Jack had to admit
medical leave was pretty good for creativity. He could probably
have gotten away with light duties for a week, but after he, Carter,
Janet and Teal’c had all visited General Hammond independently to
express their ‘concern’ for Daniel’s well-being in light of this latest
family separation, the general had expressed HIS concern to Dr
Fraiser. As a result, they had all been subjected to some not
particularly invasive tests for residual muon radiation and hustled off
to their respective homes to recuperate. Except for Jack,
obviously. He’d been hustled off to Daniel’s home after a last
visit to the general to express concern about Daniel being all alone
recuperating in his home when they were all worried about his
well-being in theirs. Daniel had apparently seen Jack falling
flat on his face in the infirmary, and he knew that Carter was still
far from well, so it hadn’t taken much acting on Jack’s part to
convince Daniel that he was the one Daniel should be worried
about. Daniel had duly worried.
Jack was pretty much
lounging around Daniel’s loft looking pathetic and irradiated, forced
to endure all the tender, loving care an anxious Daniel could lavish on
him, which was a LOT. Being slightly ill had never been this much
fun. No ice cream flavour was too outrageous to be whipped up on
the spot, no movie too violent and inane to be rented, no meal too
difficult to prepare, no expensive imported beer too chilled to – what
was his point? Oh. Yeah. That. Jack’s point was
that Daniel was so busy seeing to Jack’s needs he had no time to
brood. Daniel needed a lot of tactile reassurance, and Jack was
just the man for the job. It was impossible for Daniel to get
existential about not being able to touch things when Jack had, for
example, spent two hours licking him from head to toe. It was
impossible for Daniel to get irritated about Jack being an ass when he
was buried to the root IN Jack’s ass. Daniel had gotten the
point. He was still here, he was fine, he wasn’t for example,
dead and haunting Jack. Nick was sane and safe, even if he wasn’t
here, and his life’s work was finally seeing fruition.
Daniel was doing
much better, to the point where HE was starting to milk the ‘not being
able to touch’ thing until it mooed, so, with Daniel’s gracious
consent, Jack had graduated from the bed to the couch in between the
tactile therapy sessions. This had made it a lot easier for Jack
to answer the phone, which rang almost non-stop until Jack had
threatened to demote Carter. He had hollered this at considerable
volume, and with a certain pitch of emotion, but the general was
probably going to let it go. Jack had apologised at once for his
mistake, and things had certainly been a lot quieter since, so Jack
tried not to let his mind dwell on himself and demotion.
A lot of whining had
still only netted him his own laptop, not Daniel’s super duper, all the
bells and whistles Ferrari, but even his old beater was enough to let
him finish the story. Speaking of which, Jack craned his neck and
glowered over at Daniel, sitting innocently at his desk, beta reading
the finished product. Beta reading was clearly a euphemism for
re-writing in this case. The keyboard to screen ratio was
something like two to one. Two minutes typing to one minute
reading, and none of it was for typos, because Jack had checked.
He was discouraged from further checking. Daniel had pointed out
kindly but firmly that as Jack’s demographic wouldn’t have him
breathing down their necks while they read, he would just have to live
without the privilege too. There had been some pithy stuff about
explanations and justifications being good, absolutely, just so long as
they were in the text and NOT in Jack’s head or ringing in Daniel’s
ears. Not too long after that Daniel had threatened to send him
home if he didn’t leave Daniel the hell alone, so he’d backed off to
the couch and glowered for all he was worth. A lot of the
glowering was because he was also extremely annoyed Daniel had password
protected the beta document and hadn’t forgotten to hit save and close
ONCE. In two days. Not exactly a rush edit job, this.
“Finished,” Daniel
announced with satisfaction. “Just let me email it to you and…“
“Don’t be stupid,
Daniel, just let me look at it on your laptop,” Jack said
casually. Get ON with it, MOVE. DYING here.
Daniel decided
discretion was the better part of survival, grinned, and headed off to
the kitchen to make dinner. Jack wanted chicken pie, so they were
having roast chicken en croûte, which meant a lot of work and a
little explaining at the dinner table.
Jack didn’t trust
the glint in Daniel’s eye or the mischievous grin one bit. He
waited coolly until Daniel was safely out of sight in the kitchen, then
bolted over to the laptop. The beta document was already open and
waiting. Jack didn’t have to scroll very far to find the first
comment.
PRIMAL IMPULSE
//The title is both pretentious and meaningless, and
SHOUTING it doesn’t aid the reader to attain clarity.//
By flyboy_fanfic
//Thanks for using the smaller font. Much easier on
the eyes. Did you mention your eye strain to Janet, BTW?//
Daniel added insult
to injury by choosing this exact moment to loom up behind him with an
impeccably chilled beer and a bowl of assorted snacks to take the edge
off his hunger until dinner. He actually ruffled Jack’s hair
before trotting back to the kitchen. Chuckling. Jack eyed
his retreating form sourly. Oh yes, Daniel had clearly had a
WHALE of a time with Jack’s story.
Jack read on.
The opening paragraphs had survived more or less unscathed, so – oh.
//It would have been helpful if you’d mentioned where we
were at the top of this section, not only to give the reader a vivid
sense of place and time, but because finding out here they’re in the
police station and not the loft means that the above conversation is
far too frank. Either the conversation has to go, or the location
has to be changed. Anyone could walk in on an argument like this,
a fact of which they are well aware, so they wouldn’t have an argument
like this *here*.//
Jack sighed and went
to his laptop to email the story to himself. When he’d downloaded
it on Daniel’s laptop, he opened both documents side by side and typed
Jim and Blair out of the station and into the loft. Daniel was
going to be infuriatingly reasonable and constructive, Jack could
tell. The little shit was doing it on purpose, just so Jack
couldn’t go postal over all the interference.
He read a little
further.
Blair gazed up
into limpid sapphire pools framed by sweeping sooty lashes, overwhelmed
by a rush of memories, of a love that wasn’t meant to be. He
returned the shy, hopeful smile tentatively. “Jonathan,” he
acknowledged softly.
//Just how many Harlequin romance novels have you read,
BTW? This isn’t the love that dare not speak its name, this is
the love that hollers loudly all over the internet. Don’t be
coy. If I was being pedantic, here, I’d have to say my heart was
wracked with pity for those sooty lashes, suffering the slings and
arrows of outrageous punctuation. ‘Gazing into the familiar blue
eyes of a once-dear friend, Blair was overwhelmed by a rush of aching
memories. Tentatively returning Jonathan’s shy, hopeful smile,
Blair was filled with regret for a relationship which had faltered
because’…//
“Because what!” Jack
hollered.
Daniel sauntered out
of the kitchen. “It’s not my job to write the story for you,
Jack. Just to point out the most glaring errors. Which
‘because’ are you referring to?”
