“I…er…I…“ Smooth, O’Neill, smooth. I’ve never been so wretchedly embarrassed in my ENTIRE life.
Poor Daniel looks wide-eyed and dazed. I don’t blame him. He’s sprawled beneath me, pinned flat by my weight. There’s nothing I can do to disguise the fact I’ve got a five-alarm hard on, given he’s been under me since the first alarm, which kinda turned out to be mutual from the look on his face. Unfortunately for Daniel we’re going nowhere until we’re certain no more of this tomb is coming down on top of us. And then only after Carter digs us out, of course.
I could KILL Carter.
I told her not to touch that honkin’ great spiky thing and what did she do? It was like a fucking sonic boom down here; the air in this chamber Daniel was happily poking around in shifted and the roof dropped on our heads. Not that Daniel is concerned about falling masonry when he has the more immediate problem of my wayward dick to contend with. I know he’s dying for Carter and the rescue team to dig through just to get out from under me, but he doesn't dare move in the meantime. The beam that has me neatly wedged on top of him has given us a measure of protection, but the only way out of here is slow and cautious.
I only have myself to blame. I had to be the majorly macho mother-hen and tackle him to the ground when the roof fell in. We went down so hard he’s lucky I didn’t shoot one of us in the ass.
“Um…“ Daniel has difficulty meeting my eyes.
I’m a lot of things I couldn’t tell my maiden aunt about, but I’d like to think I’m neither a coward nor a liar. I pull it together long enough to spit out a sentence. “Don’t worry about it,” I order him gruffly.
Seriously. He doesn’t need to worry. He’s never noticed, let alone asked, and I’ve never needed to tell. Not about to make a start now. I have some pride, even if my dick will take anything it can get. We’re fine. I’m fine. Just so long as he doesn’t do that writhing thing, which is what kicked me off in the first place. If I come in my pants just from the writhing and the irresistibly cute and undeniably nervous way Daniel is biting his lip, I will kill myself right here if we don’t die first. He SO doesn’t need this.
I don’t need this.
I was FINE. One happy-ish, maladjusted Air Force colonel with a crush the size of the planet on my best friend who really, truly never needed to know I was basically limping along doing the Niles to his Daphne. Hey, I was doing WAY better than Niles. That sap was drooling in denial for like, seven years. Which is about six years longer than I…
I sigh. Okay, about two years longer than I…Yeah. I know. Pathetic.
“I am worried,” Daniel admits softly. “I mean…um…are you?” he asks nervously.
Am I what? Pop quiz, Boonie Boy. Is Jack: a) horny? b) a desperate loser? c) in love with you? d) a horny desperate loser who’s in love with you? I’m going with ‘d’ myself.
“It’s nothing,” I insist in my best 'forget about it, leave it alone, it's not open for discussion' voice.
Daniel doesn’t seem to fully grasp his quelled status, or the fact this is not in fact open for discussion. He gives a little experimental shimmy that has me hissing and him sputtering and blushing furiously.
“THAT is not nothing!” he accuses indignantly.
I shoot him a smutty look before I can stop myself and the residual blush hits MY hairline. It constantly amazes me how such an obvious hottie can wander vaguely through life not even seeing sex or gender as an issue. Carter and Fraiser worship the ground he walks on because he can’t see the woman for the person. It’s not helping him right now, of course, because he can’t see the colonel for the dick.
“Can we NOT talk about this?” I drawl sarcastically. I want to tell him to stop breathing on my neck, but he’s already doing ‘virgin sacrifice at dawn’ with great artistry and conviction, and it’s not like he can get up and walk around in lieu of dying from TMI. It isn’t Daniel’s fault he’s a hottie, and if only he could be brought to realise it and not go around being sweet and nice to the susceptible, which I KNOW should not include majorly macho mother-hen Special Ops colonels, well, we’d all sleep a lot happier in my bed.
“You have an erection,” Daniel observes clinically. “The occurrence of said tumescence of which correlates precisely with MY adjacency and…um…activity.”
“So you think it’s a good idea to talk dirty to me?” I interrupt hastily. Don’t they teach ANYTHING in grad school? Such as, random example here, NOT using words like ‘tumescence’ to a guy you’ve GOTTEN tumescent?
“Oh.” Daniel’s brow wrinkles thoughtfully. “Turgid. Tumid.”
“What did I just TELL you?” I demand.
“Emphysematous. Oedematous,” Daniel insists defiantly.
I glare at him.
“Big honkin’ boner,” he translates demurely, gazing up at me like butter wouldn’t melt.
I shrug deprecatingly. “It’s my sidearm, I swear.” I’m not going to admit that my tumescence and his adjacency have any correlation at all. He can think I’m a sad fuck who needs to get out more and he gives me any more attitude, I’ll forget I’m a gentleman and show him what a little friction between two like-minded guys can accomplish.
Which is kind of the crux of the matter. We’re not like-minded, and I am a gentleman and Daniel’s friend, so I’ve said and done nothing that will make him uncomfortable or even aware that I’m quietly eaten up inside, because as much as I love and need Daniel, and I accepted a long time ago I wanted Daniel in a way I’ve only ever wanted Sara, I don’t get to have him.
Daniel is straight. He’s also celibate, but Daniel never takes the easy route and in his case celibate does not equate with susceptible. I’m so aroused I can’t see straight right now. Daniel…isn’t. He’s anxious and confused and he’s talking because for the moment it stops him thinking. Probably for the best. Thinking will only bump his anxiety up to full-blown panic and we’ve got a roof to get out from under before he can get out from under me.
So I’m not admitting this is anything more than a minor inconvenience, friction, if you will, the kind of inconvenience a guy who realises he’s supposed to be more in touch with his dick than his feelings wouldn’t mention.
“Friction,” I say flatly.
“Interresting,” Daniel rolls the word slowly over his tongue. “Given you’re not actually moving, what with being pinned by the beam and all,” he supplies helpfully.
Ah, if only Daniel was the no-brain, all-dick type. I wouldn’t be in love with him, but I also wouldn’t be trapped here with a resilient erection and an insatiably curious archaeologist with all the finely honed survival instincts of a suicidal lemming given he keeps saying shit like ‘tumid’ to me and can’t keep fucking STILL. “DANIEL,” I hiss a warning.
Daniel eyes me reproachfully and sighs. “The Greeks…” he begins in coaxing accents.
“STOP with the Greeks,” I snap with unflattering promptness.
“Prick,” he grumbles. Then he blushes again.
My turn to sigh. It’s hard to avoid his eyes. It’s hard to avoid the fact I could just drop my head and kiss him about as thoroughly as anyone has ever kissed him in the whole of his life. It’s…hard. Other than that, I’m okay, we’re pinned but I’m not actually hurt, except for my pride, and my libido, which both wish I was dead. Just pinned. Tumid and pinned. Homo erectus, here.
