Jack blinked a few times to adjust his sight but nope, still couldn't see a goddamn thing. It's pitch black in the storage room and it's obvious to him that they've just had a power outage of some kind and not an invasion. The lack of gunfire and explosions sort of tipped that off.
He felt along the door, searching for the storage room's access port, his card in hand, but as he slid it through, he realized that it was a boneheaded action. Power outage = no electricity = no operating doors. Cursing the switch from keys and locks, he sighed and counted to three, waiting for the emergency lighting to kick on. When nothing happened, he pressed his ear to the door and heard... nothing. Damn bulkhead steel doors anyway.
Making a growling noise, he pounded on the door with the side of his fist, wincing as the hardness of the door hurt his hand. He waited a minute then pounded again. Didn't anyone hear him? There had to be people in the corridor. They're all in the dark with no goddamn where to go! Unless there was no emergency hook-up in this particular closet, in which case, Jack would be the only one in the dark.
Literally and metaphorically.
Story of his life, it sometimes felt.
The only thing for him to do now was to wait for the power to return. He started to push away from the door but froze the moment he detected a presence behind him. Hairs rose on the back of his neck and he quickly discerned breathing. Soft, yet combined with a slight panting of excitement. Excitement from what exactly? Listening further, Jack's heart rate began to climb. He recognized that particular type of breathing. Hell, he'd heard it in the shower at 5 a.m. that morning.
He tensed as the person neared and he felt their body warmth against his bare arms. Hands came down over his biceps and Jack readied himself for a fight, actions and reactions forming in his mind as he tried to remember the layout and which way would actually hurt the most for his opponent while minimizing his own risk.
A few tense seconds passed, then a male voice whispered, "I'm not going to harm you."
"Comforting thought," Jack shot back. "But I can't say the same for you if you don't release me."
The man closed in, pressing his body against Jack's, and a few things happened in quick succession: Jack tried to push him off but the stranger didn't budge, and the hand on Jack's left arm tightened... while the right one moved down over his groin.
For the second time, Jack froze. The hand massaged him expertly, easily, and a knee pressed between the back of his thighs, pushing them apart. Jack felt breath behind his left ear and lips brushed the skin. He shivered just when the man spoke again, his voice creating goose bumps.
"I know you will like this. Don't resist it, please."
The stranger was almost asking permission. Almost. Behind the tone, Jack had a feeling that he'd be touched anyway. So. Options. Let the asshole jerk him off or fight a no-win situation and *hope* he did some damage without getting damaged himself. Jack's threat assessment was interrupted as the man's hand caressed him in an exceedingly wonderful way he liked and he swallowed hard, wishing the bastard wasn't making this difficult.
Sighing, and hating his traitorous hormones, Jack found himself giving in, telling himself that he wasn't resisting because an opportunity hadn't presented itself yet. But the truth was, advisable or not, the thrillseeker inside his head had taken control of the situation for one simple reason: This was hot and he was becoming very aroused.
The knee between his legs rose, applying gentle pressure against his balls. Whether in warning or for pleasure, Jack didn't know, but when the fingers over his groin stopped their caress and began to open his trousers, he suddenly came to the shocking realization that he didn't care.
He wanted to be touched.
Tactile warmth from a strange hand slipped under his shorts and took hold of his half-hard cock, thumb brushing over the head. Moving in swirls, the pad pushed against his sensitive nerves and Jack couldn't help the jerk of his hips. He managed to stifle a groan but the release of breath through his nose was loud enough for the stranger to hear.
"Yes," the man whispered, and began to get down to business. Slow strokes at first, twisting slightly with each upsweep and adding a squeeze at the end before pushing back down. Biting his lip, Jack involuntarily closed his eyes, welcoming the pleasure as it slowly increased, the hand speeding up. Pleasure sizzled over the skin of his balls as they tightened, drawing up the hairs, making him want to spread his legs and thrust.
"Not long," whispered the stranger.
He began to give him encouragement in a way that Jack tried to ignore but soon found he couldn't do without.
"Yes, getting harder, there ya go."
Shuddering, Jack curled his fingers against the door, wishing he had something else to grab onto that didn't include the owner of the hand.
"Come on, Colonel, that's it. Give in, take it. You're so hard, feel so good in my hand."
Jack thrust in response, knocking the hand off-stride, but the stranger quickly regained his rhythm.
"I know you want it. That's it, c'mon. Shoot over my hand, that's it baby, c'mon."
Jack's pulse was racing now, the hot need boiling within as the stranger's hand was moving blindingly fast, leading him over the edge. The pleasure spiked deep and Jack squeezed his shut eyes tighter, harsh breaths puffing through his nose as he was deaf and dumb for perhaps five seconds, maybe ten. The only sound in the storage room, other than his breathing, was the scraping of his nails against the door as he soared through the wake of his orgasm. The man squeezed him gently, slowly extracting the last drops of come and Jack moved his hips with him, riding the afterglow.
Moments later, the stranger moved away and Jack started to turn around but the access port chimed. Without giving it a second thought, Jack buttoned up, slid his card through the port and opened the door. With a quick look, and assuming the automatic appearance of normality, Jack made his way to the bathroom to wash up.
Hands braced on the sink, he shook his head, incredulous at the risk he'd just taken, and the fact that he'd actually indulged himself like that.
But Jesus, that felt good.
. . .
Walking into the briefing room, Hammond looked up as he took his seat. "Problems, Colonel?"
"None, sir, just had to take a leak."
"Must be the coffee," Daniel said, looking at his own mug.
As he sat down next to him, Jack whispered, "Baby?" and received a very brief, wicked smile in return.