Pol mentioned she was having a problem focusing yesterday and her troubles inspired this little thing.

I don't write much fic anymore. If you like it, thank Pol for the inspiration and the beta.

This little scenario plays out anytime after the season 8 episode 'Threads'.

Frustration

Sam pushed her hands through her hair and let out a frustrated, long-suffering sigh. She leaned back in her chair and glared at the curser blinking expectantly back at her in the dim light of the room. So distracted was she that she barely registered the creek of the door and the nearly silent footsteps as they slowly approached. It had to be late. She forced herself not to look at the time.

"Whatcha doin'?"

The voice was closer than she anticipated and an involuntary shiver raced down her spine at the soft, non-accusatorial delivery. If she hadn't been so distracted, she'd be done by now and they could have a work-free weekend. But instead, her brain was a jumble and she didn't have the desire or energy to try and put the jigsaw puzzle back together.

"Trying to finish this report on the theory of hyperspace travel amidst…."

She inhaled sharply when his lips brushed across the base of her neck. Smooth and achingly soft, they lazily drifted, far too slowly for her taste, toward The Spot. Sam tensed in anticipation and her eyes fluttered shut when his hands slipped into her hair and tugged gently at the long strands. Her heart began to race and she knew he could feel it in the pulse point over which his lips currently hovered. She knew if she were to dislodge them from their current oh-so-delicious path that she'd be too concerned with wiping the smug look off his face to enjoy the moment.

A soft sigh escaped and the lazy motion of his mouth stopped. A small moan of protest caused the beginning of a smug smile she could feel spreading across her skin.

"Jack."

"Mmm?"

"It's late." She tilted her head to the side in a wordless invitation to continue.

All she got in response was a wordless grunt but she didn't care when his mouth continued its lazy exploration up to her ear, carefully avoiding The Spot.

Frustration mounted and Sam squeezed her eyes shut. She concentrated on the feel of his mouth and the long fingers barely tugging at a few single strands of hair.

"If this is your attempt to clear my head so I can finish this report…Oh." She hummed when his tongue darted out and gently tasted her. "It's…ah, not working."

"Good," came the muffled reply.

"Jack."

His lips drifted off her skin and she inwardly cursed her need to speak, and thus distract him, at this precise moment.

"I'm workin' here."

She tilted her head and grinned happily, thankful that her laptop screen couldn't act as a mirror.

She gasped when, as she'd expected, his mouth didn't return to its previous location behind her ear but instead descended on -The Spot. No preamble. No tease. No warning.

Her toes curled into the den's plush carpet and her fingers gripped the arms of her chair. She couldn't even hold back the moan that escaped as he paid loving attention to the sensitive patch of skin.

"Ready for bed?" His whisper sent another wave of shivers down her spine.

The heat from his breath caused pebbles to erupt along the length of her arms and her skin tingled from the residual feel of his lips. She didn't even have the strength to answer him. She simply allowed him to swivel the chair and lift her to her feet.

At that point, she didn't care about the smug grin plastered all over his face. As soon as he got her to bed, she'd quite handily and expertly divest him of it - her eyes took in the comfy, soft sleep pants he wore- along with everything else.

END

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