"You know that you do it all wrong."
Daniel blinked, only slightly offended by Jack's assessment of his self-defense skills. "Of course I do it wrong. I haven't been trained."
Jack gestured with a beer bottle toward the kung-fu movie on TV. "You're not as wrong as those guys."
Daniel smiled, in a weird way it was a compliment. He squinted at the television—the hero defied gravity and all laws of physics to knock three guys unconscious by flying into the air and possibly growing a third leg. "I don't have anyone badly editing my fight scenes."
Jack turned his head sideways. "You'd still be better if you were badly edited." Jack's eyes slid to the coy smile on Daniel's face. "But that doesn't mean you don't need help."
"Yeah, well, you're my CO." Daniel tipped back the last of his beer to punctuate his declaration.
Jack nodded deeply. "You're right." He hopped up, set his beer on the table, turned off the TV, and then emptied his pockets and removed his watch.
"Uh . . . Jack?" Daniel set down his empty bottle. He'd only finished one and was tipsier than Jack was after three; however, he still had an idea of where this was going.
Jack stepped in front of Daniel and pulled on his wrists. "Up and at 'em, Danny-boy."
"Jack." Daniel blushed when he heard the whine in his voice. He was shamed into following Jack's lead.
Jack nudged the coffee table with his shin. "You're right. It's my job as your CO to teach you basic defense." Jack glared at the coffee table and pushed it harder, his flesh molding to the curve of the lip. "I should've done this a few months ago. Not like I don't know your back—for cryin' out loud!" Jack dropped to his knees and pushed the coffee table out of the way, muttering curses every time it snagged on the carpet.
Daniel stifled most of the giggles that drunkenly bubbled out of him.
"Shut up," Jack mumbled as he struggled to his feet.
Daniel schooled his face into a hard line for a fraction of a second, but the giggles overcame his will.
"Hey! Do I have to use my Colonel voice?" Jack warned.
"No, no." Daniel pulled himself together, but he could feel his drunkenness lurking beneath the veneer of sobriety.
Jack roughly grabbed Daniel by the biceps and hauled him upright. "The first thing about self defense—could you please pull it together?" Jack jerked his head away from the alcohol-induced laughter.
Daniel sealed his lips. "Sorry," he mumbled.
"Uh-huh." Jack stepped back, leaving Daniel swaying. "You've got to be confident in your moves. Follow through completely; don't let your body hesitate."
"Don't hesitate, got it." Daniel repeated the directions, trying to clear the fuzz from his brain enough so he could store the words in his memory. It was hard to grasp Jack's lesson because his brain was full of cotton and there wasn't enough space for Jack's words.
"Based on last week's mission, you need to know how to break holds."
"Holds?" Daniel thought back to last week's mission. Yesterday he'd been on PR5-734. He was gone for the day on a basic translation gig. There had been ruins and tablets, but no people or problems. Daniel scratched his head. "I wasn't attacked there."
Jack flinched, one shoulder coming up above his ear. "What? Connors grabbed you and held a gun to your head."
"Oh." Daniel's head traveled in an understanding arc. "P3X-513. Right."
Jack blinked. "You're drunk and yet you can remember planet designations." He shook his head.
Daniel held up one finger. "As you've said, Jack, my brain is very unique."
Jack waved off his agreement, not letting Daniel have the backhanded compliment. "Anyway, care to recreate circumstances?" Jack spun Daniel, wrapping one arm around Daniel's neck and bringing the other to Daniel's hip. "So, how would you break this?"
Daniel closed his eyes, willing the room to stand still as he swayed in Jack's arms. "Wait for you to show up."
Jack breathed in his ear. The room suddenly snapped straight and Daniel froze, feeling the goose bumps rise on his neck.
"What if I'm not there?" Daniel shivered; Jack's breath was warm and cool against his neck all in the same instant.
Daniel grabbed the arm around his neck, wrapping his fingers around the forearm just as he'd done with Connors . . . though he didn't remember the thrill in his stomach as he'd done so.
"Think," Jack whispered.
"Uh." Daniel tightened his grip and then pulled on Jack's arm. Jack's rock solid arm stayed in place. He changed the position of one of his hands, awkwardly turning it so that his palm cupped the other side of Jack's arm, his hand squeezing up in between arm and neck. He pushed as he pulled but this was worse.
Daniel could sense Jack's eyes roll. "What else can you do?"
Daniel licked his lips, certain that was not what Jack meant. "Talk?"
