Countdown to Sam's V-Card

Countdown to Sam's V-Card

She was coming gloriously hard and the feel of him pounding into her, right there, right there, right there had her screaming, “Oh god, Jack!”

It had been several months since his move to Washington when their affair started, hot and wild, and sex too damned good to be true. It still amazed her that he could satisfy her... in technicolor! ... every time, every single time. He seemed to know how to touch her, where to put his fingers and tongue and dick to make her come and come and come, harder and longer than she ever had with any other man... or even by herself.

He made her brain turn right the hell off. She, who never stopped thinking, became brain-flavored mush when he shoved two beckoning fingers into her and licked her until she couldn't stop crying his name, shaking and trembling, her womb pulsing, and still his tongue stroked her and she kept coming, and he kept smirking. And it was a freaking miracle to her that he seemed to know every time what she needed, whether it was gentle and sweet, or with just a little pain mixed in, the slow build up or the hard, fast fuck to bring her to the edge of pleasure and push her right over, screaming his name.

And here she was coming again... was it three times tonight? ... and her body was deliciously sore and he felt so right, pumping into her, his hips jerking as he released, and she shuddered and throbbed and cried breathy little “Ohs!”, unable to stop, unable to get enough oxygen, but so, so satisfied. “Oh god, Jack!”

And as the spasms slowed and she could engage her brain again, she stroked her fingers through his hair, kissing his forehead, his eyebrow with the delicious scar right through it, tasting salt on his skin, her smell all over him. “What are you doing to me, Jack O'Neill?” she asked between hard fought breaths.

“I believe I am fucking your lights out, Samantha Carter,” he said, in proximate imitation of Teal'c's dead pan delivery. She giggled and he raised himself, hand still on her breast, to smirk at her, as he always did after making her come so hard she forgot to breathe. “And this,” he said, flexing his fingers around the soft mound of her breast, “is one of the best tits around.”

“One of...?” she asked, as if hurt.

“Yes,” he said, reaching for her other breast. “And here's the other!” He sounded triumphant, all to make her laugh, which she did, delighting him. He leaned down to kiss her, now gentle, in the aftermath of their love making.

“How do you do that?” she asked.

“What?” he responded, smiling down at her.

“Make me feel so ... satisfied,” she replied.

“Talent!” He rolled off and onto his back next to her. “Great skill and talent.” He lay quiet for a moment. “Deep knowledge of the feminine form, great skill and talent.” He flipped onto his stomach and hunched up on his elbows, looking at her. “Experience, deep knowledge of the feminine form, great skill and talent... and a fanatical dedication to the Pope!” This cracked him up.

“Shut up, Jack, and stop quoting Monty Python to me,” she said, giving him a little jab with her foot. She gathered him to her, holding him, as he more often held her. They fell asleep almost immediately.

Sam's dream seemed really familiar, more like a memory than anything. In it she was at a party celebrating her engagement to Jonas Hanson. She got a ride home with some girlfriends, because Jonas had to return to base, and ended up at a bar. There she picked up a stranger, and went with him to his hotel room. The sex was incredible! Suddenly Sam sat straight up in bed awake, startling Jack.

“Sam?” he asked. She was staring at ... apparently ... nothing, and she didn't say a word. “What's wrong?”

“Wait,” she said breathlessly. “I need to think. Shhhh!” He watched her in the dim light of the room. She was unmoving, but he swore he could hear cogs turning. He had learned by now that interrupting her train of thought would do him no good. She was preoccupied and distracted and would only respond to him when she was ready. He waited.

Without preamble, she turned to him, wide-eyed. “It was you!” she hissed vehemently.

“What?”

“You!” she said in a harsh whisper.

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“That night in the bar... I went with you!”

“I don't know what you're talking about, Carter,” he said, sitting up, taking her hand.

Still lost in thought, her eyes seeing only what was unspooling through her mind, she began to speak. “The night I got engaged to Jonas, I went with a man to his hotel and had sex with him... he was amazing...” Her voice trailed off.

Jack waited again. He knew he wasn't her first lover, after all she'd been engaged twice, and most recently to that cop, Shanahan, who made her hum. Jack felt his hackles rise. He knew he was being unreasonably childish and stupid, but he was jealous of any man she had been with before and he really didn't want to hear about some decades old fuck fest she had with a stranger. He felt like putting his fingers in his ears and making la-la noises to drown her out. Instead, like a good boyfriend... was that what he was? ... he would behave himself and not be a horse's ass about it. He had an errant thought, wondering if he could borrow that Galaran machine he read about in Landry's report to wipe her memories clean of other men, but shook it away quickly, knowing that he was being particularly despicable even thinking about it... but it made him smile to himself anyway.

Sam didn't notice. She was still too wrapped up in whatever she was thinking about... until she turned to him, eyes wide, and said again, “It was you.”

“It was me ... what?” he asked, his eyebrows raised, thoroughly confused.

“I went to the hotel that night with you, Jack.”

“I think I'd remember that, Carter,” he said. “Besides, I didn't know you when you were engaged to Hanson. We met at the SGC, right before the second Abydos mission.” He looked at her exasperated. “Tell me you didn't forget how we met!” She frowned at him. “Oh, now I'm hurt,” he said in mock dismay.

“Wait, Jack,” she said urgently. He started to say something and her hand flew up, palm flat toward him to forestall any further commentary. He tried to say something else and she shushed him. Now he really was irritated. He scowled at her, but she didn't see him. He crossed his arms over his chest and pouted, hoping to draw her attention, but to no avail... he just had to wait.

In a slightly dreamy voice she finally began to talk. “He was ... you... were unbelievably hot.” She turned toward him, her eyes unconsciously following the long line of his body, barely covered by a thin sheet, until she focused on his handsome face. “He was standing at the bar. It was kind of dark. We talked. I told him I had just gotten engaged. He... you ... congratulated me and I burst out crying.”

“Wait a minute, Sam, you can't be serious!” Jack was starting to get agitated. This was just too weird and he wasn't sure if he could handle hearing this, whatever it was. “You can't possibly believe this happened... because I don't remember it, and if I don't remember it... Well, it seems to me I would have remembered meeting you in a bar years ago and taking you back to my hotel for sex.”

Sam took a deep breath and reached for his hand. She scooted next to him, her breasts swaying, distracting him. “Jack.” She kept her voice level and calm, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of excitement below the surface of her words. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but ...”


“Don't patronize me, Carter,” he interrupted, his tone slightly dangerous.

“Hear me out, sir,” she said, unconsciously reverting to his honorific.

He heaved a huge sigh. “Okay... but I'm reserving the right to think you've finally gone bonkers, nuts, cuckoo, totally haywire...” He took a breath. “Bats, loony, over the edge, a few fries short of a happy meal...” She started to smile at him. “Crazy, insane, mad, irrational...”

Sam leaned over, taking his chin in her hand and kissed him... mostly to shut him up, but also because he was just so freakin' cute. “I get it, Jack,” she said softly, her lips closing over his again. His hands went to her cheek and the back of her head to deepen the kiss, and she began to sigh, as his tongue tipped between her lips, flicking, slipping inside and stroking.

At risk for hyperventilation, she finally left his mouth, needing oxygen, trying to draw it in with huge, deep breaths. “Just like that,” she murmured, her eyes closed, her fingertips gently tapping her bottom lip, as if in thought. She opened her eyes and looked piercingly at him. “It was you... I swear, Jack, it was you. I'm certain now.”

Jack looked at her incredulously. “You're beginning to worry me, Sam.”

“Look,” she said. “Let me explain what I think and don't interrupt me and when I'm completely done, if you still think I've slipped a cog, then ... well, I'll do whatever you think I should do.” She looked at him so earnestly, and she was so beautiful, how could he refuse her? ... and weird things were always happening to him, and to her so, he thought, why not? And besides, this was Carter, girl genius! If she thought something was true, it usually was, despite how outlandish it might seem at first. And then Jack worried that maybe he was the one who'd gone a little nuts... forgetful... or something. So, he decided to listen. He nodded to her and gestured that she should proceed.

“You were saying?” he offered.

“Where was I ...?” she began.

“You burst out crying... Wait! Why did you cry when he ... er... I... congratulated you on getting engaged?” Sam marveled at him. She thought he'd been only half listening, but he clearly remembered exactly what she'd said. This was just one of the many reasons she'd grown to love this man. She smiled her approval at him and he preened, just a little bit. Then he pulled her back into his arms, turning her, so she could rest against him. “Continue,” he ordered gently, his breath washing over her ear and giving her shivers.