Jack found it
difficult to specify. He was completely thrown by the fact Daniel
had his hand up a chicken’s butt. Given Daniel tended to talk
with his hands, Jack was definitely having a Pythonesque dead parrot
moment. He was so mesmerised by the chicken swooping gracefully
through the air he didn’t even raise a token protest when Daniel turned
on his heel and walked away, though he did note Daniel was chuckling
again. The prick had done that on PURPOSE. HAD to
have. A deliberate diversionary - Hey! “Whaddya mean, the
most glaring errors!”
“Read on,” Daniel
advised kindly.
Jack read on.
And on. He was heartened by the next few pages escaping
relatively unscathed.
//Editorial note. There is denial and then there
is…*Jim*. From the little I saw on screen, I thought Jim was
quite nice to Blair, if a tad over-protective. Why then is Jim
constantly obsessing about hitting Blair to shut - and shape -
him up? The reiteration of Jim's need for dominance/control over
Blair suggests that this relationship is doomed from the start.
How could you trust a friend/partner and supposed lover whose main aim
in life is to emasculate you?//
Jack turned towards
the kitchen, eyeing Daniel grimly. "I hope that's a rhetorical
question," he muttered, watching the smooth, confident sweeps of
Daniel's huge Sabatier carving knife.
//Try a little character development. Have Jim
recognise his own behaviour pattern and begin to question why he’s
attempting to control and dominate his friend. What's
changed? Why? Have Jim *learn* something. Make him
three-dimensional.//
"You're missing the
point, Daniel," Jack called impatiently. "I'm writing BAD
fiction."
“That’s no excuse
for writing your fiction badly.”
“Oh.” Jack
prudently refused to ask Daniel to elaborate and turned back to the
laptop.
Jonathan stepped
back, startled, as the loft door was wrenched open before he could even
knock. As he gazed up
//Gazing UP? I’ve shrunk.//
into the steely
blue eyes of Jim Ellison, the man Blair claimed was a true Sentinel,
Jonathan realised at last his friend was right. Ellison had
obviously heard his approach, had in fact been waiting for him.
“Hi,” he said
softly. “I’m Blair’s friend, Jonathan.”
“Friend?” Jim
asked coldly.
Jonathan saw the
man’s nostrils flair delicately, saw his face freeze, and blushed to
the roots of his hair. Ellison could SMELL Blair on Jonathan’s
skin! Oh, God. Could this be any more awkward?
Jim stepped aside
and let his hated rival into the loft. Every sense sang with the
urge to beat the shit out of this guy, for daring to partake of his
guide, of being freely offered what Blair had refused Jim. As he
coolly waved Jonathan to the table, mechanically offered coffee, Jim
was raging against the unfairness of it. Jonathan was drop-dead
gorgeous. He could have ANYONE. Why the fuck did he want
Blair? Why did Jonathan get to have the ONLY man Jim
wanted? Wanted? Jim sighed. Couldn’t live
without was closer to the mark.
Jim handed
Jonathan a steaming mug of coffee before sinking wearily into the chair
opposite. Jonathan seemed nervous around Jim, nervous enough the
silence stretched and his attempts to focus on the coffee afforded Jim
ample time to observe. Jim despaired. Honed Sentinel senses
allowed him to appreciate fully the astonishingly blue eyes, as warm
and soft as the summer sky, framed by ludicrously long lashes and
perfectly arched brows. This man’s creamy skin and bone structure
were flawless, and the pout, Jesus, it was getting even Jim a little
hot under the collar and he was well and truly spoken for.
Blair’s - he even choked on the THOUGHT of the two of them together -
Blair's LOVER was totally fucking edible.
Jim noticed the
fine tremor in the elegant pianist’s hands, stared and was caught by
the sadness in those huge, beguiling eyes. He realised with a
shock Jonathan wasn’t some user. He was just as confused, just as
hurt as Blair. Who had hurt this boy? Who sent him running
here to Cascade, to Blair?
Jim stared at the
bowed head. A boy as beautiful, as sweet and shy as Jonathan had
to belong to someone. He had to wonder who.
//Belong? Like a pet? Jack, really…this is the
third time I’ve had to mention the ridiculously exaggerated and
idealised physical descriptions of Jonathan. Actually, the last
one was worse, given you disposed of Blair with ‘short and curly’ and
moved on to what you sadly consider to be bigger and better
things. Literally so. Please take this criticism as read,
and expunge every reference to Jonathan’s impossible beauty and the oft
mentioned ‘woof’ factor, including flawless skin, beguiling sapphire
eyes, silken golden brown hair and luscious ass. Etcetera.
Etcetera. Etcetera.//
Jack ground his
teeth. Did Daniel ever look in the damn mirror? He read on for
another page or two. Minor alterations here and there, no biggies.
Jim was
astonished by the surge of protectiveness which rushed through him as
the big guy shoved Jonathan roughly against the wall. This
morning, he’d considered Jonathan a rival. Now – now he was Jim’s
lifeline, the only link he had left with Blair.
“Cascade PD,” he
snarled. “Let the boy go and step away. I’ve got grounds
for assault right here.”
//I’ve not only shrunk, I’m astonishingly youthful.
I’m six feet tall and thirty-four years old. Get over it.//
Jack ground his
teeth and refused to ‘get over it’ on general principles. He
skipped lightly over the next few paragraphs, because he did look in
his mirror and – hey!
//You – or should I say Mac – seems to have lost a few years
and a few pounds, while gaining a few inches and an entirely different
hair colour. A few inches? Pfffft. Blair barely
reaches your knees and you’re towering over me, just because you think
the actor who plays Jim is taller than you are? I hesitate to
belabour this point but…I know! You could stand on a box!//
Jim and Mac shook
their heads, disbelieving, as every head in the joint turned towards
Blair and Jonathan. The boys were completely oblivious to the
palpable tension rippling through the crowd, the lust in the hungry
eyes fixed so avidly on them. Jim and Mac shared a quick, rueful
look and picked up the pace.
//I thought we were in a biker bar? You specifically
mentioned Spike and his ‘Hog’. If this is a gay biker bar, please
say so. This scenario is so unlikely it threw me right out of the
narrative.//
“Note to self: help
Daniel Get A Clue,” Jack grumbled. He couldn’t believe Daniel had
never noticed the guys checking him out in the showers. It had
happened so often – and so blatantly – either he or Teal’c would have
wound up punching out one of the mutts who wanted to kiss Danny’s ass,
so Jack had requested a separate locker room for the flagship
team. General Hammond had never been known to refuse any little
thing that might make Daniel's lot at the SGC a happier one, and it had
taken Jack a very few minutes and only a couple of references to
Daniel's 'sensitivity' to swing the deal.
