Harry Malone tried hard to keep the smile from springing to his lips at the look on Sam Curtis' face as the other man looked up from the file he'd just read through, the file marked 'Top Secret'.
"You can't be serious."
"Perfectly," replied Malone succinctly.
"But... but... sheep ?!"
" Combat Sheep, actually."
Malone's attention was drawn to the other person in the room. Chris Keel was leaning against the back wall, grinning.
"You know these guys?" Curtis asked in shock.
"You could say that," came the reply.
"But, they're sheep . "
Malone sighed inwardly. The British half of his best team seemed fixated on the ovine nature of those who were going to help on their next assignment.
Curtis went on, turning back to Malone as he continued his tirade. "You know, sheep - grazing, dipping, wool, mint sauce! They aren't exactly the kind of Back-up I'd like to go into a gunfight with."
"Excuse me, Mr Curtis," Malone interrupted dryly, before the younger man had a chance to come up with any more objections, "if you're going to have this argument could you at least have it outside? Some of us have work to do."
Keel smirked as he pushed himself off the wall and walked over to Curtis. "C'mon, Sam, I'll explain this to you outside."
Motioning for Curtis to leave ahead of him, Keel glanced over at Malone and shrugged apologetically as he walked towards the door.
As the door to his office shut, Malone finally allowed the grin to come to his face as he heard a fading British accent questioning its partner with the words, "But... sheep?!"
"CI5!!!! We're working with f*cking CI5??" an outraged Scottish voice reverberated across the almost empty public house.
Harris glanced round worriedly but fortunately none of the other patrons seemed to have been disturbed by Moose's outburst.
"I'm no working...."
"Moose...please," Harris implored, "I know you've worked with them in the past but that was years ago."
"Bloody curly haired poof...." Moose continued to mutter irately to himself. "And his partner...."
"Moose...." Peaches lay a calming hoof on Moose' foreleg. "This is a simple job. It will be fine."
"Beside it's the first paying job we've had in ages and I'm well out of dope and Special." Cooper added waving a rather over-long cigarette in the air.
Harris and Peaches exchanged a concerned glance about their fourth but turned to a rather more immediate problem. "Moose you have to come with us. We need you."
Moose stopped his muttering but still looked unhappy. Obviously the former Navy mascot was not going to leave his comrades in the lurch but he had serious misgivings about working with the British counter- insurgency unit. "So when are we meeting them?" he eventually asked.
"In one hour." Harris announced quickly. "We're meeting two of their best agents...."
"... or so we're told." Moose added darkly.
Keel looked curiously around the darkened, smoke filled bar. The dark oak panelling and the deep red velvet of the seats against the walls were everything he had ever thought of when he had first gotten word of his posting to the UK counter insurgency force, the infamous C15, cre de la crème, his first visit to the old Country, since those early happy days, before the bitter, lonely pain...
"Are you having flash backs again?"
"Sorry," Keel rummaged in his pocket and tipped a handful of purple pills into his palm, and knocked them back. "I should be okay in twenty minutes. Kick me if I start talking about Dickensian atmospheres, okay?"
Curtis nodded, curtly. "Our contacts should be here soon, then?"
"Well, who are we looking for? What do they look like?"
Keel gave him an irritated look. "They're sheep. You know, short, white fluffy. Actually," he paused reminiscently, "I once knew a sheep - more of a ginger colour really."
Curtis waited... and waited... then kicked Keel sharply in the left ankle.
" Why are you reminiscing about sheep?"
Curtis frowned suspiciously. "You don't have Welsh ancestry do you?"
"No!" Keel denied, too quickly.
"You do, don't you!"
"What, I'm sick? I'm not the one whose mind is in the gutter!"
"Keel? Chris Keel?!" an amazed voice broke into the argument.
Keel turned sharply, his face breaking into a huge grin, "Moose! Moose you old ram!" "Chris-" the tall sheep walked slowly towards the two men. "I thought -- they told me-- my God, man, I thought you were dead! Chris !!!"
Moose couldn't help the grimace on his face as they walked into the bar. He didn't want to be here. CI5 could all go screw themselves as far as he was concerned. He didn't care if the entire bloody lot of them got blown to Kingdom Come by the terrorists they were trying to stop.
"Come on, they're over there."
Harris' voice broke into Moose's reverie, and the larger sheep reluctantly followed the other three over to a corner of the bar, stopping as he saw the back of the man sitting there. It couldn't be, it was impossible. Moose blinked and shook his head, but the vision was still the same. Bloody hell... "Keel? Chris Keel?"
The dark-haired man turned sharply, blue eyes fixing sharply on Moose as he broke into a grin. "Moose!" he exclaimed. "Moose, you old ram!"
"Chris..." Moose walked towards him, almost on automatic. "I thought -" He'd believed. "They told me-" And he'd never questioned them. "My God, man, I thought you were dead!" He'd mourned. He'd mourned, and wept. He'd stood over a grave and poured out his grief. And then he'd locked it away, vowing never to trust anyone again, never to allow himself feel that way again. "Chris!!!" But, they'd lied, they had to have lied, because here he was. Alive. Whole.
Chris stood up, facing Moose, looking contrite. "I wanted to tell you," he started, "but they wouldn't let me."
Moose frowned. Wouldn't let him?
"It was the mission, no one could know I was still alive."
Chris was still speaking, but Moose couldn't hear him. Couldn't hear anything past the rushing of blood through his ears and the pounding knowledge that Chris had lied to him. Had let him grieve, let him believe that he was dead.
Moose looked down at Chris' hand on his front leg, red enveloping him. Shrugging off the concerned hand, Moose pulled back his hard, sharp- edged hoof, and let fly, smiling in satisfaction as Keel flew back over the table and crashed to the floor. "You bastard! I thought you were dead!"
Chris staggered to his feet, rubbing his jaw. "I couldn't tell you..."
"Couldn't tell me?! Of course, you could have f*cking told me! You could have told me the night before. Remember that night? Because I do. It was the night I f*cking well told you I loved you, you lying sack of sh*t."
Moose raised a hoof, cutting him off. "Save it, Keel. I don't want to hear it, any of it." Unable to face looking at Keel, and not wanting to answer any of the questions he could hear forming in his team mates' minds, Moose turned and walked up to the bar. Up to the bar and away from Chris Keel, away from the only man who had ever meant anything to him. Away from his heart. Christ, he needed a drink....
Curtis was confused.
Actually that was a bit of an understatement. However, despite an education as vast and expensive Oxford and the many years of work within CI5 and MI6 which had provided with experience that very few people could match, Sam didn't have the vocabulary to match his emotions at that point.
He watched Chris rub his jaw and look forlornly at the hunched figure now standing at the bar and let his gaze settle on the rest of Moose' team.
They all looked.... well.... sheepish!
"...." Curtis opened his mouth but nothing came out. He closed it again, swallowed then tried again. "...?"
