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1.
Cameron's read this mission report; he knows how this is supposed to go down. Do not partake of alien goodies, no matter how much they look like Grandma's snicker doodles with really fancy icing; they will bring nothing but trouble. The order is, imbibe, get stoned, get laid, and get freaky little nano-whatevers mucking about in one hell of a face lift.
Standard off world rule, stay clear of the alien goodies and that included the ones with two legs. Daniel and General O'Neill wrote the book on that mess and he's not going there.
Except Sam's lifting a brow at him, tilting her head just that way, and the dare is so damn obvious. He called her Mary Poppins once, he's not sure about that anymore. The lady's got the devil in her eye, she looks so wicked that Cam figures Grandma's going to give him ten different kinds of hell next time he visits. There's a whole lotta sin wrapped up in the body before him and damn, BDUs should not look that good on anybody.
He eats the damn thing, so does she. It's pretty good. Which is the only reason he can think of for how they ended up here in a haze, hands fumbling for each other's uniforms and not giving a damn about the crowd around them.
Not that anyone's paying attention to what they're doing anyway, clothing sheds, hands and arms reach out, bodies sink to the floor together, legs entwining, breathless sighs escaping into the air. Everywhere he looks there's pleasure and nudity and people having one hell of a good time.
His first alien orgy, this would be one for the history books. Or, at the very least, his diary in as much detail as he can possibly remember and then some.
Sam's fingers fumble with the zippers and buttons, she's got a lazy grin on her face and she's taking way too long, and he's pretty sure they're well on their way to being so very stoned. Except, funny enough, for being stoned he still knows how very, very wrong this is.
He just doesn't really care.
Dr. Lam's going to have a field day with him coming home just a little bit high. He's just got to remember to leave out the part about Sam's fingers finding his cock when he explains how his eyes got stuck in the back of his head. Neither she, nor the General, really wants to hear about the best hand job EVER.
And that's not even getting into the rest of it.
2.
She's the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.
Standing at Ba'al's side, she was a Queen. Glorious, eyes flashing, haughty look and wearing a dress held on by nothing more than air currents and prayer.
Definitely the definition of goddess.
Asherah, Ba'al's queen, consort, and very own Judas. She's been betraying him for millennia, feeding information on his movements back to the Tok'ra, and making herself legend among her own people. In a twisted way, it's perfect for Sam, her spirit looms large in the halls of the SGC and making her a legend among their own people.
Here in the tunnels of Ba'al's fortress Asherah is silent and Sam is just a woman, the latest in a long line of accomplices.
"You're not supposed to be here," Sam warns in a whisper, standing outside the cell."You shouldn't have come, it's not time." She pulls her shawl closer about her, gauzy and insubstantial it's no protection against the chill of the fortress.
He grins crookedly, exhausted from the last session. "Hammond, O'Neill, they're wondering when you're going to give up the undercover life and come home. Lab's just not the same without you rattling around in it, finding new and inventive ways to blow up the universe."
"We're not done," Sam insists, moving closer, the scent of fine perfume floating out to tease him. "It's not time yet."
"Been three years, Major," he uses the title, reminds her of her duty but the look he sends her way reminds her of something else. "Maybe..."
"I haven't forgotten," she whispers and the memories return to them both. Stolen moments in the Mountain, curled up in front of the television at home, he can remember the feeling of her beneath him. He can still feel the curve of her hip sliding beneath his hand, her breathless gasp of his name, Sam gasping for him. He can remember and so does Sam, the look in her eyes betraying her thoughts. "You can't be here, Cameron," her voice breaks, tears gathering in her eyes. "I can't do this, we can't do this with you here, it's just..." she falls silent, frustration fueling the unnatural quiet.
He doesn't ask what she means, doesn't need to. He saw Ba'al parade her about, he knows what she and her symbiote have been doing, the implication is clear. It's not Sam doing it, it's Asherah. If he repeats it to himself enough he might actually believe it.
"Can't exactly leave," he says, nodding at his cell.
"Yes, yes, you can," Sam steps back, the cell begins to twist and turn - or appears to - as the gravity readjusts itself. "And when you do, don't come back."
He nods his agreement.
He's lying.
3.
Teal'c is an annoyingly meticulous man. Five apartments in, Cameron's ready to kill him and he's not alone. Daniel bailed two apartments back (Cam doesn't care what Jackson says, he totally put Walter up to that phone call) and Sam is starting to eye blunt objects with just a little too much interest. They don't find a place to suit Martha Stewart's purposes, blood's gonna get shed and he'll be stuck on clean up duty.
The current apartment that's probably, likely, about to be rejected is actually pretty nice. Hardwood floors, spacious rooms, and oh my, Air Force issue super geniuses in the closet.
Sam smirks wickedly and her hands curl into his jacket, yanking him in the closet with her.