//Try for SOME realism. PLEASE. And you can
pencil in a little talk about irrational sublimated jealousy for
later.//
Oh. Hmm.
Daniel wasn’t going to like what happened in the bullpen, then.
Jack skipped ahead a few pages.
//Pfffft! Make that a LONG talk about your ludicrously
exaggerated opinion of my desirability, given that along with your
assumption I apparently have every female in the bag already, you seem
to think the merest glimpse of my derriere is all that’s required to
turn the head of every red blooded male on the planet. A long,
LONG talk. The avidity of other people’s reaction to Jonathan
suggests that your jealousy could well be pathological. BTW, I’m
*glad* your own self-image is so *healthy*. Don’t think I’ve
missed both Blair AND Jim checking out your butt when you think
Jonathan isn’t looking. There are synonyms for ‘taut’ you
know. You should try some of them.//
Jack scrolled on
another ten pages or so, to where Jonathan was admiring – oh.
//Forget taut. Try ‘full of it’.//
He glanced up, saw
Daniel chopping what looked like shrubbery, sighed, and reluctantly
went back to Spike and the biker bar. Re-write hell. Jack
worked patiently through the ‘suggestions’, all of which were
infuriatingly reasonable and, he admitted reluctantly, right. He
felt guilty that Daniel hadn’t commented on either of Jonathan’s sex
scenes with Blair, which kind of made them jump right out from the
mêlée of amendments. Daniel had, however commented
on Blair’s sex scene with Jim. Jack glared at the screen.
Commented wasn’t quite the right word. Objected violently was
closer, though possibly not close enough.
//*Sonovabitch!* It did NOT take me FIVE minutes to
retrieve the lube from under the bed, and I wouldn’t have BEEN sneezing
if you dusted under there! Come to think of it, the lube and I
wouldn’t have been under the bed in the first place if YOU hadn’t… //
Jack leaned around
and scowled at Daniel’s oblivious back. Daniel was Cooking.
It would take a zat blast to get his attention while he was – Jack
craned up – vigorously emasculating a variety of phallic
vegetables. He turned back to the accusing commentary.
Weren’t you supposed to write what you know? Daniel was what Jack
knew. He’d lied his ass off about taking it up the ass when he
was younger, because he’d been blown away by how much Daniel had wanted
him and one of them shit scared about doing it was already one too
many. Daniel had wanted Jack, Jack had wanted Daniel to want him
and once Daniel and the lube had been retrieved from under the bed,
Jack had frankly wanted it all for himself. If Jack pretending
he’d done it before had given Daniel the confidence to do it then…Jack
shrugged. The truth would have gotten Jack tucked up with a mug
of hot chocolate and a disappointed Daniel instead of both of them
gaining a whole new interest in life. So Jack had written what he
knew. Big deal. Jack – and Jim – couldn’t have been more
obvious about how good a time they were having. The hollers of
encouragement were not subtle.
Jack strolled into
the kitchen, where he leaned up against the workbench and
brooded. The rich smell of roasting chicken was heavy in the
air. Jack sniffed appreciatively and leaned down to peer into the
oven. “Why is the pie that shape?”
“What shape?” Daniel
asked distractedly. He was trying to disguise the presence of
eggplant, asparagus AND broccoli florets in the about to be roasted
vegetable medley.
“Like a chicken with
a crust.”
“Oh.” Daniel
straightened and turned towards Jack, careful to keep himself between
Jack and the medley at all times. “That’s because it’s a chicken
with a crust.”
“Not pie?”
“Chicken en
croûte.”
“En croûte?”
“In pastry.”
Jack had a feeling
sanity was slipping gently away from him. “Chicken in
pastry,” he reiterated slowly. Wasn't that the definition
of pie?
“That’s
correct. The chicken is coated in some wonderful pâte to
keep it moist while the pastry cooks. I made it with chicken
livers, garlic, butter, fresh sage and rosemary, onions, garlic,
sherry, juniper berries and cranberries,” Daniel said brightly.
“It’s wonderful. You’ll love it.” Daniel glanced hopefully
at Jack's brooding face and realised he was alone in that opinion.
“Is it that you
can’t learn, or you won’t?” Jack drawled. He found it almost
impossible to fake Daniel out these days, but Daniel WAS a little
sensitive about putting the haute into the cuisine. “Tuna comes
in sandwiches, or if you have a death wish, casserole. It doesn’t
come with balsamic vinegar or salad, or with pasta and red wine.
Chicken comes fried or barbecued or in pie. It doesn’t come with
garlic, butter, white wine, cream and mushrooms. Or sliced wafer
thin and fanned out on an antique plate with melon and Marsala
wine. Or its butt en croûte come to that. And who
MAKES their own Chinese food? That’s why God invented
take-out.” Jack ruthlessly suppressed a grin as Daniel shot him a
hurt look up from under those ‘ludicrously long lashes’ as per page six
of ‘Primal Impulse’.
The truth was,
Daniel had spoiled Jack for any other culinary experience. Daniel
cooked the way he did everything, with passion and commitment.
Jack didn’t even enjoy eating out anymore, except to gloat offensively
at the way people stared from him to Daniel and back again, wondering
what the hell Daniel saw in Jack to give him that unmistakeable glow of
happiness. Jack wondered too. He could never decide if
Daniel had bad judgement, bad taste or just plain bad luck.
Daniel got Jack, but Jack got DANIEL. This meant he was cosseted
within an inch of his life with, for example, food so spectacular they
hadn’t found a restaurant yet Daniel didn’t make look bad. If
Jack wanted a CHEESEBURGER he got expensive, imported Scottish beef
minced and cooked to order with a variety of fresh herbs and spices,
that nice melty Fontina cheese from the Italian deli, plus a mountain
of fries and fresh salad. He was absolutely ruined for anyone or
anything else, and he was loving every minute.
Daniel knew
perfectly well Jack was trying to get him to take the bait, get into a
fight so Jack could vent over the beta without admitting it.
Daniel wasn’t in the mood to play Jack’s game, but he was in the mood
to get Jack to eat up all his vegetables like a good little colonel, so
he hung his head and ‘suppressed’ a soft sigh. “Overkill, huh?”
he said sadly. “I keep forgetting you don’t like the ‘fancy
schmancy’ stuff.” This was certainly what Jack said, though
observational evidence suggested Daniel couldn’t cook it quick enough
to fill the bottomless pit which passed for Jack’s stomach. He
glanced unhappily at the oven, biting his lip. “I could make
something else with the chicken,” he offered reluctantly, turning back
to vegetable medley, “if that’s what you want,” he added
wistfully. He couldn’t push the martyr act too far, or Jack would
snap him in the ass. Just far enough to get Jack to guilt trip
and eat up.
“You’ve MADE it
now,” Jack complained in a long-suffering voice, sniffing hungrily now
Daniel's back was safely turned. God forbid he should let Daniel
get complacent.
