Pairing: Sam/Paul
Rating: PG-13
Codes: C/P. Davis, O'N
Category: Het, Romance
Summary:  Sam and Paul hit the road – one of them literally!

He didn’t know when it started. Possibly when he first laid eyes on her, but more likely a few months after he began to visit the Mountain. Sam Carter had a great smile. Paul liked the fact that she usually had one for him, no matter how brief their contact. He made it a point to seek her out during every visit, ostensibly to keep informed of whatever she was working on in her lab, but under it all there was the thrill of being on the receiving end of one of those bright flashes, that warm inflection of his name.

If he was younger he would have called it a crush, pure and simple, but he wasn’t twelve anymore, and this wasn’t junior high. And still, the attraction was there, a pleasant little ache in his chest and low in his stomach when he watched her. Long elegant hands, wide amazingly blue eyes the color of a Kansas sky. Paul tried not to stare; had gotten good at the surreptitious sidelong study of her profile during meetings. It was almost enough.

Paul Davis knew her history, her file. HAD to for his job, hated and loved knowing the details of her broken engagement, her blending, her far too many injuries. Samantha Carter was tough, smart, and complex. He admired her mind and only in the private recesses of his own fantasy world indulged in the knowledge that he desired her body too. No, not just her body-- her being, her self. 

He had it bad and he knew it. Being a forthright soul, Paul didn’t fight the attraction, but being a cautious one as well he bided his time, taking what he could get of her company. Most of the time it was enough, but lately—lately it had been harder to keep up a professional façade. In the field, off the base, Sam was driving him closer to a moment of truth.

Sometimes he thought he sensed something in her that gave him a little jolt of hope. A gaze that lingered on him, a quick pat on his hand or shoulder. Sam was not by nature a toucher, not like O’Neill, who seemingly HAD to make contact with his team. But she trusted him—Paul-- enough to risk the move and give in to a gentle flirtation and it pleased him.  The fact that she let him peck her on the cheek was an easy indicator that he was part of the favored circle; it was also a privilege, one Paul didn’t intend to lose.

The sun was out, bright and warm for Colorado in the late fall. Paul was stretching a bit, checking the laces on his Sauconys instead of his watch, and wondering if Sam had changed her mind. Just as he was about to trot back to the checkpoint phone and call her lab, he heard her voice echoing in the tunnel, and the soft scuff of her Reeboks heading his way. The two officers caught sight of each other in the same moment.

Sam drew in a breath that had nothing to do with being late, and tried not to stare as she jogged up to towards the tall man before her. Paul was out of uniform in a big way. He wore green shorts, and faded grey USAF Academy sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, revealing long, lean, beautifully muscled arms. The carved lines of his triceps hinted at power, and she noted the tattoo on the right one with a start of surprise.

“Wow, I just never thought of you as the tattoo type—“ she murmured when he followed her gaze to his upper arm. He gave a depreciating shrug, glancing down at it for only a moment before looking back at her.

“I’d love to tell you it’s classified, but the truth is I once succumbed to alcohol and bad judgment, Sam. ONCE—“ he countered holding up a warning finger as she snickered, circling around him.

“At least it’s something you can show in public without apology—“ Sam offered with a grin. Paul nodded, taking a quick moment to enjoy the sight of her.

Sam was dressed in shorts as well, black nylon ones with a red stripe up each hip. She also wore a grey tank top with a peeling design on it commemorating the Thunderbirds tour of four years ago—the shirt was obviously well worn and a bit tight, not that Paul minded that a bit. Not at all. The sight of her long smooth legs added a bit more charm to the moment, and Paul forced himself to draw in a calming breath and trot to the edge of the tunnel. He noted with amusement that several of the SF on patrol were looking at Sam with furtive interest as well. If she noted them, she did a good job of ignoring them.

 “So—where are we going?”

“I usually try for about ten miles all told, so I figured we go out the drive and take fire road A for about three miles to the checkpoint station. We’d turn around there, and head back this way, which should take us about an hour and a half—“

“A seven minute mile pace?” Sam’s expression looked stunned and Paul laughed.

“Gotcha—I was actually planning a ten minute pace since I’m a little out of shape---“

Sam tried to look a little more relieved at this, and Paul took pity on her.

