**This is an NC-17 adult fic, dealing with adult sexual situations.

Proceed only if you are an adult...**

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The Moment

Author: BadgerGater

Episode: Birthright

Spoilers: Not really anything but Birthright

Category: Drama, het smut

Pairing: Jack/Other

Summary: Jack gets to know a potential ally

Rating: ***NC-17***

Warnings: **Explicit adult fic**

money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement intended. The story is the property of the author and may not be posted without the author's consent.

***Author's Note: I have to admit that I doubt Jack would actually do this... but this was a fic that demanded it be written. After all, put Jack O'Neill on a planet full of women, and expect no one to be attracted to him? Fantasy. And considering the comments he made early in the ep, he certainly seemed to find the situation let's call it 'interesting.'

Sooo....

This fic takes place during an *alternative* version of the episode Birthright; this fic diverges from the episode right at the point where the women Jaffa volunteer to go to Earth to try the Tretonin…. Not my usual fare… you have been warned… Almost a PWP, but with a shade of plot…

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I stood at the gate and watched Carter take the four Jaffa volunteers back to Earth. I’d explained the situation to General Hammond, that Teal’c, Daniel and I were staying.

He’d agreed. “Get to know these people, Colonel. Find out what they’re all about.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” I saluted, and ended the transmission.

As soon as the gate snapped shut, I turned to Daniel. “So, what’s next?”

He looked blankly at me and shrugged.

“Where’s Teal’c?”

“Talking with Ishta.”

“Talking. Riiiight.” I smirked. I know sparkage when I see it. “And your plan?”

“And I’m going to talk to Rota.”

“Ah, more talking.” I gave him a knowing smile. I’d seen the way Rota had looked at him. More sparkage.

Daniel, as always, was clueless.

“Rota is one of the priestesses, a scribe, really. Basically, she’s the person responsible for keeping the history of her people.”

“Librarian?”

“Close enough,” Daniel grinned. “And you’re going to?”

I thought a minute. I didn’t really have a definite plan, other than to take a look around at these people who wanted to be our friends. “I’m going to look for bows and arrows.”

Which was what I started out to do, to scope out their situation regarding weapons and other supplies. Ishta had said she wanted an alliance and that they were in need of aid. What kind of supplies they needed I’d know better after checking out the camp. I may not be the brightest bulb in the SGC lamp, but I try not to make the same mistake twice. I didn’t want to repeat the blunder we’d made with Alar and the Eurondans, where in our, okay, *my*, haste to get their technology we’d nearly allied ourselves with what were, for all intents and purposes, Neo-Nazis. And then there’d been Katano. I’d learned another lesson after that whole mess with the phony snake pretending to be a Jaffa, and discovering a lot of the Jaffa seemed to have a problem with Earth weapons not being ‘honorable.’ Even though they were just as, if not more, deadly than their traditional arms.

Nowadays, I always verify the veracity of the statements made by potential allies. And find out for myself the condition of their armory.

At any rate, I always want to know the lay of the land and where things are, like lines of retreat.

I strolled around for a while, just looking friendly, grinning and trying to appear harmless. Hard to do when you’re carrying a P-90, I know, but it goes with me everywhere off-world, like it’s glued on.

The camp was pretty basic, little more than a cluster of tents of an unknown fabric. Staff weapons stood propped up beside the doorways. Women were working here and there, sewing or knitting or crocheting or something, all of it looking pretty harmlessly domestic. In the middle of things was a fire with a tripod, a large pot hanging from it, a tasty-smelling stew bubbling away inside it.

Very homey.

Very nice.

After an hour, I hadn’t learn a damn thing, other than that I didn’t find anything I didn’t expect.

Like any other men.

That was pretty weird.

I finally found Hak’tyl’s version of the Air Force Academy, a training area where older women (and I use the term older lightly because none of them had a gray hair. Of course, being Jaffa, they might *be* twice my age and *look* half my age) were working with younger ones. I found a convenient log and sat down to watch as they did martial arts sort of things, like I’d seen other Jaffa doing when they’d been at our Alpha Site. No one said anything to me, or looked at me directly, but I couldn’t miss the way some of the younger women were watching me out of the corner of their eyes, some of them giggling.

Been a while since I’ve been giggled at.

Kinda nice, actually, in a male-ego-fulfillment sort of way.

Yes, I do have one, a male-ego.