"Moose doesn't talk a lot about his past." One of the sheep, Sam assumed it was Peaches, seeing as his dossier of their contacts talked about one... um... female and three male sheep and this one had rather large false eyelashes and lipstick. "But I knew that he had been hurt badly." She glanced sympathetically at the figure at the bar. "But I'd always assumed that it was by another mascot not a...." she stopped and twirled one hoof around in the air, "...you know."
"He always had diverse tastes." Cooper added, "but you know the military... Don't ask. Don't tell."
Curtis gaped but Cooper carried on regardless. The sheep seemed to be very knowledgeable about his comrade's past 'conquests' and was very eager to share.
But there were just some things that Sam simply did not want to know and he quickly made his excuses and sidled over to his partner.
His partner seemed to be lost in thought. F*uck not again! Sam thought. He fished into his pockets and pulled out a handful of pills that looked distinctly like the ones Chris had already taken. Discarding the purple ones as ineffective he palmed three green ones and handed them to his partner.
Chris accepted them without protest popping them into his mouth like skittles. "I can't believe he's here." He muttered. "I wanted to tell him..." he turned to Sam, eyes wide, a crystalline single tear rolled slowly down his cheek. "I l... lov..." Chris seemed unable to continue and turned back to stare at ... his lost love?
Moose knocked back another Special Brew, and grimly nodded to the barman for another.
"Moose-" It was Harris. The old warhorse, er, warsheep, was looking sympathetically at him. He glared, and looked away.
"You can talk to me," Harris said softly. "I understand. I've been where you are..."
"Yeah," Cooper shipped in brightly from the other side. "Hell, I've been in other continents , and still been where you are. Welshmen, New Zealanders, New Foundlanders, Scots. They're all the same."
He paused, then looked around the bar, realising belatedly that he was the sole speaker in a vast crowd of horrified, yet strangely fascinated onlookers.
"Baaaahstards. Here," Cooper passed Moose a spliff from some mysterious place within his fleece.
Moose took a deep drag.
"We understand," It was Peaches, "But we Combat Sheep (Protection, Correction, Detection), must stick together. We have a job to do. Besides, we won't get paid if we don't get the job done. If we don't get the job done... the job...done...oh god, the job...done..."
Curtis silently passed Harris a handful of the purple pills.
Some hours later the two teams had moved the plot (hell, the authors weren't getting anywhere...) to the site of the crime.
"What crime was it, exactly," Harris asked inquisitively.
Back-up leaned forward from over her laptop in the rear of the sleek silver car, parked inconspicuously outside a seedy, rundown warehouse, in a seedy, rundown area.
"Well," She cleared her throat, this was her big moment, her chance to prepare the scene, just call her Ms Exposition...
"Three years ago, in Outer Mongolia, a series of heinous robberies took place involving ancient, yet strangely technologically advanced, artefacts. They were discovered by a team of archaeologists, including Doctor Jordan, of the University of Chicago. Before the huge, almost Egyptian looking sarcophagi were taken back to America, they were stolen. The only clue was a piece of string, a strip of bubblegum, and a piece of fleece."
"Wait a minute," Harris interrupted before she could go any further. "Are you suggesting that a sheep was involved in this?"
"Either that or someone who had a sheepskin jacket," Curtis muttered, yelping when Peaches kicked him in the shin.
Back-up cleared her throat loudly. "As I was saying..." she said tartly. "The only clues were the string, the bubblegum and the fleece. The door to the storage room didn't look as thought it had been forced, and we still don't know how the thieves got in."
"So, why are we looking into this?" asked Keel, leg twitching as he pointedly ignored the large sheep sitting in the passenger seat. "Especially since it happened three years ago?"
Back-up glanced down quickly before finally meeting his eyes. "I don't know," she admitted.
"You don't know?" Curtis repeated. "But... but... you always know," he stuttered. "It's why you're here. We need to know something and you tell us."
"Look," Back-up snapped, "I don't bloody well know, all right! Malone called me into his office five minutes after you two left this morning and this is what he told me. All I know is what happened three years ago."
"So what are we meant to do about it?" Sam asked. "I mean, the theft didn't even take place over here."
"Well, that's the other thing I got sent to tell you." Back-up leant down and flipped open her briefcase, picking up several small booklets and handing them out.
"What are these?" Harris asked as he took the booklet off her.
"Those are your tickets to Outer Mongolia. You leave on the 8pm plane tonight."
Curtis's eyes fixated on the sight of Peaches' bottom as it bounced up and down on the back of a yak. He liked to think that it was because of the driving blizzard that howled around them and that his line of vision only extended a couple of yards but there was rather a hypnotic rhythm to the young ex-army mascot's rear-end...
A sneeze directly behind him thankfully broke that line of thought. His partner sneezed once more before sniffing twice and giving a deep sigh. Twenty-four hours after 'The Incident' where Chris and Moose reunited and the young man had spiralled into a deep depression. The object of his melancholia was bravely leading their yak caravan up the steep side of a mountain to the cave where the sarcophagi had been found. A large gold tinged fleece draped ceremonially across the top. Visions of mythological symbolism had flashed before Sam's eyes before Back-up had informed them that there had been a small embroidered patch on the back proudly stating 'Made in Taiwan'.
It was the disappearance of the occupant of the sarcophagi that had CI5 involved. Why? Sam still couldn't fathom but involved they were.
Curtis turned round as well he could on the back of the yak and whilst wearing thick winter clothing to face his partner.
"Sam?" Chris called out again and Sam slowed his yak down fractionally in order to allow Chris to catch up. His partner was looking pale and drawn. Far too pale to be accounted for by the cold weather.
"You okay, Chris?" Sam asked.
Chris shook his head. "Sam, I'm not feeling well...." he confided before his eyes fluttered closed and he swooned gracefully off the back-end of the yak.
"Chris?!" Sam leapt from his own yak to kneel at his dear friend's side. He gently lifted the limp body into his arms, out of the cold, wet snow, and peered anxiously into his partner's pallid features. Chris's lips were blue, his dark lashes formed a perfect semi-circle where they rested on the fine etched cheekbones. He swallowed at the perfect beauty of his unconscious partner, and roughly shook him by the shoulders. "Keel! Wake up!!" He slapped lightly at Chris' cheeks. The dark head lolled rolling with each blow.
"What are you doing?" Peaches shrieked, after taking a hasty glance at Moose's strained features. The local food wasn't sitting well in the older sheep's stomach.
"I'm trying to wake him up, dammit!" Sam opened his jacket and pulled Chris in close. "Body warmth! It's the only thing that'll save him from a terrible, lingering, but above all, cold death from hypothermia."
"Aren't you going to get cold like that?" Harris asked, bewildered.
"No. It's an authorial device, and only one person is allowed to get hypothermia at a time. It's part of the h/c guild rules."
