Your Cheatin' Heart 1

Your Cheatin' Heart

by Trancer

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ast/trancer/cheatin01.php
Summary: Sam's lonely, and has an affair. Did I mention this has a happy ending?

I hate Jack O'Neill. I hate him with the burning intensity of a thousand suns. No, I hate him more than I hate Apophis, or Hathor, or any other Goa' uld. Okay, yeah, I know, I don't hate him. Not really. But, it is his fault that I'm in DC. Several thousand miles from Colorado, from my home, from Janet.

Janet. God, I miss her. Miss her so much it hurts. They say the military is no place for a family, or relationships. And, for a while, I believed it to be true. Love was a word used to describe your favorite food. Passion was work. And sex, well, that was braggadocio. Stories GI's passed around the campfire 'cuz, God knows, no one wants to sit through another of Jack's fishing stories. I mean, seriously, who has time for sex when you're gallivanting across the galaxy saving the world.

Lord knows, I certainly wasn't thinking about sex, or love, or passion. Ignored my own needs to the point that jokes about cobwebs growing between my legs didn't seem so far fetched.

Four years I knew her, befriended her, worked with her. Then one day, it hit me. Like a cliché, or something out of a bad romance novel, love hit me harder than Tyson without his gloves on. I realized I loved her more than anything in this world, or any other world. And, damn, if she didn't love me back.

Now, I'm stuck in DC because Jack finagled his way out of a lecture, sticking me with it. It wouldn't be so bad except we'd been off-world for three weeks. All I wanted was some alone time with Janet. It's one thing when you haven't had sex for awhile. Of course, you don't really stop thinking about it, but it becomes an abstract.

When you're having sex. When it's there, waiting for you, ready, willing and oh-so able, it's all you think about. Time alone. Days, hours, minutes, it doesn't matter. You think about the contact, skin on skin. As the days ticked by, Janet was all I thought about. It drove me insane. When Hammond told me I was going to DC instead of O'Neill, right after returning home. Well, if looks could kill Jack O'Neill would be six feet under, times ten.

Now, I'm sitting in some bar and there's country music playing on the jukebox. Country? Do I even like Country? Either way, Patsy Cline is belting one of her patented tunes and, oh man, if I wasn't lonely before, I sure am now.

I look at the drink in my hands. The liquid stares back at me, mocking my own lack of tolerance. I've never been one for hard liquor. It warms my belly, turns my ears bright red with liquid heat. Worst of all, it makes me stupid. Kinda like those armbands Anise gave us. I don't know what I was thinking. The bar was barely occupied. And I had no intention of playing McFlirties with the drunken businessmen crowing about like roosters searching for a hen house.

Although, I'm not so sure what they found so attractive about me tonight. Blue jeans, white oxford, and a baseball cap. My jeans were old, faded and hanging together by a string. Janet hated these jeans. Well, she hated for me to wear them in public. In actuality, these jeans turned her on more than any silk, or velvet. I'm not even sure why I put them on. They just made me think of her. Her hands sliding over the rip exposing my thigh, exploring the flesh underneath.

More scotch slides down my throat. This isn't working. The alcohol takes a greater effect than I ever intended. Which is why I normally don't drink. Liquor effects my inhibitions, and I hate losing control. I'm lonely and all I can think about is Janet. It's making me horny and Janet's not home. Not even phone sex can help me now. I down the drink, steeling myself for a long cold shower when another drink is placed in front of me.

"I didn't order this." I say to the bartender. He's about twenty and looks like he'd rather be anywhere than here serving drinks to lonely drunkards. I certainly wasn't in the mood for being picked up by one of them. "Tell'em thanks but no thanks."

"She said you'd say that."

She? I don't say it as much as I think it. I always lived in practicalities. Numbers, theories, physics. There's a comfort in that order. People, they're the chaos that confuses my world. They're inconsistent, random, messy. Lost in my world of numbers and theories, I had no time for the messy inconsistency that is human nature. I had my career. What else could I possibly need or want? Until Janet Fraiser opened my eyes and turned my entire world upside down. Not necessarily a bad thing, except when you're on the other side of the country, alone and horny as Hell.

Now, I'm being hit on. By a woman, no less. This particular piece of knowledge confuses and confounds me. Throws chaos into my world. I live for Janet. There is nothing else. But even Janet points to me the eyes following me in the crowd, gazing, staring, wanting.