Still, what was the roof and is now pretty much the floor is looming over us, looking like it could go at any moment, so best to be still. Much as I’d like a little distance for the sake of my last shreds of dignity, I’m not hitching up to spare Daniel’s blushes so he’d better keep STILL if he doesn’t want me going off like a rocket.
“KNOCK IT OFF.”
Daniel shoots me a resentful look up from under his lashes. “My butt is numb.”
I wish my dick was numb.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were attracted to me?” Daniel asks innocently.
“I’m not,” I insist stubbornly.
Daniel’s gaze shifts pointedly down.
“Huh,” I snort dismissively. “Don’t diss a man just because he needs a little quality time with his spin dryer,” I drawl. One of Daniel’s trademark not-quite-there grins gets away from him. There’s something very comforting about laundry when getting some is a bi-annual occurrence at best, and being stoned or hammered is the deciding factor for both events. I’ve always kept my private life absolutely private, given my reputation is, broadly speaking, studly, and the tragic truth is I may talk the talk but I sure don’t fuck the fuck.
“I’m just saying that if you are attracted to me, you should say something,” Daniel persists.
“Say what?” I ask incredulously, before I can stop myself. “Excellent job on the translation, Daniel,” I sing song witheringly, “and by the way, you look so hot in your bandana I want to drag you out back of the tomb and fuck you senseless over that ceremonial doodad.” I use my best scornful 'like that would EVER happen! Pfffft!' voice. I mean, if I have to TELL him I was trying for ‘ludicrously exaggerated’ I’m going to lose all credibility. Especially as it’s the literal truth and all.
Daniel’s mouth drops open. “You do?” he asks feebly.
Of course I do! I'm a GUY. It's never pretty. The merest glimpse of his ass makes the roof of my mouth go dry. Throw in the bandana and the shades and we're talking stress fractures on my P-90. Why does he think I wear the fingerless gloves? “Don’t be stupid, Daniel. Can you SPELL hypothetical?” Okay, maybe that WAS a bad example. Kinda forgot my audience, here.
“Oh,” Daniel’s face is an odd mixture of relief and puzzlement. “I see. I…as a matter of fact I’m…I’m a little disappointed,” he admits with quiet dignity. “I mean, if you’d…” he takes a shaky breath, “…wanted to ask me out or…or something…”
You’d have gone ‘EEP!’ and yelped ‘NO!’.
“I wouldn’t have said no.”
“What?” I ask with exquisite caution, feeling like I’m teetering on a knife’s edge. I’m admitting NOTHING if we can both escape with a modicum of dignity attached, but if there’s a frickin’ HINT he would…fuuuuck. I am so screwed here. I never wanted him to know and now…I sigh. We’re both screwed. Can’t get the genie back in my pants.
“I’m not averse to seeing you,” Daniel says quietly. “I’ve never considered a sexual relationship with you, in fact, I’m usually thinking the translation looks hot, not you…but…but I’m not…not averse,” he stammers out determinedly.
“For pity’s sake?” I snarl, my heart sinking.
Daniel flinches. “If you say so,” he agrees stiffly. “I don’t know what people want, but whatever it is, I don’t have it. You’re the only one who’s asked. Not that you did ask, but if you had, I would have said yes.” He drops his eyes, flashing that quick nervous grin. “Yes…please,” he adds ruefully. “I guess that’s pitiable, but not as pitiable as being alone, Jack.”
Aw, hell. HELL. What am I supposed to say to that? It bites, BIG TIME, loving this guy. “I meant me. You pity ME,” I mumble grudgingly.
Daniel’s head jerks up and his eyes widen in a ‘don’t be stupid, Jack’ way that does my ego proud.
“Everybody likes you.”
“Everybody thinks I’m a loudmouth jerk with an attitude problem,” I correct crisply. “Including you,” I admit wryly.
“Only some of the time,” Daniel assures me earnestly. “The rest of the time I think you’re…”
“Hot?” I leer, deliberately ludicrously exaggerated. That coaxes another nervous smile from Daniel.
Ouch. I wince. Not the most glowing character reference a guy could look for. Daniel looks apologetic, but oddly determined.
“We could spend time together. If you wanted,” he offers, desperately casual.
“We spend time together now.” And what I want is sex; constant, hot, guilt-free sex. Which of course you don't get if you happen to be IN LOVE with the guy, especially this guy.
“Ju-just as friends.”
“Are you offering to spend time together as lovers?” I ask carefully.
Daniel winces again but nods jerkily.
I feel a little sick. I hadn’t, I truly hadn’t realised how alone he felt, if he’s willing to consider sex with me just to…
“No,” Daniel gasps, glaring at me. “I’m not THAT needy.”
Oops. Gotta work on that poker face.
“I mean I’m tired of being ALONE,” Daniel says meaningfully.
“Have you considered dating?” I ask gently. It's been over a year since Sha’uri died, and apart from a brief rebound something or other with the Destroyer of Worlds, Daniel hasn’t exactly been setting the Colorado Springs social scene alight. The only woman he takes out and stays in with is Carter and even my pathological jealousy is perfectly aware Carter’s maternal instincts are channelled right into Cassie and Daniel.
“I’m trying!” Daniel scowls at me.
“I’m not dating you!” I scowl back.
“Why not?” Daniel asks stubbornly.
When did I lose control of this situation? “Because, whereas I, in my youth, was a bit of a Kinseyish two on the quiet, you’ve got classic zero written all over you.”
Daniel, the celibate heterosexual, manages to look insulted at being labelled a heterosexual. Not that I’m not. I was just a tad more open to extreme possibility in my youth than Meet ’n’ Greet Boy. He’s so buttoned down and ‘hands off!’ I’ve always thought he’d explode if I grabbed his ass or stuck my tongue down his throat or something. It’s not that I don’t want to, I do, but I’m not sure he’d survive the experience.
Daniel tries to speak but has to pause to spit out some of the dirt that’s trickling down over our faces – Carter, thank fuck, at LAST, digging through – which kind of hones the cutting edge of whatever it is that’s making him go rigid beneath me. Not rigid in a GOOD way, unfortunately. The alarming kind of rigid.
“So you’re saying that whatever it is YOU want, I STILL don’t have it!”
He’s appallingly cute when he’s indignant. The trickle becomes a steady stream of dirt and debris, so I hunch forward protectively, covering Daniel’s upturned face with my own, arms braced behind my head to protect my own noggin. Such as it is.
“I HATE labels.” Daniel is argumentative, if muffled, as he bitches into my shoulder.