"Okay." Harris turned away and started moving back up the hill, leaving the two humans to their peculiar ways.
Keel's eyes fluttered open. His gaze lighted on his partner's anxious orbs peering deeply into his, and smiled sweetly up at him. "Sam," he purred.
"Chris?" Sam clasped Chris' hand. "Are you awake?"
"Only if you promise me I'm not dreaming." His lips parted and Sam couldn't help himself, he dipped into the sweet lushness of that warm, wet mouth.
The distant throbbing threnody of electric guitar on reverb echoed through the grey stone chamber. At the window, soft voile curtains flowed and swayed in the breeze through the open windows. The lovers, for such they were, moved and coiled around and over each other.
"Sam, oh Sam..."
"Chris -- do you mean it?" He ducked his head into the hard curve of Keel's collarbone, burying his face in sudden display of nervousness.
Chris wrapped his arms tenderly around his beloved. "Sam, Sam, Sam..." He pressed soft, butterfly kisses into the dark brown hair. "Look at me, my little love!"
Sam's eyes raised shyly to meet Chris' loving gaze. "Oh," he gasped, "Oh, you really mean it?"
Chris grinned wryly, "Yeah, I guess I really do." He caught Sam's brief hesitation, "No, honey, I really mean it. I love you. Only you..." He tilted Sam's chin up with a single finger and took a kiss from those sweet lips.
The two men moved closer and closer, wriggling pleasurably against each other. Their bodies were warm and firm, despite the chill breeze blasting through the open window from the high Asian Steppes (a little known dance troupe...)
Sam pulled away after a long luxurious moment, panting hard. "Only, I thought there was something between you and-"
"Don't say it, my darling, Moose is behind me now." "He is?!!" Sam squeaked lurching out of the bed to check the other side of Chris' back.
"No! Not that kind of behind, dear , I was the one behind for that little.... Dalliance..." He paused reminiscently, but was pulled back to the present by the sound of an irritated cough, and an angry foot tapping on the cold stone floor.
"Sam, love, come back to bed. You'll freeze like that!"
"I don't care! Promise me, promise me Chris, that it truly is behind you. That you'll never look at another " his voice hitched and broke, sliding through the octaves unpleasantly, "At another sheep."
"I promise, my precious-ss-ss."
"You'll throw the wellies away?"
"The wellies are gone as soon as we get home."
"And you'll sell the Welsh sheep farm?"
"Of course, anything for you, snookums."
"And the flock of New Zealand party-sheep?"
"How did you hear about the partysheep?!" He caught himself as Sam glared, "Yes, yes, the party sheep will go too. Only you, for ever and ever," he paused, clasping Sam's hand earnestly to his heaving breast, "to eternity and beyond!"
"Then what are we waiting for!" Sam launched himself at his Chris, his own, his One True Love. They writhed together eagerly, hotly, sweat slicking sweetly between them as the heat built. Their proud manhoods...menhoods? menshood? Members. Their proud members rubbed firmly against hard abdominal muscles. Chris rubbed his feet, still warmly clad in his white towelling sports socks up and down the muscled calves, until Sam yelped, as the towelling snagged and tangled in his leg hairs.
Sam delved deep into his lover's mouth, thrusting his tongue deep into the moist cavern of Chris' mouth exploring every ridge and crack, every nook and cranny. Pausing for breath he called softly, "helloo!" and was gratified to hear the soft echo back from the deep, moist cavern, --hello-lo-lo--
Chris gasped with excitement, and spread his thighs wide, letting Sam slip between.
"You want this?" Sam asked hotly, urgently, his chest heaving. He pressed a hand sweetly between Chris' thighs, sliding it gently down to the dark recessed pucker, the roseate hued furl of love, his darling, sweet brave man's tight little love pucker.
Chris moaned helplessly, arching his back, his hands gripping wildly at Sam's shoulders.
Sam smiled tightly, and cupped the ex-SEAL's flushed face with both hands. He pressed in firmly with one finger, and grinned as Chris gasped and moaned again. "Yes, my slutty little man-bitch, you like this don't you?"
Chris' mind attempted to struggle up through the morass of sugar and sheer, unadulterated pleasure blasting from his every nerve ending to his most ancient, primitive, visceral part of his brain. "How-how many hands-"
Sam grinned, and thrust in deeper. "how about that, my proud hussy?"
"Ohhhhh... ... yesssss-SAMMM!!!""" Chris screamed as his lover reached his pleasure nodule, and flicking the 'on' switch.
Orgasm after orgasm coursed through his wildly writhing body, rushes of pleasure shorting out his whole body, until he collapsed, gasping asthmatically for air, wheezing desperately as Sam flipped him over onto his stomach, getting him ready for the main event. Chris barely had time for an, "I love-oof!" as his ass was stuffed.
They barely had time to really get into it, when Chris was brought out of the throbbing haze of powerful sexual ecstasy by a faint tapping sound on the wall slightly to the left of the four poster bed. He glanced to one side, and caught glimpses of the short orange-robed monk on a small stepladder, hanging a small blue plaque on the wall between the shoves into the pillows that Sam's turbo-charged pump action were causing. The monk smiled and nodded, climbed down from the step stool, bowed, smiled, nodded, and retreated, smiling benignly from the wreaked bed chamber.
Chris was dragged back to the present as Sam collapsed on his back - he'd come and Chris hadn't noticed. Damn. He hastily sorted through his mental rotofile of hot sex fantasies, dismayed to realise that even now, the most interesting, the most exciting ones were... Moose.
Moose couldn't stand to look at the four walls of his dingy room any more. Swiping his can of Special Brew off the table, he headed out of the room and down the corridor. After a few minutes walking through the stone halls, he came to a door with the words 'Garden of Contemplation' burned into the wood. Then his eyes were drawn to the plaque underneath it. Squinting slightly, he read the faded words, 'Do not walk on the grass'.
Opening the door, he stepped out into the garden, looking at the intricate designs raked into the sand. Glancing across the garden he soon spotted a lone monk sitting in contemplation. Heading over to the monk, he tripped over a stone, ruining one of the patterns. Bending down, he quickly drew what he thought was the pattern back into the sand, leading to an entire universe exploding and Cliff Richard being reincarnated as a cockroach (strangely, this did not affect his record sales). Ignoring the now swirling mass of confusion in the previously serene Garden of Contemplation he sat next to the monk. Draining the rest of the can of Special in one swig he looked over at the orange-clad man. "So, mate, anything to do around here on a Friday night?"
The monk remained silent.
"I guess that's a no, then," Moose muttered. "Pity, Friday nights were always fun nights back with..." The words trailed off. He hadn't planned to think of Chris, to think of the sweat-filled nights the two of them had spent in Peterborough. "It wasn't like I meant for it to happen," Moose sighed. "I mean, people, I never bloody liked them to start with. Always after one thing..."