My eyes follow the bartender's slight tilt of his head. I'm not that drunk I note. The stool's empty. He looks confused for a moment. And then, there she is. Right next to me. How I missed her, I don't know. A little voice screams in the back of my head 'Danger Will Robinson. Danger'. A two-fisted bastard named horny double scotch on the rocks quickly knocks him out.

Black hair falls past her shoulders, spilling onto soft curved shoulders. She's danger and desire. What's worse is she knows it. Knows she's here to destroy me with her siren's song of sex and sin.

More country music, only instead of coming from the jukebox, it's playing inside my head. 'You're cheatin' heart, will make me cry, you're lyin' eyes..' Hello? Mr. Double Scotch on the Rocks, can you take care of this for me please? WHAP! Thank you.

'When I'm a walkin' I strut my stuff, then I'm so strung out. I'm high as a kite and just might stop to check you out.' Yep, that's so much better.

Her dress is classy. A black spaghetti strap number cut dangerously low. I don't realize I'm staring at her cleavage until I hear her talking.

"Is this seat taken?" Her voice sounds like sweet caramel. I stare at her face. Her eyes return my gaze. See, most people like blue eyes, green, the lighter shades. Not me, I like them brown. Deep and dark, thoughts of hot chocolate, soft mink, brownies fresh out of the oven, cold nights and warm bodies, rumbles through my brain as I stare into her eyes. Eyes so deep and brown I want to wrap myself in them and never leave.

"Not that I know of." I sound lame and I know it. Social graces are not my forte. Neither are games, especially ones involving sex.

"You looked like you needed a drink."

"Thanks." Funny. Five minutes ago, I had more scotch than I really wanted. Now, if this is what it takes to keep her here, I'll drink a gallon of the stuff.

"You on shore leave, sailor?" She asks, whirling the straw in her drink.

"I'm Air Force." I admonish. It's stupid, I shouldn't be so proud, not at a time like this. But, the Air Force is my life. Okay, it used to be but you don't confuse Crips with Bloods. And you sure as Hell don't confuse the Air Force with the Navy.

"Ohh, can I call you fly girl?" She laughs then crosses a leg. The move reveals a thigh about as dangerous as her cleavage. Suddenly, my mouth is dry and the drink she's bought doesn't sound like such a bad idea.

"I'm in a relationship." Falls from my mouth. I notice the gold band on her ring finger. She's probably already seen mine. Neither of us cares.

"Aren't we all." She smiles back at me. Suddenly, my mind thinks about sailors. The ones sailing the seven seas called to their doom by the siren's song. I know what it sounds like now.

"You gotta name, fly-girl?"

"Samantha, Sam actually."

"Pleased to meet you." She extends her hand. "My name's Iris."

"Named after a Goddess, how fitting."

"Why? You planning to worship me?" The double entendre doesn't go unnoticed. Hell, a dead man could pick up the double meaning in that statement. Iris looks in her drink. She pouts slightly. Her tongue unconsciously licks the corner of her mouth. "Dammit, there's supposed to be a cherry in this drink."

"No problem." I reach past the counter, towards the bowl of fruit meant for drinks. I pick a cherry from the pile. My hand moves to her drink. Iris plops a hand over the glass, blocking me. Confused, my eyes are back on hers. I can feel her hand on mine. She guides my fingers, cherry sandwiched between thumb and forefinger, to her mouth. Painted lips open and I watch as my fingers disappear in her mouth.

Sweet Mother Mary of God! I was never religious, but, suddenly, have an overwhelming need to confess. Bless me Father for I have sinned. Had carnal thoughts and lustful desires, all within the span of two minutes.

She sucks the cherry into her mouth, leaving my fingers inside. I can feel her tongue, wet, smooth and velvety gliding across my skin. It sends a wave of heat, fast and hot straight to my groin. All these years and I never knew my fingers were an erogenous zone.

The candied liquid licked clean from my fingers, Iris removes them from her mouth. The most seductive smile spread across her lips. I'm hers and she knows it.

"You staying in this hotel?" She asks me.

"I think you know the answer to that question." For some unGodly reason, I'm channeling Jack O'Neill and internally curse myself for the false bravado spewing out of my mouth.

Iris laughs. She slides off the barstool. My hand still enclosed in hers. I float off the barstool; the gravitational pull called desire taking me with her.

I follow her, limping slightly. I'd always heard guys talk about being so horny they couldn't walk. I never knew women could feel the same thing. I do now. The heat between my legs is torturous, a throbbing ache teasing me with every step.