“I can try to use
more frozen meals,” Daniel offered heroically. “Or canned
goods.” He punctuated this by half-heartedly sliding the
vegetables onto their tray ready to be roasted. “It’ll save me
time,” he added brightly, neatly side-stepping Jack without making eye
contact and heading for the oven. “If you don’t like the food
anyway…“ he let it trail off as he slipped the tray onto the free shelf.
“I didn’t say that,”
Jack corrected. “The food isn’t bad, per se. Just,” he
hesitated, “fancy. Like vegetables going into the
oven. You boil vegetables.”
“I don’t,” Daniel
corrected indignantly. “I steam. It’s healthier.” He
picked up the oven gloves and quietly removed the tray of vegetables
from the oven. “But I’ll boil these if that’s what you want.”
“Don’t be so
melodramatic, Daniel,” Jack snapped. “I’ll eat the damn
vegetables if that’s what YOU want.”
“Thanks,” Daniel
grinned, sliding the tray back into the oven with panache. “I'm
holding you to that. Did you want anything apart from critiquing
the menu?”
Jack folded his
arms. “About the beta,” he enunciated crisply.
“Yes?” Daniel
queried gently as he strolled over to fill the sink. The threat
should be enough to shift Jack. Daniel did the cooking, which he
loved, so Jack had to do the cleaning and the table-setting, which Jack
hated. Fair’s unfair.
“Nothing that can’t
wait,” Jack said promptly, sidling towards freedom.
Daniel left the
water running and grinned at Jack. “Good. Then you won’t
mind getting this stuff cleaned up for me while I grab a shower and
change.” He strolled off without a backward glance.
Jack swore under his
breath and reluctantly started clearing up the mess. Daniel’s
enthusiasm was hard on the pans. Of all the perils of ‘don’t ask
don’t tell’, dishpan hands were one hazard Jack had never considered
while he was trying to decide whether pursuing a relationship with
Daniel was worth his career. He dumped everything into the sink
and rebelliously left it all ‘to soak’ while he got in a little more
editing. He was regretful about passing up a shower with Daniel,
but the only way he would get away with not doing the dishes was Daniel
not finding out he was a lazy no-account bum until it was too late to
do anything about it. He did set the table as a way to soften the
blow, and to make sure the meal wasn’t pointedly served for one.
Then he plunged right back into the editing, aware it could take some
time.
Blair blinked
furiously.
“Stop that!”
Jonathan hissed. “He’ll think you’re coming on to him.”
“What?” Blair
whispered incredulously.
“You’re batting
your eyes right AT the man. Be caref…“
“QUIET!”
DeWitt snarled, hefting the gun pointedly. He relaxed when they
obeyed him, eyeing them both, smirking. “Unless you boys want me
to come over there and GIVE you something to talk about,” he suggested,
licking his thick, fleshy lips.
“We’re sorry,”
Blair said pacifically.
Jonathan ground
his teeth. Blair was STILL batting his eyes. It was coming
off as flirting. Couldn’t Blair see that? That asshole
DeWitt had gotten high again. He was wired, a heartbeat away from
just marching over here and – that was a point. If they got
DeWitt interested again, he’d have to put the gun down to get a little
of the action he was so obviously looking for. The chains allowed
some freedom of movement. If one of them could distract DeWitt,
the other might reach the gun in time. A quick glance to Blair and a
gentle nod towards the gun was enough to tell Jonathan his friend
understood. DeWitt seemed equally interested in both of
them. If they both seemed receptive, it might confuse De Witt
long enough to give them the opening they needed. Flushing a
little, Jonathan tried batting his eyes too. He licked his lips
nervously.
DeWitt’s eyes
were dragged from Blair’s face. He smiled slowly, menacingly.
“Is the deal
still on the table?” Jonathan asked bravely, fighting down a wave of
nausea as DeWitt strolled towards him, taut with anticipation, his eyes
raking Jonathan’s body.
O-kaay. So
not quite EQUALLY interested in both of them, then.
//If you have something to say about our encounter with Aris
Boch, kindly address it to ME. I do *not* flirt, not even with
you. I do not bat my eyes. Occasionally licking my lips is
merely a feint to disguise my desperate addiction to cherry lip
balm. Contrary to yet another of your ludicrous obsessions, I did
not offer myself up on a plate to Aris Boch, nor was he interested in
me sexually in the slightest. You have got to remember that just
because all of these things you allege I do work on YOU, it doesn’t
mean they work on everybody, or in point of fact, ANYBODY else.
BTW, you must change the dialogue here. General
Hammond takes security seriously. Quite apart from the penal
implications of your foray into slashfic, I’m sure the general would be
less than thrilled to have your top secret mission reports printed
verbatim at ‘852 Prospect: The Sentinel Adult Fiction Archive’ on the
world wide web. In the spirit of generosity, I will admit that
your pseudonym ‘flyboy’ would throw him off your scent possibly for
several minutes. So change the dialogue, unless you WANT to share
a cell with some desperate ex-Marine called ‘Bubba’ whose assessment of
your ‘assets’ tallies with mine…//
Jack read on, trying
to ignore the suspicion that Daniel was in fact going easy on him
because of the whole being in love and having to share a bed
thing. He was glad Daniel was going for pithy rather than pissy,
because he highly doubted he’d survive a bare-knuckle, no holds barred
full-on Jackson beta.
Jonathan slowly
regained consciousness, his vision wavering in and out of focus.
He was alarmed to see a desperate Jim brutally pinning a pale,
struggling Blair to the wall. Jim was clearly beyond feeling any
kind of relief at finding Blair safe and more or less unharmed.
The Sentinel’s actions reeked of barely contained violence as he tried
to dominate his Guide. Jonathan thought drearily that
possessiveness was the one thing that would drive an irrevocable wedge
between his gentle friend and the man he loved. It had driven
Jonathan away from Mac, and he couldn’t bear to see Blair drowning
beneath that tidal wave of primitive jealousy and possessive rage.
A sharp pain
stabbed through Jonathan’s head, the sudden pressure was
crushing. Close to passing out, he fixed his eyes on his warring
friends. As his sight dimmed, Jonathan saw not just the two men,
but their spirit animals. Wolf and jaguar were locked in the same
primal struggle for supremacy.
//This is all very interesting, but I’m sure I speak for all
Sentinel fans everywhere when I say we’re far more interested in
hearing what Jim and Blair have to say for themselves than what a
semi-conscious Jonathan thinks he sees, especially as the focus is on
Jonathan just so YOU can do THIS…//
With an anguished
cry, Mac dropped to his knees, lifting the limp form of his lover into
his arms and hugging him close. He cradled Jonathan to his chest,
kissing the beloved face, so desperately pale, rocking him
insistently. Sobs crowded Mac’s throat but he crushed them down
ruthlessly. He could take a moment, no more. DeWitt was
still out there and he wanted Jonathan.