Moose's eyes glazed over as he thought of the first man he had ever been attracted to. Farmer Hamish McAngus had been a strapping wall of a man. His curly strawberry blonde hair flickered from red to blonde in the afternoon sun. Moose had been mesmerised watching him walk across the fields - red, blond, red, blond. All Hamish had needed was green and he could have stood in for the broken traffic lights on Main Street. But Moose had just been an innocent young lamb, naïve to the ways of man and their sheep-seducing tactics. He'd never stood a chance. Hamish used to come into the field at night and stroke his fleece, telling him how lovely and silky it was, and Moose, the young fool, had fallen for it. So, that night when Hamish had led him away from the flock he'd gone willingly. Gone willingly and given away his innocence on a moonlight night, deflowered in a field possessed by things rank and gross in nature, small parcels left there by the cows that had inhabited it the day previously. And he'd thought Hamish had returned his feelings, but he was wrong. He'd just been another lamb to pass the time with. He still couldn't believe how stupid he'd been, declaring his love to a man who laughed and told him he was nothing special, just another piece of meat.
So when the lorry had come to collect them for 'Fraser's Meat Processing Plant', Moose had taken the opportunity to escape. Butting the driver who had been trying to herd him into the back of the lorry he'd made his break for freedom, running over the hills until he thought his heart would burst and his legs would collapse. The fields had gone past in a blurred haze of green until, eventually he'd had to stop, heaving for breath. And when he'd looked up he'd found the pastures gone and replaced with buildings and roads. Shops with bright window displays beckoned him and he breathed them in thirstily as he looked in them and longed for such things as the 'new, improved blender-phone' and 'the underwater pyrography kit'.
But it had been the small building on the corner that had attracted him most. The darkened window with the basic poster proclaiming 'We Need You!' And Moose had wanted to be needed, had needed to be needed. Needed to know he was still worth needing by people who really needed him. So he'd gone inside, head held high. He'd walked over to desk that sat in the corner and looked at the Navel Officer, squinted and then walked out of the Belly Button piercing parlour and headed next door to the Navy Recruitment facility. His head held proudly, he'd trotted towards the man in the highly starched white uniform and proclaimed to him, "I'm ready to be needed".
And needed he was. They attached him to the corps that needed him the most, that needed a mascot to cheer them when they were sent into the war-torn ravaged lands. And it was one of those lands that he'd met Chris...
Peterborough ( shudder ) had been a bloody hell-hole, forcing the worst of men to come to the fore. He still couldn't think about those times without feeling the shudders run through him. Even the mention of the name Peterborough ( shudder ) made him shudder. But within that despair he'd found the most important thing in his life, a good conditioner for his fleece... Oh, and Chris, of course.
Moose could remember the first time he saw Chris like it was yesterday. He'd been standing grazing on one of the fields surrounding the Navy base when he'd seen a man on a blanket, reading a book. Moose couldn't take his eyes off him. He'd never been attracted to a man since Hamish had used and discarded him, but there he was, unable to look away from the dark-haired vision that sat before him. And Chris had noticed, had looked up to see Moose nearly drooling at the sight of him. When Chris had spotted him, Moose had flinched, expecting the derision to fall from the man's lips, expecting the sheep-hating rhetoric that he'd heard so many times before.
But Chris had just smiled, smiled and said "There's a good patch over here."
And that had been it, Moose had been lost, lost to a whirlwind of emotion, a maelstrom of feelings coursing through him. He'd never expected Chris to return his feelings, but he had. And Moose had been elated, elated and terrified, still expecting the crushing blow all men dealt to him eventually. But it hadn't come, and the days were spent in bliss, romping around fields and hills (when they were off duty, of course). They talked and laughed. Nobody had understood him like Chris had, and he understood Chris, just two world-weary sailors taking comfort in each other's company each day. But it wasn't the days Moose remembered most. Oh no, it was the nights that had haunted his dreams. Those damn lust-filled nights...
The monk snored faintly.
Peaches twirled the soft orange fabric around her body and wished for a mirror. Orange was one of her best colours. It brought out the highlights in her hair and complemented her old farm colours. She smoothed out the last of the wrinkles then set forth to find the rest of her team.
Falling flat on her face immediately.
Eventually the little ring of Tweety birds flew away and Peaches picked herself off the slab floor, turning to peer at whatever it was she had tripped over. There was a small blue plaque nailed to the slab.
and here. It said. "Huh?" thought Peaches.
There was another plaque a few yards down the corridor, on the wall this time. Peaches crawled over to it. and here.
"What's going on?" she wondered.
There seemed to be a trail of small blue plaques all the way down the corridor. Intrigued, Peaches decided to investigate.
The transcendental hum of a Tibetan singing bowl rang out across the courtyard. Together, a group of monks began their daily meditations. The low drone of their chanting swelled and mingled melodiously with the background sounds of the high altitudes of the Tibetan Monastery.
Cooper's dulcet voice swelled and rose upwards into the sky. "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"
The old RAF mascot had decided to join the meditating monks, his years of smoking grass had allowed him to skip the beginning and intermediate levels moving straight to the advanced classes. He had be invited to join then monks by their leader, a small wizened monk named Yo Da Lama. He had met the sheep just as the ex-mascot was lighting up a spliff. They had then spent several hours discussing philosophy.
"Arrival leads to seeking, Seeking leads to Peace, Peace leads to enlightenment."
Da Lama handed the spliff back to Cooper. "Why do you come here, my son?"
Cooper blinked, "Do you mean in this monastery or in this life? Because if it was in this monastery it is because of the mission but if it's on this mission it's because it seemed like a good idea at the time and if it's in this life it's because once upon a time my mummy met my daddy..."
Da Lama looked confused but that could have been the high quality dope that Cooper had procured from a dealer down the precipitous mountainside. Da Lama sniffed the smoke contemplatively. There was a distinct smell of yak in the air he eyed the small lump of brown hash suspiciously.
"Seek or do not seek, there is no try!" he intoned mysteriously.
The monk's wise words echoed in Cooper's head as he attempted the complex meditation ritual used by the monks. As he felt the world disappear from his conscious mind he felt his body lighten and begin to float away.
Down the rocky mountain side several goat-herders were put onto medication as they reported seeing a sheep sitting cross-legged as he levitated high above the Himalayan mountains.
Harris groaned as he tried to cover his ears. Unfortunately, hooves weren't that good for covering ears and he could still hear every single moan, howl and scream of pleasure coming from Curtis and Keel in the next room.
It had been pure dumb luck that he'd managed to find the monastery at all. After Keel had taken his swan dive off the yak he was riding, Harris had ridden up ahead, to see what else was on the trail. He'd barely ridden for a minute when he turned a corner to see a huge gateway bearing the moniker 'The Outer Mongolian Tibetan Outreach Mission Monastery' in flowing letters. Stopping outside the gate and knocking politely on the wind chimes ringing the bell, the door had opened and he'd been greeted by a monk wearing long robes. After explaining the situation to him, the monk had accompanied Harris back to where the others were still waiting. Curtis had Keel wrapped in his arms within the confines of his jacket and Moose was throwing them the occasional glare when he wasn't ignoring them altogether.
