Work Header

Package Deal

Work Text:

Daniel swung through the door and pulled up short when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Somehow it was even weirder to see himself in reflection than it was to look at his own body from the outside. He had to tip his head back slightly to look the reflection in the eyes, his sense-memory of how he held his own head at odds with the physical shape of the body he was in now. The person that stared back at him was totally familiar, but right now, totally wrong: military-short, silvering hair, dark eyes, long, lean, but well muscled body swaddled in slightly too big fatigues. A shape that he would recognise anywhere, a shape that he knew by now almost as well as his own, disturbingly different when it was seen as he was seeing it now.

Daniel stood and stared for a moment before his sense of shock retreated in the face of the urgency of his mission and he turned for the urinal.

And stopped dead.


He was about to touch Jack's dick, haul it out of Jack's pants, and point it at the porcelain.

Big, as they say, deal.

Well yeah, actually, it was. For sure, he didn't have any objections per se to touching Jack's dick, hadn't had in theory virtually from the hour they'd met. He'd spent some happy times jerking off to thoughts of feeling it, smooth and hot and slippery in his hand, against his ass, in his ass. But these always included Jack's enthusiastic participation, nothing like this at all. And despite the fact that Jack had – not given his blessing, exactly, but had certainly bowed to the logistics, this felt like the worst type of prying. Although any alternative he could think of wasn't pretty.

Gingerly, he tackled the fly. So far, so good. Jack was dressed to the right though, and that was -- odd. Not quite comfortable, when he stopped to think about it. Which he did momentarily when he reached in and missed his target by an unsettling margin. He swapped hands and tried again: not a comfortable position for him, the real him in its right vessel, and that stepped up the peculiarity level as it forced him to think about what he was doing in a way that he probably hadn't done since toddlerhood.

He really, really didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to get it over with, get back to the machine, and get back into his own body.

A twinge in the region of his lower belly reminded him of his mission objective. Sighing, he groped around for a moment or two before his fingers finally met warm skin. Jack's dick felt oddly unwieldy as he manoeuvred it out and finally let fly but oh god, the initial release felt almost orgasmic.

He realised he was holding himself, correction, holding Jack, gingerly from underneath, his dick lying across his fingertips: not normal – not even normal for Jack, he suspected - and not very conducive to good aim. He relaxed, dropping his shoulders and shifting his stance, and changed his grip, adopting something like his usual position, four fingers crooked underneath and thumb on top. It still felt odd though, using his wrong hand, so he changed over. Oh yeah, much more comfortable. Jack's dick nestled into his hand as if it belonged there, slightly warmer and definitely thicker than his own, thrumming minutely with the steadiness of the flow through it.

He'd have to be made of stone not to want to store up this moment, itemise the sensations, squirrel them away for future reference, even if this was probably the weirdest situation he'd ever found himself in. It wasn't going to last, and Jack would never know, so where was the harm?

He reached this conclusion just as the flow petered out to a trickle, then a spurt or two, then a couple of drops. Reflexively, he did what he always did: he went to push the foreskin forward to expel them, prior to a shake and wipe. It didn't have the usual effect, so he did it again, and yet a third time, a little more firmly, before he realised that this wasn't going to have any effect on a circumcised dick.

At least, not the effect he anticipated.

Jack's dick was rising in his hand, growing longer and firmer as he watched. The big vein on the underside pulsed against his fingers, and every time it throbbed against them he felt it with Jack's balls as much as his fingers.


He tried giving it a hard squeeze, but dickzilla there just kept on growing. He tried again, harder this time, hard enough to pull on a couple of pubic hairs, and ran through his usual menu of concepts guaranteed to nip an untoward erection in the bud, but the damn thing seemed to have a life of its own. There was no way this puppy was going down any time soon. Jack's body was apparently on autopilot, hot-wired into some weird kind of physical feedback loop, and Daniel's panicky mental input seemed to be making no impact at all.

Maybe cold water would work. Daniel turned towards the facilities, took a step towards them, and for a second time pulled up short when he spotted his reflection. And stared. Jack, with an erection, looked... beautiful. There was no other word for it. His face was slightly flushed, mouth a little slack, eyes glittering and even darker than usual with arousal. The dick in his hand was long, slightly longer than Daniel's although maybe not so thick, the head standing proud from the slight ridge of tissue where the foreskin had been. As he stood looking at it he felt another surge to his groin, and Jack's dick swelled a little more: something about the sudden spasm in his balls told Daniel that this was it. Jack was fully erect. And the idea of cold water was desperately unattractive.