“Look Sam, NO pace per se, okay? I don’t know what your stride is like, and I’m not about to kill myself showing off, so—“

“—So, let’s hit the road!” she grinned, lightly punching his arm and darting off. With a shake of his head, Paul followed her and the settled into a comfortable stride in tandem down the paved road.

The long drive up to Cheyenne was a lonely stretch of road, surrounded by low meadows. As with other military facilities it was designed for maximum visibility from both the air and the complex, and for once, Paul was glad of the solitude. Flocks of crows and starlings scooted across the sky riding a light breeze under the fragments of clouds and the soft whisper of the long grass filled his ears. He sucked in a deep breath of the sun-warmed prairie scent.

“So---“ After about twenty minutes, Sam chuffed a bit, turning her head to smile at him, “What’s the REAL story about the tattoo?”

“Didn’t buy the cliché, huh?”

“Nope.”

“Well the truth isn’t any more dramatic—my dad has one and his dad before him. Davises are like that—we tend to be pretty traditional about some things. My grandfather came back from Guadalcanal with the tattoo. My dad got his before coming back from Vietnam and I decided to get mine after my tour through Desert Storm.”

“Wow—the same tattoo?” Sam was intrigued and charmed. Paul nodded, rolling his eyes a bit.

“The very same, which worries my mother. She’s convinced I’ll have a daughter, and that the kid will STILL get the tattoo when she joins up—“ 

Sam laughed, and in doing so, didn’t quite watch her footing. She stumbled, going down and scraping along the macadam, tumbling ungracefully on both knees. Paul reached for her, but only caught part of her shirt and the old material ripped loudly.

“Ohhh---“

Paul stood there stupidly for a moment, his hands full of Sam’s ruined shirt as she sprawled on the road in just her shorts and bra, gaping up at him. For a long second they stared at each other, too embarrassed for words. He dropped the rag and spun around. In one swift gesture he peeled his own sleeveless sweatshirt off and held it out blindly behind himself to her.

“I can’t BELIEVE I just did that! —God, are you all right, Sam?”

She gratefully snagged the sweatshirt, her skin stinging where she’d skinned it, and prickling where she blushed. Hastily she pulled it on, and then tapped his muscled calf.

“It’s okay, I’m decent—but a little bloody. And it was an old shirt, Paul, please, don’t worry about it,” Sam managed breathlessly. He knelt down and looked at her skinned knee, probing with gentle fingers, mindful of her wincing.

“You’re going to need about a GALLON of Bactine—“ came his sympathetic diagnosis. Sam managed a weak smile, brushing bits of gravel from her elbows and studying the heels of her hands. They were lightly scraped too, but nowhere near as badly as her knee which was already oozing. Paul glanced back down the road and then at Sam. A sudden pulse of pleasure flooded through him; the sight of her in his shirt was almost a physical throb, but he squashed it down and spoke up.

“Okay, we have two choices here—You can use me as a crutch, or I can carry you back—“

“You’re NOT carrying me!” came Sam’s indignant response, fueled not only by feminist pique, but also a fluttery panic at being so close to that long lean body. In fact it was hard not to give in to the urge to stare at Paul’s wide shoulders and lightly furred chest, his stomach, the muscles etched in lean lines all the way down into his shorts—

“—Be stubborn. It’s at least two miles back to the front gate and I’m NOT about to leave you out here. Sam?”  He stepped closer, reaching down to give her a hand up. She rose under his easy strength, moving so fast she almost slammed into him until Paul steadied her, one big hand on her elbow.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Sore and embarrassed,” she told him, adding mentally, and a little bit aroused—

Paul slid a warm arm around her shoulders, pulling hers over his and giving her a tentative smile. He felt a pang of regret that it had taken an injury to get this close to Sam, but it was gone the minute he felt her hip press to his, the soft heft of her left breast against his ribs. He blinked, trying not to react but it was a LOT more difficult, particularly in shorts. Clearing his throat, he looked up the road while Sam flexed her knee.

“Okay, I think I can make it, really—“ she made no move to pull out of his support though, and drew in a deep breath. This made the sweatshirt neckline gap open invitingly, and Paul damned himself even as he glanced down it at the elegant line of her chest supported in a light pink bra.