The monk had helped Curtis get Keel back onto the yak and led them back to the monastery, showing them all to the rooms where they could stay. Curtis had immediately sequestered himself and Keel away and the moaning had started scant minutes after the door had closed.
The bedroom itself was quite nice. The maroon and peach colour scheme on the walls complemented the blue duvet lying on the bed... the bed that had a small blue plaque over it with 'Genghis Khan slept here, 1134 AD'. But that was the extent of the interest within the room. He'd thought he'd go and see what the others were up to, but he had no idea where Moose, Peaches and Cooper were. He'd gone to the rooms they were meant to be staying in only to find them empty, and so had come back to torture himself by listening to the rapturous cries coming from the two humans. Unable to stand it anymore, he decided to explore and left the room.
Looking down the long stone corridor, Harris started walking. After a few minutes he came to a door. The wooden plaque next to it read 'Kitchen', the plaque under it read 'Methos made yak butter here'. If there was anything the monks seemed fond of it was cataloguing what had gone on within the monastery walls.
Moving further down the corridor the next door he came to had 'Confessions' on it. Again, with another plaque below it, this time with 'Multi-denominational confessions available - ask for George'. He decided that he didn't want to confess to anything, if he was being honest he didn't actually have anything interesting to confess to.
Bemoaning his rather boring, if active, life, Harris continued to wander the corridors, stopping suddenly when something caught his eye. Backing up, he looked closer at the door. Yes, there it was, a piece of bubblegum with some string attached to it. His eyes moved up the wood until he found what the room was - 'Storage'. Pushing the door and finding it unlocked, Harris walked inside and turned on the switch. Light flooded the room illuminating the boxes and... Harris gasped and pulled the pictures of the stolen artefacts they had come to investigate out of his pocket. (Yes, I know he's a sheep, and I know he's technically naked, but to advance the plot he's now got a pocket. No, I don't know how he got it, and I don't know where it came from. But let's be honest, it's not like it's the only thing in this fic that doesn't make sense. He has a pocket, live with it.) His eyes flicked from the picture to the large sarcophagus leaning against the wall. It was identical. He had to find the others.
"And here," Peaches read out. "I'm getting really fed up of this," she muttered. "Here, you!" She accosted a peach clad monk with a sharp swing of one beautifully manicured hoof.
"Yes, how can I help, ewe?"
"I was wondering," she waved at the small blue plaque. "What are these about?"
"We are a member of the International Terran Cultural Heritage Institute. ITCHI likes to mark these special moments in the lives of visitors to our monasteries with plaques."
"Yea, yes," Peaches said impatiently, "But what does 'and here' mean?"
"Ah, you came up from the South West Passage?"
Peaches shrugged, and waved vaguely back the way she had come, "I came from back there, if that's the South West Passage."
"My daughter, if you would care to start from the beginning you will discern the full meaning of the signs. Follow," he commanded, "Experience the journey. Be , little grasshopper."
"Who are you calling a grasshopper, granddad," Peaches snapped, "I'll have you know I am accomplished in the arts of Tishtush-" She swung sharply, one-two at the monk's face.
He screamed and staggered back, moaning, "Christ, that'll sting in the morning!"
Peaches hurried past.
Some twenty minutes, and fourteen more 'and here's later, she stopped, finally she had found one which said something different.
"Methos really got into it here... Who the hell is Methos?"
A small voice spoke by her left shoulder, "Methos, Death, the Second Horseman, Renaissance man, scholar, Ancient of Ancients, and semi-finalist on Wheel of Fortune; once fled here, in around 2345 BC, chased by Kronos (q.v.). Please move to the next sign for further historical information on this interesting historical figure. Bing!"
Peaches looked around wildly, until her eye lit upon a small fly resting on her fleeced shoulder and carrying a small brass sequin and tiny wooden drumstick.
"Who the f*ck are you?"
"Part of the ITCHI Information Corps. We provide every ITCHI site with full corpus of information and tourist assistance."
"You're a flea!"
"Well, yes," it nodded apologetically. "Affirmative action hiring policy from ITCHI."
She considered this. There was nothing exactly she could put her hoof on, but it just didn't sound right, somehow. But... as a sheep mascot she had been the victim of speciesist bigotry, so she squished-er-suppressed her first impulse, and smiled at him.
"That's wonderful!" She said sweetly, "I'm Peaches, former Sheep Mascot of the British Light Artillery, and co-foundress of the Combat Sheep." She produced a business card with a flourish from her handbag.
"Protection, Correction, Detection," the flea read, "Sounds kinky - kind of police work with leather..." He smiled and held out a foreleg, "I'm sorry, do forgive my poor manners, I'm Piles, Rupert Piles." Peaches blushed and shook hands.
"Charmed, so nice to meet you," she murmured, head tilting coyly. He adjusted his glasses and straightened the tiny tweed jacket. "So, where do we go from here?"
"Where do we go, oh, where do we goooo-ahem, do excuse me. An old flashback problem of mine." He cleared his throat. "If you'd care to move twenty paces forward and take the first left, your questions will all be answered."
"Thank you, Giles," she said politely, moving the required number of steps.
"Piles, please," he corrected her swiftly. "We don't want to infringe anyone's copyright!" He laughed merrily.
"Oh, of course," Peaches blushed prettily again, covered with confusion.
"Quite all right, dear lady," the tiny, but oddly basso voice replied. "Now, if you'd care to read the sign..."
"'Kronos raped Methos here for the first time, 2435 BC.' That's horrible, the poor woman!" Peaches was indignant.
"No, no, they were both men. Besides, the sign is a little misleading. It might have been rape, but it was really hot, and Methos really got into it by the second or third go." He pulled off his glasses and cleaned them, peering myopically (and many-lensedly) at the floor. "Could we skip the disturbing sex talk?"
"Of course." Peaches agreed quickly. "um... what else is there to see around here?" she asked.
Piles pulled himself up to his full height of one half inch and arranged his glasses back on his face in an authoritative manner. He tapped the brass sequin twice sharply with the drumstick. "To the left you can see the famous spot where three hundred years ago a vicious vampire named Angelus killed a swarm of demons who were masquerading as monks..." Piles started to move down the corridor, "and we're walking..."
Bewildered, Peaches followed him.
"Oh god, Chris..." The words trailed off as Chris' tongue rolled around Moose's horns, dipping into his ear and tickling it. Moose giggled (he was quite horrified at this fact considering he was a hard Navy mascot, but nevertheless, it was still a giggle) and reached out a hoof, trailing it softly down Chris' cheek. "Chris..."
"What do you want, baby?" The whisper drifted into his ear. "Tell me."
