I'd absolutely adore an S/J kiss #12. Bonus points if it could be pre-S8. ;)
12. a hoarse whisper “kiss me”
Sam coughed, wincing at the taste of blood in her mouth, her lungs burning with effort. Beside her, Teal’c mediated while Jonas paced back and forth in front of the cell, eyes sharp on the guards who watched on dispassionately.
A warm, secure arm wrapped around her shoulders and kept her close, fingers stroking rhythmically against her shoulder and upper arms. She shook with fever and burrowed closer to the warmth, sighing.
Nirrti’s experiments pulled on the very strands of her DNA, stretching and unraveling until she wasn’t sure if she was alive, if she was a person anymore.
Warm lips pressed to the top of her head and a low, rumbling voice echoed softly in her ear. “Easy, Sam.” Another press of lips–secret, illicit, and warming. “Sleep.”
SG-1 had gotten out of many scrapes before, but Sam couldn’t see a way out of this. She would be taken again and unraveled and she would die. Jack, Jonas, and Teal’c could do nothing more. This, she had accepted, was the end.
She groaned and pushed herself up, palm flat on his chest, struggling. Jack’s arms supported her, helping her sit up. “Hey, easy. You need to rest before Biology 101 in a few hours.”
Sam licked her lips and met his eyes, shaking fingertips skimming over the sharp cheekbones and jaw of her commander’s face. “Jack,” she said, softly, throat sore from her earlier screams.
Jack shifted, his arm tightening around her and face pressing into her gentle touch. “I’m going to get you out of here,” he promised. “Just–just hold on, Major.”
She shook her head, knowing that no matter how hard Jack tried, she would not be returning to the cell after Nirrti took her. This was it–her last moments with Jack; six years of repression, hoping for a lifetime after ‘someday,’ and instead getting six minutes.
Sam coughed again and swallowed, pressing closer. Her voice, when she spoke, was hoarse, low and determined. “Kiss me.”
He looked pained, his fingertips pushing her hair back, cupping her face and thumb stroking her cheekbone. “Sam…”
If he kissed her, if he crossed this line–now, when they had gotten out of so much worse without doing so–it would be giving up. It would be goodbye.
But she was staring up at him with those big blue eyes of hers, face relaxed and open and lips gently parted, blood speckling the corners of her mouth and chin. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, shuddering.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he tilted his head and brushed his lips to hers, licking away the blood and sweat, sipping at her lips until he could taste only her: Samantha Carter, sweet and sharp and perfect.
One hand curled into his tee while the other slipped up to hold onto his face, fingers wrapping around the shell of his ear and keeping him close. He let out a muffled groan, frustration and desire and helplessness pouring into her.
Six years of waiting, the goal of a future together–of endless kisses amidst the sunshine, of water lapping at the cabin’s dock as he threw her into the lake, of lazy mornings and heated afternoons and desperate nights, of a future.
And it all came down to this: one first and last kiss.
She stroked his hair as he broke the kiss and buried his head into the crook of her neck, shuddering. His mouth pressed to the tendons of her neck, laving the expanse of skin there, content to feel her rapidly-beating heart against his tongue.
“I’m not giving up,” he promised her, fingertips leaving bruises against her back and hips. “I’m getting you out of this and we’re having our someday. No more waiting.”
She rolled forward and dropped her head into his neck, nuzzling beneath his ear. “I know,” she whispered, breathing in the scent of him: Jack and sweat and pine. “I know.”
They sat in Nirrti’s cell clinging to each other, Jack a human shield between Sam and the future, waiting. If nothing else, they had this exact moment: six minutes together–Sam and Jack.
