Jack hurls his front door open and snatches me to him in a frenzied hug before I even have a chance to knock. I don’t comment. I don't dare. I’m clearly dealing with a desperate man because my feet aren’t touching the floor and he doesn’t even feel it.
I slip my arms around Jack's neck and hug him back, trying not to worry. My feet still aren’t touching the floor but that doesn’t mean he’s going to throw me down and ravish me or anything.
Just because he’s gone all…primal…on me.
“Um,” I murmur a soft protest.
It’s not that I don’t want to, but I brought take-out and we haven’t eaten properly in…apparently in over a week. I feel like crap. Um…Jack only ever asks for the truth and…so…but…
”I love you but right now I love my take-out more. Do you hate me?” I sing-song rapidly.
I’m totally embarrassed by the limpet act my hormones pull before I even get my breath back, but that’s okay, Jack is trying to pull me inside his skin with him so we’re on the same page.
“Shit,” he says feebly into my hair. “Shit.”
I cling closer and make soothing noises.
“I love you too, Danny, but…shit.”
“You could kiss me if you like?” I offer generously. “You know.”
“What are you wearing?” Jack groans, emerging flushed and excited from the hollow of my throat.
Which he didn’t kiss. Or my lips for that matter. He was sniffing though. Um.
"You smell GOOD."
Apparently I smell good and Jack likes my sweater. A lot. He’s stroking it. A lot.
“Shiiiit,” he drawls in quite another voice, finally allowing my feet to touch the floor as he steps back to fully appreciate this evening’s ensemble.
I smile hopefully at him. I am trying to make myself less obviously plaid.
Jack fingers the sweater, then gently traces the open, unbuttoned collar, stroking over the exposed bare skin. I don’t normally wear black from head to foot, but the jeans are new and for him so…I wish I was more confident about this stuff. Jack likes my body, loves my body, he wants to see it and is in fact so turned on by it he gets dizzy. I’m kind of stuck with my body and I wish I didn’t have to spend as much time with it as I do. It always needs sleep and sustenance when I all I want to do is finish my chapter. Somehow we have to find common ground between these two diametrically opposed points of view.
Yeah. I do mean get naked.
Jack smiles at me, eyes sparkling as he lifts the sweater up to bare my midriff, then his hand is curving over my hip and thigh, finally settling warm and heavy over my penis. We both catch our breath. I gasp, instinctually giving voice to my most urgent desire.
“In a minute,” Jack promises, then swoops to snatch me back into his arms.
“Shit?” I suggest breathlessly. He’s…vehement…and my ribs are creaking a protest.
“Sorry,” Jack nuzzles lovingly at my cheek. “Seriously freaked here.”
He really could kiss me. I won’t mind. I…Okay. No. He’s right. No. If we kiss we won’t eat, and if we don’t eat we’ll pass out before we do more than kiss.
I pat him gently. “Jack, I really, really want that take-out.”
“I love you too,” Jack announces solemnly, cupping my cheek. “Let’s eat. Build up our strength via…pizza!” he gloats.
“Chinese,” I correct. If it’s still on the doorstep, along with the rest of my ‘stuff’.
“No-o, pizza,” Jack corrects patiently. “That Bolognese one.”
Only Jack would voluntarily eat a pizza known as The Chin Dripper, or be mean enough to get me drunk so I’ll eat it too. Not tonight. Tonight we have chicken, prawns, beef and tomato, plus an assortment of crisp vegetables, noodles and fried rice. “Just give me a minute,” I call when he tries to pull me away. I turn and open the door to find my bag, my take-out and a pizza delivery boy juggling two huge boxes.
What gave it away?
“Already paid and you’re LATE so you forfeit the tip,” Jack says smugly.
“O’Neill,” the kid says definitively. “I’ve HEARD about him,” he confides to me, edging down the path like Jack is going to bite him.
I glance back. Smart kid.
Over Jack’s vociferous protests I hand over five bucks anyway, and back carefully into the house juggling my bag, Jack’s pizza and our Chinese take-out, Jack loudly refusing to have any part in the travesty of justice that just unfolded on his own doorstep. Or something. I wonder if that means I can drop these deep-pan abominations in the trash? I don't even like deep-pan. The correct description should be 'chewy cardboard'. I like thin and crispy.
“I brought emergency ice cream rations to see us through the weekend,” I call as Jack sullenly emerges from the kitchen, plates in hand.
He quirks his eyebrows.
“In the cooler, in the car.”
Jack frisbees the plates onto the table and I barely manage to side step as he accelerates out the door.
Please tell me it’s NOT just the food preparation.
I drop my bag by the stairs and manoeuvre carefully up to the dining table, let the boxes slide onto the polished surface and set down my take-out bags gratefully.
Plates. If I get the Chinese served BEFORE he gets back…
"Toss me on some pizza," Jack calls cheerfully as he trots past tenderly cradling the cooler box.
"Chow Mein AND Chin Dripper?"
"Sure! Wanna beer?"
"Wanna Chardonnay," I snap.
After a lot of rustling and clashing, Jack finally strolls out of the kitchen with a beer, a glass of wine and an accusatory look. "You can't eat it after it defrosts, you know," he says reproachfully as he sets the drinks down. "Like my nerves weren't shot already." He slips into his seat and assesses the Sino-Italian ratio on his plate. "Kinda shy on the Big Dripper there."
I slide the box over to him. I refuse to participate any further. My own plate is pointedly free of drip of any kind. I am starting to think it's the food preparation.
"I keep checking the clock radio," Jack announces cryptically as he ploughs into his first slice of pizza.
I watch for a moment and head off into the kitchen to fetch some paper napkins. He only has about twenty or so. That may not be enough. I may have to hose him down.
Jack grunts his thanks as I hand him the napkins and emerges triumphant and dripping from…okay, that’s impressive. His third slice. He mops up and takes a huge draft of beer.
"Clock radio?" I prompt, dipping into my non-drip beef and tomato.
"I don't believe the calendar," Jack says solemnly. "The clock radio gives the date and time." He sighs. "It's just…you know?"
"A week," I agree sympathetically. "I keep wondering when we were conscious. Was it the first day or the last day or…I hate not knowing. It's confusing."
"We're temporally challenged," Jack mutters gloomily.
Um…the book and the tickets for the play were going to be my treat for later, but he looks like he could use a distraction. “Just give me a minute?" I ask, jumping up to head around to the stairs and my bag. I drop down and delve in. It WAS on the top…
"Is it a minute, though? I think relativity could be the next Big Bang," Jack says bitterly.
"What?" I ask blankly, surfacing triumphantly clutching my parcel.
Jack waves an impatient hand. "Ah, don't ask what keeps a guy awake at three in the morning."
"Stonehenge," I blurt. "And the Anasazi."
"The Big Bang."
"You too?" I grin at him. "What was there FIRST?"
"I KNOW!" Jack beams at me. "Stop signs."
"The 'World Series'."
"Why?" Jack asks darkly.
"It's only US. As in the U.S. Are we to assume WE are the…"
"Okay, okay," Jack throws up a quelling hand. "There's a GOOD reason for that which I'm..." Jack looks at my polite expression. "NOT going to explain to you right now." He looks again. "Maybe not…"
I bare my teeth.
"Not ever." He sags in his chair. "It's the ice cream," he admits, shamefaced. "I think about gettin' cut off and I just…you know."
"I understand about ice cream so I'm cutting you some slack on your unflattering assessment of my morals and overall level of pettiness," I offer graciously, "And I promise I won't cut you off."
"Does that include…" Jack cuts his eyes ass-wards.
I glare at him.
"Peachy!" he gloats.
"It's entirely up to you of course, but THAT depends on what mood I'm in to start with."
Jack leers shamelessly.
"When I lose my temper I take DAYS to calm down," I inform him sweetly. “And rediscover my receptivity.”
"Days," I emphasise firmly.
Jack stretches out to prod the parcel. "What's this?" he asks casually. He hooks it towards him and pokes a little more, and in the absence of censure, cups both hands around it, smoothing over the brown paper. He feels carefully around the edges. Then he picks it up and shakes it. "Hmm."
"It's for you," I tell him softly, trying out my chicken in green ginger sauce.
Jack lights up. "A present?"
"Cool!" he gloats, turning it over promptly. He fingers the neatly taped folds and tucks, sneers, then tears into the paper, shredding it and tossing it onto the floor.
Jack likes presents.
"I LIKE presents."
He REALLY likes presents and he'll LOVE this…
"The 'Thief of Time'!"
I smile back as Jack handles the book carefully, not rushing to open and read the synopsis. He likes to savour that new book experience. I got the Chinook staff to put a cover on it, and there's the traditional new bookmark, actually two this time, couldn’t make up my mind between the Budweiser lizards Frank and Louie with ‘Those frogs are going to pay’ and the other one. "There's more."
Jack looks up at me. "More?"
Jack opens the book, reads, and looks up at me wide-eyed.
"I have a contact in the Pikes Peak Public Library, who has a contact in the Library of Congress, who has a contact in the British Library, who has a contact at Doubleday, and of course she just called him up and…"
"He signed it," Jack bleats. "He actually SIGNED it. To me."
