Disclaimer - MGM/Gekko/Double Secret own them.
I have felt absolutely no impulse to write or even read fic lately. This little thing is to help try and get me back in the mood. Feedback would be appreciated.
Future-fic, no spoilers.
*
Sam wasn't entirely sure at what point they'd started making out.
At no time during the drive to the restaurant - and indeed, in the restaurant - had their lips even brushed. And the drive back? Just the same.
Just after she'd invited him in for coffee (*coffee*. Just coffee. Really.) there would have been an obvious moment, but it hadn't happened then either (though damn, even though she'd been pleased with herself for inviting him in, another part was very much aware of how alone they were. Daniel and Teal'c had grown pretty tired of playing unofficial chaperons - what had been described as 'team' evenings were quite clearly 'Sam and Jack really aren't sure how to act around each other now that he's retired and desperately need buffers' evenings - so now, they were all on their own. God, she was pathetic. But at least he was too).
So, some point after she'd switched the coffee pot on and gone to the bathroom (flushing the toilet; she distinctly remembered flushing the toilet), but *before* he'd actually reached the front door (and perhaps even before they actually left the kitchen - he really did look good in that leather jacket) as she'd started escorting him out, they'd started kissing.
As for who initiated it? That was something else she didn't know, but it really wasn't a question she desperately needed an answer to.
All that mattered was that her mouth had been pressing against his.
They'd stumbled back (forward?) against the closest wall (definitely forward then), lips frequently separating only to find each other again. It was definitely one of the clumsiest kisses she'd ever shared, but hey - her kissing Jack O'Neill? Jack O'Neill kissing her?
*So* not complaining.
There was further movement then, as they somehow made their way out of what turned out to be the hallway and shuffled into the living room - which was much easier said than done. Smacking into furniture more than once ("Ow! Table! Ow! Legs!" "Stop complaining about your legs and I'll kiss them better." "I have legs?") they eventually came to a dramatic finish when someone's body hit the sofa; they lost their balance, and fell onto it in an undignified lump.
The making out continued apace of course, but eventually - when he was muttering something about lack of oxygen, and she was starting to get a leg cramp - they had to pull away.
After shifting until they were face to face, rather than body part to body part (not that that situation had been *so* bad) they...paused.
There was something strangely empowering yet terrifying about being here like this. About being able to look at him, *really* look at him, and have him stare back. It was something that was going to take time to get used to. After so many years of trying to hide, of trying not to let him see...now she could.
He spoke, briefly disrupting her thoughts. "Is this...is this as freaky for you as it is for me?"
Oh thank God. "Oh God, yes."
Relieved, he cursed quietly, closing his eyes. "I thought it was just me." As if realising something, he suddenly re-opened his eyes. "Not that this hasn't been nice! Not that this hasn't been very, very-"
"Easy there, sailor," she mocked, "you haven't dug yourself a hole *just* yet."
"Sure, go ahead," he complained, "mock me."
"I will, thank you."
It was entirely her own fault. Sure, she was enjoying the hell out of herself, but that shouldn't have stopped her from noticing.
He tickled her.
It had, as far as she could remember, quite literally been years since she'd last been tickled. And there was a very good reason for that. Her reactions tended to be a little...extreme.
So, a short while later (after she'd screamed and kicked, and he'd yelled and ultimately groaned), Sam peered over the edge of the sofa to where he was lying on the floor. "Uh, sorry," she murmured, feeling guilty but also trying *not* to feel guilty. After all, if he hadn't tickled her in the first place... "You okay?"
"Oh sure," he said, "other than the fact that my knee is telling me - once again - that I'm way too old for this stuff."
Was he joking? He didn't sound like he was joking. Concerned, she began to reach out towards him-
It occurred to her, in the split second as he hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged down, that she really was incredibly stupid.
She landed, with an 'oof', trapped between him and the sofa. Stunned for a few moments, her body at an awkward angle, there was eventually only one thing she could possibly say:
"You are a bad, bad man."
She meant it, she absolutely did. But that didn't stop *her* from grinning or *him* from grinning, and it certainly didn't stop his hand from splaying against her side.
"Only since I retired," he murmured.
"And thank *God* for that," Sam chuckled, pulling him closer, and suddenly it wasn't quite so weird anymore.
~FINIS