All guys do, no matter what they tell you.

Some of the other women looked at me a little more boldly.

Admiring the chieseled good looks, I was sure.

Then again, maybe not. Ishta said some of them had never seen a man before.

Maybe it was just curiosity, not admiration.

Damn.

___________

Supper was interesting. The stew, by the way, turned out to taste as good as it smelled.

Teal’c sat close beside Ishta, *very* close beside Ishta.

The sparkage was *definitely* still sparking.

I sat next to Daniel, tuning out most of the details of his overly-detailed report chronicling the doings of Malach and his Jaffa, the history of these people and their possible connection to Earth’s Amazons.

And then he said something that caught my attention.

“I think that one is looking at you.” Daniel said very softy, grinning that tiny little grin that means he thinks this will be an amusing bit of conversation.

“Huh?”

“The dark haired pretty woman…”

“Well, that narrows it down a lot,” I groused. “They’re all woman. And most of them dark-haired.”

“The one on the other side of the fire. She keeps looking at you.”

“Most of them are looking at us. We’re company. And an extreme rarity, remember?”

“Ah, but she’s *looking*. Like maybe she wants to be, ah hem, *talking*.” Daniel was enjoying this very much.

I looked over at the woman he indicated. She wasn’t my usual type, she was a Jaffa for cyin’ out loud, but she was curvy. Nice smile. Pretty eyes. *Easy* on the eyes. For sure.

Oh boy.

I felt a stirring in a place that really shouldn’t be stirring in the midst of a mission.

This was no time for sparkage.

Oiy.

“I’m going for a walk,” I told Daniel, climbing to my feet, and leaving the area around the fire.

I walked through the quiet settlement, having a conversation with myself, or at least that part of myself that ought to know better.

I’m not some randy teenager, after all.

I walked once through the tents, then once again, and a third time, hoping the gathering at the fire would break up.

It didn’t.

Except for Teal’c and Ishta leaving for her tent.

Which put more images into my head that I pretty much didn’t want to be imagining.

I have a much better imagination that most people give me credit for.

At least, when it comes to some things.

Keep walking, Jack.

I’d pretty much covered the whole place twice over again, when I decided to walk outside the perimeter of the camp.

One of the warrior women, the one who’d been staring at me at supper actually, was brushing one of the black animals, crooning to the creature as she worked. The horse reached its huge head around, lowering it to nuzzle her shoulder.

“Easy, Froosh,” she stroked its nose.

“Beautiful animal.”

She didn’t startle, only smiled as she turned to me. “Yes, he is.”

I walked closer, reaching out my hand to the huge beast. The horse dipped his muzzle toward my fingers, his hot breath blowing warm and soft across the back of my hand as he sniffed, and snorted.

The woman had been watching me greet the animal. “You know horses,” She smiled at me.

“Not really. I’m more of a dog person myself.” I looked quizzically at her. “You have dogs here?”

“He likes you,” the Jaffa said, surprise in her voice.

“And I like him,” I ran my hand along the animals arched neck, feeling the play of strong muscles rippling underneath the skin.

“Animals are very sensitive. They know when they are liked,” she was looking at me, studying me now. “They are not easily fooled as to the intentions of humans.”

I nodded.

“I am Birta.”

“Colonel Jack O’Neill.”

“Yes, I know. I am pleased to meet you, leader of SG-1.”

“Thanks.”

She had turned back to the horse, her long braided black hair swinging across her back as she did so. Her hand was rhythmically stroking the horse. “Do you have horses on Earth?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes lit up as she turned back to look at me. “You ride then.”

“Only if I have to. We Tau’ri ride horses only for recreation. We have machines for transportation.”

“How sad.”

“Not for the horses.”

She laughed, a musical, mirthful sound.

I liked her laugh.

“So, Colonel O…”

“Call me Jack,” I suddenly heard myself say.

“Jack.” I liked the way she said my name, sort of husky and um, nice. All friendly like, and maybe a bit more. Not that my suddenly awakened male ego would imagine such a thing, would it? Nah.

“I must take my horse to water. Would you like to walk with me?”

“Sure.” Hammond had said I should learn more about these people, right? And a little walk in the woods, at dusk, and a talk with one of them… what could happen?

She untied the horse, holding the lead rope in her right hand, Froosh pacing along at her right side.

I walked on her left.