"He got both the 'L's in O'Neill too," I point out gravely. Jack worships Terry Pratchett. If it's his birthday? Terry Pratchett. If it's Christmas? Terry Pratchett. Easter, Halloween, Labour Day? Terry Pratchett. Wednesday. Mother's Day…
"The man is just…" Words fail Jack.
"This is WITTY."
"I know," I can't actually stop smiling. This is the only time I see Jack handling the written word with anything approaching what I feel every time I have a book in my hands and in my mind, and I know at this moment Jack gets it, he gets me. “There's more."
"In the envelope."
Here goes Saturday night. The Date. At least it will be if Jack doesn't mind hanging out with a bunch of students…
"'Guards Guards'?" Jack snaps. "Here?"
"The Arts Centre. A touring company. Pratchett is a cult author, Jack, most of the audience will be students but I thought you might…"
"I love it!" Jack whoops. "Gonna drive you NUTS counting down," he grins. "They'd better get Captain Vimes RIGHT."
Or they'll have Jack to answer to.
"He's not straightforward. He's not cynical, he's a realist. A cynic is just a disappointed idealist, you know," Jack informs me brightly.
"Thank you," Jack says softly.
"You're welcome. You can show your appreciation later," I kind of…look…at him, and he looks right back. "Jack?"
"Hmm?" Jack is 'dipping' into his book and gloating offensively. Although that could possibly just be about later.
"All things considered, I'm really glad I didn't have this hanging over me for an entire week," I confess.
Jack looks up, weighs it up and nods happily. "You're way too good a shot now," he agrees. “But you’re right. There’s more. I made plans too. We’re having dinner at the Dale Street Café tomorrow night, right after the play ends. This is great. The theatre and the Café are only a few yards apart. I…er…I almost forgot. About the reservations,” he says casually.
I beam at Jack. Not just a date, but a HOT date.
Jack waves bookmark number two at me excitedly.
I…um…couldn’t decide between them so I got both. They spoke…‘Jack’ to me.
Jack shoots me a distinctly admiring look.
I shrug modestly.
“Nekkid porno ferret pictures!”
"Mmm." I stir lazily, open drowsy eyes. "That means you're not, right?"
Jack chuckles. "I got used to the OTHER arm being numb," he admits ruefully.
"I could…" I offer, hitching back.
Jack huffs annoyance and pulls me back. I go with the flow and melt into him, let him wrap me tight against his chest again, my leg curving around his, my arm settling naturally over his shoulders.
It feels right. I nuzzle lazily into him and we kiss gently, wanting to, but exhaustion slammed into both of us and we crawled into bed earlier than most of the neighbourhood kids. We haven't really slept, just cuddled together and drowsed. Jack is all over my jammies as usual, in fact he's particularly taken with these ones. They're navy, they have a faint wine coloured check in them; they’re a little baggy, they slip down and Jack is goofy again. I'm not far behind. We're kissing and stroking, both pleasantly turned on and too damn tired to actually do anything. I haven't felt this warm in years.
"I'm freaked about sleeping," I admit, kissing the smooth skin on Jack's shoulder.
"Can't shake that lab rat feeling myself," Jack grumbles into my hair. “At least part of that is Fraiser’s fault, she swaggered out of that cubicle with a quart of blood and my manhood in a jar.”
I glance down interrogatively. “Seems to be recovering nicely.”
This is becoming normal. Looked for. One of Jack's hands mussing my hair, the other stroking the jammies, and incidentally my hips, thighs, butt and…"Mmmm." I return the compliment.
"Mmmm," Jack sighs too and leans in for another long, tender kiss.
"You want to make love?" I whisper when we eventually surface.
"Always," Jack mumbles, kissing my forehead.
Actually, he's kissing my hair and being sly about it, he and it are going steady and the rest of me tries not to mind all the attention he lavishes on the follicles.
"But this is niiiiice," he moans, rolling us a little so I end up sprawled on his chest, his heartbeat steady and lulling beneath my cheek.
"In the morning?"
"Mm-hm," Jack agrees sleepily.
"I..I want to make love to you," I ask with difficulty.
"I know what you mean. Me too."
I stretch up blindly for his kiss and doooon't maaaake itttt…
The blast of sound punches me awake with a jerk. Literally. He’s right next to me. I’m so out of it I feel like I'm falling down the bed.
Jack winces, smacking the kill-switch on the radio alarm. "Sorry," he apologises, dropping back down to my side.
Speechless and disoriented, I glare up at him.
"Sorry." Jack makes with the soothing pats. "Just checking. It’s still Saturday and we now have…"
"It's the crack of DAWN," I snarl.
"It's the crack of noon," Jack corrects me, laughing as I struggle to work out which way is up. And out from under this QUILT. "Six hours before we can leave so we time it to+ arrive embarrassingly early and buy stuff.”
I’m sure his eagerness would be infectious if I didn’t want to hurt him.
“Whatever shall we do to fill all that time?" Jack muses.
“Pfffft!” Jack strokes a coaxing hand down over my stomach and onto my…
"Can you SPELL subtle?"
I flush. "I'm not THAT annoyed. I don't want you think I'm one of these sad people who can't get up in the morning." I squint at the clock. “Afternoon.”
Jack props his chin on his elbow and keeps up the maddeningly arousing massage. "How long have we shared an off-world tent?" he asks mildly. "Jaa-aa-aack pleeeeease!" he whines.
"I do not!" I deny the allegation indignantly.
"You do, but you're not fully conscious until AFTER the ritual 'Fuck off, O'Neill!' which I find VERY…"
"You find everything about me VERY…"
I smile up at him. "Arousing."
"Potato, potahto," Jack dismisses carelessly, leaning in to kiss my aggravating hair and then my infuriating mouth.
A few seconds later he's pinned to the mattress, laughing his irritating ass off. INTENSELY irritating. "Mine?" I wheeze hopefully, fervently clasping taut and toned.
"Knock yourself out," Jack offers expansively. "I think I remember the drill for getting drilled."
I sit up to straddle his waist, surprised. "You do?" I hadn't really thought about the mechanics, I'm so used to Jack knowing what he's doing, in this as in everything. "A good memory, I hope," I ask anxiously. I’d hate him to have had an experience he regrets, specially after losing Sara the way he did. Maybe I’m sappy too, but I like to think about Jack happy with someone.
Jack smiles up at me, eyes a little regretful. "At the time. My vocation does not score highly on longevity," he admits wryly.
I brush my knuckles over his cheek.
"You've got that predatory look in your eye, so you'd better make a supply run before we get into this. I know there's no stopping you once you…" he snorts. "Pull the pin and throw."
"Thank you," I drawl. “I was trying for empathy.”
"You're very welcome. You stalled at desperately horny and we need lubricant," Jack orders briskly.
I grin as he flushes and squirms.
Okay. Nothing embarrassing about THAT. A logical place for it, in fact. And it is hot in here. It is.
"You'll have to check the use-by date," Jack mumbles at the ceiling.
"It's been in there," Jack clears his throat. "For a while."
"Pl-plant…" I jerk my thumb - jerkily - at the door.
"…Boy." Jack nods. Jerkily.
Oh boy. "Pop quiz, Jack. Which would you rather be? Dead in that cave in? Out cold in an alien lab? Or…us?"
"Can I get back to you on that?"
I scramble off Jack and off the bed and lope over to the bedroom door.
"Your eagerness is encouraging," Jack calls after me, the grin warming his voice.
I bound into the bathroom and pounce on the cabinet, rejecting toothpaste, lip balm and a variety of mysterious gels and unguents. The lubricant is subtly labelled lubricant and after much perusing I admit defeat. If there's a date on there, I can't make it out without my glasses. Does stuff like this even have a use-by date? And if so, what CAN we use?
Not that I…okay, I do. I admit I'm a total horndog too, and these jammies ain't big enough for the both of us. Flannel is soft but not noted for its elasticity. Busting out all over here.
Jack is comfortably sprawled on the bed, his head pillowed on his arms, idly scuffing the carpet with one dangling foot. He snorts when I trot up to him. "Is that your version of stealth mode?" he sniggers. "I'm flattered as hell here, Danny, but I gotta break it to you gently. You can't just commence the…er…bombing run. We BOTH have to be good to go."
I give him a shocked look. I wouldn't DREAM…he's all sprawly and desirable and HAIRY and…MINE. "We've got eight hours!"
Jack takes a steadying breath and sits up, eyes intense. "Four hours?" he asks gently.
I'll see that offer and raise it. "Three each, one for lunch, one for a bath.”
"Shared? Inflatable fruit?"
"No reheated pizza?"
"Your ass is mine," I offer grandly.
Jack snorts again.
"I mean my ass is yours," I mumble, blushing.
"You're a man with a one-ass mind."
"Trust me, it's not my mind that's doing my thinking and I can't read this,” I hand Jack the lubricant, “So any delay to locate suitable alternatives comes out of YOUR slot."
"We can eat salad for lunch."
"It's over a week old."
"Lunch is for wimps,” Jack decides scornfully. “And I’ve got twenty/twenty vision which tells me this is just fine.” He glances up at me. “You look excited.”
I am excited.
“I…er…I haven’t gotten anyone this excited since 10th grade,” Jack flushes.