Moose hesitated, there was one thing he wanted more than anything, but he was afraid. The last time he had given himself to a human they'd discarded him, cast him aside. But he knew this time was different, had to be different. Chris wasn't like Hamish, he was kind and sensitive. "I..."
"What is it? You can tell me." Chris's voice was soft.
"Iwantyoutotakeme." The words tumbled out in a rush.
Chris frowned gently as he sorted out the words, then his eyes widened as he understood. "Are you sure. I mean, I know what happened with Hamish."
"I'm sure," Moose nodded. And he was, his body yearned for Chris to be inside him.
A soft smile crossed Chris' face and he reached out to take Moose's hoof. "I won't hurt you, baby. You can trust me." He leant forward and ran his tongue over Moose's lips, cajoling them to open.
Encouraged by the gentle kitten licks at his mouth, Moose opened his lips and allowed Chris' tongue to slip inside.
"You taste... of grass?" Chris murmured.
"Meadow-fresh!" Moose whispered shyly.
"Mmmm... I can taste it... moist, delicious, nummy-treat."
Moose jumped as he felt a pair of strong hands sliding deep into his soft fleece. He shivered as they ran firmly over his wool, feeling over shoulders, back, and further... further...
"It's okay, sssh, I know, it's new, it's okay, I know. Gently, I won't do anything you don't want..."
"But what if I want... everything?" he whispered, terrified at his own temerity.
"Then I'll give you everything," Chris replied. "Just name it."
"Tickle my fleece."
"Tickle you... uh, sure." Chris lightened his touch until Moose could barely feel anything but the frisson of the faintest touch fingering along his flanks.
Slowly the touch moved down until Chris' dancing fingers reached . . . . . . .
I'M SORRY, BUT THIS SCENE HAS BEEN MODERATED FOR CONTENT DUE TO IT MAKING EVEN THE AUTHORS NAUSEOUS.
WE NOW RETURN YOU TO YOUR REGULARLY SCHEDULED PARODY...
"Oh Chris..." Moose moaned in sated delight as he lit a cigarette and relaxed bonelessly into Chris' soft embrace.
"Oh, Moose... Moose..."
The frantic call broke into the erotic reverie and Moose's first time with the dark haired, attractive CI5 agent segued into Harris running towards him.
"Moose?" Harris asked, palpable hurt on his face.
"Uh, no, sorry, I mean, I-"
"No, it's okay." Harris averted his gaze from the mess at Moose's crotch (hey, sheep - no clothes, remember?) "I just wanted to say that I think I found the missing artefacts. But you, uh, I can see you're, um... busy right now so I'll--" Harris shuffled awkwardly towards the doors.
"No, wait!" shouted Moose, hastily pulling out a handkerchief (yes, again, I know there are no pockets, but just suspend disbelief for a moment, 'kay?) and wiping himself off. "Harris, don't go!"
Harris stopped and turned around, looking hesitantly at Moose.
"Please," Moose continued, "stay."
"Are you sure?" But Harris had already taken the first step back towards him.
Moose nodded. "I'm sure."
Harris closed the distance between them, sitting next to Moose on the large flat stone. "You were thinking about him , weren't you?"
Moose didn't need to ask who the 'him' was, the disdain in Harris' voice was evidence enough. "I know you don't like Chris," Moose said, ignoring the mutters coming from under Harris' breath, "but he was a big part of my past."
"Your past?" Harris sounded sceptical.
"Yes," nodded Moose, "my past. Chris Keel is a part of my past, but you and the rest of the team, you're my future."
"I like the sound of that," Harris admitted quietly, gently laying a hoof over Moose's.
Moose looked down, his gaze lingering for long moments on their joined hooves, before he raised his head and met Harris' eyes. "What did you want to see me for?" he asked softly.
"Oh! That!" Harris jumped to his feet. "I found the sarcophagi - well, one of them anyway."
"You found them!"
"Yes!" exclaimed Harris, pulling Moose to his feet. "Now, come on, we have to find the others."
Keel smiled contentedly and stretched his legs out to their full extent luxuriously under the warm eiderdown. He drew a deep breath and tilted his head slightly to smile down at his lover's head, resting on his shoulder. Sam's face was turned in towards the centre of Chris' chest, and he had a faint smile on his face, even though his eyes were closed and the soft susurration of sleeping breath brushed over his skin.
Moose had been a long time ago. Chris shook his head, and smiled reminiscently. It had been good time of his life, long before he left the Navy. He'd been on leave when they had met... and then had come the mission, right when he was happiest. He'd made a clean break. It had seemed the kindest thing at the time. He could have come back, contacted him long after, but he'd met Helen, and he'd not thought of anything but her, of anyone left in his past.
And here, suddenly, when the pain of Helen's cruel death had faded, his heart largely healed by the unsullied, clear, pure friendship of Sam Keel, Moose trotted back into his life, a little older, a lot more bitter. It was confusing. His hand stroked slowly over Sam's tanned back. It was more than confusing, he scowled, it was damned inconvenient. No, no, there was the mission to think of - and that was another thing. He couldn't get his head around the whole thing. The mystery didn't seem to warrant CI5's best team, unless... Unless Malone had been hiding something. It wouldn't have been the first time that the old bastard hadn't given them the whole story. He shook his head. This was the wrong time and place for worrying about the mission. Right now his personal life was on a knife edge.
If Sam woke, and asked, he didn't know what he could say, yet, he knew it was Sam he wanted... had watched from afar (and extremely close quarters whilst being tied up, mined, bombed, shot at and run over). But had it only been lust? Right here, right now, he'd had the sex. Was that all he wanted from Sam? Or -- his arm tightened reflexively, the man looked so vulnerable in sleep, the hard lines and chiselled planes softened and made gentle. It wasn't just sex he wanted. He'd said it, and now he realised that he had meant it, every word. He loved him.
He pressed his lips into Sam's hair. He needed to talk to Moose, straighten things out, but that was all. Everything he wanted was already within his grasp.
"Feeling better now," Sam asked dryly.
"When did you wake up?"
"About half way through that internal monologue. But you know, partners can read each other's thoughts, so, consider the whole conversation where we worried about whether I really did, and you really did, already had, and we do."
Chris blinked. "Uh. Okay."
"If you really do, that is?"
Chris froze, then growled. Sam was laughing. He pounced and rolled Sam over, tickling.
"And here," Rupert Piles continued as he pointed to an alcove with a leg, "Duncan MacLeod brooded."
"Duncan MacLeod? Who's he?" Peaches asked, feeling as though her head was about to explode with all the information Piles had given her.
"Ah, Duncan MacLeod. Well, some would call him a paragon of justice. He used to fight the good fight against those who needed defeating." The flea paused. "Of course, others call him a moralistic, uptight git who sees the world in black and white, seeing his point of view as the only viable one."
