Author: AkamaiMom PM
They've got a thing. And it just kind of works. Sam/Jack established. Fluffy drabble. I've edited it since I first posted it.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - J. O'Neill & S. Carter - Words: 1,570 - Reviews: 19 - Favs: 15 - Follows: 1 - Published: 09-10-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6315111
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's note: I originally posted this in the middle of the night during a spate of insomnia. I normally don't post things that my kids aren't allowed to read—and I don't know what I was thinking (I was tired. . .?), because in its original state, it had crossed that line.
So, I've edited it and cleaned it up a little. What can I say? I do try to keep most of my work T-rated, and it bothered me that this one wasn't. I hope you can excuse my foibles as I figure out this whole writing thing—and if not, I'm sorry about that, but I'll sleep better at night.
Just another fluffy little drabble.
Trinity3—you can stop tapping your foot impatiently, because this one's for you.
"Hey, Jack, could you hand me the—"
"No—the other—" As the tool landed in her hand, Sam raised it up towards the bottom of the garbage disposal, fitting the end of the wrench to the appropriate nut. After a few turns, she held out her hand, and wiggled her fingers. "Now I need the—"
"Allen wrench." Her husband plunked the tool into her open palm.
She seated the wrench into the slot and pushed hard on the handle, exhaling harshly. "Wow this bugger's tight."
"Here." Leaning into the open cupboard, he draped a hand towel over her face before squirting a drop of lubricant into the appropriate spot. When it didn't drip, he took the towel off and scooched out.
She tried again. "Ooh—better."
"Do you need—"
With a grunt, she forced the handle to rotate. A grating sound came from the sink above her. "Okay. Now turn on the water and try it."
"Yes, ma'am." With a pat on her thigh, he scooted out from beside her.
Sam watched as her husband lifted himself off the floor and stood over the sink, straddling her body with his long legs. With a few of his characteristic, economical movements, he turned on the water, and then flipped the switch to the disposal.
It roared to life with a rattle, finally whirring itself into perfect working order.
And, gazing up at her spouse, Sam smiled in triumph.
"Skim for me." She lowered the gallon jugs into the shopping cart. "And two percent for you."
"Still got some."
Jack held up the carton. "Yep. Free range—."
"Peel better." They'd said that at precisely the same time.
Sam steered the cart down the next aisle. "Cheese."
She pointed. "Mozzerella."
"Pizza?" Her response held the tone of a suggestion.
With a shared look, they both smiled. And then said, in unison, "Lasagna."
"So. We need—" Sam frowned.
"Sauce. Next aisle." Jack walked backwards for a few steps, reached into the cheese cooler, and came up with another package. "But here's the—"
"Ricotta." Sam accepted the packet, and then waited, palm open, as her husband placed another package in it.
"And parmesan." He walked back up to stand next to her. "Next?"
"Do we have to?"
Her nose twitched. "Oh, that's right—you're not into fungus."
"But I do like—" His fingers made a wriggling motion in front of him.
"Then go." Nodding, she watched as he took off down the aisle, disappearing around the bend. She'd gotten to the end of the next lane before he caught up with her.
"Green leaf." He tossed the lettuce into the cart, then added three individual plastic bags. "Tomatoes, cucumbers, and celery."
"And did you get—"
"Red onion?" He held up the evidence. "Yep."
The cart stopped as she watched her husband carefully place the purple bulb beside the lettuce.
And the words just needed to be said. "I love you, you know."
"Just for the onion?" His scarred brow lifted slightly. "Because I could do more—"
A dimple appeared in her cheek. "For everything."
And just like that, she found herself being thoroughly kissed, pressed up against a display of canned fish.
"Are there more?"
"A few." Sam reached around him, depositing a few plates carefully onto the countertop at his side.
He reached for the top one, rinsing it under the running water of the sink. "Did you get the—"
"Yep." She threaded her other hand around him and dropped the silverware into the sink. "And these."