“Their loss,” I crow triumphantly, pouncing on Jack so hard he bounces. “I love you,” I gloat and kiss him exuberantly. I think Jack is excited too. He’s laughing and making encouraging noises as I bite at his jaw and scoot down. God, I don’t know where to start! There’s so much of him, and have I mentioned he’s mine? All of him. Mine.
“Mine,” I kiss his throat. “Mine,” I lick a trail over his collar bone. “Mine,” I settle my mouth over his nipple and feast. Hairy and heaving and mine.
“Aww CRAP!” Jack yelps, arching and quivering as I suck, lick and nibble. “NOT arguing here!”
I sit astride him again, smoothing my hands over his hot, sweaty skin, looking constantly at his face to see what he likes as I explore. “You’re not being much help,” I complain.
“It’s ALL good, all of it, yeah, just that, just there…” Jack moans.
Great. Jack likes the shoulder biting.
Jack likes my ass rubbing his dick!
I smack his chest with the back of my hand.
“Whaa?” Jack opens dazed eyes.
I gesture to myself. “Focus.”
His chest. Hairy. “Mmmmmm.” His stomach. A lovely little trail narrowing down to…”Mmmmmm.” All of him. He’s so goddamn BIG. And hard. The ridges of muscle are fascinating. I could study his body forever and never learn all of him. The hard, supple muscles slide sleekly under satin skin and the soft hair. I map him with eyes, lips, tongue and gentle fingers, taste and touch skin and hair and the salt-tang of sweat, rocking unconsciously as Jack’s hands grip my hips and hold me just so, just there as he pushes up into my ass.
I have to peel his fingers free as I scoot down to rain kisses over his thighs, Jack groaning with disappointment, then just groaning as I work my way up his inner thighs, burying my face in his groin to inhale him ecstatically, the musk of arousal rich in my nose.
Jack is fumbling and cursing and something cool squirts into the hand he takes.
I remember I need to be gentle with him, easing one shaking finger into him as I focus on licking his balls, swiping at them with my tongue. He’s sensitive, gasping and writhing every time I lift him with my mouth. I try to focus on Jack, not on how tight he is or how much I want him. I flow through the instructions he calls hoarsely, stroking him inside first with two, then with three ludicrously lubricated fingers as I take his penis carefully into my mouth and suckle, aware only of his gradual relaxation, his deep moans of satisfaction as he realises I like giving him pleasure this way.
I don’t try anything fancy, didn’t expect my jaw to ache so much, and I want this to be special for him, not clumsy. I work hard to make him feel warm and loved, and wanted. Jack’s fingers card in my hair, as tender on me as my mouth on him, the trust between us so thick and real I feel I could reach out my hand and touch it.
Jack’s moans are continuous, deep and rich, his hips moving so gently beneath me in a rhythm that asks. I feel the quiver in his thighs, the tremors shocking through his body and into me. He’s hot and heavy in my mouth, throbbing as I suckle and stroke the straining length, Jack shuddering continually now.
Jack stiffens and stills, his hands urging me back but I hang on and his penis thumps hard as hot, creamy liquid pulses thickly, salt-tasting, crowding the back of my throat as I swallow instinctively. I hang on, swallowing gamely as Jack comes and comes in long, easy waves, murmuring my name over and over. When he softens at last, I free him and scoot up for a kiss, justifiably pleased with a first attempt.
Jack can’t even open his eyes, but he drops a heavy arm across my neck and pulls me into a passionate kiss, his tongue darting against mine to taste his own come in my mouth. We kiss for a long time, my tongue driving deep in Jack’s mouth, his rasping and shoving against mine. Eventually I pull away.
“Jack?” I plead in a strained voice.
Jack smiles lazily up at me. “Pillows.” He reaches behind him and tugs.
I hesitate for a moment and get it. He needs them under his butt. “Is this easiest for you?” I ask anxiously “Your knees? Your back?”
“I want to see you,” is all Jack will say.
I stretch out over him, rolling between his parting thighs, lifting his legs high around my back as I brace my weight on my hands.
“Easy,” Jack reassures. “Slow and easy.” He smiles up at me, his eyes dark and pleasure-drowned. “Just your style.”
I gulp and try to still my own shaking as I guide myself to him.
“Easy,” Jack croons.
I stare into his eyes as I nudge against the tight opening.
Jack nods and I push in fractionally, agonisingly slowly, freezing to absolute stillness as Jack hisses and arches slowly beneath me. I push again, rolling my hips into him, reassured as Jack’s hands curve up over my shoulders. He’s pale where he was flushed a few minutes ago, but his smile never falters as I roll into him. Jack pushes down and takes me into him with my next thrust, groaning as I slide in deep, deeper than I was expecting. I cry out as velvet heat grips and ripples over me, thrust again involuntarily, needing more, needing all of him, thrusting gently, implacably until I’m buried inside my Jack.
Jack’s hand curves over my jaw and cheek. ‘Love you’ he mouths. “Fuck me,” he orders.
I pull out a little, watching him anxiously, noting how pale he still is, then I thrust carefully home. My turn to groan and shudder all over. He’s so tight, so tender. Jack has opened his body to me, taken me into him, fit to me exactly.
“I love you, Jack,” I gasp as the strain on my braced arms is too much and I sink slowly down. Jack moans as I slide in deeper and rises eagerly to meet my mouth. I love you. Love…
I rock sweetly inside him, deep inside. Easy. Slow and easy as he asked, choking down my urgency, my need, revelling in the way Jack’s body moves with me. I’ve never felt anything like this, Jack’s muscles rippling around me continually as we love.
I’m not going to last. This is too…Jack is too intense and it’s so long since I’ve been this close to anyone who cared for me. My heart is labouring as I strain into Jack, no rhythm in me, just my need in him.
My need, my love. My...my Jack.
Jack pulls me to him, our hearts beating wildly as he sweetly strokes his tongue over mine, swallowing the harsh sobs crowding my throat, his fingers wiping the sweat from my brow.
“Sorry,” I whisper, “So sorry.” Too close, too much, too soon. My body tenses, my back arching, driving me deep to strike against a spot which has Jack stretching like a cat in the sun as my hips spasm against him, and I come slowly, spilling softly, a groan wrenched from me, aching and hoarse.
Jack holds me tight as I shake over him, into him, apart. He’s still holding me when I ease free of him and my attempt to curl into a ball of embarrassment is thwarted by six feet two inches of Jack getting emphatically in the way. I compromise and wrap myself around him, which he likes just fine.
“Sorry,” I sigh into his shoulder. “That was…”
Quick is what I was thinking. I surge up to kiss him hard and fast. “You were lovely,” I tell him stormily and hunker back down on his chest, clinging possessively to every delicious, still heaving inch of him.
“Jeez, you’re like a terrier worrying at a bone,” Jack complains happily. “And, kid, I love you, I’m CRAZY about you and I’m not…I am NOT touching ‘lovely’. Not even for you. I…I got some pride, y’know?”
“Mmmmph!” I growl. I SUCK at sex but my colonel is just…lovely. Mostly for not owning up about the sucky thing.
Jack sighs. “Frigging Special Ops Colonel, got my fanny whupped by sweet and nice. Pride? Who am I trying to kid here?”
Not me. I knew he was mine.
I don’t know how it happened. One minute I was just standing there waving a kumquat and the next…
“Let me up!” I demand angrily, struggling against an impossibly tight grip.
Jack beams at me and sinks complacently deeper into the couch cushions.
“Jack! I am on your LAP!”
“Let me up.”
Jack considers this. “No.”
“On your LAP. I am a grown man, not a child and I am NOT sitting on your lap. Jack!”
Jack thinks it over carefully. “No.”
“I’m not staying here.”
I slip an arm round his shoulders. Just for…for balance. And the one across his chest is just because I don’t know what else to do with it. Stupid to leave it just DANGLING there.
Jack strokes my back in long, soothing sweeps I slump into, no fight in me as he guides my head onto his shoulder.
“I’m proud of you.”
“For killing?” I whisper.
“For surviving,” Jack corrects. “And saving my life.”
“I did it for you,” I admit drearily.
“That’s why we trust you, Danny. You’re there for us, when we need you.”
“It’s all that matters, Daniel,” Jack says calmly. “Soldiers can’t be philosophers or politicians. We can’t function without the focus of orders, and the only way to survive the killing is to make a value judgement. The life of your friend is worth more than your enemy, and it should be worth more than your own. No one can ask more than that, of themselves or anyone else. It’s not the best way to live, you don’t need to tell me that, but it is the best we can do.”
“Were they our enemies?” I ask intently. “Weren’t they also victims?”
Jack looks at me gravely. “I said it was the best we could do, Daniel. I didn’t say it was easy.”
I don't dare tell Daniel I got the idea from ‘Pretty Woman’. He’s resting very comfortably with my inflatable watermelon slice pillowing his neck, drowsy from the heat of the water, skin beautifully flushed. I’m not resting at all, not with however many inches of therapy Daniel’s legs are wrapped around my waist, his fingers in my hair and his tongue in my ear.
Bless the boy, he’s still fretting. I lean back and slip my hand up to wrap around his neck. “The sex gets better.”