I don’t give a shit. That last little nudge dislodged his bandana and I’ve got a nose full of herbal scented silky hair, more than enough to take the edge of a rock that ricochets agonisingly off my shoulder hard enough to bounce. In fact, the small rocks are tumbling down continually, glancing off my back and shoulders and skittering away, but it’s worth it. Sunlight is beginning to filter through and Daniel’s hair is lighting to gold.
Carter’s doing pretty good up there. We’ll be out in no time. And then I can have a few carefully chosen words with her about just how it was we wound up down here in the first place. Her head has been in her ass since Starman booked. Maybe this time she'll listen and go with the knitting.
“If I’m attractive enough to quote ‘drag out back of the temple’ and…” Daniel hesitates, going suspiciously still for a moment, “…and SNIFF,” he accuses, “…why am I not attractive enough to buy take-out?” he demands furiously.
The issue isn’t who I find attractive, the issue is who HE doesn’t. As in he does it for me, and I SO don’t do it for him. As blessedly fresh air pours in and Daniel gets ready for another verbal salvo, I give in to an irresistible impulse I’ve been suppressing for five years and clamp my hand over his mouth.
“Forget it, Daniel. I’m NOT dating you,” I tell him smugly as his outraged eyes lay into me.
“Sir?” Carter’s startled voice echoes.
God, is she or is she not the most aggravating woman who ever lived?
“Then Major Carter completed the extraction…” Yadda yadda.
Major Carter is sitting protectively at Doctor Jackson’s side looking like she wants to extract another part of me entirely. My balls, possibly. I got two pairs of big blue eyes doing that subliminal ‘Jack is a world-class bastard’ thing at me. Carter is mad because she screwed up and I yelled at her for it, and her darling – and for that matter technically my darling – is seething because he thinks I simply can’t lower my standards enough to want to date HIM. He’s been in a slow burn ever since Carter, Teal’c and whatsisname from SG-14 winched us to safety.
The two of them stalked back to the Stargate commiserating supportively and comparing notes about how much of a bastard I’d been to them individually, collectively and cumulatively from the sound of it. Every step of the way back we heard aggrieved little mutters as they covered such fruitful topics as ‘just like he did on P2Y-759!’, ‘my point exactly!’ and a resounding ‘protector my ass!” from the civilian portion of the geek bitch-fest.
I love my kids. I love ‘em to death. Only Daniel could be mad because I don't want to date him. It should be a good thing. He doesn't want to date me. He's straight. We're friends, he's straight and he's still pissed I won't buy him take-out.
Teal’c and I strolled along behind them with identical indulgent ‘aren’t they sweet?’ and ‘they’re OURS’ looks, which naturally kept the haughty sniffs going until we gated back and the general took up the slack.
“I’m truly sorry the site has been lost to us, Dr Jackson,” Hammond sympathises with Daniel.
Even Daniel isn’t man enough to refrain from a slightly reproachful glance at Carter, who flushes miserably.
“I managed to get detailed video footage of all the text panels in the outer chamber but…” Daniel trails off unhappily, bravely avoiding Carter’s eye.
I am still ticked off with Carter. Daniel was having a blast poking around down there, getting all flushed and excited, reading gibberish out to me and speculating wildly about stuff I don’t understand and don’t care about except for the fact he cares and it makes him happy.
MADE him happy. I had managed to grasp we were still at the finger food stage, the ‘all you could eat buffet’ was a few levels down when Carter triggered the whatever it was, it overloaded and went ‘Pfft-boom’, that sound wave taking out the temple and nearly us along with it. I know she didn’t actually mean to, but I’m having no difficulty in blaming her.
I glare at her across the table. Knit, woman, KNIT.
However, with the mission a complete wash-out, odds are the General can be finessed into giving us some downtime instead of another mission.
"Do you KNOW what that thing was in its pre-kaboom state?" I ask Carter.
"No, Sir," Carter admits. "There wasn't time to determine the function of the device before it…"
"It is possible the device is a weapon," Teal'c observes. "The sound wave it emanated seemed to increase with distance."
"Sonic kaboom," I say bitterly. Carter opens her mouth. I point my finger. "Ah! Put it in the report, Carter. My ass can't take it." Carter closes her mouth and hunches down, avoiding my eye. We got off light. One bruised butt and one bruised ego.
"I will assist Major Carter," Teal'c offers, smiling gently at Carter.
"I'd like some time to work on the translation, too," Daniel requests briskly, in between shooting sorrowful, sympathetic looks at Carter and the occasional frostbite-in-a-pout in my direction.
"Colonel?" Hammond prompts.
I nod reluctantly, grimacing a little for effect, knowing Hammond will give Daniel the time to make up for not having the site. Perfect! Could not in fact be better. Daniel will hit the books, burn the midnight oil and forget all his relative dating woes while my ass and I hit the liniment.
I evade Daniel's suspicious look as Hammond dismisses us. Teal'c stays behind to soothe the kids but I book. What a man fantasises in the privacy of his own bubble bath is his business.
I stalk up the path and knock imperatively on Jack's door. I give him exactly thirty seconds and then I start banging on it.
This is Jack's fault. Entirely his fault.
After the briefing, I tried to talk to him sensibly about what happened between us on P9R-795. Jack insisted nothing happened between us. I discussed that. Then he argued that anyone but a frickin’ archaeologist – unspecified - would have ignored what happened between us, punctuating the diatribe with a crack about me confusing bones and boners, and some bizarre grumbling about knitting. I discussed that too. Subsequently he made some reprehensibly knee-jerk observations about palaeontologists, ordered me to stop being so fucking difficult and stormed off home.
So naturally I went to that den of iniquitous conspicuous consumption known as the Chapel Hill Mall, stalked into Dillard’s to buy something sexy, and here I am at Jack's place with every intention of being even more fucking difficult here.
At least I hope this something is sexy. I'm not actually sure what constitutes sexy, but this outfit is certainly different. I've never worn cargo pants in my life and the T-shirt appears to be two sizes too small at least. The pants aren't exactly on the baggy side either. The sales clerk assured me I was all ass, which I took to be a good thing on a 'hot' date, but I have to admit I'm not so much flaunting it as trying to press it flat against the wall where people can't look at it. I marched out of Men's head held high, made it to Maternity, noticed I was being - um - noticed, slunk back to Men's and re-emerged with a sweater. A huge, chunky ribbed turtleneck. Grey. Wearing these pants - also grey - on a 'hot' date is one thing. Wearing them, AND the T-shirt - different shade of grey - in PUBLIC is quite another.
And ‘bringing out my eyes’ was not the reason for choosing grey. It's just an added anxiety.
I mean bonus.
I bang again. Where the hell are you, Jack? Open the damn DOOR!
"Alright already!" Jack's voice hollers. "Keep your pantyhose…" he wrenches open the door. "...fuck!" he finishes, jaw clenching.