Mac spared a
lightning glance to his friends. Neither Jonathan nor Blair would
be safe so long as DeWitt eluded them, and it was Mac’s job to protect
them. Jim was out of it. The Sentinel needed help only a
sensitive Guide could give him, and this Sentinel was pushing his
beloved Guide beyond even Blair’s ability to forgive. What the
fuck was wrong with the man? Couldn’t he see that this
Neanderthal act was hurting Blair? He was making the kid feel
like PROPERTY, Jim’s chattel, without a will or mind of his own.
Mac laughed,
humorlessly. He called ‘em when he knew ‘em. After all, it
was exactly what he’d done with Jonathan, who’d only ever expected the
truth and the right to earn Mac’s trust. Jonathan had that trust
he so longed for, but in return he’d placed his trust in a loveless
bastard who couldn’t even admit he loved Jonathan, who trusted him in
his heart, and yet whose actions showed over and over he didn’t trust
Jonathan at all. How could he – how could Jim for that matter,
explain to these boys the problem wasn’t that they didn’t feel, but
that they felt too much. It was the vulnerability they couldn’t
handle, not the love.
Jack read that
through and had to admit he’d been a TAD too open, there.
//…sappy…//
Okay. That
too. He shifted a little uncomfortably and skimmed through to the
epilogue. Daniel was moving around the bedroom, the scent of
chicken was tantalising…pretty hot stuff on the menu, whichever way he
looked at it. In fact, he was beginning to get a few primal
impulses of his own.
Mac strode over
to the bed where his lover lay sleeping…
Jack scrolled a
little too far and lost his text off-screen. Then the commentary
caught his eye.
//Jack eased up behind Daniel and kissed his rain-dewed
nape…//
Jack read on, eyes
widening. Daniel’s scenario didn’t offer any graphic suggestions,
but Jack had more than enough to know just what it was Daniel
wanted…and was offering. Oh, momma! Let it rain. Let
it POUR.
Jack frowned,
running his hand over the smooth wood of the desk. He’d better
get some of that beeswax stuff too. Splinters would definitely
kill the mood. He scrolled rapidly back to where he’d left the
narrative.
Blair reached up
and cupped Jim’s face with trembling fingers. Holding Jim’s
hungry gaze with his own, Blair reached up and kissed Jim. Relief
crashed through him as Jim gently returned the pressure of his
lips. Such a simple act, and yet Blair of all people knew how
hard it was for Jim – for the Sentinel to passively follow where his
Guide led. Jim’s honed senses were a double–edged sword, at once
his source of greatest strength and vulnerability. Blair had
realised in the first days of their friendship that the Sentinel’s
dependence on the Guide prompted an instinctive and entirely pragmatic
urge to protect. He’d had to go through this whole damnable
business with DeWitt to realise he and Jim had crossed the line when
they’d each fallen in love with the other without accepting or sharing
their feelings. Jim’s love and desire for Blair had warred with
his Sentinel instincts, twisted them until everyone who paid Blair the
slightest attention was recognised as a threat to the necessary bond
between them, and it had been the Sentinel who had responded. Not
Jim. Not this man gazing down at him with such naked
anxiety. Jim had fought the Sentinel, had struggled against his
primal impulse to possess…and it seemed he had finally won.
“I love you,”
Blair admitted at last to what had so nearly destroyed them. “A
part of me always has, and always will.”
Jim carefully
smoothed the hair back from Blair’s brow, his fingers tangling in the
mass of still damp silky curls. He’d never fully appreciated what
sensuality was, but whatever the dictionary definition might say, to
him sensuality was this. The light herbal fragrance of the shampoo
blending with the earthier scent of sweat, arousal – Jim’s fingers
tightened involuntarily – and residual fear. Sensuality was the
softness of the strands gliding over his skin, and the way he could
trace the path of each curl as Blair’s hair dried.
//Hypocrite. You nagged me relentlessly from the
moment I put on that first set of fatigues to get myself a regulation
haircut. You can’t start whining now just because you want
something to play with in bed.//
Jack shifted
guiltily on his chair. Daniel was annoyingly perceptive.
The new ‘do’ definitely got Jack the full impact of nape, the eyes and
bone structure. The hair was still that amazing golden
brown. It was still astonishingly soft and silky. It still
smelled incredible. It was just – short. And yeah, the ONLY
time that bothered him was when they were in bed and there wasn’t
enough of it to curl around his fingers. Pointing out this was an
unconscious habit Jack had fallen into long before he’d even met Daniel
wouldn’t help. Their relationship was crowded enough without
bringing Sara into it.
There were other
pleasures too. Blair’s proffered kiss slammed through ALL Jim’s
senses. He couldn’t imagine what making love with Blair would do
to him, if kissing did THIS to him with all his senses dialed
down. Jim leaned in, surrendered, let Blair take him where he
needed to be. He had to trust, had to be willing to follow. Blair
would forgive him everything but refusal to take this leap of
faith. Everything else would come to them, if Jim could do this.
“I love you too,”
Jim said simply.
//Sweet.//
Huh? Was that
a COMPLIMENT? Daniel was slipping. Or…maybe he
wasn’t. Maybe it was deliberate. Maybe he was messing with
Jack’s mind. Sweet? Sweet. Did sweet mean
sappy? Jack ran his mind through previous beta comments.
Sappier.
He was so focused
on the light and heat filling Blair’s eyes, the way Blair’s face was
melting to softness, he jumped like a scalded cat when the door slammed
open. He and Blair sprang apart and one look at Mac’s desperate
face was enough to take them both to his side.
“DeWitt has taken
Jonathan,” Mac grated.
“He was in
custody!” Blair stammered, horrified.
Jim had to look
away from the bleak despair in Mac’s eyes. It was a look he’d
seen all too often in his own. “DeWitt escaped?” he asked
curtly. Wallowing in sorrow and guilt did Jonathan no good.
He had to focus if he was to find their friend.
“You tell me,”
Mac said softly.
Jim
stiffened. “You still think Williger was in on it? Hey, I
don’t love the Feds myself, but what you’re implying – that Williger is
an associate of Dewitt’s – it’s impossible.”
“I’m TELLING you
Williger is much, much more than that. He’s DeWitt’s sleeping
partner. He’s the reason DeWitt has always been two steps ahead
of us. How the hell else did DeWitt’s people know where they
could take Jonathan?” Mac faltered for a moment. “I think
they were desperate to stop Jonathan from recognizing Williger.”
Mac glanced at Blair’s rapidly paling face. “And he isn’t the
only witness.”