Daniel cringes, muttering something into my hair.
Of COURSE he’s not cutting himself any slack over just how long it’s been since he made love and the fact the last time he did make love it was to his WIFE and this was the first time he did it with a guy. Most of all, that guy was ME. Jack O’Neill. Colonel Jack O’Neill. Daniel has earned a little wigging out time. If our positions had been reversed, I doubt I could have gotten it up for a guy who’d spent the past four years ordering me around and was basically…me. I have NO doubt now Daniel knows EXACTLY what he’s aiming for, he is going to blow my mind.
“I was a little tense. Sorry,” I apologise sincerely.
“What?” Daniel straightens up behind me, arms rapidly joining the legs.
I sigh happily and lean a little harder.
“You were…it was…we were…” Daniel stammers.
Lovely? Ah, hell, if anyone was ‘lovely’ it was Daniel. I’ve never seen him so damned passionate about anything. Short of hiring a skywriter, he could not have made it more obvious how hot I get him. I was tense and he was nervous and it could have been a disaster, but it was nice. If I hadn’t still been seeing stars from the sweetest and most studious blowjob EVER, and, being brutally honest here, if Daniel hadn’t been quite THAT excited and had lasted just a tad longer, I’m confident we would have seen the second coming.
“We just need to relax,” I suggest.
I’m going to make love to him, flushed and rosy from the bath, boneless from the heat of the water still glistening on his skin…The need is rising in me, unstoppable now. My hand is clenched on my thigh to hide the tremors. I want him so much, I have needed this for so long.
“Let’s go to bed.” I lift Daniel’s hand, kiss the palm.
“Okay,” Daniel agrees softly.
I’ve barely let go of him since we got back. He took on two Jaffa, unarmed. Twice. I’m still shaking. When I tore into that clearing…I thought that was him, thought he was GONE. I need to know him. He understands my need to touch, simply twines his fingers through mine and walks by my side as I lead him into the bedroom. He looked at the towels but let me lead him away.
That’s my Daniel. Gorgeous and totally unenthusiastic about himself. I want to crawl into bed with him dripping; he’s mine. Confused, dripping, but mine.
I’m not sure what to say to him, not when what he seems to be looking for here is a nap, so I just stop him short of the bed, set my hands on his shoulders and turn him to face me.
Daniel smiles as his hands come up to curve around my forearms.
It’s enough. Daniel’s smile, as sweet as the man himself…the blood slams down and Daniel’s eyes widen. I have to…does he understand? Unless he needs to wait, I have to.
“You want to make love.” Daniel nods ironically, catching himself up on his own innocence one more time.
I’m laughing softly because I know now that won’t change. Stand us here side by side in ten years time and he’ll still have that ‘shoulda known!’ dignity of his.
“What gave me away?” I ask dryly.
Daniel reaches out confidently between us to stroke one slender, sensitive finger from the hollow of my throat, tracing the path all the way down to skim my navel and trace sensuous patterns…words…on my belly.
I love you, Daniel Jackson. Let me count the ways.
He gets that wincing smile I’m beginning to realise is about him, not me, or at least, it’s all the reaction he’ll allow himself to how beautiful I find him and how little he sees what makes my heart skip a beat. Maybe in time Daniel will learn to see himself in my eyes.
Right now, I’m lowering him to the bed, my whole weight pinning him. Daniel gasps as my dick slides luxuriously over his, hands shooting up to grasp my shoulders as he writhes for more, already half-hard against me. I know this is what Daniel thinks of when he wants to make love. I don’t know why, but he likes to feel my weight on him. I smile and kiss his nose. Slow and easy is exactly how he wants us to be. Plenty of passion, but not frenzied, not desperate.
Daniel wants warmth and tenderness. It’s not too much to ask, and I want to give.
His breath is hitching into tiny, needy moans as I rock against him. Daniel is so sensual, so passionate, I don’t know how he’s survived without sex. I don’t know how I have, I fall into him so deep. Deeper every time we’re together.
He’s relaxed this time, wanting more, urging me to touch and kiss, shyly sharing what feels good, what leaves him dazed and breathless. Kissing his belly, that whole area beneath his navel has him quivering from head to toe, his dick filling before my eyes. His head thrashes when I mouth his nipples mercilessly, and he shivers when my teeth worry gently at the nape of his neck and work down, tracing every knot in his spine.
Daniel buries his face in the pillow and whimpering and writhing from the onslaught when my tongue pushes greedily inside him. He gasps and shudders as each finger eases into him in turn, as I stroke deliberately over his sweet spot, brushing over and over, filling him with that heavy, sweet ache I remember so well. He’s propped up on his elbows, squirming and needy, groaning as he rocks up to meet my thrusting fingers.
“Jack, please. Pleeeeease.”
It takes some rolling around, but eventually we end up with my back braced hard against the headboard and a slightly surprised Daniel back in my lap. He gets it when my hands grip his hips, lifts himself, centres, frowning in concentration as he plants his hands on my belly and lowers himself minutely.
I’m scared. I’m not in control of my own body here. Waited too long, wanted too much. I won’t take the risk, won’t hurt him in any way. Best I lie here, be still, let Daniel guide us.
Daniel sinks down onto me, his thighs trembling with the strain, hands balled into fists, braced bruisingly against me. I hold him as he rests, my knees coming up to support his back.
Daniel cried out as he entered me, and he cries out again as his body surrenders the fight and he flows onto me like water, both of us stunned by the smooth, sweetly yielding glide. He falls forward, biting his lip, his forehead resting against mine, breathing hard and fast. Adjusting. Processing. I hold him anxiously, soothing and petting until he catches his breath, and the colour comes back into his face.
“Oh,” Daniel says inadequately, fixing me with drowned eyes, wide and dazed.
“Uurgh,” I grunt intelligently, beyond speech, beyond anything but the feel of him, Christ Almighty, the FEEL…
Daniel looks down at himself suspiciously. “I think I like this,” he decides cautiously, giving an experimental shimmy.
I yelp and curl up involuntarily as his muscles contract and SQUEEZE. “Don’tdothat!”
“What happens…” Daniel braces his palms against my chest and lifts himself, eyes wide and curious as he feels me move inside him. “…if I do THIS…” He rocks sweetly down and we both howl as I strike against his sweet spot and he shakes from head to foot.
Daniel is beyond help, plastered against my braced knees, wide-eyed and wheezing in ecstatic shock.
I smile at him slightly smugly. Beginner drivers. Bet he never knew his ass did THAT.
“Oh! You SHIT!” Daniel snarls, glaring at me ferociously when his eyes uncross.
I get a good grip on his hips. “Let’s take that from the top, shall we?”
“Don’t you DARE!”
“We can’t just sit here, Daniel,” I say reasonably.
“We damn well CAN,” Daniel snaps. “You could have WARNED me.”
“Experiential learning,” I refute briskly.
“Just you…stay…put,” Daniel orders, jabbing his finger at me warningly. He doesn’t even attempt to lift himself, just sets his palms flat against my chest, bites his lip in concentration and rocks with extreme caution, using me as a lever. We pause while he processes, biting his lip and frankly frowning, then he rocks again, with even more caution than before.
I’m just staring at him. I don’t believe this. One of the most eagerly awaited experiences of my LIFE, being buried ecstatically to the balls in the man I love, totally blown away by how he FEELS and my dick has been hijacked. "Still too exciting for you?" I ask witheringly.
Daniel looks up brightly. “Oh, no, that wasn’t NEARLY so good.”
I burst out laughing, we get shift deep inside and Daniel collapses onto my chest, whimpering, quivering and cursing me for a careless bastard.
“DON’TDOTHAT!” I howl. “Do you have a fucking clue how that FEELS?” I holler.
“Lovely,” Daniel snarls, biting my shoulder. “Sit STILL.”
“I’m TRYING,” I snarl back. “Could you pick up the pace a little?”
“I’m NOT coming quicker THIS time than LAST time!” Daniel seethes.
I burst out laughing again, the tremors running through me and into Daniel and it all gets interesting again as I…er…dig deep and he CLENCHES. We’re both quivering, clinging breathlessly, and seeing stars.
“That feeeels soooo gooood, you priiiick,” Daniel moans bitterly, pointing the finger literally and figuratively.
“Is this a HOSTAGE situation?” I seek clarification when the clenching makes it clear moving a muscle is no longer an option.
Daniel bites my shoulder again, then worries and kisses it better.
I take his hips and thrust, gloating as his eyes glaze over and he moans again. “What do I gotta do to get my balls back?” I demand.
Daniel gets the giggles and the tiny contractions ripple through him to surround my dick. My turn to go cross-eyed and do the wheezing thing.
“What are your demands?”
“Kiss me.” Daniel does seem fairly insistent on that point so we meet up cautiously half-way and kiss.
Niiiiice kiss. He looks good, he smells good, he feels good and he tastes good. In fact, he feels great, chewing on my tongue. He’s nicely distracted so I thrust up and catch him sneakily rocking down and the world tilts on its axis.
Be easier to hurl insults if we broke off the kiss but he’s chewing and I’m sucking and it feels GOOD. Our bodies find a rhythm as the kiss gentles and deepens, an easy kiss and glide, Daniel barely moving his hips as we love, relaxing into me as I let myself move at last.