Jack groaned. "I know you have an unusual command of language, Daniel, but I don't think words will save you." Jack tightened his grip, actually cutting into Daniel's airway enough that Daniel gasped. He lifted Daniel's chin, stretching his neck. Daniel teetered on his toes as Jack held him up with experienced arms Daniel normally trusted.
Daniel glared at the ceiling. "Just because—"
"Physically, Daniel. What can you physically do?"
"I get it, Jack." Daniel stomped on Jack's foot.
He cursed, loudly. His hold loosened. Daniel pulled the arm away from his neck enough so that he could turn, and suddenly Jack and Daniel were face to face with Jack holding him in a tight embrace. Their bodies were pressed close, Daniel all too aware of Jack's hard lines and his own penis pressing against Jack's hip. Daniel felt lightheaded but not from the beer.
Jack cleared his throat. "Sort of the idea." His voice cracked on the words.
They blinked at each other, a silent code for "well, isn't this a pleasant awkwardness," and then Jack was pushing Daniel back.
"Though you might actually want to escape your attacker, not. . . ." Jack blushed furiously. Daniel tilted his head; he'd never seen Jack embarrassed before. Awkward, unsure—maybe twice—but Jack was down right embarrassed. It was . . . amusing.
"Kiss him?" Daniel offered, smiling in a way he hoped was teasing and wicked.
Jack's eyes widened and Daniel was almost sure he heard him squeak. A loud cough and then, "Well, unless you're into that." Jack rubbed the back of his neck, keeping his head bowed, and looked up a Daniel. "Can we forget I said that?"
A shit-eating, evil grin split Daniel's face. "I'm into that."
Jack looked stricken, eyes widening, mouth dropping.
"I'm into forgetting it," Daniel clarified. He winked for good measure.
Jack narrowed his eyes. "You're evil."
Daniel stepped toward him, fingers fluttering in a "come here" gesture. "Can we try again? I think I've got the point now." Jack hesitantly wrapped his arm around Daniel again. "It's to get away, right?"
Before Jack could snap back a sarcastic retort, Daniel stepped back, once again grinding his heel down on Jack's instep. He pushed Jack's leg back, throwing Jack's center of gravity. He leaned forward and Jack spilled on to the floor next to the couch, landing hard.
"Jack—God—I'm sorry. Are you all right?" Daniel knelt next to him, hand grazing short brown hair.
Jack blinked, opening his eyes wide. "Fine," he moaned. He tilted his head, looking at Daniel upside down. "Maybe you shouldn't try throwing me again."
Daniel rocked from his knees to his heels, collapsing to the left so that he leaned against the couch. "You told me to break your hold." He pushed his glasses up his nose and licked his lips.
Jack flipped over to his stomach and pushed himself up. "Right. Maybe we should concentrate on disarming."
Daniel smirked, but wisely said nothing. Thankfully his head was clearing a bit from the alcohol and it was easier to think. He still felt silly, excited, and was fighting back unexpected giggles, but he was a little clearer.
Jack left the room, calling over his shoulder, "Why don't you have another beer?"
Daniel groaned. With Jack, that wasn't an invitation. Also it meant Daniel wouldn't be driving back to his apartment that night. He fished another beer out of the fridge and took a few pulls from the top of the bottle, hoping that if Jack saw some gone he'd forget about suggesting Daniel have more.
"Got it," Jack called. He came back, twirling a Beretta around his finger. Daniel's stomach hollowed and all the lingering moisture evaporated from his mouth.
"Don't worry." Jack tossed the gun between his hands. "It's not loaded and I double checked the chamber. I'm very careful about my weapons." Jack threw Daniel a grin, sparking a double entendre Daniel was pretty sure Jack hadn't meant.
Jack set the Beretta on the coffee table and then grabbed his shirttail, pulling it over his head. He was still wearing a white undershirt that accentuated his toned muscles. Daniel swallowed, remembered the beer, wrapped his lips around its mouth, and took a long drink.
"Let's try this again so you can disarm me." Jack held out his hands, almost like he was expecting a hug. The pleasant buzz was drifting back in between Daniel's ears and he almost embraced Jack—but once again Jack spun him around before he could do anything too stupid.
"Now," Jack whispered, his voice husky by Daniel's ear. "Don't throw me down this time, okay?"
"What if I liked throwing you down?" Daniel's eyes flicked to Jack's impassive face. Daniel laughed. "I mean no one deserves it more than you do."
Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, I can think of one person." He pressed the barrel of the gun into Daniel's neck, forcing Daniel to tilt his head into Jack's space.
Breath quickening, Daniel felt his heartbeat throbbing in his neck, just under the press of the gun. His face flushed when he realized he was getting hard.
