Disclaimer - MGM/Gekko/Double Secret own them.
Future fic, humour, rated R to be on the safe side.
Hey, I'm not saying any of this would actually happen - just go with it ;) Smooches to nanda.
*
There was no doubt: it was *so* worth it.
Seven years of trying (and occasionally succeeding) of hiding how he felt, of trying (and occasionally succeeding) of being happy for her whenever it looked like she might be pairing off with someone else. Seven years of fighting, dying, working, and losing huge swathes of himself, only to have her - and the others - remind him of who he really was.
It was worth it. All of it.
Because right now, he was making out.
With Carter.
In his truck.
He was making out with Carter in his truck.
They'd been Not-Dating for the last three weeks (neither one of them had dared to say the 'D' word), since his last day of working at the SGC. They'd been very careful, very respectful (jumping each other the moment he left wouldn't have looked particularly good), and so far, there'd been nothing more than several very nice (extremely, *extremely* nice) kisses.
But for some reason, on this particular evening, after he'd driven her home from the restaurant (hey, he could do that gentlemanly crap on occasion. Although he had driven her there, so leaving her at the restaurant wouldn't have been very gentlemanly at all), they'd leaned towards each other to kiss...
And then hadn't pulled away.
Up until then, it'd been pretty awkward for both of them. God knew he'd been having enough issues trying to deal with the fact that it was *allowed*, but even then he wasn't one for grandiose declarations of *anything* anyway.
She seemed to have much the same problem most of the time, pretty much being as nervous as he'd even seen her - which hadn't been that often, even in their line of work.
And he really couldn't feel smug about the fact that he apparently made her more nervous than the Goa'uld, because she was having exactly the same effect on him.
Until about two minutes ago.
Though it had to be said he wasn't too sure about the time, because his mind was on something else.
Such as the fact that about ten (twenty? Thirty?) seconds ago, she'd stretched out along the long, bench seat (he knew there was a reason he'd bought that particular truck), pulling him down with her.
Sure, so there wasn't much room for his legs and his feet were left rather awkwardly pushing against the floor of his truck so he didn't fall off, but who cared about that when she was warm, wonderful, and kissing him?
Speaking of kissing...
Their lips met for the umpteenth time, casually brushing, tongues occasionally tangling, her right hand sliding over his back; his left rubbing along her thigh, over her skirt...
Mmm...
They had to adjust, slightly, when he was leaning on her a little too much, but their mouths were soon back again, and then his was on her neck because he'd recently discovered she liked that (and *oh* - so did he).
Almost of its own volition his left hand now went under the skirt, gliding over her stocking-clad skin, gently caressing her thigh...
And when the stocking-clad skin disappeared to be suddenly replaced by just skin, his hand stopped moving.
If he'd been capable of thinking about it, it would have made sense. He *knew* she'd been wearing some kind of stockings because his hand had just been touching them, but realising exactly where they ended and what kind of stockings they *were*...well, that made a difference.
Damn. Carter wearing those? That was some image.
The pleasant hum in his groin suddenly magnified.
Though he wasn't looking at her (his face was still in her neck), somehow he *knew* that she was grinning, *knew* that was well aware of what was going through his mind, *knew* that she was damn pleased with herself.
Not that she didn't have good reason.
So. This was new. With her, this was new. The sudden need flared through his body, though for a few moments he tried to stave it off. This whole situation was still 'new' for them, and he didn't want to-
Slipping from his back, her hand grabbed his on her thigh, and moved it up until it was cupping the side of her ass, her hips angling towards his.
Groaning he captured her mouth, instinctively lowering his hand again so he could coax her legs apart, settling between them. Her hand returned to his back, then his head, then his back as the kiss went on and on and on and they couldn't have sex here, not for the first time, she deserved better and he was too old, but her right leg had hooked over his left and somewhere her shoes had gone missing and she was rubbing her foot over his calf, eliciting a growl the likes of which hadn't come out of his mouth for a *very* long-
CLUMP!
Whatever the hell that was, he was ignoring it. His exhaust pipe could have just fallen off for all he cared; there was no way in hell he was movin-
CLUMP! CLUMP!
She broke off the kiss and he - *he* - actually mewled - *mewled* - a complaint. God dammit, he was turning into a cat.
Muttering, he thumped his head down...
Right into her breasts.
CLUMP! CLUMP! CLUMP!
"You should," At least she was having difficulty breathing. That was something. "See who that is."
Now she was unhooking her leg. No, she couldn't unhook her leg - it simply wasn't allowed! And staying nestled where he was, was a really good idea. "I don't care who it is."
"Jack," She moved, grabbing his shoulders and pushing him up. "You need to see who it is."
God, she looked gorgeous. Mussed hair, swollen lips, panting for breath...how could he deny *this* woman *anything*? "Okay," He murmured, sitting up the rest of the way with her assistance (and maybe, just maybe, he pretended he needed it more than he did), surprised when he saw how fogged up the windows were.