Jim shook his
head, disbelieving. “Williger wants them dead,” he said
flatly. “It protects his anonymity and the case against DeWitt
falls apart without Blair and Jonathan’s testimony. DeWitt would
walk.” Jim turned away abruptly. “I fucked up
royally. What the hell was I thinking? We were shaky on the
probable cause to start with. I can just see the jury lapping up
Detective Ellison’s tale of smelling his lover’s hair from two blocks
over,” he snarled.
//Point of interest here. Do you really think viewing
one episode was sufficient primary source evidence to make a judgement
like that? Could Jim smell Blair from two blocks over? It
doesn’t seem likely unless he was zoning, totally focused on that one
sense, and since he’d need Blair to get him OUT of the zone…you can see
where this is going.//
He could?
Stupid-ass rhetorical questions… Jack scrolled down to get the rest.
//You
were obviously dying to get to the action scene so you sacrificed
characterisation, consistent plotting and indeed logic to expedience
and the kicking of a variety of criminal asses. Try confirming
your facts. If your supposition about Jim’s senses is correct and
you still want to get the boys out of captivity in a paragraph or two
because, God forbid, Jim and Mac should actually TALK and learn
something about themselves instead of just getting down to kicking the
aforementioned criminal asses, go ahead. Take the easy way out.
I will admit to a personal agenda here. I know I speak
for Jonathan, Blair and myself when I say we’d really much rather have
escaped on our own, especially as you lingered gratuitously on
Jonathan’s ordeal at DeWitt’s hands for several pages, including
post-traumatic flashbacks. Jim and Mac might not be quite so
complacent about we ‘boys’ if we’d done a little ass kicking of our own
while you were still in the truck arguing about who got to go in the
door first and which of you has the biggest ‘gun’.//
Jack ground his
teeth. Next time, he was getting his beta reader from the
demographic. He needed someone with an open mind, someone
receptive. And appreciative. Someone who couldn’t second
guess his motivations for every goddamn punctuation mark, and who
wouldn’t make him sleep on the couch if he got pissy and called them on
it.
Daniel sauntered out
of his bedroom, clean, cool and changed. He headed for the
kitchen, not missing the way Jack was vindictively stabbing at the
keys. Obviously, Jack’s ego/keyboard interface was breaking
down. The flagrantly turned back suggested further beta input
would not be welcomed at this point. The conversation at dinner
was likely to be…spirited.
Daniel uncorked the
wine and set it to breathe on the table. Wine was another
innovation Jack vigorously protested against and thoroughly
enjoyed. Daniel was having to branch out in order to provoke a
response. Orange juice, Kool Aid and, on one memorable occasion,
milk had all yielded some really creative tirades from Jack.
Daniel had to grin at that particular memory. Maybe he was a
little sappy too, but he didn't want Jack thinking the thrill had gone
already. Tirades led to spectacular make-up sex, which Jack REALLY
enjoyed.
Speaking of
tirades…Daniel was fond of spinach. Jack…wasn’t. So spinach
it was. It took only a few minutes to wash and chop the leaves,
shake away the excess water and set the first layer into the pan.
After adding the second layer of leaves to cook down, Daniel headed
over to the oven and lifted out the chicken. The pastry was crisp
and golden, and when Daniel carved into the chicken, the meat was
moist. Perfect. The vegetables were a tad al dente, which
was how Jack actually liked them, no matter what he said. Jack
complained whether they were ‘mushy’ or ‘you COOKED these or not?’, but
he only left them when they were ‘mushy’. This was another area
Daniel was having to branch out in search of make-up sex. He was
rapidly reaching the stage where the only thing left to do was to serve
up a salad garnished with summer fruits and edible flowers for Jack to
take as his contribution to the next post-hockey barbecue over at
Ferretti’s place. Daniel paused, considering his 'serve with
salad' options. No, he thought regretfully. Better
not. Quiche was probably pushing it.
“Daniel?”
“Hmm?” Daniel
added another layer of spinach leaves as Jack spooned up behind him and
just checked to see if his butt was still in full working order.
A little kneading and a definite murmur of appreciation suggested this
was in fact the case, along with a soupçon of ‘pride of
ownership’. Daniel made a mental note to retaliate when he had a
minute. That crack about clogged arteries in the beta edit wasn’t
nearly enough. Jack had focused most of the local Cascade colour
on Wonderburger, which was a joke, because Jack himself would only have
hand-cooked burgers from Gunther Toody’s, Betty Boop’s or his venue of
choice, Chez Jackson. Jack’s experience of franchised fast food
outlets was severely limited, mostly because he was the type who wanted
to pick his own cow. In fact, Jack’s expressed loathing of all
things English had as much to do with the Scottish beef Daniel used for
burgers as with the repeated viewings of Braveheart.
“Whatchadoin?”
“Wilting spinach,”
Daniel said brightly. “And I’ll kill you where you stand if you
so much as mention Popeye.”
Daniel curled up in
bed beside Jack, nudging at his back until he grumbled and moved
over. This had the usual effect. Jack drowsily rolled over
to face him, and Daniel wound up in one of Jack's patented full body
hugs. It was only a matter of time before one heavy hand curved
possessively over his butt, and the other slid up into his hair.
Jack was a creature of habit; he was comforted by familiarity.
Daniel didn't have any problem with indulging this need. He
understood perfectly the stresses of Jack's job, the sheer effort of
will it took to concentrate, to stay alert. Their lives depended
on it.
Daniel found Jack's
assumption of denseness intensely amusing. Jack thought about
EVERYTHING, all day, every day. When he came home, he didn't want
to think, didn’t want to threat assess. For Jack to relax, to let
go of that perpetual knot of tension, things had to be…familiar.
The rigid neatness of Jack's home, the absence of clutter even in the
bedroom, helped Jack to leave the colonel at the door.
Everything had a place, everything was in its place, which meant Jack
didn't have to think about it at all.
Daniel tried hard to
be supportive of this unexpressed need. He was careful what he
took over to Jack's place, what he kept there. Enough to reassure
Jack his house was home too, not so much it became clutter, an irritant
Jack had to be aware of, had to think about. Daniel chose things
carefully, to fit. There was one Etruscan vase Jack had admired,
the only artefact Daniel possessed Jack would voluntarily pick up and
handle. The vase now had pride of place on Jack's bureau.
All it had taken was some whining about lack of space at his loft, then
taking it pointedly over to Jack’s house, moving Jack's rocket from
it's accustomed place on the low, dividing wall between dining and
living rooms, and setting the vase there instead. Then
Daniel had simply waited until the grumbling died down, and Jack had
taken to eyeing the vase speculatively, trying to see where it
fit. Daniel went out to grocery shop and when he came back the
rocket was back on the wall and the vase was on the bureau in the
bedroom. He was happy, and more importantly, Jack was
happy. There probably were easier ways to give the man you loved
a present that meant something, but Daniel had yet to find one.