She turned to look at me, her eyes bright in the dim light. “I have heard many stories of O’Neill of the Tau’ri.”

“They’re exaggerated,” I answered glibly, a bit disconcerted by the way she seemed to be studying me. “Usually.”

We walked silently to the river, and stood while the horse dipped his muzzle into the water and drank. When the animal had finished, we turned away from the water and back into the meadow.

“So are all the Tau’ri like you?” she asked at last.

“Like me? You mean male? Well, about half of us.”

She laughed again. “No. That is not what I mean. Are all the men of your race such stalwart warriors?”

Stalwart? Now there’s a compliment a Tau’ri guy doesn’t get every day. “Only the best of us.” No, I can’t ever be serious at a moment like that; who could?

Birta dropped the horse’s lead, the animal lowering his head to crop the meadow grass, and she stepped closer to me. Her hand came up to touch my chin as I stood stock still, unsure of what was happening.

“Are Tau’ri males all handsome, as you?”

“Ah, well, on Earth I’m a little mature to be considered handsome…”

“Then the women of Earth are fools.”

“Well, there’s the knees, the back, the old wounds….”

“No warrior need be ashamed of the scars of battle.”

Birta’s fingers had found the small scar in my eyebrow, before she slid her hand down my cheek and along my jaw, the fingers wandering up into the hair at my temples, brushing my baseball cap off my head. “Tis true, you are not a mere youth, but the young do not have such strength or wisdom, the knowledge that only the years can bring, nor the warrior spirit, tested and true. Your visage is one of character, the face of a man, and a warrior, wise in the ways of life and living.”

Her hand was still in my hair. “You don’t mind the gray?”

“It is a handsome color. You wear it well.”

This was nuts. I was standing toe to toe with her, with a female Jaffa warrior, for cryin’ out loud.

And female she undoubtedly was. She smelled womanly, of clean hair and leather and something else, something very exotic.

And erotic.

Birta leaned forward, her breasts brushing against my chest in the moment before her lips touched mine, feather light.

The touch, delicate as it was, was electric.

Sparkage.

I staggered backward a step, breaking the contact.

Her dark eyes went wide with surprise. And was that disappointment?

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” I muttered, by way of explanation.

“Do you find me unattractive?”

“No, quite the opposite actually.” She was damn good looking. Every inch of me, and I mean *every* inch, including those particular inches, was telling me that. Ol’ Jackie boy was proving that despite the mileage, and the lack of recent opportunity to keep in practice, there was absolutely *no* need for those little blue pills.

“Then?” she was puzzled.

“I’m, ah, on duty.” Think cool thoughts, Jack, think cold showers and glacial lakes and a cold Minnesota pond, the one where as a kid you went skinny dipping… damn, don’t go there, you fool.

“I have heard O’Neill of the Tau’ri is an honorable warrior who always performs his duty. Is it not your duty to get to know my people, potential allies and friends?”

“Yes. But knowing in the Biblical way wasn’t what the General intended, I’m sure.”

She looked quizzically at me, confused by the reference.

I waved a hand through the air. “Earth reference. Sorry. It’s just that I don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

She was still staring, waiting for a better explanation.

“On a first date, first kiss, that’s further than I usually go.” Right, date hadn’t been anything except a number on the calendar or a fruit picked from a palm tree for far longer than I cared to admit.

“Do not the Tau’ri enjoy the pleasures of the flesh?”

“Oh, ahh, yes we do, yes.” I cleared my throat which suddenly seemed parched, probably because every ounce of fluid in my body was headed somewhere distinctly further south. I licked lips gone dry.

She was staring at me, boldly.

Openly.

Hungrily.

Wantonly.

Universal language, message conveyed without a single word.

Oiy.

“Then, I do not understand, O…Jack. Are you pledged to another?”

“Ah no, nope, nada, not.”

She was staring at me with what even a blind man could see was, well, good old fashioned intent of the lustful kind.

“I’m a little out of practice. Too busy making war to make… love, sort of…” Oh God, I was stammering.

“Then perhaps you may learn from a woman of the Jaffa…” she stepped into my space, which ordinarily sets off all the alarm bells of my personal warning system.

Odd as it might seem, this time I didn’t mind in the slightest.

I sort of, ah, liked it, actually, okay? So maybe I’m not 20 anymore, but I’m not geriatric either.