“Um... yeah... I began to cry, because ... well, because...” Sam put her fingertips on her forehead and closed her eyes, a red flush creeping across her cheeks. Jack looked at her sideways as the flush took hold.

“Come on, Carter, how bad could it be?”

Sam looked up into his face. “Bad, Jack.”

He thought for a moment. “Okay. Come back to it. Maybe once you get the story rolling again you'll be able to explain the other stuff to me.”

Sam gave him a grateful smile. “Yeah, okay,” she said, a sigh of relief escaping her chest. She cleared her throat and returned to her recollections. “So, after I stopped crying, we talked...” Sam sounded nervous again and he squeezed her shoulder for support. She smiled and continued. “He ... you... asked me if I wanted to get out of there. I was pretty drunk, so I agreed, and the next thing I knew, we were at his hotel.”

Jack grunted. He wasn't liking this story at all. How could she think he'd behave like that? It sounded like the guy had taken advantage of her. He was just about to say what was on his mind when Sam started talking again.

“As soon as we were in the door, he put his arms around me and kissed me and it was so sweet, Jack. You were gentle and loving and careful and you made me feel like a princess, precious, cherished. You gently removed my clothes and lay me on the bed and went down on me and made me come like mad and then you made love to me with everything you had and it was sensual and beautiful and hot... incredibly hot... and you made me come again and again and again, and when it was over, you kissed me some more and helped me dress and took me home, and tucked me in bed, and I felt like the luckiest girl in the universe.”

“What!?!” Jack barked.

“It was my first time, Jack,” she said quietly. “And it was perfect.”

He was stunned. This had now officially gone from strange and slightly odd to deeply disturbing. “You were a virgin?” She nodded. “And you think I ... deflowered ... you?” She nodded again, her eyes shining. “No, Sam,” he said with quiet certitude. “No way. I know I would have remembered that. There is no damn way I could have forgotten that.”

He expected her to flake out on him. He expected some kind of sudden realization from her that she was being totally off the wall. He expected tears and embarrassment and apologies. He never expected what she said next. “You're right.”

“Wha....?”


She smiled at him, one of those flashing, sparkling, brilliant smiles he lived for. It confused him... really confused him. “I said, 'You're right.'”

“I'm right?”

“Uh huh,” she affirmed.

“I don't get it,” he said.

“You didn't forget it. You couldn't have. It hasn't happened yet.”

Now he was certain she'd lost it. “But... bu... but, you said...”

“I know,” she said laughing. “I can understand why you're having such a problem with this. How can I say it happened more than a decade ago, when I was getting married to Jonas, and yet it hasn't happen yet?”

Jack let out a long, exasperated breath. “Yeah,” he said, the vehemence back in his voice.

“It's simple, really,” she began. Jack scoffed, but he waited, wondering how Sam could possibly explain it. “It already happened to me in my past, but it hasn't happened to you... yet... It's in your future.”

Jack yelped. “No!” he shouted. “Is this one of those time-space anomalies? Some kind of alternate reality thingy?”

“No, I don't think so,” she said thoughtfully. “I think we decided to send you back in time to the night I got engaged to Jonas, using the Ancients' time device in the puddle jumper we used, but didn't use to go back to Egypt and...”

“Ah... Ah... Ah...!” Jack was sitting up now, his whole body tense. “You're giving me a headache!”

“Jack...” Sam put her arms around him and held him, curling into his body, pressing her skin against his. She intended to distract him, and as his hand rose to her breast, she knew she had succeeded. She pushed him down on the bed, forcing him to relinquish his hold on her, and rested her hand on his chest, her chin tipped on top of it, looking into his face, a slight, enigmatic smile on her face.

Looking back at her, he knew she wasn't going to let this go... and if he were in the slightest bit honest with himself, he was intrigued by the whole idea. How sweet it would be to meet Sam's younger self, to make love to her, to take her virginity... be her first lover. Without realizing it he began to smile... and was rewarded with Sam's widening smile back at him.

“You like the idea, don't you?” she said coyly.

Jack started to deny it, to defend himself against the suggestion that he was a dirty, old man, with a perverted mind who was actually considering the possibility of using a highly confidential piece of alien technology so he could go back in time and deflower his girlfriend, long before he actually met her. But Sam knew him way too well, and her knowing smile confirmed that she knew what he was thinking... because it was what she was thinking too.

“Wait! You're worse than I am!” he exploded. “You're telling me that you and I will conspire to highjack a sensitive Ancient doohickey for the purpose of ...” He ran out of steam.

“For the purpose of ... you giving me the best sex of my life... helping me discover my sexual identity, figure out what I wanted, what I liked and didn't like, how I wanted sex to feel for the rest of my life.” He looked at her in astonishment. “It's because of you and what you gave me that night that I had the confidence to join the Stargate Program. In some sense, it's because of what you taught me that I found the courage to take on the Goa'uld, and the Replicators and the Ori.” Her eyes dropped to his chest and then rose back to his face. “It's because of what we did together that night that I knew I couldn't marry Jonas... that I eventually realized I wasn't going to marry Pete... that we're here,” her fingers closed over one of his nipples and pinched gently, and he gasped, “...right here, tonight.”

* * * *

It took a while to convince Hammond to let him borrow the time device, especially since he couldn't tell his superior what he intended to do once he traveled back in time. He told Hammond it was personal to Sam. He told the General it was private, but pivotal to her development as a soldier and a scientist. He told George it had already happened that way, according to Sam... so he had to borrow the puddle jumper with the device, and he'd be back before anyone even knew he'd gone. And George, being George, with his experience in 1969, agreed, much to Jack's astonishment and Sam's sense of relief.

It was because of the General's influence and the confidence that the President and the Joint Chiefs had in both Jack and Sam that they now stood in a hangar at Nellis, the recovered puddle jumper flown here from Area 51 for their use. Sam gave him all the information she remembered, the location of the bar and the hotel, the time frame, as best as she could recall, and, of course, the date. She instructed him carefully in the use of the machine, giving him suggestions for getting out of Nellis when he arrived there in the past, for hiding the machine once he got to the location where he would meet her and... finally he just had to tell her it was enough. His head hurt from so many anomalies and too much information. All he knew was he had a mission and he was going into the past to accomplish it.

And what a mission! He took a deep breath, adjusted his clothes, the ones Sam said he'd been wearing that night, kissed her passionately, went into the jumper, and seated himself at the console. He saluted her through the front view panel, grabbed the Ancient controllers and ... nothing happened. Jack swore, moving to the puddle jumper's back bay to exit. As the hatch opened he yelled, “Sam! This fucking thing sucks!”

He stomped around the side of the jumper, steamed as hell, and froze. Sam was nowhere in sight. He looked around suspiciously. It was then that he noticed the differences. The hangar door was open. They'd definitely closed it before he got in the jumper. The X302 body, which had been in storage in the corner, was missing. He hoofed it to the open hangar door and looked outside at the sky. A jet took off near by and he watched it. Yep, that model hadn't flown in years. He'd gone back in time.

He flipped the velcro cover of his watch and checked the time. Sam assured him before he left that the hour of the day would remain the same when he jumped. He had only a few hours to fly to Colorado Springs, hide the jumper, check into the hotel and meet Sam... well, Sam's younger self. He ran back to the jumper, made sure the time device was off, and flew that sucker out of there, cloaking as soon as he cleared the hangar.

Nervous as hell, he entered the bar, checking items off in his head. Hid the jumper... check. Checked into the hotel... check. In the right place... check. Right time... check. He signaled the bartender, ordered a G-g...., catching himself just in time, remembering they didn't have Guinness in bottles back then... um... now. Instead he ordered a beer, letting it sit on the bar, largely untouched as he waited.

And sure enough, as predicted, there she was, the younger Sam and ... damn... she was hot. The other women with her paled by comparison. It seemed to him that every man in the place was drawn to her as if she were sending out some kind of homing beacon. He watched through slitted eyes, as she settled into a table with her friends and fended off each guy, who tried to talk to her, taking her hand, touching her arm, sitting down next to her, until she pushed them away, or said something caustic or just ignored them to death.

Jack could feel his response to her. This was, after all, Samantha Carter, the woman he'd been in love with since he met her... a little while from now. The man he'd been back then, or now, wasn't fit to know Sam. He had been desperate, depressed, suicidal back then, right after Charlie's death. He turned his back on the tableau of the younger Sam and her friends and would-be suitors. Looking into the amber liquid he thought about who he had been, and how the Stargate Program, Daniel Jackson, Teal'c and ... yes... Sam had saved him, made him a better man, a man who could laugh again, who wanted to live, who could love again. He sighed.