"Already in the laundry."
He nodded towards a point directly in front of him. "I need some—"
"Here you go." Sam reached onto the ledge above the sink and grabbed a plastic bottle. Upending it, she poured more dish liquid into the water.
He held out the rinsed dish and Sam grasped it, fitting it into the dishwasher rack, before starting feeding silverware into the basket.
"Here." Jack held out another plate. "Last one."
She reached around him and opened a small canister on the counter, withdrawing a plastic packet. Deftly opening it, she handed it to her husband, who inserted the soap tablet into the proper container in the dishwasher.
With a flick of his hand, the door closed, and he pressed the 'on' button with his thumb even as the lock clicked into place.
He smiled as he looked around the room. "I love a clean kitchen."
He smiled wider when his wife insinuated her arms around his waist and pressed her body close.
Thrumming a sigh of satisfaction, she landed a peck on his cheek and informed him, "I know."
"Here." More a clarifier than a question.
"Mm-hmm." More a breath than a moan.
He shifted, then angled, and she made the noise again.
"Hold still." And he slid his hand over to the other shoulder.
"Ow." And then she completely belied her complaint by leaning into his ministrations.
"Here." Again. Just to clarify.
They sat on the floor of the living room, in the hazy half-light of evening. Jack leaned up against the couch, and Sam sat between his splayed limbs.
"You okay?" He'd asked, knowing she wasn't.
"I'll be fine." She'd said, but hadn't objected when he'd pushed her forward and piled her hair over her shoulder. And then she'd simply melted as he'd started massaging her back.
He brought his fingers into play, then turned his hand and rocked his knuckles back and forth.
She let out a tiny gasp, which turned into a throaty sigh.
Grinning, he did it again.
And elicited something rather more than a sigh—something more like a purr.
He shifted position again. "Like this?"
"Oh, yeah." Her hand tightened where it lay on his thigh. "How do you know exactly where it hurts?"
He smiled, a tidge too knowingly. Sam would have called that look "self-satisfied" had she been able to see it. But he kept right on rubbing as he said, "Because I know you."
"You know, we're really—"
"I know." Jack nodded sleepily. "Really good at this."
"Not just at this." She indicated their bed.
"Then at what?"
"At everything—at this whole married thing." Turning, she rested her face on his shoulder. "We got a lot done today. Fixed the disposal. Cleaned the den. Did the dishes, the yardwork, the grocery shopping."
"Among other things."
His grin gleamed lecherous, so she poked him in the—
"Guh—Ow!" Yelping, he jerked against the sheets. "Sam!"
Her hand rose to bracket his chin and turn his face towards her. "Be good, Jack."
The corner of his lips turned upward as he rubbed at where he felt certain he'd have a bruise come morning. "I thought that Iwas."
"I'm being serious." Squinting up at the ceiling, she settled back into his side. "I just think that it's a good thing that we worked together for so long before—"
"Before working together?" He watched as she lifted a hand to futz with her hair.
"Yeah." Her fingers tucked a stray strand back behind her ear. "That's one way to put it."
"Well, I have to admit that we do seem to have a thing."
"Yep." She nuzzled his throat. "That we do."
Silence fell for a moment as he searched for the right word. "Synchronicity."
Her eyes had drifted closed. Jack could feel her lashes on the sensitive skin just below his ear.
"That's what we have. Synchronicity." He watched her. Simply watched. And welcomed the weight of her on his arm, against his shoulder.
In his life.
"Mmm." She snuggled deeper into him, her sigh warm on his skin.
A longer silence drifted through the room, coating its occupants with a hazy satisfaction, a sated languor.
"Jack." Her whisper felt like a caress against his ear.
"I'll want more of this, you know." She yawned, and her teeth lightly scraped his earlobe before she finished with a warm exhale. "More. Whenever I can get it."
And in the radiant light of the moon coming in through the window, he caught just a hint of the blue of her eyes as he turned his head and said, "Always."