We step into the elevators. The doors barely closed and she's slamming me against the wall. Lips pressed against mine, crushing me and I don't care. I can feel her breasts against mine. Full and round. Teeth biting my bottom lip pulls me from my reverie, and something takes me. And I'm pushing her against the wall. Hands on those curvy thighs, lifting her skirt above her hips. Our mouths open and I'm tasting her. Coke and cherries, mix with my scotch.

"What's her name?" She whispers breathlessly as we come up for air.

"What makes you think I'm involved with a woman?"

"Your tongue, my throat, a big clue."

I smile and she nibbles my chin. "Janet." I purr.

"Does Janet do this?" She takes my hand and pulls it between her legs. I don 't feel silk, or satin, but the unmistakable smoothness of skin, warm and unbelievably wet. I feel my legs go rubbery. Then, I'm all over her again. Kissing, groping, channeling my inner teen. The horny 15 year old boy who sneaks his Dad's Playboy.

Her arms wrap around my neck, pulling her to me. And I can feel a leg lifting, wrapping around me. I stroke the soft silk between her legs, my head spins. I'm no longer just horny. I'm heat, desire, passion. And lust. I want her bad. And it's only because we hear the elevators door open that I don't take her right then and there.

We scramble like two kids on Prom night to my hotel room. She's behind me. Hands wrapped around my waist. I can feel her breasts on my back. For the love of God, why won't this card work! My hands are shaking. Hers aren't. I can feel them pulling my shirt from my jeans. I whimper as I feel them on my stomach, fingers searing a trail across my stomach.

She bites into my shoulder. Hard. I wince in pain and pleasure. Stupid door. Just open!

My jeans are now unbuttoned and thoughts of sex in a hotel corridor doesn't sound so bad.

Bingo! The door unlocks and we're in my room. On each other, kissing, tasting, consuming. I hear sounds of cloth ripping, realizing, too late, it' s my shirt. Janet hated that shirt. So does Iris. Buttons fly across the room, skittering on the floor. I don't care. Housekeeping will take care of it, a new tale to gossip amongst co-workers.

Oh boy, her lips are on my nipples sucking through my bra. I can't think anymore, not coherently. Just a giant ball of hormones, I want, I desire, I crave. I pull her with me, leading to the bedroom. Her hands are all over me, making it hard to think, to breathe. She bites me again. This time on the collarbone. I realize the howl filling my ears is coming from me.

I push her against the wall, hard. I grab her by the wrists, pulling her arms over her head. Anything to keep her still for more than two seconds. I' ve never been one for rough sex. Okay, I've never *had* rough sex, and this is definitely it. We've crossed the line, and I'm gonna find out who's naughty or nice.

She looks at me, brown eyes glazed over with desire. A wicked grin plastered on her kiss swollen lips. One hand on her wrists, I move the other down, between milky thighs. I run my fingers over the heat emanating from her, fast and hard. She gasps loudly, hips grinding on my hand. I slide a finger inside her, followed by another, then a third. A perfect fit, as if created just for me. I thrust, hard and fast. Faster than I've ever done before. I want her to go first, 'cuz, Heaven knows, I don't think I'll be able to survive what's in store for me.

She moans for me. "Oh yes, there, faster baby." And I give in to her. Everything I have. Everything I am. She draws me in with her siren's song and I dive over. The lovelorn sailor swimming towards my doom.

I can smell her. Sweet baby corn! I can *smell* her. Her scent fills my nostrils, intoxicates me. She is a Goddess because I'm on my knees before her, worshipping her with my tongue, my fingers. I lap the sweet nectars of my Goddess. Consume the tastiest delicacy ever. My tongue moves in time with my fingers. Lips wrap around her clit, suckling, tease with lips and tongue.

Iris explodes. She bucks, writhes, trembles over me. Velvety walls grip my fingers. Sam rolls off her tongue in dulcet tones. The tide has turned. Because Iris is sated but I am not. I lift the petite woman into my arms, carrying her into the bedroom. I toss her onto the bed. Brown eyes gaze at me with seductive anticipation. She doesn't know what's coming next. Hell, neither so I.

Clothes meet floor, floor meet clothes. I pounce onto the bed, onto Iris. I know what I want now. My hands grab the front of her dress. I rip it from her body, destroy it. I'll buy her another. I'll buy her the world and several others if she asks.