And then she was there, right next to him, practically touching his elbow. “Feeling a little sad?” she said softly, her hand on his forearm.

He turned his head to look at her. “Yeah,” he responded. “A little, I guess.”

She put her elbows on the bar and leaned, pushing her ass out into the traffic lane, much to the appreciation of a couple of nitwits seated behind her. It was clear to him she was drunk as hell. “Me too,” she said, looking over her shoulder at the guys hooting at her, frowning.

He took her elbow and steered her down the bar away from her crass admirers. He was amazed at how easily she followed his lead. Either she was incredibly drunk, or equally easy... and it made him anxious and protective. He moved her into a darkish corner and blocked her exit with his body, effectively cutting her off from the rest of the room and its occupants. She didn't seem to notice. “What're you sad about?” he asked.

“I don't know,” she slurred, now leaning on the wall behind her. “I've got everything to be happy about... but I'm not.”

“Oh yeah? What should you be happy about?”

“I got engaged this evening.” She stuck out her arm in front of her, her wrist cocked, fingers splayed and angled her ring finger toward him. There he saw an attractive diamond, good sized, but in a fussy setting, with baguettes around it, detracting from its natural beauty. The ring was definitely not Sam... at least, not his Sam. He knew, or thought he did, what she'd want. He'd already bought her a ring... hadn't given it to her yet, but... well, he intended to ask her to marry him just as soon as he got back.

Jack reached for the younger Sam's hand and held it, as if inspecting her jewelry. He let his warmth sink into her, using his long thumb to rub across her knuckles just once, before he released her. “Nice,” he said noncommitally.

“It's not really my style,” she said. His heart rose. “But my fiancé likes it... sooooo....” She sighed dramatically.

“That's what's making you sad?” he asked, “the ring?”

Sam looked at him incredulously. She was so drunk, and the expression was so exaggerated, that he almost laughed at her. “No,” she said vehemently. “No, not the ring.”

“What, then?” he asked.

“Forget it,” she said, turning into the bar, her body language as dismissive as her words.

“Okay,” he said. He thought a moment, watching her. “So, should I congratulate you on your engagement?” he asked gently, leaning toward her. He was careful not to touch her, patient with her, waiting for her reply.

She turned toward him again, an expression of ineffable sadness on her face... so sad, he just wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, and tell her it would be alright, everything would be alright. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face and gotten through to her, because even though he didn't move, or say a thing, her face crumpled and she started to cry. And then she moved toward him, grabbing handfuls of his shirt until she was sobbing into his chest.

Very gently, with quieting hands, he petted her back, not wanting to spook her. He put his mouth right by her ear to speak to her softly. “It's okay. I'm here now. You're safe.” He wasn't even really sure what he was saying. He just knew he had to protect her, keep her from falling apart. And whatever it was he was saying and doing, it must have been the right thing, because she was calming down, her sobs slowing, until she just lay there, standing with her face buried in his chest, her own chest heaving as she tried to regain her breath.

She pulled away from him, her hands still anchored in his shirt and looked up into his face, her make-up running, her nose red, her eyes still teary. “Oh god, I'm so sorry!” she said, her voice tinged with barely controlled hysteria. She looked down at his chest, her hands crumpling the fabric of his white shirt, framed with streaks of mascara. “Look what I've done to your shirt,” she said, an eerie calm settling over her. She looked back up into his eyes, a hollowness displayed hers that he didn't like at all.

He put his hands on hers. “That doesn't matter,” he said. She blinked at him, confused. “Hey,” he said quickly, “you want to get out of here?” She nodded, apparently unable to speak at the moment. “Come on,” he said, peeling her fingers from their death grip on his shirt. Taking one of her hands in his, he led her from the bar, again concerned at how easily she followed him.

Outside in the parking lot, he turned to her. “You want to tell your friends you're leaving?” he asked. She shook her head.

“Where are you taking me?” she asked, finally finding her voice again.

“I've got a hotel room around the corner,” he said, still holding her hand, pulling it to his chest again.

She could feel his heart beating, strong, steady. There was something about this man, at once familiar and strange, that drew her as no man ever before. “I...” She looked up into his face. She suddenly realized just how handsome he was, and jolt of desire sliced through her. She swallowed. She needed him to know before she went with him. “I... I'm a virgin,” she said softly.

He patted her hand over his heart. “Do you want to stay that way?” he asked.

“N-no,” she replied.

* * * *

She stood with him in the corridor as he opened the door to his room. Was she nuts? This man was a lot older than she, a stranger, and here she was going with him to his hotel... and he intended to have sex with her! And she wanted him... more than she wanted Jonas... more than she'd ever wanted any man. She didn't even care that she didn't know his name. All she knew was she wanted him to fuck her. She wanted this man to take her virginity, because somehow she knew he would be good to her.

Right, Sam, she thought. You'll probably end up a statistic. Young Air Force officer found hacked to death by hotel security... I can see the headlines now. He opened the door, and gestured her in. She hesitated, looking down at the ground, her hands interlocked tensely. He reached for her chin, one strong hand turning her to face him. “We don't have to do this,” he said. “I can call you a cab right now, and that'll be the end of it.” He looked her straight in the eye, trying to tell her without words how beautiful she was, how special, how much he wanted her... and his willingness to let her go, without a fuss, if that was her decision.

Jack knew how important this moment was. Sam told him how she wavered on the doorstep, how close she had been to bagging the whole thing. She wondered if, when he went back, she'd make the same decision. She believed she would, but she honestly didn't know, and now Jack was practically holding his breath, waiting to see what she would do. He released her chin. She looked into his chocolate brown eyes, took a deep breath, and crossed the threshold into the room. Letting out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding, Jack walked into the room behind her and closed the door.

“I'm going to lock it,” he said, “just so no one bothers us.” He put his fingers on the turnbuckle. “It's this one here,” he said to her, showing her the locking flange. He didn't want her to freak out when the bolt slid into place. The click was loud to his ears, and he watched her carefully to gauge her response. She was a little like a deer in the headlights. She had a look of unavoidable doom on her face, and he suddenly knew what she was feeling as the weight of what he'd come back in time to do settled on him.

“Hey,” he said. “It's supposed to be fun.” He smiled at her, knowing it was coming out as a smirk. Amazingly, she quirked a smile at him right back. Atta girl, Sam! he thought.

“I must be a mess,” she said, vaguely wiping a couple of fingers under her eye.

“Well, your make-up's a little ...” he shrugged. “C'mere,” he said, moving toward the bathroom. He was running the hot water in the sink, when she showed up behind him. “Hand me that wash cloth,” he said gesturing with his chin toward the towel rack. She grabbed the requested item and handed it to him. He ran it under the water, wringing it out and moved to daub the mascara tracks from her cheeks. She stood, almost like a little kid, as he tended to her. When she was mostly cleaned up, he tossed the washcloth into the sink and turned to look at himself in the mirror. She moved next to him, looking at herself. “Shower?” he asked.

She looked at him intently in the mirror. “Okay,” she said finally.

“Good.” He moved past her into the bedroom and went to the closet, pulling a fluffy robe from the rack. “Here,” he said. “You can wear this when you're done.”

“You're not taking it with me?” she asked, her voice small.

“Naw,” he drawled. “You need some alone time. I'll be here when you get out. But, before I leave...” he said, putting his arm around her waist gently, he took her chin in his hand again, leaned in, and kissed her, lips soft, sweet and seductive. At first she didn't respond, but very quickly, to his mind, she was kissing him back, and then she was his Sam, and he didn't want to stop. He wanted to kiss her until neither of them could breathe ... but he forced himself back under control, and he pulled his lips from hers, moving out of the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Holy Hannah! The man could kiss, she thought, as she stripped and stepped into the hot shower. If he could do with the rest of his body what he did with his lips, she was in for some serious... what? She didn't know. But she wanted to find out.

In the bedroom, Jack stripped off his jacket and damaged shirt, keeping his tee shirt. He slipped out of his shoes and socks and wiggled his toes in the carpeting. He pulled the spread from the bed and tried to make it look more inviting. He experimented with the lights until he thought they were dim enough to be romantic, but bright enough that they could see what they were doing. He wished there was some music, and was pleased to find that the hotel provided a decent radio, which he tuned to the Colorado Springs public radio station, praying that they weren't playing some goofy cooking show or entertaining the crazies with a call-in program. He was in luck. It was chamber music, Yo Yo Ma playing Bach... his favorite.