Jack craned his neck, turning to look at Daniel from the corners of his eyes. "You okay? You're all . . . flushed."
Daniel clenched his left hand around Jack's forearm and wiped the sweaty palm of his right hand on his thigh. Jack pressed close to his back, jeans against jeans with an electric friction that Daniel was having trouble ignoring. He shut his eyes and started conjugating verbs in Latin. "I'm f-fine. Just, ah . . ."
Jack squinted, getting his patented Jack's-brain-is-working look on his face. "Is this making you nervous?"
"Yes!" Daniel opened his eyes and started nodding emphatically. "Yes, I'm very nervous. Jack, you have a gun to my throat." Daniel wasn't quite sure, but he thought his voice might have slightly purred around the word "gun."
Jack pressed the gun into Daniel's neck harder, his voice again tickling Daniel's ear. "You're not nervous." He ran the gun down Daniel's neck like a caress. He pressed it into Daniel's collar hard enough to bruise. The pressure undid Daniel with a needy groan. "You're turned on."
"What?" Daniel's protest was weak and completely contrary to the physical evidence. "You're—you're—"
Jack pressed his hips into Daniel's ass, something slightly harder than flesh but softer than bone pushing even more insistently. Daniel's mouth gaped open and close a few times, his eyes blinking rapidly as though blinks powered his higher brain function. Jack's hip-hand moved, crossing to Daniel's stomach, un-tucking his shirttail, working the buttons, opening Daniel's shirt bottom to top. Daniel continued to blink. Jack was undressing him. Jack had a gun pressed to his throat. And he had never been this hard in his life.
Jack flicked open Daniel's shirt and ran his hands over Daniel's chest. It was cold and warm, rough and soft, weird and sexy. Daniel wasn't sure if he could handle so many contradictions at one time. His eyes fluttered. Then Jack's mouth was on his neck, pressing in next to the gun, and Daniel felt the arousal flood his body, like a shot pumping into his veins he felt it course through his system.
"Jack, we shouldn't." The words came from some Other Daniel, because this one only wanted.
Jack hummed. "I know." He reached up and tugged on Daniel's glasses; they reluctantly slipped from Daniel's ears. Jack's mouth pressed into neck again, a wet tongue dotting the skin. "Can't stop. Been waiting."
Daniel closed his eyes and leaned his head back, finding Jack's shoulder. Jack's arm was around him, barely holding him now, his glasses dangling from Jack's fingers. The gun slowly moved, drifting into a caress along Daniel's jaw, then pressing, tilting his chin up at an angle so that when he parted his eyes he could see Jack, thin lips pressed together in deliberation. Daniel's mouth parted, he was sure he had a protest in his mind, maybe a name for the reason they shouldn't do this, but the alcohol, the gun, Jack—no good reason for stopping came to mind. His hand drifted to his chest, touching hesitantly, lost in feeling, in physical being.
Jack kissed him and their lips molded together. Daniel confused breathing and kissing and, for a second, thought that maybe Jack was oxygen. That was when Daniel could explain his drunken dizziness—he hadn't been getting enough Jack.
He turned, wrapping his arms around Jack's torso, Jack's arms circling his shoulders. Jack's eyes slit open, his mouth both lazy and determined as he kissed Daniel. The gun thumped against Daniel's spine and he moaned.
Daniel's hand slid to find Jack's belt, tugging the loop, pulling back, and freeing the buckle. His hand didn't even hesitate before unfastening the button and pulling down the zipper to the sound of Jack's relieved groan.
Daniel slipped his hand inside the waistband, pushing his fingers against skin, using his wrist to lever away the pants, pulling the left side away from Jack's body so that it slipped down. Gripping the belt and pulling, he completely freed Jack's right hip. Daniel glanced down, face still pressed to Jack's, and sighed at the dip in Jack's hip, the curls of dark hair blending into the shadows.
Jack stepped back, his pants slipping over his left hip. Daniel panted, hips thrusting towards Jack instinctively. Chuckling, Jack pushed their foreheads together, Daniel's damp bangs trapped between their skin. Jack licked his lips; looked as if he might speak. Daniel kept him silent.
Daniel pushed against him, forcing his tongue into Jack's mouth, thrusting so hard that Jack stumbled back, tripping over the couch, pulling Daniel on top of him. The gun hit hard against Daniel's spine and it hurt—a sharp bruising pain, the kind of pain that makes things real, like a pinch to be sure it's not just a dream. Jack's gun-hand snaked out, fumbling to the side, as if reaching for something. The gun clacked against something solid and hard—the side table.
"No," Daniel gasped. "Don't put it down."
Jack moaned in protest.
