Title: Three Stories

Author: Christi (daisycm83@gmail.com)

Rating: Somewhere in that land of fuzzy smut between R and NC-17.

Category: Sam/Jack flungst.

Timeline: Sometime vaguely after Moebius, Beneath the Surface, and strangely enough, Wormhole X-treme!

Summary: It’s sort of choose your own adventure, OTP style. But there’s no adventure. Just OTP. And sex.

Author’s Note: I recently realized that somehow, I hadn’t written anything remotely substantial that resembled Sam/Jack since July. JULY 2006. Because obviously, this state of things could not be allowed to continue, I quickly sat down and wrote this. Also managed to use a sjfanfic10 prompt – Three Stories.


When it finally happens, it’s almost anti-climactic. Not that Jack’s complaining – sex with Sam Carter really is as great as he had too often imagined it would be. Great and warm and easy – easier than a first time between two people should really be. Rationally, he has no reason to feel the way he’s feeling now.

It’s just that he never really thought that the beginning with her would feel strangely like the end.

They sit on his dock in the sun, and he wonders how this happened – how they seem to have skipped right over exactly what he thought this would be into something else entirely. Instead of eager anticipation of the future, he finds himself settled, the weight of her knee nudging his a simple comfort instead of a reason to tear off all her clothes.

Having her here is supposed to be perfect, and it is, in a way. It just doesn’t feel like the big payoff – the reward for years of repression and self-denial. Instead, it feels pretty much like it always has, and he wonders if he had just imagined all those years of painful, exquisite tension between the two of them.

“Did we wait too long?” The words are out before he knows that he’s going to ask, and instead of the hurt reaction he might expect, Sam studies him calmly.

“I don’t know,” she replies honestly.

Absently, he reaches for her, fingers running through summer-warmed hair. Next to him, Sam smiles slightly and leans into the caress. But her eyes are more shadowed than he had imagined, the weight of too many years and a few bad decisions clearly visible.

Looking at her, he remembers Kerry – and wow, that sounded wrong even within the confines of his own mind. But it’s not like that. It’s just that looking at Sam right now feels like it always has, and if that is true, then he never should have gotten involved with Kerry in the first place. At the time, dating her had made perfect sense, but it’s a train of thought he can’t seem to recapture now.

It makes him wonder how many other people he’s blindly stumbled over to get here. Looking in Sam’s eyes, he can see the same sheepish question lurking there.

When it comes right down to it, they’re both old pros at screwing up. By now, he thinks that he could probably forgive Sam for anything – it’s just forgiving himself that he still hasn’t mastered. For waiting. For not waiting. For building the idea of “them” up into some unobtainable ideal.

For questioning things he thinks he already knows.

“I do love you,” he whispers. Slowly, he can see that her answering smile may not be as bright as he might have guessed, but that it’s real.

Sam kisses him by way of response, and she doesn’t taste like strawberries or sunshine or anything similarly cliché. Instead, she just tastes like Sam, which, Jack decides, is an exotic enough flavor after years of nothing but Carter.

They make love right there on the dock. He bitches about his back, so she gets on top (he knows that she wanted to anyway). Then he bitches about splinters in his ass. She just laughs and offers to kiss it better.

It’s not what he expected – it’s not perfect. But he thinks that after some adjustment, he might like happy better anyway.


When it finally happens, it takes him a few minutes to realize that she’s crying. To be fair, her hands are in his hair and her tongue is in his mouth, so he’s a bit distracted. He does eventually notice though, because this is Carter and Carter doesn’t cry. Not in front of Jack, anyway.

But then, maybe she’s not crying in front of Jack. Maybe she’s crying in front of Jonah.

There’s a difference, he knows. But that ice planet is still close enough and real enough that just for this single moment, they can pretend that there isn’t.

Even as they’re stumbling down his hallway toward the bedroom, he knows this is wrong. The knowledge is thick in the air, surrounding them. “We shouldn’t do this,” he mutters as her lips find his neck and his fingers slide up her back.

“I know,” she whispers in response, right before pulling him into the bedroom.

They’re moving too fast, spiraling out of control – if they had ever had control to begin with, which he doubts. The last time he had touched her skin, it was slowly, and she had a laugh in her voice and another name on the tip of her tongue. He wants to pretend it can still be that way.

But it can’t be and the reality of what they’re losing even as he slides into her just hurts. It makes it real and too raw and wow, they really shouldn’t have done this.

Beneath him, she’s wrapped as close as she can get – legs and arms and lips all reaching, grasping at him desperately as though he was in constant danger of slipping away. Despite all that, he can’t help but notice that she never once looks at him.

If he was a better man, he would have stopped this before it had even begun. But she’s not the only one still reeling from Jonah and Thera. He knows, rationally, that they aren’t those people. Still, something inside of him insists that they are.