Before he expected her, she was there, swaddled in the warm, white robe, hair wet and slicked back, skin pink from the hot shower... and god almighty she was gorgeous. He got hard just looking at her. She stood on the threshold of the bedroom, her eyes flicking around the room as she took in the improvements he'd made to their surroundings, her brain ticking away, thinking too much. Jack moved swiftly to her and fisted the lapels of her robe, pulling her to him. His mouth found hers and he took her in a hot, hard kiss, unable stop himself, until a voice in his head finally made itself heard, “It's her first time, asshole, lighten up!” He pulled his mouth from hers with an audible pop, leaving them both breathless.

“Whoa,” she said softly, rocking back and nearly stumbling. She was still slightly drunk, even though the shower had helped sober her up a bit.

“Is that, 'whoa', as in 'stop, leave me alone', or 'whoa' as in ...?” He smirked at her again, his eyebrows waggling. He continued to hold onto the lapels of the robe, which spread open under his control, revealing a whole lot of pink Sam skin and most of her lovely breasts.

Her reaction to his kiss was an exploding depth charge of lust, which she felt deep in her belly. It stirred her clit, completely overwriting the flare of panic she experienced when she first saw what he'd done to the room. She was so clearly out of her league. This man was unbelievably hot, powerful, confident. She wanted him... and now she needed him, too.

“That's 'whoa' as in...” she moved forward, brushing her lips against his, leaning on him, her hips pressing into his. He released her lapels and wrapped one arm around her, the other cupping her head to pull her deeper into the caress of his mouth. He smoothed his hand down her back, lingering in the small, until his long fingers slid down the curve of her ass and she found herself pressed hard and hot against his considerable erection. She squeaked. He let her go.

“Ya know,” he said, moving away from her to the bed, “there's still time for you to go.” He turned to give her a piercing glare that made her catch her breath. He moved lithely onto the bed, settling into the pillows, semi-upright, looking at her. He patted the mattress next to him. “Or... you could come here and lay down next to me.” She started to come toward the bed. He raised a finger in warning. “But if you come here,” he said, taking his time, “... once I taste you ...” He took in a long whiff of air through his nose, as if he could smell her, and it shot a blast of need through her. “I won't want to stop.” He raised his eyebrows in question. “So, you better be sure.”

She stood by the edge of the bed looking down at him. Her breasts felt heavy and her nipples were hard. There was a restlessness in her belly and she was wet with desire for him. Her clit was hard and there was an unfamiliar pulsing of blood through her pussy which scared and thrilled her. “I'm sure.” she said simply.

He flipped the bedclothes open for her as he got off the bed. She fooled with the tie of the robe. “Leave it,” he told her. She got under the covers gratefully. “I want to undress you,” he said quietly, and he noticed her eyes flick toward him.

Jack was going on instinct, letting himself feel his way through this thing. He knew if he stopped and tried to plan it out, second guess himself, he'd over-think it and the burden of his task, the significance and importance of what he came back in time to do for Sam, for himself... even for the Stargate Program... would overwhelm him. If he let himself, he might even develop performance anxiety. He shivered at the thought.

“Hey!” She called him from the bed. His eyes snapped up to hers and he saw her attempt at bravado, how scared she really was, and he let himself feel again, seeing his Sam in her younger self's place, that she needed him, and he recognized how much he needed her.

“Hey, yourself,” he said softly. He held her gaze and began to unbuckle his belt, slipping his trousers off his hips. He dropped his eyes only to step out of his pants, picking them up and putting them over the arm of a chair. When he looked back at her, she was staring at him in his tee shirt and boxers, and he had a moment of panic.

He knew he wasn't young any more. Hell, he wasn't that young when he was originally in this time frame. Now more than 10 years had passed and ... well, he really wasn't a young man. He worked out, kept in shape, but he knew gravity was taking its toll. He toyed with the idea of getting into the bed without further disrobing, but he remembered what Sam told him, and sighed to himself, before he pulled his shirt off over his head. He knew this was a matter of making himself vulnerable, of trusting her, and putting them on a more even level, but it was damn hard... except for his dick, which had softened considerably through these excruciating moments of self-doubt. Well, there was no use delaying, he thought. He ran his thumbs around the elastic waistband of his shorts and pulled them down and off.

He looked back at her, wondering if he would be able to handle it, if he saw disgust or even pity on her face. She was watching him intently, but her eyes weren't on his face. She was staring, opening ogling him, particularly his cock, which under her undisguised lustful gaze, was feeling a little perkier.

“You're... you're...” She gestured toward him, specifically his dick, which was stiffening nicely.

He flipped the covers open and slipped in next to her. “I'm ... what?” he asked, moving onto his side, propping his head on his hand, reaching for her. He put his other hand on her thigh, not so high as to be threatening, but high enough to be intimate.

“Big,” she squeaked.

“Ya think?” he asked sardonically. She nodded, pressing her lips into a firm line. He reached for one of the lapels of the robe. Nimbly he plucked it open, before she could think about what he was doing, revealing her breast. “What have we here?” he asked rhetorically, as he stroked a long finger down the slope of her chest and up the mound of her breast to her nipple. She whimpered softly, her mouth falling open, her breathing speeding up. Then he pinched the peak gently and the sounds she was making got louder. He moved closer, leaning down to kiss her breast bone. “You are beautiful,” he said in little more than a whisper, before he lowered his mouth on her and took her nipple between his lips, holding her breast for his attentions.

Almost immediately she started squirming under him. The feelings he provoked in her were intense, each nip, every swirl of his tongue, the suction he applied rhythmically, made her clit spark with need, the blood flooding into her sensitive tissues pulsing harder. He pulled her nipple between his teeth, stretching it slightly, before letting it go, making it ache just so perfectly, and her breathing hitched in response.

Jack looked down at her, his hand grasping her firm, young breast. She was breathing fast. Her skin was flushed and her pupils were dilated. Her hair was a mess and still she was amazing. He sat up and tugged on the belt tie of the robe. She had double knotted it. “Wow,” he said, “you really weren't sure you wanted to take this off.”

“Here,” she said, recovering, “Let me...” She reached for the cloth tie and began to pick at it, trying to untie it. He slapped her hand, hard enough to sting just a little. She pulled her hands back sharply.

“No,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “I said I wanted to undress you.” Patiently he worked on the belt, pulling and twisting the tie until it was free. In the struggle with the knot much of her legs were revealed, but she still kept some of her body covered. With the belt untied, all he had to do was lift the edge of the robe and she would be as naked as he. The thought excited him and he felt himself grow harder.

He knew the body of the Samantha Carter of his time ... intimately... every delicate curve, every pale inch of her perfect, peachy skin, that pesky mole, which hid so cleverly from him for so long... but as he opened the robe covering Sam's younger self, he felt his hands begin to shake.

His Sam had a beautiful, mature body, full, firm breasts, toned muscles, strong arms, back and legs. She was a woman in her prime, who knew her body and used it accordingly, unafraid to wrestle a tribal chieftain, challenge a Kull warrior, withstand a gene-splicing machine, fire a P90 until her shoulder ached, whatever she needed to do. And she was a genius, a certifiable, grade A, number one genius, who saved his ass and the collective asses of this planet more times than he cared to count. And back home, in his time, she was waiting for him, having sent him off with a kiss and a promise... “I love you, Jack.”

But here, lying next to him, was her younger self... softer in some ways, firmer in others, and undeniably, intensely beautiful, and Jack couldn't take his eyes off her. “I... I won't bite,” she said, trying for a joke in the awkward silence of his gaze.

His eyes flicked up to hers. Then back to her breasts. He let the robe material drop from his fingers as he claimed the pale, perfect mounds. “But I will,” he muttered, his mouth closing over the breast he previously neglected. His lips took the sensitive peak, as her fingers sliced through his hair to hold him close, nails scrabbling through the silvery strands, electric trails of sensation spiking through her.

Jack's head swam with the feelings Sam's younger self engendered. Her body was so hot it made his dick ache and ooze with want. He needed, more than anything, just to bury himself in her. But she was so young, untried, uncertain... this was not his Sam, not the confident, smart woman he fell in love with, his equal in so many ways. This version of Sam made him feel protective, careful, controlled, and he knew he'd have to draw on these feelings if he was going to do what he came here for, because if he just followed the needs of his body he was going to take her hard and fuck her fast... and that was so not the thing she needed. He had to keep reminding himself this is not my Sam... this is not my Sam.