"Don't." Daniel leeched on to Jack's neck, sucking and nibbling.
The gun came back around and smacked into Daniel's shoulder blade—painful metal against bone.
"God, Daniel," he gasped, draining into a moan.
An uncomfortable tingle crept up Daniel's spine like a draft breezing in under warm sheets. It had suddenly become weird. And it more or less hinged on the fact that Jack had said Daniel's name, which somehow reminded Daniel that this shouldn't be happening, or maybe that Daniel actually wanted someone else moaning his name, vaguely remembering someone else doing just that.
Kissing Jack hard, he silently begged him to not say anything again because he wanted to be here. He couldn't be here if he started to remember.
He broke the kiss long enough to say, "Put my glasses down."
Jack leaned over to drop the glasses on the side table.
Daniel took the opportunity to let his shirt slip off his shoulders, leaning his arms back so that the material drifted to the floor. Jack's eyes traveled over Daniel's exposed body—not an impressive piece of fitness, but lean and still tan from the Abydos sun. Jack licked his lips and awkwardly pulled his undershirt over his head, tossing it to the floor.
Daniel's fingers raked through chest hair, feeling the strong powerful planes of Jack's form. He pushed, maneuvering Jack until they were lying across the couch.
"Lift up," Daniel whispered.
Jack lifted his hips and Daniel stripped him, pulling Jack's pants and boxers down to his knees. Jack worked Daniel's belt and fly open, tugging on the pants so that they sagged around Daniel's middle, half falling off. Daniel pushed them away.
He rolled on top of Jack again, this time pressing their bare flesh together, an altogether odd experience. The second hard cock, pressing into his stomach was confusing and perfect and rubbed against his in a way he didn't know he'd been missing.
Daniel was sweating. It was a cool night, but Jack hadn't lit a fire. They had started off with alcohol to heat their insides but now they had each other, thrusting.
Jack's fingers tangled in Daniel's long hair, directing their mouths together. Their hard breaths pushed through their noses as tongues met, thrusting against each other with the same desperation as their hips.
Daniel's hand sought Jack's gun, still pressing flat into Daniel's back. Daniel pried it away, held it in his own hand, wrapping his fingers around the grip. He pressed it into Jack's neck, feeling the thrill of being the one in power, trying to see if Jack got off on that kind of domination.
Jack closed his eyes and leaned his head back, mouth parted in a gasp.
Daniel felt the cock spasm next to his. Every thrust spread come over their stomachs, making Daniel's slide to completion smoother and easier. He grunted and pressed the gun deeper into Jack's throat; he wanted to leave a bruise, like a hickey only less condemning for a military man.
And that was the thought that undid him—marking Jack as if Daniel owned him.
He thrust, losing control of the gun, knocking it into Jack's jaw harder than he meant to. It was sure to leave a bruise. Jack grinned—he seemed okay with it.
Daniel collapsed on Jack's chest, listening to and feeling the rapid staccato of Jack's heartbeat. Jack's hand twisted in Daniel's hair, brushing and petting in a way that made Daniel almost purr—before he remember that he was a guy and Jack was a guy and there was a reason they shouldn't have done this. But damned if he'd be bothered by that reason just yet.
Daniel lifted his head, blinked, and focused on Jack's face. There was a bruise blossoming just on the underside of his jaw. Daniel leaned over and licked it. "Sorry," he muttered.
Jack moved his chin, like he was trying to see the bruise on his own face. "Bruised?"
"Yeah." Daniel blushed. He pushed off Jack, catching every bit of Jack's naked skin, the stain of come on his stomach, and then he blushed more furiously, the flush creeping along his body and coloring every bit of exposed flesh. "We, ah, I didn't—"
Jack nodded, picking up the thread of Daniel's stammering. "We didn't finish your defense training."
Daniel swallowed thickly, unsure that he'd ever be able to hear those words again without his face (and possibly other body parts) filling with blood.
"But here's the bright side." Jack wiggled out from under Daniel and picked up the Beretta that had been discarded during the post-coital cuddle. "At least you managed to disarm me."
Daniel blinked, for once sure that he'd never understand Jack, his predilections, or his uncanny ability for reestablishing trust when everything had gone to hell.
Daniel licked his lips and steadied himself, deciding that if Jack was going to go with this, so would he. "You know, I think next time I could do better."
Jack chuckled. "More private defense training sessions?"
Daniel sat up and grabbed his glasses, putting them on. "Emphasis on private."
Jack smiled and twirled the gun around his finger. "I was wrong," he said thoughtfully. "There are some things about self defense that you do just right."
Daniel blushed, but grinned.