after things.”
She
nodded against his shoulder, her breathing already slowing and deepening. Jack
gently tugged his hand free and stroked a fingertip along her forearm, tracing
random swirls and the occasional stargate glyph. She sighed softly.
“I love
you too, Jack.”
“I know.”
He kissed the top of her head, holding her close for several long moments.
“Sam?”
“Hrm?”
“Sometimes…”
He paused, then decided to finish the thought anyway.
“Sometimes I wish you didn’t work so hard.”
“Jack….”
“I know.”
He kissed her again. “The world needs you too much. I just…I hate seeing how
tired you get.”
“It’s
worth it,” she murmured, half-asleep. “World needs SG-1.”
“Yeah.”
He gave a faint, reluctant smile. “We really do.”
She poked
his side gently, tired eyes opening to give him a knowing glance. “All of SG-1,
Jack. Past and present.”
“Yeah.”
He grinned. “We’re the coolest.”
“Without a doubt.”
She smiled faintly. “Hey…”
“Carter?”
She poked
him again. “You really need to stop calling me that.”
“Calling
you O’Neill sounds like I’m talking to myself,” he grumbled, his hand stroking
her hip.
She
chuckled. “I’ve got some leave coming up. Wanna go
find some sky-blue waters?”
“Yeahsureyabetcha, snookums.”
--
Mornings
with Sam at the cabin were surreally different than mornings with Sam anywhere
else. Jack never really had to wonder whether or not she enjoyed the place as
much as she proclaimed to – her entire demeanor screamed it rather
emphatically.
When they
were together everywhere else, there always seemed to be a clock somewhere in
the back of their minds, tuned into some sadistic frequency that made them
constantly aware that their visit was just that and they only had X days,
hours, or minutes left together.
At the
cabin, their internal clocks didn’t seem to work right.
So
instead of sleepy desperate morning sex with Sam that never failed to worry
him, he got a lazy, stay-in-bed kind of Sam. The sort of Sam he really loved
seeing, because she was so…un-Carterlike. She hogged
the blankets and snored in his ear and often drooled on his shirt. She stayed
in her pajamas for awhile and demanded breakfast in bed when she was feeling
particularly comfortable.
And
apparently, judging from the sounds coming from the bathroom, she sang in the
shower. Badly, because really, Sam couldn’t sing a note.
But she sang all the same.
When she
finally emerged from the bathroom, she was perfect – wet and pink and warm and
wrapped in nothing but a towel. And still singing.
“You
really can’t sing, you know,” he pointed out as she dug through her suitcase
looking for a clean pair of underwear.
“Are you
complaining?” she asked airily.
Actually,
he realized that he really wasn’t. “No.”
His
reward was a smile. “Good.” Absently, she wandered over to the window, staring
out. “You know, I really love it here. More than I expected to.”
He had
sort of gathered as much. Still, it was nice to hear.
--
Something
was tickling Sam’s nose. It registered slowly, seeing as she was mostly asleep,
and at first, she merely pushed away. Problematically, however, it kept coming back.
"Stop
it," she protested lightly and pushed at the offending finger before
throwing her arm over her face to block it from coming back yet again.
“No,”
Jack insisted stubbornly. “Wake up. Please?”
Grumbling
a bit, Sam shifted over a bit and cracked an open to study him. “Okay. Why am I
awake at
“Because,
it’s now officially our anniversary, and I wanted to ask you a question. I
suppose I could have waited until the morning, when we were having a moment or
something, but then I realized that this was
a moment and I didn’t want to miss it. I have a bad habit of doing that, you
know.”
All of
that was a bit much to follow fresh out of a REM cycle, but luckily, Sam had
become more adept at speaking Jack over the last year. “All right then, what is
it you wanted to ask me?”
Instead
of immediately delving into it, Jack reached up and brushed back a few strands
of her hair, tracing over the planes of her face and finally ending with on
calloused finger trailing down her nose softly, an unreadable expression on his
face. “Well, it’s been a year. Any regrets?”
Lying there
with him, she wondered how he could even think to ask. “Only that we didn’t get
around to this sooner.”
He
smiled. “Yeah. Damn that whole saving the world
thing.”
“Indeed,”
she deadpanned.
His
chuckle vibrated through her body, warm and deep. “Seriously, though. Anything
you would change? Want different?”
She
shrugged. “More time, maybe. There’s never enough with you. But I’m pretty damn
happy with what I get. ”
“I’ll
work on that, though. I’m sure Thor and I could come up with something.”
“Oh, you
could, could you?”
“Well,
Thor could. I’ll probably just watch.”
“Dirty,”
she teased.
He
snorted. “No sex humor about Thor. It’s just icky.”
“Icky?”
“Can you
think of a better word?”
Now that
he brought it up… “No, not really.”
“Icky it
is, then,” he insisted, pulling her closer. “Did I ever tell you that I’m
really, really glad you dragged me to Vegas and had your wicked way with me?”
“Somehow,
that’s not exactly how I remember events playing out….”
“Well,
you know what they say about memory,” he dismissed easily, a flash of white
teeth in the darkness before he fell quiet again. “I want you to know
something, though.”
“What’s
that?”
“I…” he
frowned a little, but continued. “I want you to know that if I had to, I would
go through everything that’s happened in the last ten years all over again, if
it meant that I’d still end up here. Y’know, with you.”
It was
beautiful and touching and sweet in a way only Jack could be. “Thank you.”
His face
remained serious. “I really mean that.”
She
stretched her neck and kissed him briefly, softly, sweetly. “I know.”
“Good,”
he replied. “So, worth waking up for?”
“Definitely.”
His smile
had a cocky undertone to it now, a much more familiar expression. “I thought it
might be. So.”
“So?”
“So, anniversary – check. Witty verbal exchange – check. Touching moment – check. Sex now?”
Smirking
right back at him, Sam stretched out and slid over him. “Check.”