So, problem. There was no way he could stroll back out of the john in this condition; that would embarrass both him and Jack. No, the obvious solution was probably the best. And probably the quickest. This body's breathing was speeding up, and Jack's dick jerked a couple of times against his palm, reminding him that he was still standing holding it and registering its vote for the obvious solution.

And, god dammit, he was aroused, him, inside Jack's head - but above all, he was curious. No other way was he going to get this, he'd come to terms with that a long time ago. He hadn't asked for this situation, but he was pragmatic enough to realise that his solution was probably the best of a bad set of options. As long as Jack didn't find out, he could live with himself, and hug his enjoyment to himself. He shrugged and headed for a stall. Door locked, he wadded up a handful of tissue and laid it ready on the tank, slid pants and boxers down to his knees and settled down, knees splayed, on the toilet seat.

He grasped Jack's dick firmly, and gave a couple of experimental pulls. Not much response there; maybe his touch was too firm, maybe not firm enough. He experimented with a couple of variations. Hmm, interesting: what worked best was a light, feathery touch, at least to start with. Wouldn't necessarily have worked for him, but for this body – well. Results spoke for themselves. He added the slightest scratch of his nails and hoo boy, that was good. Jack's reaction left him no doubt that this technique was a winner.

God, this felt weird. Normally he knew exactly what to do to bring himself off, didn't need to particularly think about it. This was intriguingly different. Odd experience, to be feeling quite so uncertain of his technique from the inside while concentrating so hard on what he was feeling from the outside. When he got it right, the payback was huge. But he was always distanced from it by the minutest degree, feeling and observing at the same time. Not distanced enough to be marring his enjoyment, just distracted enough to keep him slightly off-kilter.

Just like any other first time, although with added benefits, to be sure.

First time. When the thought sank in he speeded up, and oh yeah, that was building nicely. He could feel the tension knotting in the lower belly, feel the gathering tightness in the balls.

He slid his left hand down to cup said balls. They dropped into his hand, warm and heavy, skin wrinkled and soft, and fireworks went off in Daniel's brain. The warmth and softness against his palm did it right up for him, as it did for Jack apparently, if the throbbing in his dick was any measure.

His right hand was a blur now, and Daniel had to concentrate hard on silence as his knees began to tremble. He ran the left thumb over the soft skin at the root of Jack's shaft and yeah, that was it. Even the need to be quiet couldn't completely stifle the muted groan that bubbled up from his chest as he shot Jack's load, He barely had the presence of mind to angle his body so the come hit the stall and not Jack's clothing as he groped behind him for the wad of tissue to clap it over the head of Jack's dick.

He couldn't afford the luxury of the afterglow for more than a moment or two. He'd already been away for a while – although when he glanced at his watch, not really so long. Janet had said 'no more than ten minutes' to do what she had to do, and he'd only had six or seven. He could explain away that amount of time due to the awkwardness of the situation but he couldn't delay any longer, not without some potentially awkward questions rearing their ugly heads when he got back. He carefully cleaned Jack off then turned his attention to the side wall of the stall. When he was satisfied he'd tidied up satisfactorily he flushed the tissue and zipped up, then had to do it again to readjust his dick to something more like Jack's usual position, stepped out of the stall and washed his hands.

When he glanced up at the mirror again, he was captivated by the look of Jack's post-orgasmic face: relaxed, slightly sheened with sweat that glistened where it caught the harsh overhead light, eyes heavy-lidded, content. A good look on Jack, so much softer and more open than his normal austere expression, something else to be squirrelled away against a rainy day. Pity he would never see it for real. Correction, pity he would never see it for Daniel. But at least he had this. And now that the deed was done, he couldn't feel guilty about it at all. Or at least, he could accept the slight guilt he was feeling as an equitable trade-off. It was just one more secret that he'd have to keep, another 'need to know' to add to his growing store. Neither Jack nor Sha're ever needed to know.

It wouldn't do for going back to the ward though. He splashed cold water on his face, seeing with satisfaction when he'd finished that it was no longer so flushed and his eyes were now alert again. That would have to do. The walk back to Machello's bedside would take care of the rest. He consciously allowed Jack's face to settle back into its normal cast and headed out the door.

He got back into the ward to be waved forward impatiently by Sam. Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Our turn.”

Daniel stepped forward and grasped the handles, and felt again the nauseating wrench of dislocation and relocation as his eyes refocussed on the abruptly different perspective.

“!'m back,” he said. He patted himself down, then examined his hands, first the palms, then the backs as he ran an internal diagnostic and verified that yes, he was indeed back where he ought to be. He was vaguely aware that Jack was doing much the same thing but the bulk of his concentration was taken up with his inspection of himself. So he missed the moment when Jack turned to give him a sharp look from under lowered brows...