He's right. It's embarrassing. I'm telling myself it's quality not quantity, we're not on the clock here. "Hey! Knock that off!" I holler, glaring at Daniel. He freezes, eyeing me guiltily. "Shit! Not...not THAT. Keep MOVING," I order desperately.
"Oh. Sorry," Daniel blushes rosily and after a tense moment, lives to writhe again.
"Stop looking at the damn clock! I can't believe you're timing this, you shit."
Daniel's face scrunches up, endearingly naughty. "Just checking," he murmurs demurely, extending his range with a shimmy as he rocks.
He is so perfectly fucking beautiful and he has NO idea. Brick red and sweating, mouth open as he moans and bites his lips to stifle the moans when he thinks he's getting too...too...Christ, he's too EVERYTHING. The way the muscles are moving on that smooth, flat abdomen as he MOVES on me, the tension in his thighs, the way he throws back his head and gasps when I touch him right inside.
"Yeah. Just right, just...Christ, yes, just there, Danny, just...God!" Ah, Christ this feels wonderful. The room is spinning. If I weren't propped up, if Daniel's knees weren't holding me up, I'd topple right over and blub.
Blub. Yeah. No. TOO sappy. Gimme a few more minutes might be a real option but...er...Where was I? Gotta...gotta stop thinking about rocks dropped in pools and waves rippling endlessly out. Waves. Mmmmmm. Or beats. He's moving like the beat of my heart.
What? Oh, yeah. My love. My writhing, wonderful, TALENTED..."My GOD!" I surge up as Daniel gasps and arches violently, head snapping back. Shit! Did I HURT him? "Danny!"
"Jaa-aack!" Daniel chokes out a protest as he tightens around me, squirming desperately.
SQUEEZING. Pleasure sheeting through me. Right through. CLEAR through. My mind is gawn.... “Don’tstopdoin'that!” I'm gonna blow but I'm taking him with me, scrabbling desperately for the slick dick slippery and straining against my belly, squeeze right back, pulling my hand slowly down, milking his orgasm from him. “Don’tstopdoin'that! DON'T ST...aww... AWWCRAAAAAAP!" I heave up off the bed as Daniel convulses, fall back, smacking my skull off the headboard as I come. Seeing starrrrrrs...
"You let me sleep," Daniel huffs a mild protest as he kisses the nape of my neck, his arms circling my waist as he rests his chin comfortably on my shoulder. "Hi."
"Hi. And I let you sleep because you needed it," I comment casually. That's what Mom always said when I slept in. You wouldn't sleep if you didn't need it. Mom logic and by definition, unanswerable.
I grin at him. "House speciality. Burgers like they're supposed to be."
Daniel quirks his brows, peering interestedly over the top of his glasses as I flip the burgers expertly. Big, meaty, half pound monsters oozing herbs, spices and juices. The best beef money can buy and I grind it myself. Add mild, melty Gruyere cheese and tangy relish, toasted buns, a mound of chunky home fries and about a quart of milk apiece. "A light snack. Just to keep our strength up." Lots of protein and carbohydrate. Lots.
"Good," Daniel growls, nibbling my ear.
He's rubbing lazily against my back, one bare foot reaching around to stroke over my toes as his hands stroke my..."Jesus, Danny, not again!" I groan.
"I'm hungry," Daniel whines, feathering kisses across the nape of my neck, burying his nose in my hair.
I gotta watch the burgers like a hawk, get careless and you achieve cremated yet raw. It's very difficult to see straight with two elegant hands clamped possessively over my hips, those long fingers blatantly splayed out and frankly checkin' it out, and a VERY insistent erection rubbing ecstatically against my behind. Two layers of denim between Daniel and the ass of his dreams may not be enough.
When I turn to glare Daniel down, I find a decidedly naughty sparkle in his eyes and just enough uncertainty of his welcome to still my tongue and slip it in his mouth. Daniel sighs happily as he returns my kiss contentedly, his foot settling back over mine, my toes getting a little active on me too. His tongue curls sweetly over mine, happy just to rest there, close and...
Ah, Danny. A gra mo chroi. You get that?
I have to peel Daniel off me, and believe me, it takes some doing. He's a horny six foot limpet. "Daniel, acushla, I think it's time we had the hormone talk."
Daniel isn't sure whether to be flattered or insulted by the endearment, which is ethnic and therefore difficult for a linguist to discourage, Jeez, I'm not dumb here, but he is absolutely certain he doesn't want to talk about hormones. The pout gets positively pithy.
I turn my attention to that vital final flip of the burgers and start to drizzle over the cheese so it melts right into the meat as Daniel backs off to hop up on the worktop by the sink and sulks at me. The effect is not in any way marred by the moustache he acquires along with his glass of milk.
Stormy blue eyes and a sullen pout? My hormones need a stern talking to. I glance over a him, smile, shake my head ruefully and set out the crisp, toasted buns. "Relish?" My hormones need putting down.
"Please," Daniel asks politely before he can stop himself.
I chuckle. Don't have to look to know the scowl just upgraded to a glare. The fries are floating and hissing, perfect and golden, so I scoop 'em out, dish up and head out and down to the living room, heaped plates in hand. The couch seems cosier. I'm sure Daniel will enjoy sulking at close quarters.
"Scooby snack!" I call temptingly, wafting the plates enticingly as Daniel pads along behind me.
Daniel sets the glasses of milk down as I slide his plate over to his end of the coffee table, then take my seat. Daniel jumps onto the far end of the couch and stretches out. I wind up with a plate and ten bare, wriggling toes in my lap. I glance up, eyebrow raised.
Daniel settles his plate on his lap and goes all out for demure yet graphic phallic symbolism with his fries.
"You're very talented," I admire his performance.
Daniel smiles shyly. "Thank you."
I don't miss the slumberous, predatory eyes. Sheesh. I knew going in Daniel's sexuality was about ready to explode out of him, but sap that I am, I got caught up in sweet and nice and nurturing him over the worst of the shock of having what he really wants and needs. He's out. He couldn't BE more out. In fact, he's exploding all over. All over me, that is.
I don't think my ass can take it and I know my knees can't. The hormones are willing, but the back? Oy. And of course we have that always there, just beneath the surface, cutting to the bone insecurity that means Daniel would be REALLY hurt if I didn't want him. He won’t be ‘oh, Jack's beat’, ‘Jack's...old’, he'll be ‘what did I do?’
I'm just totally obligated to BE here for him. It's the mature, the compassionate, the loving...I smile at him slowly. Okay, the ruthlessly exploitative choice.
My linguist is fucking HOT and he WANTS me. All the damn time.
Ten toes wriggling segues into five toes massaging my thigh and five massaging an embarrassingly eager erection while Daniel blithely wolfs down his burger, practically inhales the fries and gulps down his milk, acting like his feet have nothing to do with the rest of him.
If it wasn't for the flush splashed over his creamy skin, the tension in the slim frame the clinging black T-shirt can't disguise, the way those jeans are stretched taut over his hips and that blatant bulge...
I send my plate skidding over the table and dive up the couch to yank Daniel's from him. I set it down and turn to find him already peeling his T-shirt off and scrambling for mine. I fumble and futz at his jeans, pop the button and tear the zipper down. Daniel's hands are shaking so much he can't get his fingers to work and I have to stop, cursing a blue streak, my objective in sight, flushed and rosy and...
"Jack!" Daniel snarls.
What? Oh. Right. I pull my own zipper down, Daniel managing to shove the jeans down enough to clamp onto my butt, hitching his ass up off the cushions so I can return the compliment. We shove and prod until the denim pools around his ankles and just can't take any more, Daniel impatiently using his feet to kick them off.
Daniel can't take the delay as I push my own jeans down, hauling me to him with almost hysterical eagerness, his bursting dick jutting hard against my belly as I throw myself onto him, shoving hard at his thighs, hissing through clenched teeth as I pin him flat.
Daniel goes nuts as our dicks grind together, bucking up into me, his legs lifting to wrap around my back and he knows, God, he knows EXACTLY what that does to me. He knows how hot this is, him naked, sprawling and helpless, my denim and bare skin chafing between his thighs. Daniel loves this. I push Daniel, he pushes back, always, but he loves my weight on him, he allows himself to lose control because he trusts me implicitly to take it and to keep him safe.
His hands are scrabbling on my sweaty skin as I rock and thrust into his heaving, needing, beautiful body, sweat and slickness between us, smearing and smoothing our way. Daniel is wild beneath me, straining frenziedly to meet every thrust as I brace my feet against the arm of the couch and pound into him. He groans with satisfaction, his gentle mouth slack and gaping as pleasure rips through him, his dick jerking hard against me.
"A gra mo chroi," I snarl into his blindly seeking mouth.
"Love you too, Jack," Daniel sighs.
I bite at his lush lower lip, plunging into moist, needy, moaning heat as we drive our dicks relentlessly together, the force and passion of it jolting Daniel's body further up the couch until we're practically sitting up.
I'm shaking and fighting for every breath, spots in front of my eyes as those tell-tale fine tremors shiver through Daniel, his hands clawing into my back as he arches violently, head thrown back, that intense stillness on his face as he quakes, convulses...and falls.
