Happy Birthday Annerb! (ficlet, Sam/Jack mushy fluff, PG-13)

[holdouttrout]

Here's a crazily silly little ficlet for annerbhp. LJ needs to give me more notice of birthdays, I swear, because I'm sure I owe you more than this. Also, I hope you get this before Monday. *g*



Jack fingered a strand of her hair, letting it fall as she leaned closer to rest her head on his shoulder. Her head felt a lot steadier once it was safely in place, though she felt the room spinning when she closed her eyes.

"Why did you let me drink that last glass?" Sam mumbled. She let her head roll so her mouth was near his neck, and felt his amusement in the way his arms tightened around her.

"I should have helped the woman who stranded me with scientists for half the evening?"

Now Sam laughed. "I had my own problems, you know."

"Ah, yes. Zee French Ambassador," Jack said, in an outrageously bad accent. "How ees it zat you made the Stargate network act as a conduit against zee replicators?"

Sam chuckled, her warm breath on Jack's skin, her fingers fumbling at his buttons. She was still just drunk enough to be feeling really, really good, and not drunk enough that she thought it would last. Jack caught her hand and pulled her around until their faces were touching, pulled her so she was in his lap. It still amazed her how much she liked that, how easy it felt.

"I can't believe you made it out of there on your own two feet," Jack said.

"Not only that," Sam said, "I walked in a straight line out the door." There had only been one moment when she'd thought she might not make it; a woman had bumped into her and nearly sent her sprawling to the floor. Jack had grasped her elbow, and that simple touch was enough to let her keep her equilibrium.

"It wasn't that obvious I was completely smashed, was it?" Sam asked, worried that she'd hear about this tomorrow, or, god forbid, that it would even get back to Area 51. She'd never hear the end of it if that were the case; her scientists might be incredibly dedicated, but they liked to tease her about any failings they found ever since they realized she actually made mistakes, too.

"Obvious to whom?" Jack asked. "Because I know you better than most." He bent and kissed her collarbone, following it from where it barely peeked out of her dress to the hollow of her throat. Sam melted into him, wrapping her arms around his torso and bunching up his shirt until she felt skin bare skin, realized Jack had unzipped her dress already and was sliding the straps down her arms. She leaned back to help him, reaching back and unclasping her bra, too.

"Helpful," Jack said, and finished getting her arms out of the dress, pulled the bra down along with the dress. Sam reached for his buttons again, closing her eyes when his mouth closed around her nipple while one hand cupped her other breast. She managed to undo the buttons and shoved at his shirt; he had to let go to get his arms out of the sleeves, and she took advantage of the distraction to stand, her dress pooling at her feet. He took in every inch of her bare skin, broken only by a pair of lacy, black underwear. Sam grinned.

"Are you going to look all night?" Sam said.

Jack got up from the couch, maybe a little more quickly than necessary, and said, "I'm coming."

Sam's mouth quirked up. "Not yet."

Jack groaned. "Do you have to do that every time?" His hands circled her waist, and Sam gave him a quick kiss before sashaying around the corner and down the hall. He followed, working at his belt buckle. "I'm just saying, Carter, that your sense of humor--"

Fabric hit him square in the face. Jack pulled it off. Sam's underwear.

Sam had stuck her face back around the door frame to their room. "You were saying?" she asked sweetly.

Jack looked down at the underwear in his hand and then swallowed. "Uh..."

"Hmm?" Sam said, turning around and heading back into the room. There was a beat of silence and then she heard Jack's footsteps headed her way.



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