I shift nervously from foot to foot. Is that good? He's looking at me. Is THAT good? Actually - um. Maybe not. He's - he's REALLY looking at me. Back on the planet he was okay - I mean, apart from the erection, obviously - he was nice. Safe. He was safe.
He's looking at me now like…like he wants me. Jack WANTS me. He's not safe. Not safe at all. This isn't friction, this isn't an 'ignore it and it'll go away' guy thing. He's staring at me and I'm turning him on, right now. I know THIS. This is need. This is wanting and not having, and being eaten up inside.
"Not on the first date," I say nervously, taking his stupefaction to mean I can go right on in. I'll feel a lot better when this ass is buried in a cushion, but my headlong rush for the safety of the couch falters when I glance back and find Jack's gaze riveted to the ass in question. I wriggle it - just a little bit - and his breath hitches. Then he shivers convulsively, once, and the Jack I know is back and in control.
"It's up to you, Daniel, but I'm on my way out," Jack says easily. "I like to eat, and despite my best efforts that also means occasionally I have to shop. It could take some time," he intones solemnly, turning to head out of the house towards his truck.
Oh. I trail out behind him, feeling quite deflated, which is exactly what he intended. Not deflated enough to quit, obviously. I could wait here alone or I could go home. I could, but I'm not going to. Jack is being infuriatingly stubborn. I meant what I said to him. I don't want to be alone. I want someone in my life, NEED someone to just be there and…and care. I know he does, I know he's my friend but it's not the same, it's not enough. If I have to have him in my bed to have him in my life, well, I'm a big boy. I can take it. I'll admit I've never been with a man, but the thought of having sex with a man doesn't disgust me. I've spent half my life reading the classics and now, thinking about being with Jack, I'm…intrigued about how it is between men, how it would be between US. As much as I care about Jack, as much as I like him, I'm willing. He wants me and I'm willing. And curious.
Jack is very attractive, aesthetically AND emotionally. Very…big and very attractive. I glance at the trim jean-clad form, all long legs and lean muscle. Jack is very…very everything.
I'm very curious.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I call as I edge past him towards my own car.
"Uh huh," Jack drawls, eyeing me with fathomless scepticism.
"Since you won't offer any empirical evidence as to why I'm allegedly attractive enough to fuck but not to date, I'm going to have to look elsewhere," I tell him chattily as I unlock the car.
Jack freezes. He turns slowly to stare at me. "Elsewhere?" he asks edgily.
"I thought I'd try the 'Hide & Seek'." I smile sweetly.
"Dressed like THAT?" Jack howls.
So it's not subtle. Bite me. Colorado Springs isn't noted for its thriving gay scene so it's no surprise to me Jack recognises the bar. I had to look it up on the internet, but that's different. Jack couldn't name two museums in the city, but he is to bars what I am to bookstores.
"I'm dressed just fine for the purpose of ascertaining whether I'm fuckable or dateable," I say crisply, pulling my door open. I’m hoping for both.
"Get in the truck," Jack snarls.
"Get. In. The. Truck."
I'm sorely tempted to get in my car just to see what he does, but I settle for strolling insultingly slowly around to the passenger side of the truck. Jack jumps in and glares at me ferociously as I buckle up. He's rigid and white knuckled as we pull away. I sit demurely silent and let him stew as he drives steadily along the darkening road, casting me dark, brooding looks from time to time.
"You're not setting FOOT in that place," he warns abruptly.
Um, way to talk me out of it, Jack.
“Unless I’m with you,” he recovers smoothly.
I concede the point reluctantly. He knows perfectly well I’d give up a month’s pay to see him gracing a gay bar and I’d never ask him to do it because I’d never damage his reputation. Jack knows he’s called my bluff. He relaxes and his knuckles ease off from their death grip on the steering wheel. I turn my head subtly to look at him, really look for the first time. I can’t make sense of my own face, so I’m not sure how I’m going to make sense of Jack’s. I’ve always thought of him as solid and dependable, in a sarcastic, making a point of it way. He’s my friend. He’s just…he’s Jack. My closest friend. My very attractive closest friend. Um, very.
“What are you thinking?” Jack demands suspiciously.
“I’m thinking about us in bed together,” I reply unthinkingly, my eyes lingering on Jack’s big, capable hands.
He wrestles for control of the steering wheel for a instant and shoots me glare that could carve stone. “Well DON’T!” he hollers, the veins standing out on his neck.
I’m okay with it. I truly am. In fact, the idea of making love with Jack fills me with a kind of mellow acceptance; a trifle vague on the details, but big on stuff like trust and waking up with someone close. I’m seriously curious about what it will be like, what he will be like. Seriously enough the acceptance is edged with anticipation.
“We’re dating,” Jack orders grimly.
We are? That’s…
“I don’t trust you an INCH. I don’t know where ‘Jailbait Jackson’ boiled up from, but I’m TELLING you, the only action you’ll be seeing is with ME.”
I brighten up. That’s…
“So we’re dating. Agreed?” Jack prompts, not softening noticeably.
“Agreed,” I hasten to assure him. And that means we move swiftly on to satisfying my curiosity. And lots of other little urges I have jostling pleasurably for Jack’s urgent attention.
“You can’t go back on it, you know,” Jack says gravely. “This is not suck it and see. We have to WORK together, so you have to know going in if we’re dating, it’s not casual. It’s fucking deadly serious.”
“I don’t DO casual,” I say stiffly.
Jack looks at me seriously then nods. He lightens up for the first time since I arrived on his doorstep as he turns the truck smoothly and pulls into the parking lot. “My usual rules apply,” he says cheerfully as we coast through the almost empty lot towards the store entrance.
“Rules?” I ask suspiciously. “Such as?”
Jack beams at me. “At the risk of TMI, I dated Sara for three months before we made love.”
“I’d hate you to think I thought any less of YOU,” Jack assures me earnestly as he jumps energetically out of the truck.
I slink out of my side and slam the door, glowering at him. Bastard. That’s admirable, I agree, that’s what I…I’ve never RUSHED, but it’s not like we’re just leaping into bed. I’ve known him for five years. “We don’t need time to build trust. We HAVE trust,” I complain. He’s been annoying me forever and frankly, never more so than now.
“You’re a virgin AND my best friend. I’m not jumping you on the first date. Get over it,” Jack says briskly as he turns and strides away. “Welcome to my world,” he calls, gesturing expansively at the romantic vista before us, “and our first date.”
I can’t help but notice the customer services lady books the instant she claps eyes on Jack as he wheels the cart purposefully towards her counter. I’m slightly taken aback to see him pick up a complaints form. We just got here. Literally. And we got free snacks when we walked in, chunks of warm cinnamon doughnut. Jack ate three complimentary servings. It’s a tad on the harsh side to complain after eating THREE servings.
