14. starting with a kiss meant to be gentle, ending up in passion — for Sam/Jack
It was just supposed to be a goodbye kiss--a quick peck, a ghost of a past and future they could have had as a couple; something he didn’t want to leave without knowing, at least once, what her lips tasted like.
It was supposed to to be a soft brush of lips, tinged with sadness, his hand curled loosely at her hip and his other hand anchoring her to him. Her hands hung loosely at her side and for that, he was thankful. He didn’t want to feel another man’s ring--a ring on her finger--pressed against his skin.
But like any other mission, like any other plan, it went full FUBAR.
He had a plane ticket to Washington tucked into his pocket, his eyes soft, heart breaking stoically beneath his chest. Her eyes shone with unshed tears and she bit her lip, shaking her head.
Sir. It stung and only served as a reminder that if he stayed, that’s all he would ever be: a sir hopelessly in love with a woman he couldn’t legally have; a woman who was bound to be married to another man.
He swallowed hard and leaned close, “Goodbye, Sam.”
It was just meant to be a goodbye kiss. It’s all it would have been.
Except, Sam gasped into the kiss and Jack lingered, his lips still pressed to hers, her open, parted lips inviting him for just one more taste. His tongue brushed ever-so-slightly against hers.
It was like gasoline on a fire and Sam snapped to life, hands wrapping around his neck and tugging him closer, closer, closer. Her mouth opened further beneath his and her tongue brushed over his, her moan reverberating into his mouth and through his veins.
His arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her close, pulling her flush against him from shoulder to ankle, the soft press of her breasts against his hard chest making him groan. His fingers buried themselves into her hair and tilted her head to the side so he could deepen the kiss.
She clung to him just a needly, just as desperately, as he clung to her. Inside his chest, his heart stuttered and roared to life and beat to a steady chant of Yes yes yes. Sam Sam Sam.
He broke the kiss, breathing harshly, eyes closed and forehead pressed to hers. They shared breath for a moment, just as easily as they shared everything else in life.
“Don’t,” he pleaded with her, voice harsh and ragged with desperation, desire, and hope. “Don’t marry him. God, Sam.” He ducked his head and kissed her again, lips trailing over her jaw and cheek. “Don’t.”
She let out a little sob and clung to him, nuzzling beneath his ear and his head tucked itself into the curve of her throat and shoulder, his pleas muffled against her skin. She shook in his arms and stroked a hand through his hair, lips pressing to the side of his head where she could reach.
“I won’t,” she confessed. “I can’t.” She shook in his arms and felt his grip on her tighten, relief causing him to sag further against her, his moan of relief rippling through her. God, they were so messed up.
Jack pulled away from the warmth of her neck and looked at her, eyes dark and shining, hand cupping her cheek, stroking away the tears on her face.
“This wasn’t what I intended, Sam. I was never going to say--”
She pressed a finger to his lips, smiling softly. “I know.”
He nipped at the pad of her finger and pulled her into his arms once more, desperate to hold her. They had many obstacles to overcome--Sam needed to talk to Pete, he still had to handle Washington, and they needed to adjust their command chain.
But for now, when mere seconds ago, he was about to hold himself content with a brief, single brush of her lips to his, he would focus only on the impossible: Samantha Carter in his arms, the taste of her on his lips, and the promise of someday a lot closer than he once thought it was.