He pulled away from her breast, his saliva glistening on the crinkled nipple, the soft, pale tissue around it pink from his unshaven chin. He realized he was breathing nearly as heavily as she, and for the same aroused reason. He put his head down on her stomach, just under her breasts, kissing the creamy skin, before he rested, trying to get his breathing back under control.

“You know,” he heard her say, her voice vibrating through his head, “this isn't me.” He waited for her to continue, putting his palm flat on her belly. “I don't do this... pick up strangers in bars, go with them to their hotel rooms... I mean, I'm a virgin...” She was quiet for a moment, letting the thought sink in, while he stroked his fingertips across her abdomen, feeling her shiver. “I don't even know your name,” she said in a breathless whisper.

He rose over her, moving swiftly between her thighs, his arms stiff, holding himself above her. “It doesn't matter,” he said, and without further preamble, slid down her body until his face was over her sex. He leaned down to kiss her damp curls, and heard her squeak, her thighs tightening around him. He took a peek up at her face and found her staring at him, a mixture of fear and lust flushing her features. He pulled up between her legs until he was perched on his lower legs, an almost prayerful position, looking down at her, her legs spread on either side of him.

The younger Sam propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes drawn to his rampant cock. She licked her lips and the movement made him swell. Her eyes snapped up to his. “You ... you don't have to ... uh...” she gestured vaguely.

A huge smirk crossed his face. He finished her sentence for her. “... go down on you?” She swallowed, hesitant. “...eat your pussy?” he said, a grin breaking across his features. She still can't talk dirty to me, he thought fondly, images of his Sam flashing through his mind. His grin slipped a little, but he re-focused on the beauty below him. He realized she was nodding. He reached down, his hands on her thighs, fingers gripping. “Oh, but I do. I want to. And you need me to,” he said.

Using one hand, he grasped his aching cock and squeezed. “See this?” He looked at it casually in his hand and then up at her. She swallowed convulsively and nodded again. He saw her hips twitch toward him. Jack came to the astonishing realization that she was incredibly turned on by him. He gave a near silent snort of derision at himself and continued, “You won't be able to take this, if we don't do it right.” Her bright eyes dropped from his face back to his fisted cock, her expression widening, a deep blush creeping across her cheeks. “So, let me do this right,” he said. He released his dick and put his hand back on her thigh. “Trust me,” he said, lowering himself. “You'll like it.”

She sighed when he kissed her curls again, pressing a little closer than before. Her thighs were still closed around him, and he used his hands to push back, not too hard or insistently, but enough so she became conscious of how tight her muscles were and relaxed a little. He slid his hands down her legs to her knees and pulled up on them, needing to use more than a little strength to urge her knees to bend and flex over his shoulders. And while he positioned her he slipped his tongue between her sensitive tissues, drenched in her juices. She moaned in response, her legs falling more open with each incursion of his agile tongue.

She tasted like his Sam, that ineffable tang of feminine arousal mixed with whatever it was that made Samantha Carter, Samantha Carter, and he couldn't get enough of her. He slipped his hands under her ass to angle her for his attack. He slicked into the center of her, fluids pouring out, flicking into her tender opening, a promise of things to come. He licked a hot trail up her flesh to her clit, as hard and aroused as he'd ever felt. Her thighs were tightening again and he had to reach for her leg to hold her open, nuzzling into her heat, as if he could crawl into her body right there.

He gave her clit a quick flick, and she jumped, hips flying off the mattress. He was going to have to be careful not to over-stimulate her. He wanted to make her come, not freak her out. Gently, he closed his lips over her clit and soothed it with the flat of his tongue, each lap soft, subdued, building an insidiously seductive rhythm. He dragged his tongue over this most sensitive part of her body, not pressing too hard, knowing he'd got it right when her hips began to follow the movement of his tongue.

Experimentally he brought a finger to her opening. She was slick enough for penetration, but he needed to know how she was going to react, how tight she was, how sensitive, how much pain this was going to cause her. He continued to lick her clit and nuzzle her flesh, even as she tensed again, from the feeling of his finger sliding into her. She was tight... hot, wet and incredibly tight. He withdrew his finger, still licking.

He moved from her heat to her inner thigh, kissing and stroking the sensitive skin, petting her, making her relax, moving to the other leg, when he'd finished with the first. He propped an elbow against the inside of her thigh and leaned on it above her. With infinite patience he slipped two fingers into her, feeling her muscles tighten and grab. Watching his fingers disappear into her he could feel his dick ache. He ignored it. “Relax,” he said. “I won't hurt you... not yet.” He waited for her legs to release before he continued to penetrate her with his fingers.

He had her spread wide open, her smell all around him, her taste on his tongue and lips. He had two fingers inside her, and she was tight, squeezing his long digits as he slowly impaled her. He turned his hand palm up, reaching with his fingertips to stroke the top, front wall of her pussy. He leaned down and took her clit between his lips again, circling it under the hood with the tip of his tongue. He created a rhythm between his fingers and tongue that made her breath hitch in her throat, and before long she was squirming again, trying to follow his lead, hips jerking up and circling. He began to flex his fingers apart as he stroked, stretching her, preparing her. She began to moan loudly. Her clit was vibrating under his tongue, tremors starting deep inside her. He flexed his fingers farther apart, increasing the stretch. Taking a chance, he gave her clit a little nip, immediately soothing it with the flat of his tongue again. Her moan was long and low. The pulsation of blood in her tissues was almost audible to him.

He slipped the thumb of his other hand into her opening, wetting it, making it good and slick. With an ease born of experience and confidence, he moved his thumb around the tight, little hole of her anus, already wet with fluids dripped from her pussy. Her response, a loud gasp, was wonderful to him. Like a sex ballet, he moved in for the final leap, his fingers inside her stroking and flexing, his thumb sliding around and finally into her back entrance, his teeth closing over her clit, tongue pressing rhythmically and hard. She came, a shriek accompanying the throbbing, clutching spasms, which seemed to go on forever, as he moved his fingers, thumb and tongue in concert, prolonging her response, until her voice produced the phrase, “ Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!” over and over and over.

He released her clit and watched as she came, thrashing on the bed, tissues swollen with arousal, muscles gripping, skin flushed and goose-fleshed. It was a spectacular sight. Samantha Carter in the throes of orgasm, out of control, not thinking, just feeling... and all because of him. He felt inordinately proud every time he did this... and it made his cock ache all the more. He wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer without real, physical pain. He continued to stroke inside her, moving gently, as the last of her convulsions rattled through her, leaving his thumb inside her, but no longer moving it. He wanted her to feel how full she was... because she was about to feel a lot fuller.

With care, he removed all of his fingers from her, kissed her clit gently as it peeked at him, red and sensitive. She twitched one last time, turning away from him onto her side, her knees closing. He slid up the bed behind her, spooning against her back. “Okay?” he asked softly into her nape. He felt her nod, but it was the tension building in her body that worried him, and when she began to shake, he knew she was crying. “Hey,” he said gently, rising up behind her, his arm draped over her middle. “What's the matter?”


She turned toward him, tears on her cheeks. “You... you just gave me the ... best ... sex ... of my life, but ...” She was trying to say something, but her sobs were robbing her of breath. She scrubbed her hands over her face.

“Shhh,” he said. “Shhh.” He put his palm on her cheek and looked down at her dear face. She calmed somewhat, looking back up at him. He kissed her chastely on the mouth. She could taste herself on his lips, and suddenly she was crying hard again. “What is it?” he asked, beginning to get alarmed. “Did I hurt you too much?”

“N-noooo,” she cried, her breasts bouncing with the force of her sobs.

“What is it?” he asked again, this time using his quiet command voice, knowing the effect it had on his Sam, hoping it would have a similar effect on the cadet in his arms. It did. She quieted, gulping, trying to get herself under control. “What?” he asked, his voice soft, but compelling.

“What you did...” she started, her eyes watery. She started again. “You made me feel...” She shut her eyes and shook her head, her lips pressed into a firm, hard line.

“You came,” he said softly, stroking the hair at her temple. She nodded. “No one ever did that for you before?” She shook her head.

“Never like that,” she said finally. Tears began to well up in her eyes again.

“But...” he prompted her.

“But... I'm still... a virgin,” she said softly, her voice full of tears and timidity.

He looked down at her, processing what she'd said. A nearly hysterical laugh began to well up in him. He forced it back down. “You thought I was done?” he asked, trying to keep his voice gentle. She nodded, her expression fearful and resigned. “I'm not,” he said, letting just a little of the feral emotions he was feeling creep into his voice. It came out rough, and as he bent to kiss her hard, she shivered.