Jack writes steadily for a couple of minutes and signs his name with a flourish. “They move stuff,” he supplies with dignity. “In an appallingly obvious attempt to make you have to tear the store apart to find the stuff again and therefore make you buy a whole range of other stuff you didn’t want and didn’t need and wouldn’t have even seen if…” he waits expectantly.
“They hadn’t deliberately moved the stuff you actually wanted in the first place?” I supply carefully. Jack’s world may be…scary.
“I never shopped until Sara left me,” Jack confides as he slips the complaint form into his pocket.
His jeans pocket. Nice jeans. Tight. Nice…nice ass. Tight. “What?”
Jack looks at me curiously. “What ‘what’?” he asks, puzzled.
“Nothing,” I mutter, blushing. Nothing that won’t be cured in three months. The bastard isn’t dating me at all. He got me all hot and bothered and now he’s got my wayward libido on a leash. Ha. If he thinks he’s shoving me out his door tonight without so much as a kiss goodnight he’s got another thing coming. I’m sleeping over. We’ll see how HIS libido copes with me plastered to him at four am. If he couldn’t cope with me in cammos, he won’t stand a chance against me in jammies.
“I notice stuff that other people have been indoctrinated into. I can tell them every single week exactly what’s been moved and where it was moved from. Carrots,” Jack mutters vaguely.
He’s looking right at the carrots and they’re right here with the rest of the vegetables so I’m not sure what his objection is. “Carrots?” I prompt.
“I need carrots.”
“They’re right here. We’re standing in front of them.”
“And how long do we defrost these babies before we eat them?”
Defrost? FROZEN carrots? I shudder and delve efficiently into the display, carefully selecting the smallest and sweetest for julienne.
“I need peas. You gonna run them under a microscope too?”
I nod meaningfully at the next display stand.
“I’m not SHELLING anything!” Jack says indignantly. “Not in the context of food preparation, anyway,” he amends self-consciously.
I weigh out a couple of pounds of pea pods regardless and gaze around, trying to orient myself.
“Forget it,” Jack says gloomily. “Next time you come this will be the fish counter.”
“Fish?” I ask hopefully, sidling gently over to a tempting array of goodies.
“No, and get away from that salad!”
Jack argues vehemently in favour of frozen veg right up until I say the magic word.
I lure him back to the salad bar after promising to take the edge off with sautéed potatoes, roughly chopped field mushrooms and shallots. Corn has Jack thinking melted butter and that gets us safely through most of the fruit too. Jack grumbles at any fruit he can’t instantly identify, which is everything from the kiwis on, but he accepts my lie about whipped cream layering the tropical fruit salad without a murmur. I’ll sneak in some virtually fat free crème fraîche when he isn’t looking. He’ll never know the difference.
“You cook?” Jack drawls hopefully, obviously trying not to get too excited.
“REALLY cook or cook like I cook?” Jack asks wistfully.
“I have all the pans,” I offer, squeezing a kumquat suggestively.
“I have pans.”
That’s a good point. “I’ve got herbs and I’m not afraid to use them,” I assure him solemnly as we hang a left and weave our way through the household stuff towards the booze.
Jack’s eyes light. “Hot damn!” he gloats.
I’m not proud. I’m…I’m horny. If the way to Jack’s dick is through his stomach, I’ll feed him like he’s never been fed before.
“Beer,” Jack heads straight on.
“Wine,” I turn right.
“I don’t like beer.”
“I don’t like wine,” Jack insists stubbornly.
I glance back and shudder. He doesn’t like beer either, if he’s drinking that god-awful domestic brew. I prowl through the wine selection, find a decent CJ Pask Reserve Merlot, then pounce on the Corban’s Cottage Chardonnay, Cru Les Chevrets, Margaret River Shiraz, and finally the Lump Riesling just as Jack wheels the cart handily in range.
“What part of ‘I don’t like wine’ didn’t you grasp?” Jack asks sarcastically. He retrieves a bottle from the cart, peers around, spots the price and chokes. He checks the aisle for rogue shoppers, then leans in. “I thought you were a cheap date!” he accuses.
“I was lulling you into a false sense of security. I’m a very expensive date. Better start thinking about re-mortgaging.” Sheer devilment has me slipping a bottle of Heidsieck Blanc de Blanc champagne into the cart right under his nose. My turn to lean in. “We’ve already got the strawberries,” I murmur. “Breakfast.” Jack surprisingly takes his $150 breakfast menu without a blink.
“I hope it doesn’t go off,” he says pleasantly. “Because it’ll be about three months before we get round to sinking this puppy.” Then he winks at me as I glare at him.
I trail sullenly along in his wake as he heads confidently towards the scent of fresh-baked bread.
“That’s another trick,” Jack confides. “They have this down-home scent wafting through the store to make you more amenable to spending money right when the only thing on your mind is getting out of this hellhole alive.”
A young girl stacking shelves whirls around and glares at Jack. Then she blushes and smiles at him, dimpling. Jack actually looks over his shoulder to see who she’s smiling at and the moment he realises it’s him, he bolts. I nod to her politely as I walk past. Her smile widens as her gaze focuses at butt height and I bolt after Jack, blushing furiously. She looks about twelve with those braids.
“Jeez,” Jack groans theatrically when I catch up with him. “I feel like a cradle-snatcher as it is, but THAT…” he shudders. “If she was any younger she’d be sperm.”
I’m about to sympathise wholeheartedly when his meaning sinks in. “Cradle snatcher? How old do you think I am?” I hiss indignantly.
“Thirty-five,” Jack tosses over his shoulder as he spies family packs of those cinnamon doughnuts. “Going on about fifteen.”
Jack glances around. “Come on! Admit it. You’ve never even fooled around with another guy," he whispers, face alight with amusement.
I’ve never even kissed another guy but what’s that got to do with Laughing Jack?
“It’s different,” Jack insists, looking amused. “Trust me, alright? It’s different.”
Well, we’ll see won’t we? When we get home. Kissing. Curled up in Jack’s bed, in Jack’s arms, kissing. Niiiice. Jack bends down suddenly to investigate chocolate chip muffins and I get an eyeful of the O’Neill derriere. I’m decided. Absolutely.
Lots of protein.
Lots of protein then kissing.
Lots of kissing.
“You want to stay?” I ask as Daniel emerges from the kitchen with two heaped plates. I feel faint. My taste buds have already died and gone to heaven over the egg and tiger prawn salad. Didn’t know you could do THAT with lime juice. I bitterly regret all those years of take-out. I mean, look at this! I’ve got sirloin steak with sautéed everything, and I’ve already done my duty by the green stuff, so he can’t whine when I leave it this time.
