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rocketfic | better than bubblewrap

Title: Better Than Bubblewrap by Rocketchick
Rating: 15+ Pairing: Sam/Janet
Notes: Fluff. With cherries.


So... who was the idiot who had suggested a family field trip to the local ice cream parlor?

Oh, right. That would be the idiot peering back at her in the distorted chrome mirror at the back of the booth.

Sam exhaled a sigh, dug a spoonful of ice cream out of her bowl, and steered it haphazardly to her mouth, hoping the cold sweetness would distract her from the very, very warm sweetness gathering elsewhere.

Janet sat across from her, consuming her own sundae with surgical precision. Carefully measured spoonfuls, perfect proportions of whipped cream and nuts. The entire exercise was practically a celebration of the doctor's inherent tendencies toward exactness and perfectionism.

It was gloriously anal-retentive.

So why exactly was it making Sam's blood burn?

The other members of SG-1 liked to poke fun at Sam's focus, her single-mindedness, her ability to block out all trivial distractions when she'd pinned her interest on something.

What none of them knew was that her rather legendary attention span had nothing on Janet's. The doctor was meticulous in all things, whether it be conquering an alien contagion, eating an ice cream sundae, or... other... forms of consumption.

Just the thought of being the subject of that intense scrutiny and consideration made Sam's head swim.

A pink tongue swiped at a stray spot of whipped cream left on on the doctor's lip. Sam watched it curl daintily, then retreat once more, and bit her own lip, swallowing a groan. Janet had to be doing that on purpose, right?

It was probably borderline obscene to be this turned on in public while little kids on sugar highs zipped by them. She was most likely reading too much into it anyway; certainly even Janet wouldn't be so brazen as to tease her in such a way.

Some hot fudge escaped from the doctor's bowl, intercepted by a deft finger. "Mm, sticky," Janet observed in a bare murmur as she licked the digit clean. The blonde felt her entire body clench in response. She had to distract herself, or risk doing something wholly inappropriate in the family environment. She started mentally reciting elements in the periodic table -- backwards -- and looking anywhere about the ice cream shop that didn't involve a certain ridiculously sexy brunette and her damn dairy fixation.

"Sam."

The blonde stared determinedly at the ceiling fan two booths over. It was out of balance, and rocking a bit as it spun.

"Sam," her lover said again. Sam snapped her eyes away from the fan to meet Janet's gaze.

"Hmm?"

"You're melting," Janet observed. She poked her spoon toward Sam's bowl, where the ice cream was indeed rapidly turning into a sticky puddle.

Sam looked down, then looked up at her lover's soft brown eyes again, and decided enough was enough. "So I am," she purred in response, in the low, growly bedroom voice Janet claimed to love.

The brunette's brow drew together as she regarded the taller woman in some confusion. "Oh, that's right. You're lactose intolerant. I totally forgot," she said.

In point of fact, Sam had forgotten too, distracted as she was by her fascination with watching her lover consume her frozen treat. She closed her eyes, propped an elbow on the pastel formica of the table, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Yeah. Lactose intolerant."

"Well, can I have your cherry then?"

The blonde's shoulders sagged, by now resigned to torture by double-entendre. "Sure," she murmured.

With a triumphant grin, Janet reached out and plucked the cherry from the melted mess. Sam forced her eyes back open again to watch her lover carefully lick the small fruit clean of stray ice cream, then consume it with tiny nibbles off its dangling stem.

When she looked back up to Janet's eyes, Sam swore they were smoldering. But with a blink, casual Mom-Janet was back in place, turning to chat amiably with her daughter about her latest traumatic dissection assignment in high school biology.

Oh God, that voice. She even made frog parts sound like a come on.

Sam pushed her bowl away and focused on the conversation going on across the table. It wasn't so much the words -- geeky as she admittedly was, even she was never much a fan of taking apart dead things to see how they worked -- but the gentle cadence and warm affection evident between and around the actual syllables.

It was times like this, when she was home, not facing some pressing Goa'uld attack, not buried neckdeep in some new groundbreaking experiment, that she realized the true changes wrought on her life by the discovery of the Stargate.

Her superiors thought it brought technology, weapons, the means to protect themselves from the threats bouncing around the universe. They were only half right. Earth's best weapon wasn't a cannon that could shoot a mothership out of the sky, it wasn't a cloaking device, and it certainly wasn't a naquada reactor.

It was a woman sitting in an ice cream shop with a stomachache because she'd forgotten she was lactose intolerant.

The gate's true power was right here, chatting about guts and formaldehyde -- Sam's family. Every time she saw them she vowed again that she would use every ounce of strength, every breath, and every flicker of intelligence available to her to keep them safe.

The slow burn in her gut flared, this time not strictly with animal desire, but mind-boggling devotion. She shook her head at herself, wondering not for the first time at the complexity and sheer depth of feeling Janet had introduced to her life. Never before had a lover inspired all the best she had to offer, all the time.

When the ice cream and conversation were exhausted a few minutes later, Cassie stood and dutifully grabbed their bowls to dispose of them.

Janet turned to her lover and gave her a quizzical look. "Hey, do I have hot fudge on my face or something?"

A blink. "No, why?"

"You've been looking at me oddly since we sat down."

Sam gave her a lazy smile and made a show of examining the other woman's face in great detail, leaning across the table with narrowed eyes to study each and every feature. Finally with one last, lingering sweep of her eyes, she met Janet's gaze once more. "Nope, you're good."

Ooh. Was that a blush gracing the doctor's cheeks? Maybe she hadn't been quite as oblivious as she'd appeared.

Janet smiled, that lopsided grin that only Sam ever saw, the one that simultaneously declared how much she adored her lover and that she knew she was adored in return. "Think we could get some hot fudge to go?"

Sam's mouth went dry in an instant, and she had to work to form actual words to respond. "Y-yeah, bet we could."

A melodramatic sigh drew their attention away from each other. "Are you two done mooning now?"

The brunette crooked a wry eyebrow at her daughter. "Watch it, Cassandra. Don't think I don't know you want to borrow my car this weekend."

The teenager recognized the empty threat for what it was, and rolled her eyes before sauntering out of the ice cream parlor. Janet let loose an amused snort, then turned a fond look on her lover. "I was beginning to wonder if you were trying to torture me."

That drew Sam up short. "Me?"

"Inviting me out to a public place, then staring at me like I'm the next item on the menu? C'mon, Sam. I don't think I actually heard one word in six Cass was saying."

The irony split Sam's face in a ridiculous grin, and she offered a hand to her lover as they scooted out of the booth. They walked together until the blonde returned to the counter to order a container of hot fudge, and while the confused pimply-faced youth working the parlor blinked at her, Janet strode toward the door. The sway of her hips and the heated, breathless look on her face when she turned around drew more than a few attentive stares from the parlor patrons.

With herculean effort Sam ripped her gaze away from her lover to amend her order. "And cherries. Lots of cherries."

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