Jack just wasn't the man for surprises.
Daniel snuggled
closer, settling his head on Jack's shoulder, smiling as the expected
sigh of pleasure snuffed into his hair. This was familiar to Jack
now, something he needed. Daniel kissed Jack's shoulder
gently. Something they both needed. They had to be together
even when they were too tired for sex. Sharing a bed and just
sleeping together was wonderfully indulgent, proof the urgency and
uncertainty which had dogged their early days together was truly
past. Just being together, sleeping, talking, holding one
another…it all spoke of permanence to Daniel. Commitment.
The sex was wonderful, Jack was wonderful, but it was just one part of
their deepening connection.
Daniel hugged Jack
close, musing on their life together. Work went on just as it
always did. They still argued, still disagreed loud and long
without hesitation, each knowing that at the end of the day, they'd
still be going home together. There was nothing at work for
anyone to see, but at home everything was different. Jack coaxed
Daniel into confiding what he would normally keep to himself.
Daniel coaxed Jack into letting his guard down. His methods were
a little unusual, but they worked. Flying to Denver to spend the
whole day lazing on a blanket in Cook Park, not even talking much, just
soaking up the sun, the peace, the freedom and the incongruous privacy
of being so obviously together in a public space where no one knew
them. That was an indulgence too, to travel all that way and not
see a single tourist sight, not spend a single dollar that wasn't on
ice cream, hot dogs or sodas. Travelling to another city to do
things they could have done in their own back yard.
Literally. Jack had eventually stopped the half-hearted whining
about his yard and just…basked. Daniel had curled up beside him
with a book he hadn't read, just thoroughly enjoyed himself
Jack-watching, gloating over Jack so open, unguarded, at peace.
Those feelings had
lasted out the trip home, in fact they were still in evidence on their
next mission, when they'd accompanied Master Bra'tac to Kheb with high
hopes of retrieving the Harsesis child. The resolution was not
what Daniel had hoped, not what he had chosen, but Sha'uri's child was
safe with Oma Desala, a promise had been kept, and Daniel treasured up
the trust Jack had placed in him. Jack lowering his weapon like
that, even with the prompting from Bra'tac - and Teal'c's capitulation
- with Apophis' First Prime right in front of him and all their lives
on the line, that was a gift of trust Daniel fully appreciated, because
it was Jack's command and in the end could only be Jack's decision
alone. Daniel had known Jack was fighting every instinct he had
to protect, to fight, knew it had almost killed him to surrender up
even the illusion of control in that situation, but he had done
precisely that. He'd expected to die, as had Sam, but still he
had found it within himself to put his faith in Daniel.
Despite the inherent
difficulties of living together without being able to do it openly,
without fear of censure or serious consequences for Jack's career,
moments like that, where he and Jack connected, were worth the
price. Any price, he thought at times.
"Knock it off," Jack
griped. "Trying to sleep, here, and the noise of all those mental
gears grinding is keeping me awake."
Daniel grinned,
wriggling until he was comfortably stretched out on top of Jack. He
leaned down and licked a slow trail up Jack's arching throat, making
him shiver, lighting that dangerous glitter in his eyes, a look Daniel
knew well. Jack was awake, very definitely awake.
"So-o," Jack
prompted, sliding his hands down to cup Daniel's butt and pull him
closer. He parted this thighs encouragingly, wrapping his leg
around Daniel, lazily massaging his toes the length of Daniel's calf.
"So-o," Daniel
answered solemnly. "I was just thinking that we were worth the
effort we put into this relationship."
Jack groaned
theatrically as he slid his hands up into Daniel's hair and
mussed. Daniel hated tufts. Jack thought they were cute,
and Daniel had used up his quota of indulgence, springing an ambush
like this on Jack, so tufts it was. "My instinct for danger
rarely fails me," Jack said dryly. "You KNOW you're not supposed
to spring the meaning of life stuff on me when I'm barely
conscious. I need a couple of days notice and a couple of stiff
drinks FIRST."
"I prefer a
spontaneous, honest response."
"I'm willing to
share the spontaneous, honest response I usually rigorously suppress
when we have to get into this stuff," Jack offered generously, "but the
neighbours will probably call the cops." He reached up and
nibbled gently on Daniel's earlobe, making Daniel shiver in
return. "What with the girlie screams and all."
"Prick," Daniel said
fondly, arching his neck in turn to allow Jack's questing lips better
access. His throat was apparently just one big erogenous
zone. "Do you think we're worth it?" he asked shyly, toying with
Jack's chest hair.
"Not at any time
around four am, no," Jack said promptly. He grinned wolfishly at
Daniel's hurt, reproachful look. "I didn't realise when I signed
up for this I was taking on you AND The Sinuses." Or the all-in
wrestling matches on nights The Sinuses weren’t an issue, but
concussion was.
Daniel
scowled. "You snore!" he accused.
"Snoring is
NOTHING," Jack amended crisply. "That way you have of breathing
in, and HOLDING it, scares the shit out of me on a nightly basis.
Remember that cold you had?"
Daniel nodded,
brightening. Jack had kissed him awake and…
"CPR," Jack admitted
gloomily. "And I caught the cold," he added bitterly.
"CPR?" Daniel asked
incredulously.
"Just…checking,"
Jack muttered defensively. "After FIVE hours biting my nails
wondering if every breath was your last." He was aware Daniel was
starting to lose his tender, receptive mood, mostly because Daniel's
snuggling, boneless sprawl on top of him was suddenly all corners and
sharp edges. "Oof!"
"Sorry," Daniel
snapped as the elbow-assisted air whooshed out of Jack's lungs.
"You," Jack wheezed,
"are SO," he gasped, "NOT sorry."
"No," Daniel
admitted cheerfully. "I'm not. But YOU will be."
"Promises," Jack
whispered huskily, stretching luxuriously, arching his back and lifting
them both from the bed. "Too subtle for you?" he prompted,
thrusting up against Daniel as the familiar ache of need coiled in his
gut.
"Subtlety is not
your strong suit," Daniel said dryly. "Pushy, yes, subtle,
no." He rocked deeply against Jack, gloating over the hiss of
pleasure as two rapidly swelling dicks collided. "So much for
foreplay."
"It's your fault,"
Jack accused, "for being so damn HOT. Do me, Danny. Do me
right now." He reached up and bit at Daniel's jawline, throat,
shoulders. "Now, dammit."
"SO-O romantic,"
Daniel gushed. "And stop quoting your own dialogue. As
subliminal suggestions go, it sucks. Nothing will induce me to
try out what you detailed so graphically on page eleven. We have
to EAT off that table." Since he punctuated this by a determined
effort to get up, he wasn't in the least surprised to find a desperate
man putting every scrap of combat training to good use in tumbling him
onto his back and pinning him flat to the bed. Pushy. Jack
was DAMNED pushy. "Stop the sex, I want to get off," Daniel
murmured provocatively, batting his eyes at Jack. Jack growled deep in
his throat and rocked insistently, jolting into Daniel. "It's up
to you, Jack, but a sixty second time out now gets me oiled, slippery
and pliant not very much later."