And this time when she kissed me, I kissed back, my body responding as my mind just went oh hell, why the heck not.

Definite mega-voltage sparkage.

Take it from me, Amazon women are irresistible.

Oh yeah. Suddenly, I was warm, way too warm.

Wearing way the hell too many clothes.

Better.

Much better.

But it was still too warm.

Guess I hadn’t checked the weather forecast because I was pretty sure the heat and humidity were very near the boiling point.

Oiy.

Skin on skin, her hands on my bare arms, sliding up to my shoulders, while my hands, I swear I don’t know how they got there, were under her shirt.

Her lips, lush and full, were locked on mine.

Discovery.

Jaffa women French kiss.

Wonder what they call it? Who cares what they call it because, damn, whatever they call it, it’s nice. Very very nice.

My hands were roaming far up under her shirt now. Another discovery, Jaffa warrior women don’t wear bras, at least, this one wasn’t. My hand found her breast, and I felt her suck in a breath as my thumb and forefinger tweaked her nipple.

She shuddered, gasping for air, her lips leaving mine as she buried her head in against my shoulder with something that sounded amazingly like a whimper.

Oh God. If *that* wasn’t a turn-on.

As if I needed to be turned on at this point, because let me tell you, everything was already on.

Fully locked and loaded, if you get my drift.

My groin was throbbing, insisting I do something about the layers of cloth that separated it from the flesh-on-flesh contact it was demanding.

Now.

Software was definitely hardware.

Okay, I had to be delirious, under the influence of some alien hallucinogen, dreaming what was about to become a wet dream.

But *that* wasn’t a figment of my imagination, *that* was something very real groping… there… oh yeah, right *there*…

I moaned.

I don’t know how we got down on the ground, but suddenly, that’s where we were, the meadow grass cushioning my back as she straddled me, unhooking the back of her shirt.

My heart was beating about a thousand miles a minute as her hands pushed my t-shirt up, toward my shoulders. I raised my arms, helping her with the unfamiliar clothing.

We were both bare to the waist now, breathing in hot, hard gasps, hands moving and touching and seeking.

My hands moved over her, exploring. Her waist was thin, her ribs prominent, her breasts standing upright, and there it was, the slits marking her symbiote pouch.

Now *that* put a damper on my ardor.

I could feel myself shrinking, like the tide going out. Hardware reverting back to software.

“It is nothing to fear,” she whispered.

“I’m not afraid. Just…” I shuddered, “grossed out.”

“It is only a part of me, a part that has no bearing on who I am…”

“Oh, I don’t know about that…”

“I carry the symbiote, but it is not me. I am neither Goa’uld nor Tok’ra, I am independent of its thoughts and wishes. Do not let it trouble you… It is no part of this.”

“I don’t know…” My bare skin was feeling suddenly cold as rational thought returned.

And then she leaned over me again, her bare breasts feather soft against my bare chest, her mouth melded to mine, her tongue slipping against my own, and whatever train of thought that had been bothering me derailed completely, vanished right off the radar screen into oblivion.

Her hands were back at my clothes, the long delicate fingers trying to figure out my belt and the zipper on my trousers. It didn’t take her long.

Damn.

Smart woman.

She sighed as her hand found it’s way past the fabric, kneading willing flesh that was once again rock hard.

Totally without rational thought on my part (I’m a guy, remember), I arched my back, thrusting my hips up, my body demanding more contact.

She was smiling, a feral grin as her fingers danced along the rigid length of my penis.

I groaned with the effort of holding back. I could feel the surge of electricity building as her very talented hands teased along the vein on the underside of my cock, trailing up to circle around the head, then back down to cup my balls and slide along the very sensitive flesh beneath them.

And then she bent down and slid her tongue along the length of my cock, like she was licking an ice cream cone.

My whole body twitched. I damn near lost it. Okay, so technically I was already lost and so far over the top I had nothing left to lose.

So fast I don’t know how she did it, she was naked. Completely. Back on her knees above me, one hand still on my throbbing organ, eyes closed in concentration, guiding herself as she sank down, sheathing me in damp, hot, and I do mean hot, flesh. Drawing in a deep breath, I rolled over, pinning her beneath me. Drew back slightly, shifting my weight as her legs clasped around my waist, thrusting ever so slowly, fighting back the urge to go faster, growling incoherently.

Keep control.