He reigned himself in, pulling up from her mouth and tongue, her lips now swollen by his kisses. “We'll take it slowly, but once we start, you're going have to trust me... okay?” He watched her nod, her tears gone, a little scared again, but willing, so willing.

He moved over her again, settling between her thighs. “Okay?” he asked, and he pressed his pelvis into hers, testing his weight on her. She nodded. He looked into her eyes, holding her gaze. “Bring your knees up,” he instructed, lifting slightly off to give her hips room to flex. “Let them fall open,” he said, settling deeper into the cradle of her hips as she followed his directives.


“Scared?” he asked, hoping his grin was reassuring. She nodded again, her expression solemn. “It's okay to be scared,” he said, “but try not to tense up. That'll only make it hurt.” She gave one short, sharp head bob to show she understood. “Take a deep breath and let it out,” he said. When she'd done what he said he did the same. “Hey, I think I'm a little nervous, too,” he said, hoping she would smile. She did. “Okay, ready?” He took his cock in his hand and guided himself to her opening. She was slick as hell. He pushed the head in, watching her face as a look of surprise flashed across her features. He pulled back and pushed in deeper, encountering the barrier within her.

“Feel that?” he asked, pressing against her hymen.

“Yes,” she said, her voice shaking.

“It's going to hurt a little, maybe even bleed but, trust me, it won't be too bad.” Sam had told him what it was like and he hoped and relied on her memories and assurances that the time space continuum would ... continue on... or whatever... and things would be the same this time around. He withdrew a little and pushed into her again, pressing a little harder, watching her face. She was staring at the ceiling over his shoulder, her teeth imbedded in her bottom lip. He pulled out just a little, pressing even harder, testing the barrier. He thought he felt it give a little. The tightness of her body, the heat and friction were driving him crazy. He wanted to pound into her, fuck her good and hard, but he knew he wasn't going to do that. He drew on all his control, searching for his desire to protect her, keep her safe, and clamped down hard on his need for completion. This was about her, his Sam, this Sam, and he was going to do it right for her.

He drew out of her, until only the head of his cock remained inside. “Look at me,” he commanded, gratified to see her eyes snap to his. He drove into her with all of his considerable strength. The barrier gave way. She cried out and clutched his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin. He held very still, knowing how full she was, that the sharp pinch of startling pain was still fresh, how scared she was. He knew all this, because Sam had told him, and he held still, her fingernails hurting him, letting her adjust to his invasion, this most intimate of violations, a carnal initiation into womanhood, the first physical realization of receptivity.

She held his gaze until he broke through, then her eyes slammed closed, her forehead wrinkling with the pain of penetration. He waited, watching, trying to steady his breathing and fighting the urge to fuck her, because now that he was inside her, and the heat of her body enclosed him fully, his need returned. Come on, Sam, come on, he thought... I need you, come on. If he could have, he would have begged, but instead he waited, his body tense, his arousal just barely banked, using the pain of her fingernails in his shoulders to distract him.

Her forehead smoothed, but her breathing remained fast and shallow. “Open your eyes,” he said, controlling the tension in his voice. When he was once again looking into her deep, blue orbs, he licked his lips. “Okay?” he asked. She nodded, clearly still afraid. “Could you... maybe... your nails..?” he asked hesitantly, his glance flicking to his shoulder.

“Oh!” She hurriedly released his skin with a jerk, craning her neck upward to see the line of half-moons filling with blood. “Oh!” she said again, “I hurt you!” She stared at him, her bottom lip trembling.

“It's okay,” he said, reassuringly. “I hurt you, too.” He smiled down at her, willing her to smile back and was rewarded with a hesitant version of the Carter smile he loved so much. “Now, if you don't mind,” he said, smirking, “that's enough chit chat. I'm in the middle of something important here.” Her smile widened and she giggled. “And no giggling,” he said with mock seriousness, which only made her giggle more.

He was getting restless waiting for her. Tentatively, he flexed his back muscles to pull out just a little. “Bring your legs up,” he said. “Hook 'em behind me.” When she did as he asked, he said, “Higher,” waiting until she was in position. Smoothly, but with some force, he imbedded himself deeper inside her, sliding beyond his previous position, the head of his cock slicking over her cervix, lodging into the back wall of her vagina.

“Oh!” she said. It was a soft, expressive exhalation. This wasn't the sound of a woman in pain. This was the voice of a woman's arousal, and he liked it. He decided to test his analysis, drawing out and pushing back in, increasing the friction. There was that “Oh!” again. That's more like it, he thought. He withdrew again, pulling farther out, pressing in harder, just a little bit faster... a long, low moan, and her hips pushed back at him. Yeah!

He took one more good look at her face, and found her flushed with arousal, a look he knew well. His Sam looked just like that when she was ready, really ready for him. He started moving in and out of her steadily, twisting his hips and leaning into her pubic bone to put pressure on her clit with each inward drive. He knew he had to be careful to gauge her readiness, and not get too far ahead of himself, because he wasn't going to come before her... he'd already made up his mind. He started reciting hockey scores, Stanley Cup teams, Hall of Famers in his head. Reaching between their bodies he found her clit and began to circle it with his thumb. Her breathing began to shorten and speed up. He could feel tension in her internal muscles.

And in a cascading motion, he felt her orgasm begin, deep tremors, short, sharp spasms which grasped him and released, and her breathy cries, rising higher and louder as pleasure took her. He held on, pressed deeply into her, until the pulsations around his cock, the heat and friction became too much and he could no longer control himself. He pumped into her hard and felt his balls tighten, his cock surging inside her, swelling, until, like an explosive flood, his release rushed through him and into her, waves of hot, potent seed filling her, washing into her, rippling through her flesh.

Jack softened and rolled off her, pulling her into his side, just as he did with his Sam. At that moment he wasn't making a distinction. She was his woman, and he needed her tucked against him, her body sated and held deeply in his embrace. He stroked the hair from her face and kissed her forehead, pulling the sheets up over her shoulder to keep her warm. She put her hand on his chest, palm resting over his heart, just as his Sam did, as if she were touching him in the very place which held his love for her.

She was very quiet, and he realized by her slow, regular breathing that she had fallen asleep. If Sam hadn't told him otherwise, he might have thought his evening was over, his obligations met. Instead he allowed himself to relax, to hold this woman, so familiar and yet a stranger, and to sleep.

It might have been the unfamiliar surroundings or the cognitive dissonance he experienced as he contemplated the strangeness of his situation, but whatever the cause, he woke from his nap not more than half an hour later. Sam, the younger version, was still asleep. She was entangled in the robe, and probably sleeping in a wet spot, so he felt okay about waking her. He put his hand on her cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, waiting for her beautiful eyes to open, stroking her silky skin.

She looked at him, and he was relieved to see happiness. It could have been awkward. She might have been regretful, but instead he saw what he hoped he would see... deep satisfaction, a woman well-pleasured. “Are we good?” he asked, already knowing the answer. She nodded and stretched, a long extension of arms and legs, shoulders and neck.

“I'm better than good,” she said. “I'm great... I'm fantastic... I'm... ewww!” she said.

Jack laughed. “The wet spot?” he asked.

“Uh huh,” she said, lifting her butt and looking down. “Oh!” she said suddenly.

“Blood?” he asked, looking at her face. She nodded, scared again. “Let me see,” he said, not asking. He moved so he was facing her, and put his hands on her thighs to move them apart. She resisted, keeping her legs together. “If you're hurt, you're going to need medical attention,” he said firmly. “Let me see.” She let her knees fall open.

Jack looked at her pink flesh. With sure fingers, he felt for tears and other injuries, noting how quickly and relatively easily she trusted him, allowing him to help her. He removed his fingers and looked at them. “It's okay,” he said. “You bled a little, but that's it. You probably won't bleed any more. You might be a little sore, though.”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he replied, patting her leg reassuringly. “Give me your hand.” When she took his, he tugged her into a sitting position. “Come on,” he said, “Let's get you cleaned up.” He got off the bed, pulling her along with him. Inside the bathroom he turned on the shower and discarded her robe. When the temperature was right, he got in and gestured for her to join him. Once she was standing next to him, he pulled her back into his chest and let the full force of the spray hit her. He filled his cupped palm with shower gel and began to soap her up, her shoulders, her breasts, her belly and legs.

“Put your foot up,” he said pointing to a ledge on the side of the surround. She did as he said and he cleaned between her thighs, letting the water sluice through her tender tissues. In this position, looking down the long plane of her body, he could see more than ever the distinctions between his Sam and this younger version. Where his Sam had well-used, real-world muscles and rounded curves, this Sam was softer, with sculpted muscles born of gym work outs. Her curves were more shallow, narrower hips and higher breasts. Her ass, pressed against his groin, was softer, not nearly so well rounded as his Sam's.