It’s over before it can even really begin – neither of them even manage to get fully undressed. And for all that haste, it’s not even particularly good for either of them. Maybe he should be embarrassed about that, but instead he just feels bruised somehow, like something inside of him has finally cracked and is slowly bleeding out around them.

She swallows one more sob as she fixes her clothing and slips through the door. As he stares at the ceiling, he wonders how long that half-choked sound will echo in his pitifully empty room.


When it finally happens, it takes him completely by surprise. Jack doesn’t understand what starts it, because there haven’t been any near-deaths or close calls lately, no impending worldwide destruction to rationalize her staying a little late after a team night.

But she does, helping him pick up beer bottles and pizza boxes in her bare feet and a ratty old sweater that’s about three sizes too big. Secretly, Jack likes that she doesn’t dress up for team night – it means that she’s comfortable here, and he wants her to be comfortable in his house despite all the reasons she shouldn’t be.

He just never expected her to be comfortable enough to back him up against a wall and have her way with him, which is more or less how it happens.

His hands are full of empty candy wrappers and leftover napkins, so he doesn’t move at first, too shocked by the sudden weight of Carter pressed against him.

She’s warm and insistent and before he really knows what’s happening, her hands have slipped under his shirt. There’s a little beer on her breath, but not enough to make him worry, and she’s just so damn hot that before Jack realizes it, he’s dropped whatever he had in his hands and flipped them over, pressing into her with all the pent-up heat of years.

Judging from the way she moans and thrusts back against him, he guesses that she approves.

Briefly he wonders if they should relocate to his bedroom, but then she’s managed to get his shirt off and hers follows soon after, so he’s understandably sidetracked by the sheer perfection that are Carter’s breasts.

Luckily, she seems amused by his fascination – at least, for a little while. Her patience wears thin, however, and before he knows it she’s rubbing against him again and it’s hot and has him gasping. “Come on,” she pouts.

His fingers are already unfastening the button of her jeans, but he has to smirk. “Pushy, pushy.”

When she growls in response, it’s almost too much, so he doesn’t waste anymore time. Pants are kicked off and suddenly he’s trapped by Carter again – sticky, sweaty skin and long legs and perfect heat.

If he could think at all, he’d realize that his knees are way too shitty to be doing this against his hallway wall. Luckily, all Jack can do right now is want. Carter’s heels are digging into his back and her hands are curved into his shoulders and she’s making these perfect, indescribable sounds. When she bites her bottom lip, he has just enough time to kiss her before they’re both lost.

Eventually, everything slows a little and once he can breathe again, Jack manages to gasp out an awed, “Holy shit, Carter” into the top of her ear, which then promptly distracts him back into kissing it.

Still, he can feel the smile she presses against his sweaty throat. “No kidding,” she replies.

Sanity dictates that he ask her what the hell that was all about. Unfortunately, to do that he’d have to stop kissing her, and he’s discovered that kissing Carter is an addictive activity.

So, instead of having the conversation they need to have, they end up stumbling down the hall and into his bed, where it happens all over again.


He sleeps deeply, one arm slung over Carter’s waist, and even though there was no indication that anything was wrong, he’s not shocked to wake up in the morning to an empty bed.

He is shocked, however, to hear water running in the master bathroom. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he stumbles to the partially open door and peers in to see Carter in the middle of brushing her teeth, once again wearing that ridiculously tattered sweater.

“Hey,” he says, because he can’t seem to come up with anything else.

She smiles around the toothbrush, but wisely waits to finish before responding. When she’s done rinsing, she turns around fully to look at him, and to his amazement, she’s still smiling. “Hey.”

This should be easier, he thinks, because they’ve just had the sort of night together that usually means you should never have to feel awkward around each other again. But nothing about Sam Carter has ever been easy, and Jack knows that he certainly doesn’t come with an instruction manual. “So…” he finally trails off.

Thankfully, she again seems to find him amusing. “So…” she replies. “I’ve been thinking.”

And that’s normal, because that’s Carter, so he grins. “As you do.”

“Yes. And I’ve been thinking that maybe, I want this. Us.”

Despite everything that’s happened in the last twelve hours, he doubts that anything she could have said would have shocked him more. Not because he doubts her feelings or his, but because it just never quite seemed like enough, before. For her. And because he’s always been willing to let her dictate the rules of their strange little…whatever, he’s never questioned that.

To her face, anyway.

Worrying over his silence, Sam looks hesitant for the first time. “Unless…you don’t?”

“No!” he insists quickly, needing to ease her fears as quickly as possible. Of course, then he realizes how that could be taken and rushes to change it. “Yes!” Hmm, still not right. “I want…well, you.”

Her smile is wide and bright and makes him smile back, despite everything. “Could be complicated, though,” he warns.

She nods, moving forward and wrapping her arms around him. “We’ll figure it out.”

Somehow, he believes her. She is a genius, after all.