Her breasts heave in time with her ragged breathing. I collapse my mouth onto a nipple. She groans again, low and throaty, body arching into me. I can no longer deny the heat building within me. But, damn, she feels so good. Her breasts in my hands. It's Christmas, my birthday. I'm a kid in a candy store. Did I mention I speak in cliché's sometimes? Good.

Iris senses my need. She flips me onto my back, surprising me with her strength. She's all over me. Lips, hands, skin, taking every ounce of flesh I have to give. Her thigh slides between my legs, presses against my aching need. I'm pinned to the mattress. Arms pushed above my head as she grinds against me. She finds my rhythm easily, pushing, thrusting, grinding her thigh mercilessly until the beds rocking.

Her breasts feel good pressed against mine. She takes nips out of my neck, I moan into hers. I'm so close I can taste it. So can she. Iris stops her ministrations. My body screams in protest because my mouth is no longer working. I just whimper, waiting for what's coming next.

Iris slides down between my legs. She lifts my thighs, spreading me open. Nails scrape the inside of my thighs, sweet torture. I dare to open my eyes. Iris is smiling. The same smile that sealed my fate, spelled my doom. The one that melts my insides, flushes my skin. Her eyes trail lasciviously down my body, sizing me up for inspection. She likes what she sees. Leaning down, she plants a kiss on my thigh, lips searing my flesh. I'm panting now, jagged breaths escape my mouth.

Iris looks at me one last time. There's a sparkle in her eyes. Brown and inviting. Can I wrap myself in them? My eyes do what my lips can not. I beg with my eyes. Please. Take me. Take it all, everything, all I have, all I am.

"I think you better hold on." I nod. The command sends a shiver down my spine, straight to the heat burning red hot between my legs. I anchor my han ds to the head rest. She winks, then I watch as her head dips between my legs.

Wet, velvety skin touches my folds. I gasp, arch into her. She's lapping my skin, kissing, licking, caressing me with her tongue. Her tongue enters me, oh my, it's so hard to think. Electricity tingles across my skin, rippling through me in waves, motions set by her tongue. A finger glides all across my skin. I feel it dip lower, playfully teasing the tight opening below. Then she enters me. And I'm no longer Sam. I'm flesh, blood, muscle, an animus of desire and lust.

She thrusts her tongue harder into me, sending me over the edge. I'm falling, careening down, down, down, into the abyss. I crash at the bottom. It's hot, burning, waves of heat and electricity sizzle my body. I explode. Die and reborn in the same instant.

Consciousness returns, soft mattress beneath me. Iris still between my legs, bringing me back with gentle caresses of her tongue. She smiles, climbing back up my body. She is on my tongue, I am on hers. We taste each other, combined together in a mixture that tastes like no other. It is us.

"Samantha Carter, you are an incredible lover."

"So are you, Iris." The last word falls off my tongue in a teasing manner. She giggles, then straddles my hips. My hands find her breasts, kneading them softly in a way that makes her writhe. She begins to grind her hips, slicking my stomach with her essence. I'm not sure who this turns on more, me or her.

Iris brings her hands to her hair. I watch, fascinated. Black hair turns to the brown I love so much. She helps the locks to fall about her shoulders. She's lightened her hair again, added reddish brown highlights I can only describe as tantalizing. Has it really been so long since I've seen her last?

"Oh my God, Janet." I say, my eyes wide in faux surprise. Hell, I haven't even taken my hands off her breasts. Janet leans over me, her hands planted above my shoulders.

"I have a confession to make. I had an affair."

"You did?" I've moved a hand to her ass, smooth soft circles caress the round globe.

"Yeah, a fly-girl with buns so tight I could've bounced a quarter off them."

"Oh yeah, well I have a confession of my own. I picked this chick up at a bar."

"Chick, huh?"

"Yeah," I smile. "She rocked my world so hard, I'm gonna have to buy a new foundation."

"Really? I'm not sure how I can compete with that." I move my hand between her legs. I tease the sensitive nub with my fingernail and Janet gasps in a way that makes 'love' to small a word for what I feel for her.

"I guess we're just going to have to try."

We do, more times than I can count. Which doesn't make any sense, I know. I live in a world of numbers, concretes, absolutes. I'm also a cliché. Sometimes cliché's don't make sense. Kinda like love. We do what we do. We are who we are. We love who we love. It's a cliché, I know, but it is what it is. And it suits me just fine.

THE END

Next: Subterfuge