He couldn't deny that this version of Sam turned him on. Her body was spectacular, and he could feel himself get hard just looking over her shoulder, her perky nipples tightening under the onslaught of the shower's spray. His fingers, once again slipping through the sensitive flesh of her pussy, lingered, tracing the structures of her sex. He wasn't even acting with intention at that moment, but when she pressed back, the soft globes of her ass framing his now stiff cock, he began to touch her with purpose.

Like his own Sam, this version was uniquely responsive to his touch. As the hot water spiked down on her breasts and belly, he pulled her against his hard chest, supporting some of her weight, his fingers working her flesh. He found her clit and circled the tip, stopping to press it hard, before circling again. Her mouth fell open and she drew in a deep breath, letting it out with a sigh. “Like that?” he asked, his mouth close to her ear, the words rumbling through his chest into hers. She whimpered an affirmative, which ended in a gasp, as he slipped his long pinky finger into her entrance, still maintaining pressure on her clit. He knew he was doing it right when her knee, raised and propped on the ledge of the surround, began to vibrate.

He glanced at the side of her face. The curves of her cheekbone, the closed and flickering eyelid, the tender shapes of her lips were pure Samantha Carter, a blush of new arousal coloring her skin. He changed his hand position, snapping her out of her passivity. He installed his thumb against her clit and slid two long fingers into her, working them in and out. To him it felt like he was grasping her, in and out, up and down, balancing her on his fingertips, her flesh pulsing in his hand. Her hips jerked with the movement of his fingers, and soon, as he established his rhythm, her voice joined the concert, a punctuating presence of moans and sighs... music to his ears.

He reached deeply into her, well past the original barrier, stroking and thrusting his fingers. His hips assisted his movements, pressing his now fully aroused dick between the framing cheeks of her sweet ass, pressuring her body forward, as he pushed back on her clit with his thumb. He raised the arm he draped around her middle, cupping her breast in his hand, kneading and holding the soft, firm mound. Plunging into her, he rubbed her clit, moving from side to side. He released her breast, only to pluck the tightened nipple between his fingers, pulling and rolling it, pinching gently, then none too gently, her voice and her body showing him her needs.

She began to squirm, the sounds she made getting louder. She reached one arm behind her to encircle his waist, her hand slipping down to grab his well-formed ass, holding, her nails threatening. Her other arm draped over her head to grasp his silvered hair, her fingers fisting in the strands, pulling his face down onto her shoulder. He kissed the pale skin, his fingers busy, and as her “Ohs!” started, and the muscles inside her began to clutch at him, he bit down into the flesh of her shoulder, the inherent threat and his dominance over her body sending her into hard, fast spasms of pleasure, which seemed to go on forever.

Her body jerked against him, the minute movements of her flesh against his dick making him impossibly hard. The juices pouring out of her, his fingers slick, set off a primal reaction in him, needing to feel her fine lubrication coating his cock. It was all he could do to keep from bending her over and slamming into her right there in the shower, especially when she felt so weak and malleable in his arms, his fingers buried in her, her breaths coming in pants.

When her muscles finally stopped seizing, he slowly withdrew his fingers, quickly and surreptitiously checking them for signs of blood. There was none. He sighed quietly in relief, knowing she had survived her deflowering with very little damage... again. By concentrating on her well being he fooled his body into backing off his arousal, successfully distracting himself from his very real need to fuck her... right now. He just wished his cock got the message. He was still hard as a rock, oozing from his slit.

But Jack was all about control, and as he had for so long with his Sam, he ignored his hard-on from hell, reached to turn off the shower, and got out, dick bobbing stiffly, as he grabbed two towels. He handed one to this lovely goddess, later queen of his heart, her skin peachy and flushed, as much from orgasm as from the heat of the shower, and he turned to dry himself off, draping the towel around his hips, tucking his pesky penis into the tightly drawn waist band.

There were no words. He nodded at her and went back into the bedroom, sitting on the bed, waiting, getting concerned when she didn't come right out after him. He stood and went back in, rounding the door to see her still in the shower, towel in hand, wet, and crying again. What the hell?

“C'mere,” he said, gesturing for her to get out of the shower and into his arms. She looked up, unseeing, until he repeated his gesture. She came to him, burying her face in his neck, her wet skin slicking his chest. He reached for another towel and draped across her shaking shoulders. “I'm gonna get a complex,” he said sweetly, as he held her.

“What?” she said, looking tearily into his eyes.

“I'm gonna get a complex,” he repeated. Her frown of confusion prompted him to continue. He smiled. “Nearly every time I make you come, you cry... I'm gonna think I'm doing something wrong.” He kept his voice calm and soft, trying indirectly to cajole her into telling him what was wrong.

“N-no... not you,” she said.

“What, then?” he asked.

“Me,” she said.

He was quiet for a moment, processing. “You think you're doing something wrong?” he asked. She nodded, putting her face back into his neck, hiding. Something in Jack snapped. He pushed her away from him, hands on her upper arms and glared at her. Her face was a picture of misery, as if she expected this moment from the beginning and she was ready.

“I don't know what kind of men you've been with before,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “but that's not who I am.” He took a deep breath, his gaze piercing. “And that's not who you are, either.”

Her bottom lip was quivering, but her brain was working on all twelve cylinders. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Sex and pleasure aren't just about pain and punishment, dominating someone, making them vulnerable and then hurting them.” He stopped for a moment, trying to get his anger under control. “I mean, I guess there are people for whom domination and pain are a turn on, but that's not what we're talking about here.”

“What are we talking about then,” she asked, challenging him, her voice just a little mocking, showing him some of her spark, the strength he was convinced she had within her, the fighting woman he knew and admired. He smirked at her, letting go her arms, and the change in her was immediate. She straightened and looked him in the eye. She reached for his towel, shrugging hers off. As his rigid cock sprang free, she looked at him, her fingers encircling him. “What's this all about?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he replied, swelling in her hand.

“You're hard and you won't fuck me,” she said, deliberately using coarse language, trying to shock him. She was taking the upper hand, and he liked it. “What are you, a gentleman?” she asked, openly mocking him now.

He reached for her nipple, which was standing up hard from the softness of her breast, and pinched it. He watched her eyes close and mouth drop open in reaction. “As a matter of fact, I am,” he said. He reached for her other nipple, pinching it, taking both breasts in his large hands. “And who says I won't fuck you?” he asked, emphasizing the relevant verb, his voice throaty and dangerous again.

Her eyes opened wide, and as she looked at him, a slow smile curved her lips. She stroked his cock, his eyes starting to roll back. “Whatcha waiting for, Big Poppa?” she asked, her expression now wicked.

He grabbed her ass and pulled her into his body. “You,” he said, his breath on her face.

“Me?”

He released her and stepped away, inching toward the bedroom, pulling his dick from her grasp. “Ya gotta ask for it... show me you want it,” he said, moving out of her line of sight, farther into the bedroom. He settled into the bed, laying back, head propped up, getting comfortable, as comfortable as was possible with the sheets tented up in his lap. He waited. It was all her now.

She shook her head, centering herself. She began to move out of the bathroom, but stopped, turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Grabbing a towel, she finished drying herself, rubbing the wet from her hair until it stood up every which way. Then she combed it with her fingers, slicking it back. She ran the water in the sink and noticed for the first time that there were no signs in the bathroom that this man was here to stay. No toothbrush or toothpaste. No toiletries at all. There was nothing personal in the room that told her anything about him. It was as if he'd appeared out of nowhere to bring her pleasure. She smiled to herself, cupping up a handful of cold water, sipping, swishing and spitting it out. Satisfied with her appearance, she re-entered the bedroom. There he was, in the big bed waiting. Yummy, she thought, noticing the tent.

She came toward him, a slight sway in her step. She looked predatory, and he felt his balls pull up, his cock twitching toward her. This was more like the woman waiting for him at home, with her confidence and her belief in herself. Jack knew this version of Sam was auditioning this posture, mostly for his benefit, but he also knew that when she discovered and nurtured this part of herself, Samantha Carter would succeed well beyond the smaller dreams she had right now. He spread his legs under the sheet, inviting her forward.

She stood at the side of bed looking down at him. She leaned over and reached, he thought for him, but was surprised when she came away with a handful of sheet, dragging it across his arousal slowly, seductively, until she'd uncovered her prize. Ooooh mamma, he thought.