“Please,” he asks politely.
This has been one surreal evening. A hot date in Safeway of all places, and now Daniel is insisting he wants to stay over. “Sure,” I agree easily. “I wouldn't risk the couch myself, but I’ll spring for the chiropractor.” Daniel scowls at me. I don’t think he has any idea how confused he looks to me, how conflicted. He’s checking out my butt one second, the next he's blushing and sidling along with his back to the wall when I return the compliment.
I shake my head wryly. Truly surreal. He turns up on my doorstep dressed like THAT, looking utterly fuckably hot and was totally fried when I wanted to. Threatening to go down to the ‘Hide & Seek’ to see what he could pick up? I swear, dating him seems like the safest thing, containment-wise. Doctor Celibate's sexuality looks about ready to explode right outta the closet if he doesn’t die of embarrassment in the meantime.
I don't know what to say to him, I really don't. Daniel has been presented with an opportunity he never expected or even wanted, and in a way it's admirable he's so free of prejudice he can even consider being with another man let alone me, given the way he knows me. I guess I never really knew I mattered this much to him, and yeah, I'll admit it's flattering as all hell that Daniel cares about me enough to let me have sex with him. That's the kind of the friend he is, though, generous and giving to a fault.
Which doesn't help me being the kind of friend I am.
Daniel loves me, that much is crystal clear. He loves me enough to want me in his life, to want me close, which is wonderful. Good stuff I can work with, build on. Daniel being ready to forsake his heterosexuality and rush in where straight guys fear to tread without a fucking CLUE what he's dealing with or what it could do to him is a whole other thing. After all the times we've butted heads, argued about every conceivable goddamned thing under this and every other sun, I never suspected he trusted me this much. I'm BLOWN AWAY he trusts me this much. I want him, he trusts me, he's mine? Jesus.
I hope to fuck I'm strong enough not to take advantage. He turned up tonight with an overnight bag which is sitting pointedly by my front door. I checked it out while he was cooking and now I’m feeling disgustingly sappy and tender-hearted. I found a huge sweater which I think is designed to stop people other than me from admiring his rear end, and the goddamn receipt is in the bag. He bought this stuff specially. I can't believe he's so uncertain of his own attractiveness he had to dress sexy. I haven't the heart to tell him he's sexy whatever he wears and my mind can't even go to what he'll look like naked, because it was melty-spine time over the fuzzy jammie bottoms he brought with him, along with his toothbrush, a little travel bag with all his stuff, and a book.
Daniel dressed sexy and he brought jammies and a book.
I know what this is. This is Daniel willing to get laid so he can get…what? A hug? Time? He's got that. I'd like to have him just plain old comfortable before we even think about getting as physical as I need to get. I'm not saying I'll wait until he wants to make love as much as I do but he has to come to me something more than just accepting. Sex isn't going to be the price he pays for the other stuff, the stuff he really wants. The relationship stuff.
"I'm not sleeping on the couch," Daniel insists as he slices vindictively into his steak.
"Well don't look at me," I say pleasantly. "My house."
God, he's sexy when he's sullen and thwarted. That sulky pout is giving me a bad desire. I smile slowly. Nothing new there.
"I'm sleeping with you," Daniel challenges.
"As in…" I wave my hand suggestively.
"WITH you,” he announces decisively.
I casually shrug assent like it's no big thing the man I'm in love with will be sharing my bed for the first time.
"Not," I finish emphatically.
"I want to," Daniel admits quietly.
"What? What is it you want to?" I ask just as quietly. I don't want to get on his case. I don't think he's ready, but I'm not in his head with him, and I'm not his daddy, so I'm not going to make his decisions for him. Whatever he wants, if it's for him and not what he thinks should be for me, I'm here for him. "Seriously, Daniel," I assure him. "What is it you want me to do for you?" I'm hoping he'll see what he really wants is just to open up and sleep with someone, that all he really needs to do is relax. I'm not going anywhere.
"Kissing," Daniel suggests hopefully, risking a small smile.
"Kissing is good," I agree warmly and Daniel relaxes.
"I like to kiss," Daniel murmurs wistfully.
"Yeah? Me too." I'm relieved. It could have been worse.
"I want to be with you," he admits shyly, eyes fixed intently on the steak he's so very busy with just now.
O-kaay. That’s worse.
"Wanna know when I was first attracted to you?" I offer as I take a long draught of my beer. Daniel's head snaps up, eyes wide and eager. "I'll take that as a yes," I say dryly. "First time I laid eyes on you."
Daniel's mouth drops open, which gives me another bad desire and a treacherous twitch of interest from the greedy little bastard downstairs.
"Don't get me wrong," I say easily. "We're not talking hearts and flowers. I just…noticed."
"Oh," Daniel mumbles uncertainly, busy now with his sautéed mushrooms.
I can guess what Daniel noticed about me. Scary suicidal asshole is about right. Not that he ever was. Scared of me, I mean. A lot of people were. A lot still are. Daniel isn’t. Never even crosses his mind I could do him harm. Technically I blew him up one time, but he didn’t take that personally.
"And when did you first want to…you know…drag me out back and…um…y’know?" Daniel asks hesitantly.
I know. I had an inkling I felt way more for Daniel Jackson than I should when I thought I'd lost him to Nem. I kinda went to pieces. As for the other…I can't help but look embarrassed. "Plant Boy," I admit reluctantly.
"What?" Daniel squawks.
"Right after you did that little dance thing. I've never seen a man who needed to get laid as much as you did right then…”
Daniel stiffens and glowers at me with palpable hostility. I lick my lips lasciviously and he subsides, blushing. Excellent powers of deduction he’s got there. Yes indeedy. Right now, he needs to get laid even more than he did back then.
“…and of course I couldn't say a goddamn WORD what with you being you, me being me and…" I shrug.
"Me being married," Daniel says softly.
His face stills in grief for a moment, just a moment, but he doesn't leave me. I hadn't looked for that, and it touches me all the more for the unexpected generosity of it.
"What do you mean, me being me?" Daniel demands abruptly, the hostility level cranking back up.
"Daniel, there's enough sparkage between us to power the goddamn gate and you never even saw it until I embarrassed us both this morning. I know what I feel, I know what I want. I've had TIME." Lots of time. This thing between us has gone on. On and on and on. And on. "You say you want to be with me?"
Daniel nods tightly, still glowering and brooding over my unflattering assessment of his sexuality.
"Fine. Tell me what you want me to do for you."
"Whatever…" he begins anxiously.
"What YOU want, Daniel, not me," I correct him gently. I'm not trying to be confrontational, I think he realises that. I think he sees I'm worried for him. "Tell me honestly what you picture us doing together, what you actually WANT us to do."