His hips stutter against mine as slick heat splashes against my dick and thighs, his teeth clamp down on my tongue and I tumble after him.
We lie clamped together, sprawled on the couch in a tangle of sweaty limbs, flushed faces and wildly beating hearts; a sticky, oozing, sated, thrumming heap of VAST gloating satisfaction.
"I-I'll spr-spring f-for the d-dry c-cleaner," Daniel stutters, patting me unsteadily.
Fair's fair. It was his feet that got us into this. And I looked at the clock. This is definitely the record to beat.
“I’m just saying that actually LOCKING the bathroom door argues a lack of trust,” Daniel reproaches me as he smoothes out my shirt collar.
He thinks I look FABULOUS. The cream chinos, the brown, excuse me, the SPICE coloured silk shirt and for the record a lot of sweet something’s about my eyes.
“I’m hurt,” Daniel sighs.
“Horny,” I correct crisply.
“And…hurt.” He wraps his arms around me as he kisses a trail across my cheek.
“Don’t make with the big blue eyes there. I DON’T trust you,” I tell him firmly. “Not with my naked ass.”
“A simple no would have sufficed,” Daniel reiterates.
“No it wouldn’t,” I snipe. “Your hands are on my ass right now,” I complain.
“They’re not!” Daniel denies indignantly, patting interrogatively. “They are! I’m sorry.”
“Okay, I’m not, but…I was looking forward to that shower. I wanted to rub your ass. Your back. WASH your ass. Um…” Daniel straightens up defiantly, glaring at me.
I guess even he realises that wasn’t the most convincing denial on record.
“This Is A Date,” I explain with exaggerated patience. “It is the custom of our land to get laid AFTER the date. Consequently, I am adamant in my refusal to get nailed – again - before we make it out the front door.”
Daniel’s eyes tell me: selfish bastard.
“Your hands are still ON my ass, by the way,” I lean in to kiss his nose. “You look amazing.” He does. “I always thought navy blue was stock brokery but on you…WHOO!” The pants have those pleats at the front only Daniel-hipped guys can get away with and his ass is making the roof of my mouth go dry. As for the shirt…summer-sky blue, warm as Daniel’s eyes.
“We should stay at my place,” Daniel announces decisively, firmly taking my hand to tow me briskly out of the bedroom.
“Why?” I drawl.
“It’s closer,” he mutters evasively. “We can walk back.”
Uh-huh. Daniel pulls open the front door, dancing impatiently as I set the alarm and lock up.
“Otherwise I’m designated driver, Jack. It’s not fun to be drunk on your own,” he tosses over his shoulder as he storms down the path.
“And here’s me thinking you just wanted to cut down on your commute time so you could nail me a minute sooner,” I suggest wryly. Thirty-five minutes sooner.
“I’m only thinking of you,” Daniel tells me with heart-felt sincerity as he unlocks the car and we climb in.
“Your…” He starts the car and futzes with his seatbelt to cover while he thinks desperately.
I await his answer with interest. “Knees?” I prompt after a protracted pause.
“Knees!” Daniel echoes thankfully.
I fasten my seatbelt, shaking with laughter. “Daniel, I love you horny. I may not SURVIVE you horny, but I love you anyway.” And I hope you never know just how good you are for my ego. “The first official O’Neill-Jackson Saturday night date has commenced,” I announce cheerfully. “Let’s buy that textbook!”
Daniel backs along the pavement, hands everywhere. "The dragon was GREAT!" he enthuses.
I'm glad the Café is just a few doors up from the theatre, because the way Daniel is bounding along with his back to the world, he's gonna wind up on his ass.
I grin right back at him. It is not difficult to get goofy when Daniel is THIS happy. His eyes get all...and I get...goofy. "It was clever. The perfect advertisement for surround sound. The guys at Dolby would be thrilled."
"You jumped!" Daniel accuses me, a tad smugly.
"And you didn't?"
"My butt was numb," Daniel heatedly denies the allegation.
"It was numb a hell of a lot then." I'm still smiling at his indignant denials when I open the restaurant door for us. Daniel sidles past, still scowling, then forgets his snit as he gets a good look at the locale.
The Dale Street Café is nice. Really, REALLY nice. Whitewashed walls above, dark oak panelling below, slabs of granite underfoot. Plants, art and greenery everywhere in softly lit recesses dotted here and there in the walls. Daniel already has his eye on a particular vase overhead. This is not the sort of place where two guys 'grab food'. It isn't voted the most romantic restaurant in Colorado Springs every year for nothing. Every single table is tucked into its own private niche, surrounded by ferns and shrubs, spilling out into the summer garden. It's a little early in the year for alfresco dining, but we're in the Garden Room, they've got that guy doing Billy Joel covers starting in...I glance at my watch...five.
"Reservation for O'Neill?" I ask the maitre d' while Daniel checks out the vase.
He checks his books, looks up smiling, and asks me to follow him. I have to collect Daniel, who's just picked up the 'History of the Dale Street Café' leaflet and isn't thrilled when I make him put it back.
"Can we get through one meal without you LEARNING something?"
"Learning is a LIFELONG..." Daniel kicks off.
A moment later his whole face is soft as his elbow nudges mine meaningfully.
The table is great, right by a big open window, plenty of privacy, and a good distance from the corner dais where the singer is setting up. The place is packed out, but they haven't made the mistake of cramming in too many tables. There's a pleasant buzz that Daniel is soaking up. My butt automatically hits the seat that gives me good line of sight on the entrance, but I got open balcony doors to my rear so I'm doing great. This is a date, not a tactical situation.
"Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?" the maitre d' asks pleasantly.
"Southern Comfort for me."
"Two," Daniel agrees, already checking out the menu.
The guy lopes off with the drinks order.
We're talking food of love so the menu comes up one moo short of steak. We got chicken or we got seafood. Pasta. Sauces. Date food.
"Chicken Puccini," Daniel muses.
I check it out. Pan-fried breast sautéed in lemon-butter, served with slices of melon and Parma ham. We also got some drizzling going on, involving Marsala wine.
"I like the menu. It's so corny to claim everything is 'tender' this or 'succulent' that," Daniel confides. "They don't even fall into the 'garnished' trap. Classy."
Very classy. "Chicken Dijon," I decide. I can live with mustard, cream, brandy and mushrooms. Hell, I'll even eat the seasonals, julienned or not.
The waiter arrives with the drinks and departs with the food order as the singer announces his set. I love Billy Joel. I love music, most kinds of music, but some genres, some performers are standouts. Music is something else I don't know Daniel's taste in too well. Something I've always wanted to ask him...
"Do you play that piano?"
Daniel looks up from the drink he's sipping, surprised. "Sure."
"Would you? I'd like to hear you play some time."
"Strictly amateur hour," Daniel admits, twinkling. "Loving something doesn't guarantee you're any good at it."
Maybe I should admit I'd like to SEE him play. I want to see him focused and passionate, in a world of his own, open and feeling. I love to watch him like that, in the beauty he finds in language, or when he gets lost in the past. I see to the core of Daniel Jackson in those moments, and what I see in him, I can't be without.
The time falls away from us. The food was great, I think, and I barely notice the singer giving his all because Daniel focused on me, opened up to me. Anything I ask...
"I used to CRY," Daniel confesses, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "Mama used to have chase after me, make sure I was okay. I'd curl up in a ball under the bed and she'd have to scoot under with me. I'd be lying there weeping my heart out because the music was SO sad. I never heard it, I felt it." Daniel taps his chest.
I get THIS from 'what kind of music do you like?' You couldn't drag me away at gunpoint.
"I do feel music, it's a visceral emotional response rather than intellectual. I'd rather have a technically inferior performance that FELT right than one which hit every note perfectly and didn't touch me at all." Daniel props his elbows on the table too, rolling his glass rhythmically between his hands. "I look for that emotional connection with the artist, and I find it in the most surprising places, so anyone trying to stereotype me from my music collection will be doomed to disappointment. Example. Have you ever listened to 'Tangerine Dream'?"
"They do movie music, right?" I take another sip of the blood-warmed whisky.
"Right. They also do original recordings, instrumentals. One of the albums is called 'Underwater Sunlight'. There's one track on there, PART of one track, and the way it hits me, every time, is the way an orgasm hits. That's...that's what it FEELS like," he murmurs, voice low and eyes passionate. "The same ripple of pure sensation that swells through the body and..."
"Blows your mind?"
Daniel looks at me lingeringly as I smile at him, gently touching his glass to mine so our fingertips brush.
Daniel touching me is something else. It's all down to context. The touch of a woman's hand in a man's was more erotically charged a century ago than the X-iest of XXX films is today. We're desensitised. Nudity is not the taboo it once was, and though I do think of it as progress away from moral hypocrisy and physical repression, it's stripped away a lot of the mystique of sex.
Making love with Daniel has given me back something I lost in my teens, and even then I didn't have the maturity to appreciate what it meant to be with a person I love as they learned to know themselves as sexual beings. Being with Daniel as he explores the new possibilities and limits of his own body, his own pleasure - as I learn mine, I guess - that's a gift I'm finally able to appreciate.
