Work Text:
Sam/Jack TuesdayMuseday Pic Prompt Drabbles – March 4, 2025
Making it More
“Sam.” His familiar voice filled my ears as he handed my glass of punch over.
“Thank you, Sir.” My response as professional as I could muster even as the tips of his fingers contacted the bottom side of my hand and dragged slowly along the edge of my palm and little finger as I accepted the glass. It wasn’t that his touch was meant to be sensual – it wasn’t – but my brain decided to make it more than it was.
More than it should be.
“Colonel Jack O'Neill, Jacob Carter.” General Hammond introduced and I felt my temperature and carefully hidden anxiety rise just a little which was silly because the Colonel wasn’t a guy I was bringing home.
He was my CO.
A man that I should not be crushing over because he was my CO. The problem was trying to explain that to myself while he was standing beside me decked out in his full Class A uniform looking simply divine and smelling even better.
"Carter? As in?" The Colonel said to me, his luscious brown eyes drinking me in like they always did, even if he didn’t mean to.
Keep eye contact, I chanted internally, trying not to appear like there was a problem.
Don't look anywhere else, Sam.
Certainly not his neck or that spot under his ear. The parts of him that I had licked and teethed in the locker room while he breathed ‘Not like this’ hotly in my ear. That meant he did want me, just not as a sexed up primal Sam. Damn. I had to stop thinking like that.
He's just another officer in a room full of officers. I told myself.
Except he's hot. Came the rebuttal to my observation.
Shut up! A self-admonishment alongside a gulp of my drink to cover up my turmoil did nothing to stymie the inner monologue running around my hypothalamus.
"As in, my father Sir, yes." I replied because I had to say something or risk him noticing the glazed expression in my eyes. An expression he had seen on my face the morning of the 'please explain' with Senator Kinsey. An expression that had him grinning wildly as he walked toward me from his hotel room before his hand found the small of my back and his lips whispered a flirty little comment about how good I looked.
Words that I should not be replaying in my mind.
"Get outta town.” The surprise is his voice alerted me to my absence of mind, “Sam's Dad? I've heard nothing about you, Sir." He replied with an incredibly jovial tone that had my dad giving me that look. The look that said 'really, Sammie?', the same look he threw me when I bought my first boyfriend Jeremy home.
Only the Colonel wasn’t anything like that. Wasn't supposed to be anything like that, and I hoped Dad hadn’t seen through my carefully constructed facade to find the giddy little girl swooning in the presence of the man whose redacted file Dad had seen on the coffee table of my apartment before I left Washington to take up my posting in Colorado Springs.
Some called it hero worship, and maybe it had been. Then. But now, it was more. Now I knew him as a Commander, knew about parts of his life not in his file, knew what it was like to huddle in his arms in an impossible situation as death approached.
"What's there to say about an old General waiting to retire." My Dad replied with a smug expression that filled me with dread. The same expression that he wore whenever a guy visited, generally while he was purposefully disassembling, cleaning and reassembling his service weapon. He would loudly insert an empty magazine, engage the slide and hammer, point and dry fire, then pointedly utter ‘you’ll have her home by 2300’ to the scared kid trembling by the front door.
“Dad, I talk about you all the time." I defended with a massive lie because I hadn't said a word about him since I wanted Colonel O'Neill to see me for me and not my father’s reputation. Now after a year of missions and some pretty hairy situations, I knew he saw me. He'd seen more of me than any other man.
The thing was, I wanted him to see even more.
Be even more.
I remembered being underneath him. I remembered his teeth and tongue and lips. He remembered too even if he pretended that he didn't, and though we never talked about it, we danced devilishly close to the line with our flirty behaviour. Even the hug after my hypnosis was more than it should have been, his nose buried in my hair, my hand on his back and in his hair.
It made me long for his arms to enfold me again. Just without the dying or the cold.
"I retired once myself." The Colonel replied and looked straight at me, "Couldn’t stay away." The smile that tickled for corner of his lips sent my temperature up again.
Oh, no.
I looked at Dad as the faint blush coloured my cheeks and sure enough, there it was. That look. The suspicion. The belief that I was the reason for his return and not some arbitrary set of unfortunate events that forced him back into the service.
Breathe Sam, just breathe.
"From your analysis of deep space radar telemetry." Dad taunted incredulously with a dig at our unrealistic cover story.
"Well, it's just so damn fascinating." The Colonel deadpanned his counterattack before taking a moderate sip of his punch.
Not to be outdone in the dry jokes department, my father fired back, "I'm sure it is. Otherwise you wouldn't be receiving the Air Medal." He said, his eyes flicking between the Colonel and myself. Well, this was just great. My father going toe to toe with my CO in a public arena while I stood by wanting the Goa'uld to attack so that said CO could order me to leave with him. Even General Hammond looked uncomfortable.
Breathe Sam. Breathe, and don’t look at him.
"We have our moments." He replied, then downed his drink, an action that punched through my control technique demanding my eyes to focus on the bob of his neck and the touch of his lips and tip of his tongue to the edge of glass as if he were kissing the rim.
Kissing. He kissed me.
His eyes snapped to mine for a moment, and I knew that he knew where my mind had been.
Oh damn! Because that was appropriate. Dammit Sam!
"Um, will you excuse me? We just don't get out of Cheyenne Mountain enough. I'm going to grab some air. Outside. General. Captain. General." The Colonel said quickly, then beat a hasty retreat, turning to catch the attention of the waitstaff so he could relinquish his empty glass and left the room, and God I wanted to follow him.
To get out of here.
Away from the accusing eyes of my father and the oppressive atmosphere created by his disapproval of the man who had come to mean the world to me.
The man I had and would continue to follow to the edge of the galaxy.