Daniel stares back at me for a long time. "Kissing," he admits reluctantly. "And touching,” he adds quickly, obviously hoping that makes up for him being him, I guess.
"Nice," I agree simply, smiling warmly at him. "It's a start."
"It's a date," Daniel emphasises, brightening up. "And I mean it about the touching, so no weaselling out of it later," he warns. "What about you?" he asks thoughtfully. "What do you want us to do?"
"I want to…"
"Okay, um, yeah, gotcha," Daniel interrupts hurriedly.
I'm not mean enough to mention The Blush as he drops his head and applies himself to his salad, muttering distractedly about asking stupid questions.
He shouldn't be too hard on himself. We've established we're in the same book, even if we're not on the same page. It’s a good place to start, and THIS is another! I delve enthusiastically into the sautéed portion of the plate. I could kick myself. Seriously. All that time WASTED. I knew he had the pans…if only I'd known he could use them. I got freezer capacity. Would it kill him to cook bigger portions? Share? Maybe I should work up to that. In the meantime, we're dating, he's wanting a little hands on…we eat in.
Except Saturday. Saturdays are sacred. If he wants to go out in the real, old-fashioned together sense of going out, I’ll take him to the Dale Street Café. They have music on Saturdays. Bands, or singers. I’ll check into it. Make reservations. Maybe sink that champagne, after. I’d like that. Next Saturday. Hopefully by then he’ll be a little more comfortable with this where this thing is taking us.
"Plant Boy?" Daniel blurts as I'm chasing the last bit of balsamic-and-something-or-other sauce around my plate with the last slice of tomato.
I have to laugh at the bewilderment on his face.
"All this time?"
"You've wanted me all this time?"
Daniel frowns at me. "Have you ever come close to…to making a pass at me?"
"I came close when I took you fishing," I tease.
"The tickling!" Daniel accuses me. "You were sublimating."
"Busted," I mourn, grinning as he gives me a distinctly flirty look from beneath his lashes.
I shrug. I make no excuse. I'm a mutt and proud of it.
"Sublimating your sexual desire into childish Alpha Male displays," Daniel muses, looking as pleased as he sounds. He stiffens suddenly and glares at me. "Spacemonkey?" he asks dangerously.
"I swear to God." I try to look innocent, which doesn't help my case much. Falling in love with Daniel didn't happen in a minute or a month or a year. I felt that pull, and buried it. I knew I cared more for him than I'd cared for any friend and I went with the flow and refused to think about what it meant. I felt desire boiling up from nowhere, slamming right through me, never leaving me completely, not from that day to this, and I learned to live with it, to sublimate it as Daniel says. I've been in love with him for a long time. I think I know when it happened, I think I knew I loved him when I got the knowledge of the Ancients fused to my synapses and he refused to leave me. Seeing his face in the briefing room footage…I knew it, but still, that Plant Boy moment grabbed me by the balls and rocked my world. I've had so many reasons to keep my peace, and the only one it would take to make me break it is still one I'm waiting for.
I've got a chance now, one I don't intend to blow. A chance Daniel will finally learn to love me back.
"Wanna watch a movie? You can pick," I tempt, my gut tightening in anticipation. He wants to kiss? Just let me get him on that couch…
"Sure," Daniel shrugs as he finishes his wine, sets down the glass and heads down into the living room, another of those tentative flirty looks drawing me right after him.
I catch Daniel as he reaches the couch, just turning to sit, his eyes widening as I close in and pull his glasses off, Daniel instinctively fumbling for them, swallowing hard and letting me set them down out of harm’s way.
"Jack?" he asks uncertainly.
I'm not sure if that's a smile or a wince on his face as I close in again, but he's not backing down. Too late either way. I'm going to kiss him. I can wait for everything else but I have to kiss him. Have to. He's mine if we kiss, he's committed. Can't, won’t quit on me. Mine.
I firmly take his face between my hands and draw him strongly to me, my eyes fixed on his, huge, drowned as reality bites and my mouth is bruisingly hard against his. Daniel gasps in shock, literally staggering as I free him.
"Oh, shit," he groans as I pull him into my arms. "Shi…mmmph."
God, he's sweet, so fucking sweet. I never imagined. His lips look soft, soft and full, but they're firm against mine, firm and mobile and yielding. I thrust deep and Daniel staggers again, arms curving desperately up over my shoulders for balance as I drive relentlessly into his warm, silken softness and take him down to the couch beneath me in a tangle of limbs.
His body is warm and firm, trembling beneath mine, fitting me perfectly, his heart is racing and Christ, what a RUSH this is.
The breath hitches in Daniel's throat as he feels how hard I am when I push my hips subtly into his. He's scarily still for a long moment, my hands smoothing over his face as I passionately kiss him, shakily stroking over the softest skin I've ever known on a man and suddenly Daniel is back, he's with me. Letting me…kissing me back, thrusting tentatively against my probing tongue.
I groan as he wraps a long leg around mine, the other slipping down to brace against the floor as the force of my kiss jolts into him. Losing it. I'm losing it. His breath is sobbing as I eat him alive, the hands on his face aren't enough to reassure…he's getting hard. He's hard and he's shaking; he's losing it too. For all his decisions and his fine ideas he wasn't expecting…
"Danny," I sigh into his ear, muscles burning as I fight myself to stillness, fight the urge to take.
Daniel's gentle mouth wavers and then he finds a hint of a smile. "Danny? I…I like that. Here. L-like this."
I teased him with Danny and Dannyboy until I realised whose pet name it was, and it felt cheap to use a name that meant family to him. I know the importance of that. None better. "Danny," I whisper caressingly as I drop my head and kiss him again, coaxing him to open to me and sliding sweetly home as he arches up to meet me. His fingers are careful in my hair, mine framing his face as we kiss deeply; slow and tender.
Daniel's hands skim cautiously down my back as I kiss and suckle dreamily at his throat, getting off on the soft moans he can't suppress. I haven't pushed it, think he's got enough to contend with in embarrassingly eager erections alone, so I leave him be. He hesitates and hovers for a long while, but finally his hands respectfully cup my ass. I wriggle encouragingly and he flinches away for a beat, then settles again.
I think I know what he wants. The sweat is standing on his brow, gathering at the hollow of his throat and his breathing is hitching from more than the way I'm nuzzling his neck. He's flushed and dazed with desire, biting his lip as he pushes up into my subtly rocking hips. It's easy and gentle but the rhythm is there, he's moving achingly beneath me, his fingers clenching at my shoulders.
I'm not going to do him on my couch.
Daniel jerks and pulls at me instinctively when I lift myself free of him but he follows readily when I hold out my hand to him.
