|A Taste of Home
Author: AkamaiMom PM
Drabbled Fluff. Sam's back in DC with Jack, and they share a moment over breakfast. Established relationship. Fluffy fluff.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - J. O'Neill & S. Carter - Words: 737 - Reviews: 33 - Favs: 29 - Follows: 2 - Published: 04-16-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6911663
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A Taste of Home
Again, I'm imagining our confirmation scene. Again, I was inspired by a simple question on GW. This is something that could be in Movie 3, right? Something to confirm that these two amazing people are together?
Nothing but fluff, people. Fluffity fluff-fluff. Yummy, yummy fluff.
"Well, I'd better go."
The crisp morning air had chased most of the café patrons indoors, but Sam still didn't like being cooped up when she could be outside. Too many months in small ships, confined spaces, and close cabins, she supposed. Whatever it was, she'd gladly deal with the chill of DC in early spring rather than bear the pressure of the heated humanity inside the tiny restaurant.
But really, being able to have breakfast in semi-privacy with her husband was well worth the occasional shiver. Even with the traffic moving along the city street, sitting at the little table outside felt intimate, somehow.
It was good to be home.
Looking over at where Jack sat across from her, she smiled, taking a last sip from her coffee cup and then wiping her mouth on her napkin. "Me too. I have to meet with General Foreman again this morning."
"Oy." Jack leaned back in his chair, brushing biscotti crumbs from his jacket. "That guy's a whole lot of boring."
Sam swallowed a laugh, then scooted her chair backwards and stood. "Yeah, but he's General Whole Lot of Boring, so I shouldn't be late." Leaning down, she pressed her lips somewhere in the vicinity of her husband's, reaching for her briefcase at the same time. "See you tonight."
"Yeah." Jack frowned, then rose, reaching out as his wife turned towards the street. "Hey, wait, Sam-"
She barely looked at him over her shoulder as she answered. "What?"
Grasping her arm, he hauled her backwards, turning her handily, his hands pulling her in towards himself. Slowly, he lowered his head, his eyes locked on her full mouth. With an exquisite deliberateness, he pressed his lips together, and then lowered to meet hers. Slowly, patiently, he brushed his lips one way, then the other over hers before taking them completely.
Hard. Anything but subtle. Anything but a simple peck on the mouth, his touch overwhelmed her. Her briefcase landed with a 'thud' on the ground next to her as she lifted her hands to curve around his back, his neck, his cheek. Moaning deep in her throat, Sam surrendered as Jack's large, warm hand lowered to press against the small of her back, bringing her into full contact with his body, the medals on their uniforms clinking as they caught on each other.
She tasted like coffee, and the chocolate donut she'd felt guilty about ordering, and like home, where he couldn't wait to take her back tonight, when their duties were fulfilled for the day.
He tasted like shortbread, and the powdered sugar that had been on his biscotti, and power. Like he had last night, when he'd casually taken her hand and led her to bed, and then hadn't stopped touching her until she'd made that noise-the one that told him that she loved him.
He pulled back after what seemed like a day, lifting a hand to rub at her lower lip, where the sensible gloss she'd applied that morning now lay smudged around her tingling mouth. "What did I say about real kisses, Mrs. O'Neill?"
He expected her to speak after that? Sam breathed deeply before attempting a response. "That you liked them."
"That I really liked them." He pressed another quick one to her mouth, profound in its simplicity, and in its power. "And what did I say about little half-assed kisses?"
She couldn't stop looking at his mouth, at those expressive lips that still beckoned. "That you didn't like them."
"You know." She considered for a minute before tilting her gaze up to capture his. "I don't like them either."
"Then why do you keep giving them to me?"
Her slow smile told him exactly why.
"Yes, Mr. O'Neill?"
"You're a flirt."
She ran her hand down his chest before hooking her fingers in the pocket of his jacket and giving it a meaningful tug. "You're just now figuring that out?"