He's a seething mass of hormones and curiosity right now, barely taken the edge off, but already I see how sensual he is. He feels music like he feels everything, with all he is. He doesn't know any other way to be. It's Daniel's greatest strength, and his greatest vulnerability. When we make love he goes deep, deeper every time. The more he learns, the more he wants.
I smile at Daniel lazily. He wants me now. It's there in the way his intent eyes don't leave mine when he talks, in the way we're both leaning in to this table, heads close, fingers near enough to clash. It's all very easy. very natural and anything but casual. I have that tightness inside, that tension, growing with every minute. We're not going to last much longer. A few more sips of whisky, this shared, knowing silence...
"Home?" I ask, tossing back the last of my whisky.
Daniel just puts his down. "Home," he agrees, up and on his feet, too edgy to be still, looking right at me.
“Colonel O’Neill? Daniel?” a hesitant voice breaks the spell.
Daniel and I turn to find Emily Ferretti a few feet away, smiling but hanging back, not wanting to intrude.
“Mrs. Ferretti,” Daniel greets her warmly, stepping forward to shake hands.
She smiles up at him, big grey eyes bright. Emily is one of the nicest people I’ve ever met in my life and God alone knows how Ferretti of all people landed her. He should be on his knees every day of the week and twice on Sunday thanking said God for making him the lucky bastard he is. And speaking of lucky bastards…I’m a few slow steps behind Daniel because Ferretti is right behind Emily.
This is…interesting. It’s one am on Sunday morning, I’m with my civilian consultant, we’re both dressed to the nines, we’re in the Dale Street Café, we shaved and we smell good, all definitely datey, and if ANYTHING of what I was feeling was SHOWING I am in deep fucking shit here.
“Colonel,” Ferretti greets me with a nod and smiles warmly at Daniel, who’s still chatting easily to Emily.
“Major,” I reply calmly as we all turn and head out together. Daniel is darkly muttering about bookmarks, keeping Emily in a ripple of amusement. “Didn’t see you there,” I say casually. The place is all ferns, angles and candles, but still, shows how far gone I was.
“We must have come in before you,” he replies just as casually.
Here the whole damn time, huh?
“Nice place. Em likes it,” he grins at his wife’s oblivious back.
“Right next door to the theatre,” I jerk my thumb pueblo art-deco-wards. I’m telling myself God hates a coward, but it’s taking more than I’ve got to push it enough to find out for sure if he thinks I’m sleeping with my linguist. Ah, for cryin’ out loud. Try completely GONE on my linguist. I glance across at Ferretti’s face as we make our way up the stairs, but he’s focused on Em, who’s giggly and working the big grey-eyed charm on a Southern Comfort-susceptible Daniel.
I’m not exactly panicking here, Ferretti is a good man with a lot of respect for Daniel, and as long as he only suspects, I know I can trust him not to say or do a single thing that would hurt Daniel. If he has a problem, he’ll bring it to me. Ferretti is as aware as I that Daniel was pegged as gay by the ignorant, envious and libidinous from the moment he walked into the mountain five years ago. It’s a concern.
There are plenty of guys in any command looking for a little stress-relief with the like-minded and believe me, I know Daniel is at the top of most wish-lists. He’s blithely unaware of course, and we’ve kept it that way. The private locker room and shower for my kids is as much for Daniel’s dignity as Carter’s. The rumours about him being my fuck-toy have been circulating for years. Some of the shit-stirrers think I’m doing Carter but thanks to my inability to keep my hands off, we’re looking at a Spacemonkey majority. It makes me see red that ANYONE could look at Daniel Jackson and only see a stellar piece of ass.
The irony doesn’t escape me. Those who think that way - and even at the SGC with the best and the brightest we get them - will waste hours speculating on just how I fuck Daniel six ways from Sunday, but let them get a whiff of the fact I’ve fallen in love with him, or God forbid, he fucked ME, and hell will hath no fury. I really don’t want to go around killing my fellow Airmen, so whatever Daniel may feel on the subject, I’m taking advantage of his protectiveness because I happen to agree we don’t tell. Ever.
Ferretti glances at me questioningly and moves ahead to pay when I shrug. Too late to worry now, but after the fuss I made about taking him out to dinner, Daniel isn’t even carrying his wallet and that great food I can’t remember eating is going to set me back something in the region of eighty bucks and possibly my career.
All I can do is bull my way through it like always. Ferretti watches with mild interest as I pay. He glances thoughtfully over at Daniel and Emily, cosily huddled while Daniel ‘explains’ the vase.
“You start eatin’ QUICHE, Sir, I’ll worry.” Ferretti winks at me, firmly retrieves his wife, who’s disposed to linger, and swaggers off in a chorus of goodnights.
And that’s it. Huge honkin’ revelation here. Hey guys, listen up, O’Neill is de facto GAY, as in COLONEL O’Neill, did you catch the GAY thing? O’NEILL. GAY. Takin’ it up the ass every chance he gets! All that and Ferretti doesn’t even break a sweat. It’s goddamn TYPICAL of the man to beat me to the punch, AND throw in the same goddamn cryptic socio-cultural critiquing he used to yank my chain over the Yjro for good measure. He drives me NUTS.
He’s a good man.
Daniel wanders back to my side. I wonder how much of that exchange he caught, but I don’t want to sour the mood with the cosmic injustice of frickin’ Air Force policy, not when Daniel is so damn happy and pleasantly wired from the booze. So we just walk out together, close. Close enough so Daniel's knuckles skim over mine as we walk. He stills his hand and my fingers just...JUST curl over his.
It's dark out, it's late, people are dunk and uncaring, thinking of home. They don't see two men stealing glances and holding hands. Just about.
They don't know mystique, or the pang that shoots right through me as Daniel's fingers part and mine slip between for a few steps, or when he frees me and one long finger strokes against mine from time to time.
I could stick my hand on his ass and it wouldn't be the same. This is wanting, and waiting, and knowing. Our eyes meet as we turn the corner. Maybe it's as simple as being the only ones to know we love.
“I TOTALLY want to hear that orgasm music when we get back,” I insist.
"I love Southern Comfort," I confide.
"Me too," Jack agrees softly, taking another lingering sip from our glass, his eyes glittering at me. He's naked, comfortably sprawled against the headboard, all my pillows heaped behind him in a pointed anti-concussion measure.
I kiss him as he rolls the Southern Comfort over his palate, gliding my tongue deep into his mouth to taste warm whisky, the heat of Jack behind it.
Jack sighs and pulls me into him, his hands heating my skin through the thin silk. The shirt is all I'm wearing, mostly unbuttoned, falling off my shoulders and whispering over Jack's bare thighs and abdomen.
We're going to make love, soon. The wanting is hanging heavy between us, and my wanton slow burn writhing in Jack's lap is driving us out of our minds.
"No?" I whisper against his lips, breaking away to trail kisses over his cheek when his lips move over mine.
"No," Jack refuses.
The sweat is standing on his brow, trickling down his cheeks, mute testimony of the effort it's taking him to withstand me. His body is pleasure-blushed, his breathing quick and shallow, belying his calm refusal.
I track a droplet of sweat down over his cheekbone, catch it with my tongue to lick idly up along its path.
Jack's ridged stomach muscles flex beneath the glistening skin as he rocks beneath me. He’s stroking against me deliciously, sensuously and I'm moving easily with him, just enough friction between us to drive him insane.
We each want our way. I want Jack inside me, and I am going to have him. Jack WANTS, but he won't hurt. He doesn't believe he didn't hurt me the first time we made love so I'm having to work to convince him he's wrong. Slowly. Thoroughly. Maddeningly.
"No," Jack says again, a hint of a laugh in his voice.
He's softening. Except for...which is…WONDERFULLY hard. "Oh, God, I want this, I want you."
"Danny," Jack sighs a protest.
I dip my fingers into the glass, drizzle the whisky onto the pulse point at his throat and suckle. Jack moans and tilts his chin to give me better access.
"I really, REALLY want you inside me." I bite at his Adam's apple.
"You liked that?" Jack asks eagerly.
"I LOVED that," I answer honestly. "I wasn't prepared for how much I love it. I wasn't really prepared for any of it. It was…it…"
"What?" Jack mumbles against the point of my shoulder, which he's biting at.
"It was the easiest thing," I confess. "There's probably some manual that says intercourse is supposed to be this huge guilt and pain deal, right?"
Jack snorts. "Right," he agrees unsteadily, his hand slipping down between us.
I groan as he holds my penis cupped in the palm his hand, his thumb pressing into the head as he grips and glides slowly up and down.
"My ass does not agree," I refute that as crisply as his lazily knowing bigtime payback hand allows me to. "My masculinity failed to curl up and die on me so I'm not certain what..." I whimper as he rubs his thumb in tender circles along that big vein, just…just…”Oooh.”
"The manual," Jack obligingly supplies as he dips his head to flick his tongue at my nipples.