Sam crawled onto the big bed between his long legs. Rocking back on her heels, she reached for him, her fingers closing around his length, squeezing tentatively, eyes glued to his cock. A small bead of liquid rose through his slit. Her eyes snapped up to his and back down. Excruciatingly slowly, or so it seemed to Jack, she gracefully lowered her mouth, her tongue slithering out from between her lips to his tip, flicking once, twice into his slit, his taste in her mouth. Without warning, she opened her lips and moved over him, taking his cock into the hot, wet opening of her mouth. She sucked him, her tongue smoothing over the head, her lips stretched around him. Jack thought he might lose his mind.

Rapidly he sat up, startling her. She popped off him, looking at him confused. “If you keep that up, I'm going to come in your mouth, and much as I might enjoy that... really, really enjoy that... I don't think that's quite what you had in mind, is it?” His voice was strained and rough, but he was smiling at her, which gave her the confidence to do what she intended next.

“You're right,” she said, moving out of the vee of his legs. She pushed him back down on the mattress, and rose above him, straddling his hips, his cock now rising in front of her. “But I'm new at this, will you help me?” she asked, suddenly shy again.

“Grab me,” he said. She wrapped her fingers around his cock. “Harder,” he demanded. She complied, her hand tight. “Move above me and guide me in,” he said. He didn't like how hoarse he sounded, but she apparently did, because she did everything he asked, flexing her strong quad muscles to rise above him, pressing his tip to her opening. “Go slow,” he said, figuring she might still be a little sore, surprised when she slid down, taking him nearly to the hilt. “Ride me,” he commanded, again surprised, when she complied, moving back and forth, up and down, impaling herself on him over and over.

She was tight and she was controlling his depth, speed and force of penetration. He was slowly going insane. The bounce of her near perfect breasts was making him thankful he had eyes. He began to worry about his ability to hold off, to keep from coming before her. His last orgasm had taken some of the edge off, but he was so turned on by her body and her actions, he knew he was in trouble. Back to hockey scores... no... Daniel naked... no... Teal'c naked...arrrggghh! Hammond naked!

Okay, he got some of his control back. Before she drove him permanently over the edge, he decided to take back the upper hand. As she drove down onto him, he reached for her clit and began to stroke her. Her rhythm rapidly deteriorated. She began to shake. Now, I've got her, he thought.

Jack grabbed her arms and flipped them, emerging on top of her, thrusting into her hard. It was the first time he'd allowed himself to take her as he would his own Sam, and he was pleased to see her surprised expressed, followed by a flood of desire. He thrust into her again, angling his hips. Automatically, her legs came up and around him, so that when he drove into her again... and again... he penetrated to her depths. Her breathing shortened and she began to vocalize, “Oh!” But he was going for it, and he didn't allow himself to settle, to take the easy way out. No, he was going for the gold. He was going for the brass ring. He pounded into her, hard, fast, deep until he heard what he wanted. “Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!” And there she was, crying out, convulsive spasms milking him, her body on fire, shaking, her flesh pulsing, and he could finally let go, his own release pumping through him, each wave timed to his pulse, as if his seed flooded into her from his very heart.

He collapsed on her, breathing hard, gripping her arms. Under him, her chest was heaving, her breasts crushed sweetly against him. He gathered his wits and tried to move off her, but her arms came up around him and she whispered, “No, not yet. Stay.” So he did, at least for a few more minutes, finally rolling off her when her breathing returned to normal and she couldn't hold her eyes open one second more.

He let her sleep for a little while as he thought over the evening's activities. He looked at the hotel clock... 0200 hours. It would be daylight in a few hours. He had to get her home, and the jumper back to Nellis before then. He nudged her awake. When he finally had her blues trained on him, he spoke, “Time to get you home, I think.” He kissed her lightly and smiled regretfully. “Much as I'd like to stay a while longer, I have to get going... and so do you.” Her returning smile was a little watery, but she nodded and rolled off the bed, heading into the bathroom to clean up one more time.

Jack waited for her come out and then went in, cleaning himself with military efficiency. In no time he was back in the bedroom, pulling on his shorts, socks and pants. He looked over to gauge her progress, and found her nearly completely dressed, her hands on the placket of her shirt, buttoning. She looked up at him as she finished. “Will I see you again” she asked bravely.

“Not right away,” he said. “But soon... I promise.”

“Then you'll tell me your name?”

“I won't have to,” he said, smirking. “You'll already know it.” He finished getting ready. Inspecting the room quickly, he took her hand and left. “Where's your car?” he asked, already knowing it was back at the bar in the parking lot. They walked around the corner. He took her keys and drove her home, coming into the house with her. “Get undressed and into bed,” he said. He tucked her in, and sat on the edge. Kissing her forehead, her eyes already half closed, he said, “Do what's right for you. Take your own path. Use your strength. I'll see you soon.” She reached for him, her face in his chest. He loosened her grip, laid her back on the pillows and left.

His heart was full as he returned to the cloaked jumper. There was so much that happened and he didn't know what he would tell his Sam about it all. Then he remembered... she already knew. This was just too weird, he thought.

* * * *

The hangar at Nellis shimmered as Sam waited. It had been nanoseconds since Jack and the puddle jumper disappeared, when it reappeared and he came around from the bay door to scoop her into his arms. He was obviously tired and smelled like sex, and for the briefest of moments she felt an insane jealousy rise in her heart. Then the memories came flooding back, as if Jack's return to her past renewed and refreshed the old feelings and made them more vivid. “Jack!” She hugged him with everything she had.

“I'm beat, Sam,” he said. “Let's go home.” He fished in his pocket and handed her the keys to his truck. “When we get to Denver, you drive.”

The entire trip back, he snoozed, even once they landed in Colorado, the day sky peeking over the horizon. He was snoring lightly, when they pulled up to her place, his having been sold when he moved to Washington. She bundled him out of the cab and into her bed, her street just coming alive with commuters and school children waiting for their buses. After a hot shower, she crawled into bed next to him, spooning up to his back, her body awash in the sensations that his return to her past evoked in her.

It was many hours later, when she woke up to find his arms around her, his legs entwined with hers and his hard length pressed into the contours of her ass. She could tell he was awake too. He was making circles on her belly with his fingers, not enough to tickle, but more than enough to awaken her. “”Jack?”

“Uh huh...”

“Didn't you get enough last night?” she asked, teasing, pressing back into his stiffened cock. He drew a long hissing breath through his teeth and she felt him twitch.

His fingers found her nipple and he pinched it, pulling just enough to make it tighten. Sam's hips jerked back against him and he groaned, cupping her breast and squeezing. He reached between her legs and found her wet, her clit already hard. “What about you?” he asked, a little surprised.

She laughed. “It's a little weird,” she said. “Since the jumper reappeared, all my memories of that night have become so much more alive. I remember the details as if they were yesterday.”

“Like what?” he asked, his fingers starting to move through her flesh, applying pressure to her clit.

She pushed back into him, his cock squeezed between the cheeks of her ass. “Like how sweet you were, how concerned and gentle... uh... uh...” She became distracted as he pulled her leg up and over his hip, opening her.

“Go on,” he said silkily.

“I remember how careful you were to make sure I wasn't hurt and ...” He bit her neck and shoulder and she arched against him.

“Continue,” he said, his fingers playing her.

“And... and... I remember how you felt inside me...”

“Like this?” he said, pressing into her from behind.

“Mmmm.”

He pulled out of her and drove back in. “Or like this,” he suggested reasonably.

“Y-yes,” she said, barely articulate. He gripped her breast in one hand, her clit at his mercy with the other, his teeth moving across the sensitive skin of her neck, she was awash in sensations. “Jaaaaaack,” she drawled.

“Yes, Sam,” he said between bites.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you,” he whispered back, pressing her hard, and feeling her orgasm start, a deep, pulsating tremor, preceding the insistent grab and pull of her flesh around his cock, hot and wet and delicious, until he could do nothing more than release his control and come inside her, wave after wave of seed inside her body.

When they finally emerged from her bedroom, it was dark again, and they were starving. He called for a pizza. She made a salad. He came into the kitchen behind her, his arms around her, kissing her shoulder. “I don't think I've ever thanked you, Jack,” she said, “not then, not now.” She turned in his arms, pressing into him, her body fitting to his. “Thank you, Jack.”

“My pleasure,” he said seriously. She smiled at him, that dazzling Carter smile he depended on to make his day. “No,” he said, “really... my pleasure,” and he smirked at her, reminding her why she loved this man so.