"You," Cameron grins into the kiss, "are very, very, very bad." Her denim-clad hips are familiar and enticing beneath his palms when he tugs her forward into full contact with him. "We are..."
"Bored out of our minds," she finished for him, her hands on his belt, "Teal'c's busy deciding all the ways this apartment is wrong for him and we are going to occupy ourselves while he does so." She kisses him soundly, pulling him further back until he's pressing her against the wall. Cam grunts when her hand finds it's way inside his jeans to press against his cock and returns the favor, sliding one hand down to slip along hot, slick skin and make her gasp. Another stroke, finger just where she loves it, and she's making a mewling noise, her head falling back against the wall.
Teal'c is so going to kill them and, Cameron figures, if they're going to die, they'd better make it worthwhile.
4.
There are so many, many words which coming from Vala should strike terror in the heart. So very many but none so much as one harmless little phrase she utters one particularly ordinary day.
With a smile that would make a barracuda envious, she bounces quickly on her heels and brings the great SG1 to its knees. "Trust me!"
Vala is someone who should never ever be trusted in any way, shape, or form and the response to that particular happy little exclamation should have been some variation of four letter words that Mama Mitchell really wouldn't have approved of.
That is not, however, what happened because Mama is not the head of the Joint Chiefs who have never met Vala and therefore lack any appreciation for the sheer talent of duplicity the woman possesses. Without that or Mama's natural suspicion of anything female within a hundred miles of her baby boy, they overrule the objections of General Landry and the order comes down.
Cameron and Sam both know they should run.
They don't. Duty says they have to follow orders so they follow orders.
When Cameron was fourteen and stupid like most fourteen-year-old guys are, he signed up for the high school drama club because the hottest girl in school had signed up and that's what you do when the she does. He didn't see it coming, of course, the inevitable twist that you never see coming when you're fourteen years old and the Sears Christmas Catalogue can give you the hard-on from hell.
Tights don't hide those.
They wore a lot of tights. That year the drama club out on three major plays.
Peter Pan, Robin Hood, and because their teacher was obsessed with Shakespeare, they finished up with Macbeth. He ended up playing Peter Pan to her Wendy, Robin to her Marian and, a guard in Macbeth. Tights, always tights.
Tights don't hide a lot.
The costumes she had to wear almost made up for it.
Almost.
Now, ass stinging from the smack Vala landed on it before sailing out the door, Cameron thinks that seeing Sam in that dress (which did things for her Wonder Bra only wished it could) almost makes up for it this time. Almost. Tights itch, tights also like to invade private places. Very private places and Teal'c can be a damn smug bastard when he wants to be.
Next time, the Joint Chiefs can wear the tights, Vala can wear the dress. He and Sam are staying home and wearing absolutely nothing.
Not a damn thing, at all.
5.
Sam visited him a lot when he was in rehab. More than everybody else combined. At first it was to see how he was doing then just to chat. She told crazy stories about the goings on in the SGC; he told her a few stories about flying on the Prometheus, the stuff she didn't get to hear when she was off saving the universe. They were the kinds of stories the legends got to miss out on, run of the mill and every day stuff, and he didn't miss the longing in her eyes when he talked. Lonely at the top wasn't just a cliche.
The stories were the start, she'd amble along next to him while he was killing himself trying to make it to the end of the bars and he was sure she had no idea just what her laughter meant when he threw out another of his quips. He hung onto it with everything he could, used it to fuel him forward toward her smiling face.
When he was strong enough to work out with her, she'd get on the treadmill in front of him in those shorts and that top and whatever sports bras were supposed to do they so didn't do it with Sam. She'd run and they'd bounce and he'd damn near fall off, and all she'd do is grin at him. Sam Carter had a grin on her that the devil himself couldn't match and she'd stand on that damn treadmill, running and bouncing with that grin because she knew full well what she was doing to him.
Sleeping with him was the least she could to to make up for that daily torture. Him making her breakfast was the least he could do for the snoring.
Kinda scary how quick they fell into it, except it isn't not really, like it was the most natural thing in the world and maybe it is. Love's hard work but it's still supposed to be easy to get there. Sam's not used to that, Cam's not used to the drama.
Maybe that's why she was the one think about it, the problem with them working on the same team and not him. There's good reason why those regs exist, hell, the thing with Sam and the General's living proof of it. Tok'ra never did really forgive them for the Martouf thing and he's not exactly in a hurry to repeat the process with Teal'c and, or, Vala (No matter what Jackson says, he'd get a might bit testy if they got her killed) but...
He wants her back on SG1, needs her there, needs her in his life - in his bed - just as much...
This is going to be so very wrong but they're doing it anyway.
Landry was right, he's got his kryptonite but hell if Cameron's going to tell him what it is.