Yeah, right, control.

A little late for *that* thought.

A semblance of control then, as I managed not to come right there.

Did I mention that Amazon women are amazingly athletic?

Or maybe just Birta was.

And oh yeah, she was.

She moaned, low in her throat.

I began to withdraw again, easing my length out, until only the tip was still inside, then pushing forward, slowly, stretching the penetration to all but unbearable lengths, grinding my teeth in concentration, watching her.

Her head was thrown back, her spine arched upward as her hips lifted, seeking more, more of *me*, her face lit with an expression… wow…

“More,” was all she whispered. “More. Now. More.”

Who am I, to refuse a request like that?

Hot, sweat-slick skin.

Friction.

The ancient ritual of man and woman, repeated since time began.

Pulling back, thrusting with a corkscrew motion that was going to be hell to pay with my back tomorrow, but tomorrow wasn’t now, tonight, here, and I didn’t give a damn. She was tight, and wet and hot, I swear I could feel the blood pulsing through her veins. I sure as hell was feeling mine racing along at a thunderous pace.

Which wasn’t going to last.

I could feel it building, feel it start along my backbone, rippling along nerves and muscles, an unstoppable wave heading straight for my groin.

Not that I wanted to stop it, exactly.

My balls contracted and with a shout, I came, feeling the release as I pumped into her, shuddering again and again.

She came with me, her own cry muffled.

Holding my weight off of her with trembling arms, slowly I withdrew, rolling onto my back beside her in the grass, all of me as limp as that part of me.

Cool air on heated skin.

I could hear the horse, grazing nearby, teeth tearing at the grass.

Above us, through the trees, a pair of moons rolled across the sky. Somehow, while I’d been otherwise occupied, the dusk had advanced to full dark.

Rational thought returned, slowly, as my body cooled. I pulled my pants back on, my jacket over me.

A little late to be thinking of covering myself.

Damn.

Protection. Great time to think of *that* now.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

So yeah, okay, a part of me, the human side with the still functional male ego, was feeling pretty damn satisfied. The rest of me, the responsible Colonel part, was feeling guilty as hell. Stupid. Annoyed and angry with myself. Remembering another time, with another alien woman on another planet, and the near-fatal consequences.

“I shouldn’t have…”

“I am glad you did.”

I turned to look at her. In the darkness all I could see was the glittering of dark eyes in the shadowed face.

Her hand was on my chest, under the jacket, stroking across the gray hair. The touch had other parts of me awakening again.

Surprised.

Gratified.

Nice to know everything was still in tiptop working order.

Capable of a repeat performance.

But now was not the time.

Keep it under control, Flyboy.

“Birta…”

“Do not worry, Jack, you need not fear. I am healthy, my symbiote assures that I carry no disease.”

I fumbled for words. “It’s not…”

“And this liaison cannot produce a child. I was aware of the timing.”

“That’s good,” I sighed with relief.

“All of us here have pledged our lives to the fight for freedom. Our resources are already taxed to the fullest. We take in those already born, and in need of shelter. We cannot do more, or indulge in our own desires.”

“I think we just indulged.”

She laughed, that delightful, musical sound that did my weary heart good. “Yes, we did, did we not? I have no regrets.”

I said nothing.

She sat up, leaning on one elbow, looking worriedly down at me. “You are unhappy? It was not pleasing for you?”

“Oh, God, no, you were pleasing. Very pleasing. Very…” I waved a hand in the air, lost for words. “I just shouldn’t have.”

“But you are human, you have needs, as do we all. To deny yourself forever is wrong.”

“That wasn’t the plan. I mean, someday, but…”

“You feel the setting was inappropriate?”

“The timing.”

She nodded. “There is no time but the present. It is all we have. The future is uncertain, the past is gone, a warrior has only the moment.”

“Nice sentiment.”

“Is it not true?”

I thought a moment. “Yes.”

“Then we must take the joy of the moment, and relish it like the richest wine to be appreciated and savored.”

I sighed.

I know a lot about regrets, about the burdens of the past, and the uncertainty of the future.

And, in the past few years, far too little about the joy of the moment.

Birta was not human, but she had taught me something, or at least, reminded me of something I’d once known, that joy or at least pleasure, needs to be as much a part of life as duty, honor and sacrifice.

For that, I’d be thankful.

And for once, I’d deny the regrets.

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