"Thanks…says about how I'm supposed to feel right now." I look at him shyly, clearing my throat awkwardly. "All I know is I love getting fucked. LOVE it. Ignorance was bliss in this case," I suggest gruffly. "I thought it would feel like your finger inside me, which I couldn't stop thinking about the WHOLE time we were off-world by the way. If only I'd known it was a STRONG indicator of how I would react to…" I give a wicked little shimmy on the member in question, which has Jack jack-knifing and hissing a warning. "More," I sigh.
"MUCH more," Jack chuckles complacently.
"I didn't think about being hurt, I just wanted you SO much. I wasn’t thinking at all. I mean, I'm a man. A hitherto straight man who loves to be fucked and didn't even know it until I got fucked." I am not about to tell him that when presented with the option, my ass cut out my conscious mind and decided all on its own I was a SOLID lock for a Kinseyish – a strictly one-man Kinseyish - six. And my Jack better be too if he knows what’s good for him.
"Ditto," Jack agrees encouragingly, sympathetic hands rushing to reassure my apparently stressed out hair. "I'm fond of it myself."
"Can't you leave that alone?" I complain. I don’t go around fondling his thighs, do I? Not THAT often. It’s really hard to come up with convincing excuses.
I scowl at him, which prompts him to kiss my nose. "I'm trying to apologise for sexually objectifying you here, you know," I reproach him. "I used to look at you and think Jack equalled 'friend'."
"Jack equalled 'pain in the ass'," Jack grumbles.
"That too," I admit generously. "Now I look at you and think God is he HAIRY and Jack equals 'MINE', 'hot', 'sex', 'hot sex NOW!' and 'MINE!!!'."
"You said that already," my COMPLETELY private property points out.
"I think it a LOT," I admit, embarrassed.
"What are you thinking right now?" Jack asks as he slides his hand slowly up my sweat-soaked thigh.
"Oh." Jack winks at me.
"HOT and mine." And if we’re being completely honest. Hot sex NOW! And mine.
"I love sex. I've missed it desperately. I've wanted sex with you so long I was going insane and now I get to have sex with you I find I'm loving it more and more," Jack informs my hair warmly, soothing, petting and nuzzling. "I want it more and more and I'm going to be hurting people if I don't get it long…”
I’m NOT growing it back!
“…hot, satisfying and often."
Oh. It’s not just the hair and the food preparation for him and…"It's not JUST the sex," I mutter. "I do love you. Desperately."
Jack beams at me. "Ditto. And one of the things I love desperately about you is that you are so damned passionate and sensual. You love sex. I love giving you sex again."
"So?" I demand. "Get over here and objectify me!" NOW!!!
"I want to," Jack groans. "But…"
"But me no butts! Two out of two dicks agree here. I don't hurt, it's not too soon, and I WANT you. NOW."
"I hate labels, Jack. I refuse to be what some book or scale or score or loser says I should be. I just AM. The first time didn't hurt, the second won't…the third, the fiftieth…If we're talking qualitatively…" I stroke a coaxing hand over his chest, gently fingering his nipples, enjoying him glazing over.
"You mean quantitatively," Jack corrects, smirking. "Why don't we cut the crap and get your chess timer in here?"
I glare at him. We're way up there on hot, satisfying and often, but LONG needs some work. "I have a loft FULL of ceremonial doodads, Jack, so FUCK me already."
I thump hard into the pillows as his weight slams down onto me. I beam up at him, stretching out luxuriously as I wrap my legs around his waist and wriggle encouragingly. The lube is somewhere in the bed with us, so no excuses on that score. I reach up and pull him down into a deep, passionate kiss, our tongues wrapping around one another, thrusting and grinding in time to Jack's fingers stroking in my ass. He probes the sullen pleasure spot inside, mercilessly massaging until I'm writhing, whimpering and cursing him.
"Could you sound a little less smug?" Jack complains. "Tryin' for that Alpha thing here."
"Oh. What am I supposed to..." I look questioningly up at him. I’ll play.
"Quivery and helpless," Jack says emphatically.
Oh, not a chance. Embarrassingly eager I can do. My penis is at right angles to the rest of me and I can't SEE straight. "I'm mussed," I offer by way of softening the blow.
Jack's eyes dwell lovingly on my hair and go puppy on me as he kisses my brow – hair - tenderly.
"Can we start now?"
"I love you." Jack strokes his thumb tenderly over my lips.
"Um-hm. Now? I really…Now please, Jack. Seriously." I bite his thumb for emphasis, blithely ignoring his pained yelp.
“Jeez, that hurt,” Jack whines, cradling his thumb like it’s going to drop off or something.
I feel around in the bed, the little bugger is around here SOMEWH…Gotcha! I hurl the tube at him. Ooh. GOOD reflexes. Mm-hm!
“The manual says I’m supposed to ask you if you’re SURE at this point, but you’d probably club me to death with it if I took a time out.”
He can say that with the fullest confidence and HURRY THE HELL UP.
Jack futzes with the lube with ill grace, then kneels between my thighs, looking at me. "Acushla," he announces in a tone that more or less garrottes the sentiment in its tracks.
I blush to the roots of my hair. Tactically sappy Gaelic. Is it any wonder I'm DESPERATE for Jack? I LOVE this man. And I'm desperate for him.
I'd be the first to admit I'm not TOTALLY up on positions for this, since my expectation first time out was to suck pillow rather than tongue, but Jack lifting my ass onto his thighs surprises me a little. "Your knees?" I prompt anxiously. I'm six feet tall. I'm not light, even with the haircut.
Jack's eyes are black with desire and the sheer deadly menace he exudes sends delicious chills quivering down my spine.
"Alpha," I recognise happily. "Woo Hoo!" The menace becomes homicide-tinged. "Help?" I offer unconvincingly in a small voice. "I need some work on the…" I shrug. Jack seems to agree. "I'm trying," I complain.
"Very," Jack agrees silkily, taking hold of my hips.
I'm really glad for once I have these stupid gangly legs, because it's the easiest thing in the world to hook them right round his back. Fucking is definitely going to be good for tone and definition. Speaking of which…I love the hard warmth cradling my ass but not as much as I love the hard heat slowly, inexorably pushing into my ass.
"Oh, Jack," I moan, arching my back into the air to brace on my shoulders, arms outflung and clenching at the headboard as he thrusts into me. Instinctually I push down and Jack cries out ecstatically as he glides home in one loooong smooooth stroke, right where my body needs him to be. "Jaa-aack."
I'm mesmerised by Jack's starkly beautiful face, tense and greedy, pulled taut around liquid eyes filled with love as he tenderly fucks me.
"Loooove you," I moan, writhing hard against his thighs as he MOVES, stroking gently deep inside, powerful thigh muscles lifting me into his thrusts.
'Love you' Jack mouths, throwing back his head proudly. His arms curve under my thighs and over my hips, holding my weight as he rocks easily into me.
He feels incredible, filling me, satisfying a need I didn't know I had, stroking into me with rhythmic, relentless discipline, into an ache of grief and fear I've known so long it's part of me.
"OhgodohgodohGOD-GOO-OOD," I groan as he lifts under me and strikes the sullen spot deep inside, pleasure stabbing through me to slam into my mind, turning circles. My senses fall away from me. I know nothing but the soft words he murmurs and the feel of him, the beat of blood pulsing and throbbing the length of his penis, massaging muscles stretched tight to fit me to him exactly. He moves tirelessly, subtly, stroking with aching tenderness into my prostate. He's driving me out of my mind; pure, slowly intensifying sensation shuddering voluptuously through me, endlessly milking his penis.
"Ah, Danny, ah, CHRIST, love you, fucking LOVE you, ah, dear Goo-oo-ood," Jack hisses through clenched teeth. "Soooo gooood."
I open heavy eyes and fight to focus on him, grunting and purple with effort, sweat rolling and dripping off his nose and chin as every muscle strains to hold him to this stunningly sleek, satisfyingly sloooow stroking deep inside.
Mine. I didn't take, CAN'T take anything he doesn't GIVE. Jack chose me, he waited for me and he is never, ever going to quit on me. Never. I'm not alone. Jack is with me.
I love him and he's MINE.
He surges up, head snapping back, howling as I reflexively clench hard around him. He stills, soft eyes wide and wild, holding my gaze as his hips spasm and he comes luxuriously, pumping slick heat into me. “Daaaanny.”
"Love you, Jack," I sigh as my shudders spill out of me to pulse over us both. As he softens, Jack eases carefully free, tumbling down boneless into my waiting arms to kiss me at last, fast and furious, melting softness. Jack.
Jack is with me, giving me the one thing I lost so long ago I can barely remember what it feels like. My Jack is home to me. I...I BELONG.
"Jack?" I whisper huskily into his ear as I cradle him to me.
"Mm-hm?" Jack gently kisses my brow.
"I have a confession to make."
"Mm-hm." He nibbles my - big shock here - hair.
"I HATE your stupid hockey hat," I say defiantly.
"Mm-WHAT?" Jack rears up, seething.
TEXTBOOK Alpha! WOO HOO! Bring It ON! “Wanna hear that orgasm music?” I leer up at him, madly groping his ass.
“Jesus,” Jack bleats, beating my hands away, eyes appalled. “I’ve created a MONSTER.” He collapses on my chest, groaning pitifully.
“Now THAT’S quivery and helpless,” I observe complacently, clamping my hands back on his behind.