"And we're walking..." the flea said without slowing down and disappearing around the corner.
Peaches glanced back at the small blue plaque before hurrying after Piles. "Oof!" Peaches exclaimed as she bounced down to the floor and looked up at the person she'd run into. A dark man dressed in green looked down at her. Picking herself up and dusting herself off, Peaches glared at him. "Well, that's a bloody stupid place to stand, isn't it!" she snapped. The man stared down at her. "Are you going to move?" she asked sarcastically.
"I cannot. I am required to stand here."
Peaches sighed. "I'll have you know I am accomplished in the arts of Tishtush-" Pulling a hoof back, she swung at the large man's face "Hai-iii! Ti--" Peaches gaped in shock at the hand wrapped around her hoof, stopping it in mid-air.
The man continued to look down at her before turning back and calling out. "O'Neill, I believe I have found someone who may be of assistance."
The airman holding Cooper winced as the old mascot swore up a blue streak at him. "For f*ck's sake, you Yank wanker, will you let me go!" He was getting fed up of being poked by the blonde woman who just kept repeating "Oh my god, it's a talking sheep."
The other man with her leant forward, light glinting off his glasses as he squinted at Cooper. "Bah? Bah bah baaaaaaaaah?"
Cooper's eyes narrowed. "You'd better take that back before I whack off your goolies with a blunt knife."
The man frowned. "Whack off my goolies?" One of the airmen next to him whispered something in his ear and his eyes widened suddenly. "Oh! Erm, sorry."
"You would have been," warned Cooper.
The woman turned to her companion. "Daniel, I think we should go and find Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c."
'Daniel' nodded. "Agreed, Sam. Although I don't know what Jack will make of this. I mean we've theorised that we may not be the only"
"Excuse me," pointed out Cooper. "If you're expecting to drag me off you've got another bloody thing coming. I'm here on official British Government business with CI5, I am. I've got diplomatic immunity! And I've had all my shots!"
"We don't have time for this," Daniel said. "We've still got to find if the sarcophagus is still here."
Cooper's ears pricked up. If this lot were after the same artefacts as they were, then things could get interesting. He had to get away to find the others. Whistling softly, he stomped on the foot of the airman holding him, grinning when the man automatically let him go. Taking the opportunity to slip away, Cooper headed off to find Harris.
Harris and Moose turned a corner to see Peaches talking to a group of people they'd never seen before.
"Peaches, what's going on?"
Peaches turned and looked at him. "Oh, Harris, there you are. Meet Colonel Jack O'Neill, Doctor Daniel Jackson, Major Sam Carter and Teal'c. They're part of an ultra secret American project involving Stargates and wormholes. They travel to different planets and they're looking for the same things we are," she said brightly.
"We're looking for aliens?" Harris asked.
"The sarcophaguses ," she replied patiently. "Apparently they're some kind of healing chamber for a race of symbiotic aliens who take hosts."
Jack glared at Daniel darkly. "Never quite got the 'top secret' concept, did you?" he muttered. (Author's note: Yes, I know Daniel would never just tell anyone this, but come on, guys, we're slashing sheep, realism was never top of our priorities here.)
"Oh," replied Harris, as Cooper came barrelling around the corner. "Oi! How did you get here before me?" he demanded, glaring at Sam and Daniel who just looked at each other.
"We took the North-West passage," Carter replied. "It led us right here." (Additional author's notes: Um, okay, so continuity isn't a top priority, either.)
"Hah. Airforce!" Moose grumped sourly.
"Navy?" Jack accused.
"Aye, mon, an' wha' of it?" There was the click-snap of Moose's illegal sub-automatic, echoed by half a dozen P-90's encircling him.
"Uh, guys, could we all calm down? We're all on the same side here?" Daniel said hastily.
"Moose! No!" snapped Peaches, closely echoed by Harris.
"I'm just asking, aren't I, yank ?"
"Why am I talking to a sheep, Carter," Jack demanded petulantly.
"Well, technically sir, you're talking to an equivalently evolved life form to our own, who simply happen to look like sheep. I've been talking to agent Peaches here, and she-"
"Ah!" Jack raised an imperative finger.
"Jack, you really should-"
"No, I want the short version. The really short version."
"Well, it's like the wombats, sir."
"The wombats?" Jack looked in disbelief at his second in command. This was meant to clarify the issue.
"Ah, I may not be putting this the best way, but if you take Teal'c, whose ancestors appear to have developed from wombats, then you can see that there may be an intermediate stage when-_"
"Whoa! Wombats!?" Jack looked desperately at Teal'c who inclined his head impassively.
"I understand that we of Chulak have evolved pouches to carry our symbiotes. I have not been informed of your theory, MajorCarter, but if these wombats also have pouches, then the theory may indeed be of interest."
Jack looked like his head hurt. "Stop. Okay? Just stop. Let's just pretend this never happened, and I never, ever asked about the sheep, okay?"
Carter nodded. "We can do that, sir."
"I'm so glad, because my head feels like it's about to explode," Jack sighed.
"Can I rub it better... sir?" Daniel walked over and looked into Jack's eyes, a soft smile crossing his lips.
Jack matched the smile. "Why, of course... Doctor Jackson."
"Oh god, not again," muttered Carter under her breath.
Harris glared at the two men making googly eyes at each other, suddenly hearing the gasped moans of Keel and Curtis in his mind and wishing he had a supply of the purple pills to stop it. "Get a room!" he snapped. "36B on the North-East passage is free. Maybe you can drown out the noises from next door."
"Oooh, yeah, baby, yeah!"
"Harder, damn you, Curtis!"
"Aieeee!" "Yeah! Yeah, yeah, yeah, uh, uh, uh, uh..."
Jack shook his head briefly, struggling back to the present. It was no good. A warm flush spread over his spare cheekbones as the memory of their last...encounter... flooded back...
"Daniel, my love, I thought I'd lost you!"
"Hush, my sweet, I'm here, it's okay..."
"Remind me!!! I need to know that you're here, here, safe in my arms!"
"Where else would I be? It's the only place I want to be, the only place I need to be."
"I didn't know if you could forgive me," Jack said lowly. "Yes," he glanced up, eyes pain-filled. "I knew you were still there, and I listened to her. I had to, do you understand?" "Yes, love, yes I do," Daniel cupped Jack's ravaged face and licked away the tears welling over. "Truly I do. I may question your logic, your ethics and your morals, but I would never question your love. You were doing the best you could. It doesn't matter that you nearly killed me because you refused to listen to my solution which, by the way, was the one that worked. But I do love you. My beautiful idiot," he finished lovingly.
"I promise I'll listen next time, okay?"
"Don't make promises you'll forget about the next time the testosterone gets a hold of your higher brain function," Daniel chided. "Now, where were we?" And he seized Jack's mouth in a deep, powerful kiss, searching deep for the taste of his lover, the flavour that warmed him through and through, reminded him that he truly was alive.