It was going to be a long two miles.

“—But Mark had NO interest in actually joining any branch of the service. He’s a civilian engineer for Pendleton these days,” Sam tailed off. She was aware she’d been babbling, but it was an automatic defense against giving herself any time to process any of the other sensory responses her body was currently aware of. The clean tang of Paul’s skin, the hard press of his arm muscles around her back, the silky softness of his underarm hair brushing her skin all tormented her.

Paul too was having a difficult time. Being forced into intimate contact under these circumstances meant giving Sam room and respect conversation-wise, but his body was acutely aware of hers against his right side. He could feel the sleek stroke of her thigh against his, the smooth skin of it chafing against his leg hair. The smell of her skin was doing bad things to his imagination, bringing on images he couldn’t afford to dwell on if he didn’t want to embarrass them both.

“So you’re an aunt. Me too—That is, I’m an uncle. My sister Connie has three kids, all boys, Ian, Peter and Wilson.”

“That’s a houseful—“ Sam turned to look up at Paul just as he looked down, and they stared at each other for a lingering second, her blue eyes to his green. In an odd co-incidence of the moment, both of them was thinking roughly the same thing: This is how you’d look after sex—rumpled, sweaty-- sweet—

“So—“ Paul desperately tried to drive that lascivious image from mind, but nothing seemed to be moving into the void. Sam gave a little strangled noise and gripped his hand a tiny bit tighter as she wobbled.

“This isn’t going to look good—“ she blurted, glancing down at the sweatshirt she wore. It hung to the edge of her shorts, bagging and gaping around the armholes and neck. Paul gave a wince.

“I’m sure they’ll all be paying more attention to your KNEE than your clothes, Sam—“

“Yeah, SURE! You’re such a Dudley Do-Right, Paul!”

He laughed, and managed an uncannily good imitation as he chortled,

“I’ll save you, Nell!”

That cracked Sam up completely, and she laughed for the next five minutes, glad to be back on more comfortable ground. Paul glanced ahead; he could see the chain link gates looming into view.

“Almost there—how are you doing?”

“I’ve got blood dripping into my sneaker and I can feel some gravel in my knee, but it’s not TOO bad.”

“For the record I feel terrible about this, and Colonel O’Neill is going to chew my ass out pretty good once we get back,” Paul predicted gloomily. Sam winced herself, knowing he was right. She shot him a sympathetic look.

“Accidents happen—and if I’d been looking where I was going instead of at you and your big macho tattoo—“

“Thanks, THAT helps a lot, “ he rolled out in a mock-mournful tone. Sam punched his arm in exasperation and he squeezed her tight.

“None of that—“ he warned, “We’re being watched. Gonna let me do the big hero thing and actually carry you in? That might win me points with the colonel—“

“You wouldn’t DARE—“ she gasped, even as Paul scooped her up and jogged the last hundred yards. Jostling against him, she was too stunned to do more than clutch his warm bare shoulders and hang on as he shouted to the nearest guard.

“Airman, call the infirmary and let them know Major Carter’s coming in—minor injuries—“ he chuffed loudly but firmly. Sam tried to protest, but Paul’s grasp around her back and under her knees tightened, and she bit back her comments, finally lapsing into silence as he walked with her into elevators. Once there she looked up at his profile. He was clenching his jaw, and she realized it was to keep from laughing.

“You can put me DOWN now Do-Right—“ she muttered, giving into a giggle attack herself. Paul shook his head.

“Not until at least a Major or higher sees us—I need the credibility, Nell baby.”

“One captain and two lieutenants—“

“Two captains and four airmen. Nurses preferably—“ Paul countered. She didn’t miss the steady beat of his pulse and realized the man was barely winded, even after hauling her all this way. She ran a hand over the top of his chest fur, making him shoot a sideways glance at her while the elevator dinged to a stop.

“Hey! I’ll give you thirty minutes to cut that out—“ Paul muttered under his breath, and she snickered. As they stepped out, O’Neill crossed his arms and lifted his chin—always a bad sign.