Wow, he hadn't accomplished that in *years*.
Okay. He was sitting up, he was trying not to focus on her, and he was about to discover which particular sadist had just butted in.
Lifting up a hand, he wiped the fog from his window. And blinked.
Woah.
Heh, oh if this was what he thought it was...only one way to find out.
He lowered the window.
The intruder blinked much the same way Jack had, obviously surprised at who was inside the truck.
Jack was amused, embarrassed and hoped to God Carter (he wasn't quite used to 'Sam' yet) had pulled her skirt back down. "Hello officer."
"Hello..." He greeted, apparently searching for what to say. "...son." Son? He had to be at least fifteen years Jack's junior. He cleared his throat. "Can I see your drivers license?"
"You bet." Jack started to move...then stopped. Bending right now was a very bad idea. In fact, moving at all wasn't highly suggested. "Uh Carter," He gestured towards the glove compartment "Would you mind?"
"Oh," She replied, her skirt already properly in place, though she kept trying to tug it down further with one hand. "Sure." Leaning forward, she opened the glove compartment, delved about inside, and soon produced the license, passing it to Jack who promptly passed it to the...damn, what rank would he be? He was too embarrassed/aroused to be able to remember or figure it out. Best to stick with what he'd already used.
"Here you go. Officer."
Jack sat there, waiting, hands grasping onto the steering wheel, seriously trying to calm his body down. Best to think of things that weren't likely to 'interest' him. Police, prison, handcuffs...
Ah, crap.
His license suddenly appeared back under his nose.
"Mr O'Neill,"
"Ah. Thanks." Prying a hand from the steering wheel, he used that to take his license back, and quickly shoved it into his jacket pocket. "Hope we're not in any trouble."
"No," the officer grinned. "But I recommend you take this somewhere private. You never know who's going to be peering through your truck window."
You know, that really was a good point. "Good idea. Thanks."
Nodding, the officer began to turn away...only to turn back. "You know, you're the oldest couple I've ever found like this."
And then he was gone.
Silence reigned inside the truck.
"Oldest?" She asked, sounding slightly offended.
"Well," He shrugged, both hands firmly back on the wheel. "Neither one of us is a spring chicken - though you're a great deal springier than I am. Actually..." The more he thought about it, the more he grinned. "It's kinda cool."
"It is?"
"Sure! We're the oldest couple. Ever. And we've still got it."
"'It'?"
"You know," His right hand left the wheel to gesture. "*It*. Though that's no doubt largely due to your overwhelming hotness."
Silence reigned again.
Damn, had he actually just said that? Not that it wasn't true, but...well, Carter didn't deal well with any kind of compliment about the way she looked.
"My overwhelming *what*?"
Best that she get used to it then. He turned towards her, taking both hands of the wheel. "Loath as you are to admit it, Carter, you *are* incredibly hot."
He could almost see the internal struggle on her face. Wanting to take offence at being called hot, but also secretly thrilled. Eventually... "Look who's talking."
Huh? "Sorry?"
"Oh *please*, have you seen yourself in a leather jacket lately?"
Just yesterday, in fact. "Uh...yes?" What was her point?
"I swear, half the women on base used to go into heat the moment you strolled in wearing that thing."
Woah-oh. *Too* much information. But speaking of that... "What about you and your leather pants?"
"What about them?"
Oh, nonononono. "Don't play Miss Innocent with me. You know damned well how good you look in them. If Simmons ever saw you in those he'd have a coronary - I know I nearly did."
"Okay," She argued, inching closer to him as she spoke. "Your stupid woollen hats."
Hey! "I like my hats..." But hey, wait a minute, if they were discussing what made them attractive... "If they're stupid, why do you even think I look good wearing-?"
"I know!" Carter replied. "It doesn't make sense. I mean they look really, really bad, and yet still - somehow - you look good enough to eat."
Oh, *imagery*. "BDU's!" He shifted on the seat, more or less facing her now. "Do you know how *sexy* you make them? I mean, it's the last thing you'd expect, right? Almost everyone I worked with over the last seven years wore them - I should have been sick of the sight of them, but nooooo, you'd come along and suddenly I'd been imagining scenes involving you, me, and any table I could get my hands on."
Yeah, he probably should have been embarrassed by that admission, but there wasn't any time for that when she said what she said next:
"Maybe it's not the clothes."
"It isn't?"
"No," Oh Dear God, she was straddling his lap. "Maybe we're just hot. With clothes," She settled against his lap, her voice whispering in his ear. "Or without them."
O-kay.
Okay.
Oooookay.
She was seriously trying to get them arrested.
"Carter?"
"You thinking we should take this inside?"
"Oh yeah."
He loved that she could read his mind.
~FINIS