That's all I have to say, and Daniel's eyes light with pleasure. I slip my arm around his waist, keep him close by my side as I lead him up the stairs, pausing only to scoop up his bag as we head around the corner to the bedroom. I usher him in, hand him the bag and with a quick, hard kiss leave him to go grab some candles. I figure maybe he could use some privacy while he changes. He doesn’t like to be touched, and it’s instinctual. For Daniel to be comfortable enough to even sit close enough to brush your side is a big thing. He lets me in, lets me hug him, hold his shoulder, slap him on the back, whatever. We’re talking a leap of faith from that to him letting me feel him up. This isn’t the time for the colonel in the china shop routine.
Daniel deserves finesse. And ambience. When I lope back into the bedroom he’s snuggled under the quilt, his face an endearing mix of embarrassment, nerves and excitement.
I don’t exactly linger over lighting the candles on the bureau. I see bare skin and white knuckles. I’m sensing it’s now or never. It only takes me a minute to grab my sweats and shuck my clothes. The sweats are easy enough to take off if it gets that far, but my dick is a tad on the bullish side.
“How often do you think about having sex with me?” Daniel asks out of the blue.
I glance over my shoulder in surprise and catch him staring wide-eyed at my butt. “As often as you think about books.”
Daniel strives for a response as I roll into bed. I sleep on the left side, but it’s already full of shaky archaeologist so I’m letting it slide this once. I kind of like that love poem, that let me count the ways thing. My ways don’t run to giving up my side of the bed. He’d better get used to it.
“Pervert,” he manages at last.
“Hey! I’m not the one fondling my scrolls on SGC time,” I complain as I spoon into his side and snake my arms around him. His retort is swallowed by my eager tongue. I take it slow and simple, totally focused on kissing Daniel, allowing him to relax into the embrace in his own time and in his own way. His arms curve up around my shoulders and gradually urge me closer until we’re touching the length of our bodies. His skin is extraordinary, satin smooth and supple beneath my fingers as I slowly trace the sleek lines of his muscles, skimming over his arms and shoulders.
Danny is built. No question. He’s still slender, but the long lean lines of him are perfectly proportioned. I can’t get enough, stroking everywhere as he moans and arches into my hands. The heat is coming off him in waves as his hands venture over my back and I drop my head to kiss a trail down his chest. Daniel’s shallow breathing quickens as my tongue flickers over his nipple and he whimpers when I settle down to suckle in earnest, nibbling and tonguing each in turn until he’s writhing.
I stretch up for a moment to steal a kiss, Daniel’s hands clamping to my head to hold me there as he pushes aggressively into my mouth. I suck him right in and bite down as my hand wanders lower, coasts over the soft flannel at his waist, curves over his hip and glides down his thigh, heavy on him as I stroke. I take a risk, roll him towards me a little and curve confidently over his butt, kneading at the taut flesh. Daniel shudders and squirms into me, letting me edge his tongue free and follow him into his mouth for another lingering exploration. We find an easy, satisfying rhythm of gentle glides and tussling rasps, just fall into it. Into each other.
I love the way he’s clinging to me, the way his shy exploration of me grows bolder and more insistent. I can’t fucking believe my luck, can’t believe I get to have him. Maybe a lot of this is curiosity right now but he’s willing, he’s giving everything he can and he’s wanting more. I’m feeling that subtle, aching rhythm of his hips against mine again as he strains into me.
He needs release.
I nudge him flat on his back, gently working my hand between his knees and up, nice and easy, Daniel’s thighs parting naturally with the soft, massaging strokes until I can cup his erection.
“Ja-ack!” Daniel’s gasp is strangled as he arches off the bed.
I roll onto him and pull him back with me so we wind up on our sides together, my left arm comfortably clasped around Daniel’s shoulders, Daniel’s legs either side of my waist, just enough space between us for my right hand to comfortably massage his erection through the fuzzy fabric. I curl up so my thighs are warm against his butt.
Daniel reaches out, stroking trembling fingers over my brow and cheek.
I meet Daniel as he leans into me, nuzzling restlessly cheek to cheek, temple to temple. Daniel’s slumberous eyes flutter closed as I rub and stroke him through the cloth. I watch him, watch his every move as desire flushes the delicate skin, as he bites his lip, his hands digging desperately into my shoulders as his legs hook around my waist and he clings to me. I feel every pang of ecstasy shuddering through Daniel’s body as I pleasure him. His breathing quickens and he leans in to kiss me again and again.
“Oh, God, Jack, please,” Daniel moans. “Pleeeease.”
That’s what I’ve been waiting for and I wait no longer, pushing the jammies down until I can free him. He groans as I take him possessively in hand, his dick jerking against my palm.
“Jesus, Danny, look at you,” I breathe. He’s fucking perfect. Perfect. I trail my fingers greedily over the velvety skin to the head, brushing my thumb over and over the sensitive tip as the moisture beads and I can smooth it over his dick. I hold him, hot, hard and heavy in my hand. Mine. He’s MINE. I get a smooth, gliding grip going and work his dick firmly, my fingers curled tightly as I stroke up and down, Daniel groaning and shuddering a little more with every strong, slow caress. I know how I want this to be for him, I want to take him to the edge and keep him there, let the pleasure ripple through him until he can’t stand it and he falls for me, just as slow, just as satisfying. He has to know this is about HIM, that it’s MY pleasure to do this for him.
We kiss, tongues gliding easily, thrusting in perfect time with my slowly pumping hand, Daniel content to lie close and still, giving himself over to what I’m making him feel. I refuse to quicken the pace, determined to draw the climax out for him. I’m getting off on watching him surrender to his own sensuality, bracing his legs around my back so he can rock into my waiting hand. Daniel drives the pace, my hand quickening obediently on him as he tightens around me to thrust into my palm with short, sharp stabs, groaning low in his throat as his hips spasm, the shudders pulsing to the core of him as he comes, his climax as slow and easy as I wanted it to be for him.
I fumble for tissues to clean us enough for comfort, set his jammies to rights and untangle us to stretch out side by side. I hush Daniel when he tries to speak, hold him close to me as I soothe the tremors away.
“I could…” Daniel offers shyly, a coaxing hand gentle on my stomach.
I lift the hand to my lips and kiss his palm. Daniel’s eyes widen and his hand trembles as he strokes it caressingly over my face. He’s a bright guy, a sensitive guy. He doesn’t offer to do me again, but he does wrap himself around me and rest his head on my shoulder, his hand clasped in mine.
I want to tell him that I love him, but my gut is telling me it’s too soon. He’s got enough right now with friends who have sex. I glance down at him, sprawled bonelessly content at my side. GOOD sex. His mind will make the jump to ‘lovers’, I’ve no doubt about that.
And for the rest, I have hope.