“Davis—Carter—“ he intoned, waiting. Sam flushed, realizing how they must look: Davis bare-chested, carrying her, blood dripping down her nearly bare legs—

“Sir!” they both responded. Sam struggled in an attempt to get to her feet but Paul wasn’t having it, and addressed himself to O’Neill.

“Major Carter tripped and injured herself while we were out for a run. I’m taking her to the infirmary, sir.”

“Ah. And she’s wearing your shirt because---“

“I ripped mine when I fell, Colonel. Major Davis offered me his—“ Sam jumped in. Paul was already moving down the hall so she hollered this over his shoulder at O’Neill who was trailing behind them. Sam could feel the change in Paul; he was tense now, and didn’t look at her as they strode into the infirmary. Janet scurried over, glanced with a brief amused smile as Paul gently set Sam down on the nearest paper-covered exam table.

“Ooohhh, well, you’ve lost a few layers of skin here, but it looks worse than it is—let me see your hands—“

In the flurry of antiseptic washing and gauze dabbing and tweezers picking out bits of gravel, Sam looked up to realize Paul was gone. O’Neill shoved his hands deep in his pockets and met her searching gaze.

“Davis was out of uniform—“ he murmured in a mild tone, “Needed to shower too.”

“Oh—I, uh, wanted to thank him—“ 

For a moment, O’Neill looked at her and then gave a small brief smile.

“Yeah, well he’ll be back,” came the soft prediction.

Paul fished in the locker and snagged the towel there with brusque efficiency. The relative quiet of the empty showers seemed oppressive, and he peeled out of his shorts and running shoes, tossing them into the floor of the cubical with none of his usual care. With a grim set to his jaw he snagged his toiletries and wrapped his lean hips in his towel.

The farthest stall was free, and he flicked the water on, not waiting for it to heat up. The cold sting of it on his arm would have made him jump, but his mind was on other things, more important issues than comfort, so Paul ignored it and climbed in. Once there, he turned his back to the water and groaned, bracing his hands on the slick tile wall before him.

The last lingering warmth of Sam was starting to fade from his grasp, and Paul looked down, remembering her hand stroking his chest. God! That little gesture, so unconsciously feminine, so amazingly erotic—she was killing him here with only a touch. He reached for the soap, grinding it between his hands, trying to push away the luscious influx of images, and failing. 

“Damn it—“ With a resigned sigh, he soaped his chest quickly, the water warmer now. He went through his ablutions quickly, and then slid his hands down his solar plexus, letting them glide along his stomach and lower. Paul felt himself throb, hard and demanding against his palm and gave in. 

Again.

Slowly, with relentless skill he stroked himself, moving towards the moment of glorious release, fueling each rub with memories that morphed into fantasy.

Sam.

In the shower with him, her hands teasing him through the soapsuds, her low laugh against his mouth. Thoughts of lifting Sam, taking her against the wall, feeling those magnificent legs wrapping around him, pulling him in deeper to the lush tight heat between her thighs—Paul shuddered, bracing a forearm on the shower wall, grunting low under the hiss of the water as he came in slick pulses.

He turned to face the water, his expression slightly bleak, slightly cynical as he let the cold water cascade over his head, washing away his yearnings and leaving only chilled skin in it’s wake.

“So—you’re okay?” he managed to ask in a normal voice, a concerned friend voice. Carter looked up from her microscope and for once glorious moment her smile lit him up from the inside out.

“Oh yeah, completely. Janet covered it with liquid bandage and gave me a Tylenol—and a warning to look where I’m going next time.”  Sam didn’t add that the teasing included a pointed remark about finally getting close to somebody’s body. 

Paul gave a nod and turned to go, then peeked back in the lab.

“Still have my sweatshirt?”

Sam blushed. It was stuffed into her workout bag, tucked away in the deep recesses, still sweetly smelling of him. She shifted on her stool.

“Yeah—listen, Paul, let me wash it, and you can come pick it up—I feel kind of obligated to—“

“—You don’t have to—“ his voice overlapped hers, and they both smiled at each other again. It started as a mutual apologetic grin, but as the moment stretched on, Paul felt the surge of warmth move through Sam’s blue gaze to him, and knew it was more.

“Right,” he added with a twinkle. 

And it was.