"Ohhh, Danny-boy," Jack moaned.
"Wanna see my pipe," he grinned lasciviously.
Jack groaned and scrabbled frantically to strip Daniel of his clothing, kissing his way down the strong body, revealing each inch with gentle, yet eager hands, until he reached Danny's waistband. Daniel's hand lit lightly on his hair, scratching lightly through the greying hair.
"Yes, that's it, love," he smiled, "I want you," he breathed, pushing Jack's face closer, unzipping his fatigues with his other hand. (Yes, okay, so their BDU's may have buttons. We can't remember. Live with the zip. Accept the zip. We are one with the f*cking zip, okay?)
Jack closed his eyes and groaned. He knew what was coming... he dipped his head in and licked tentatively at the swollen tip of Daniel's cock.
(We would like to make it perfectly clear at this juncture that the cock in question is Daniel Jackson's PENIS, okay. Not male chickens or any other farmyard animals. For god sakes, what kind of perverts do you think we are?)
"You taste so wonderful, my sweet, sweet Danny." The delicious salt-flavoured liquid excited him and he lapped further, deeper, until he was suddenly aware of Daniel's hands tugging at his ears. "Oww!"
"I want you," Daniel said deeply, and Jack moaned helplessly.
"Yes, oh yes, take me, Danny, take me." He gasped eagerly, shuddering with pleasure at the thought of being dominated by his beloved archaeologist.
Daniel smiled, "That's it, sweetheart, now stop that or I'll be done before I'm in you." Jack slithered his way back up Danny's warm, firm body, and their lips locked in another passionate kiss while their limbs entwined and unwound again, stripping clothes and slipping under the bedclothes with startling efficiency for completely unconscious activity. Heat swirled about their bodies, driving them higher and higher, until Daniel pulled back and whispered
Jack gulped and rolled over. There was an uncomfortable moment while they disentangled him from the bed sheets which had turned with him, forming a sort of JackCocoon, but that was fun too...
Finally they were ready, and Daniel smiled into Jack's back as he ran his hands possessively over his lover's spare frame.
"You really are a thing of beauty, to be worshipped forever," Daniel whispered, as his fingers slipped, independently of his own volition, into Jack's butt crease. He flipped open the tube of KY, and squeezed out just enough to moisten the dark starfish pucker until it loosened and relaxed.
"Daniel, you're killing me here," Jack groaned.
"Patience, lover," Daniel grinned, pinning Jack's feeble struggles to the bed with his free hand. "I'm going as fast as I dare, all right? I won't hurt you."
"But I deserve to be hurt," he moaned ashamedly, "I need to be hurt..."
"Really?" A darker, richer tone shaded through Daniel's sweet baritone. "Do you mean that, babe?"
"Yes." Jack sobbed, into his well chewed pillow.
Daniel moved roughly over him, back arched, and thrust once, hard, sheathing himself fully in Jack's half ready body.
"Do you want this?"
"Yes!" Jack howled with pleasure as Daniel withdrew to the tip, and then rammed home, hard. "That hurts so good, oh do it again, again, I can't bear it!"
Daniel bit hard at Jack's shoulder as he thrust in again, then pulled back, pushing his knees between Jack's thighs, splitting them wide open. He gripped Jack's hips, and pulled back as he knelt up, forcing him back onto his swollen cock.
Jack shrieked, his arms outstretched, hands gripping fiercely at the headboard, his hips raised high. His whole world narrowed to the pounding pleasure thrumming through his body, and the thick pressure of Daniel's manhood splitting him wide. A sharp slap on his backside stung him into real awareness of his position, and he gasped for air, abruptly conscious of the sweat, the bruises, the sting of Daniel's hand striking hard and fast between thrusts.
Vaguely he was aware of his own voice sobbing, begging for more, pleading with Daniel for more, to stop, to never stop, anything...
Daniel obliged, moving harder and harder into his lover, until he thrust deeper than ever, and held, his world disappearing into the hot pleasure of Jack's body as they reached the pinnacle of ecstasy for which they had striven...
Jack cleared his throat hastily, and blushed as he realised everyone was politely avoiding looking at his, he realised with deepening horror, damp, soft crotch.
"So, Carter. Wombats."
"Er, yes sir." Carter's face was oddly flushed (she will lean down these toilets...). "well, uh, to get back to the sarcophagi. We believe that there may have been a live Goa'uld in the sarcophagus when it was removed from the archaeological site. We lost track of it for some months, but now we believe we can backtrack it to legends of the yeti.."
"Yes," continued Daniel, absently adjusting his clothing, "I - that is we," he gestured to Major Carter although his gaze was somewhere slightly to the left, and ...lower... "believe that there may have been an ancient breed of creatures, maybe even distantly related to local wildlife, which have been taken over and the Goa'uld has been biding his time in this monastery, waiting for the time to come when he could escape to somewhere with a Stargate."
"Yes," agreed Carter, "I now believe that it thinks its opportunity has come, with all these new people coming through the monastery."
"Yes, "agreed Daniel, "For the last twenty or thirty years it has quietly become the place to go for stressed out heroes and their sidekicks. This has given the Goa'uld we think a network to connect to the outside world. Now, in a fiendish plan to take over the world and the SGC, he has drawn all of us here."
"Now it's really in trouble," Peaches said smugly, "after all, we're secret agents."
"No, no, I think not, leetle lambchop, it iss you who are in trouble." A old sheepskin rug which had been lying disregarded before the fire (yeah, okay there's now a fire in the room. Deal.) rose to its full height of seven feet and nine inches, revealing long yellowed incisors and glowing eyes. "I am Ramses ze Fifth! And now I have you all! I have won!" (Bwah ha ha ha ha !!!!!)
"Er, Ramses the fifth ?" Daniel stepped forward raising his hand in question.
"Yes, ze first three vere destroyed soon after they came to power, and ze fourth mysteriously disappeared after he took ze throne."
"I thought that was an ancient Mesopotamian dynasty..." Daniel said, puzzled.
"Before we get cosy over family histories, charming though I'm sure the Rameseseseseses were, could we get back to the HE'S A FRICKING GOA'ULD part of the conversation!!!" Jack didn't, quite, scream.
London, England: CI5 HQ
"And what happened then, Mr Harris," Malone asked intently.
"Well, the SGC chaps, sort of, well shot him," Harris said.
"With a blue ray gun that dear Jack had in his pocket." Peaches added, helpfully.
"And what exactly happened to my best team, and where are they now?" Malone inquired, eyebrows raised.
As the full, gibbous moon rose over the Outer Mongolian Tibetan Outreach Mission Monastery, illuminating the ragged snow capped peaks of the high Himalayas as they reached beseechingly towards the sky, a lone voice pierced the darkness, shattering the arcane silence, almost unbearable in its purity.
"Yes! Yes! God! YES!!!!"
The EndGo Home