The world tilted
crazily and Daniel found himself slipping off the edge of the bed and
stumbling down the steps into his bedroom, Jack's foot firmly applied
to his behind.
"You're on the
clock," Jack said silkily. "Fifty seven seconds and
counting. If you're late, expect tickling with extreme
prejudice. Fifty three seconds and COUNTING."
Daniel broke into a
dead run for the bathroom and the apricot oil. They'd discovered
together that skin on skin was WAY more fun when you took friction out
of the equation. Daniel darted in through the bathroom door,
wrenched the cabinet open, snatched the oil and raced back to Jack,
waving the bottle in triumph.
"Ten - nine - eight
- "
Jack spotted him,
snarling.
"Sevensixfivefourthreetwooneyou'reOUT!"
Jack hooted in triumph as Daniel loped up the steps to the bed.
"Cheat," Daniel
sneered. "What happened to one Mississippi, two Mississippi?"
"Carter's always
telling us time is relative. Relativity speaking, it passes more
quickly the closer you get to orgasm," Jack lectured him sententiously.
"That almost sounds
plausible," Daniel marvelled.
"Of course, WAY over
at the OTHER end of the scale, you have one of Carter's briefings ABOUT
shit like relativity, which seem to go on until hell freezes over, even
though minute for minute, both events take roughly the same amount of
chronological time."
Daniel blushed a
little. They only had two approaches to sex, depending on the
mood and how long since they'd last got any. Little and often and
all over the damn place, usually starting against a vigorously slammed
front door, or the kind where they made it to the bed but didn’t
surface for about a week and a half. Quality remained consistent
regardless of actual quantity or delivery method. "I love it when
you get scientific," he admitted, licking his lips. Jack's gaze
immediately focused and then glazed right over. Definitely time
to get slippery. Daniel pounced.
Jack burst out
laughing when a hundred and seventy pounds of naked, growling
archaeologist slammed into him and pinned him flat. There was a
brief struggle over the oil bottle, which Jack won by a sneak attack on
the hot spot below Daniel's ribs just as Daniel got the top off.
The fountain of oil which erupted as Daniel howled and curled into a
quaking, defensive ball liberally coated both of them, and sadly, it
looked like another tastefully co-ordinated bedding set was now beyond
the reach of even the deepest of deep down cleans.
"Oops," Jack said
innocently as Daniel glared at him. Jack glared back. Let
the games - begin. He heaved up and bucked Daniel clear,
following through with a lightning strike under Daniel's arms which had
Daniel writhing hysterically and roaring with outraged laughter as he
fought desperately to peel Jack's torturing hands away.
"STOP!" Daniel
howled when he couldn't take it any more. "Bastard."
"I love you
too. That's one," Jack gloated, stretching out to claim his
spoils. He cupped Daniel's sullen face, stilled it and lowered
his head slowly and deliberately to take his kiss.
Daniel parted his
lips obediently and passively allowed Jack to kiss him, refusing to
return the insistent pressure. He just opened wide like a bad boy
and bided his time. Jack's tongue was pulsing powerfully against
his, jabbing deep into his throat, groans of appreciation
intensifying. Perr-fect. Daniel bit down, not hard enough
to hurt, just to hold. He went for offensively gloating body
language as Jack worked out scissors cut paper and surrendered,
shooting Daniel killing looks. Daniel made quite the production
job of freeing him.
“Cat got your
tongue?” Daniel murmured provocatively as Jack sulked at him.
"That's even," he announced crisply.
"Best of three?"
Jack hissed menacingly.
Daniel made to sit
up but Jack grabbed his wrists and slammed him into the mattress,
throwing his whole weight down as Daniel gasped in a deep breath and
held it. He held it long enough for Jack's eyes to widen, for
Jack's weight to shift urgently, then he let it out explosively and
surged up, ramming into his shoulder into Jack's, knocking him back
just far enough for Daniel to get his hands between them and shove hard
at Jack's chest. Then it was Daniel's turn to grab Jack's wrists
and pound him into the mattress. He glared down into wide,
innocent eyes and a prim mouth.
"How come you always
end up exactly where you want to be?" Daniel snapped.
"Superior
intelligence," Jack said simply.
Daniel couldn’t
disagree, especially when Jack gave him that intense look, the look
that meant…"I'll grab the lube," he said softly.
"I'm oiled, slippery
and pliant," Jack grinned wickedly. "You got all you need right
here."
"Lube," Daniel said
firmly. He stretched up and delved under the pillow.
"How come YOU always
end up exactly where YOU want to be?" Jack parroted, eyeing the lube.
"I'm a horny
bastard," Daniel grinned.
"All greased up and
no one to blow?" Jack teased, lifting his butt so Daniel could slip a
pillow beneath him.
"Are you sure,
Jack?" Daniel asked the ritual question as he scooted eagerly down
Jack's body to the Promised Land.
"One finger, two
fingers, three fingers - MORE," Jack growled as Daniel's cool, probing
finger centred itself and slid slowly inside. He groaned and
pushed down encouragingly as Daniel thrust carefully, stretching him
gently. "Go easy there, big guy," he warned lazily. "You
even wave at my happy button and I'll go off like a rocket."
Daniel signified his
complete understanding of this simple instruction by stroking his
finger firmly against Jack's prostate as he first sensuously licked the
head of Jack's throbbing dick, then swallowed him to the root.
Jack howled in outraged, ecstatic shock. Daniel grinned. No
matter how many times he proved conclusively that Jack was the little
red engine of come, Jack was just as insistent once a night was six
times a week more than his aged and infirm libido could handle.
Jack’s record was currently something like 0 for 168, about to become
169.
Daniel was in dire
straits himself, he wanted Jack too much to make this last, so he'd
just have to settle for hot, hard and fast, and for blowing the top of
Jack's head clean off in the rush to make it 170. He sucked
powerfully, hearing Jack's breath quicken and harshen, feeling the
tremors shooting through Jack as he fought to keep his hips
still. Uh uh. Daniel began to withdraw, suckling gently all
the way, Jack arching his hips involuntarily, groaning in
disappointment. Daniel swallowed Jack deeply again.
Jack got it.
Open house. He rocked his hips gently in and out of Daniel's
willing mouth, moaning desperately as Daniel's finger mirrored his own
thrusts, massaging over his prostate again and again. His heart
was beating so hard he felt almost faint. The pleasure wasn't
coiling low and sweet, it was stabbing clear through him, pinwheeling
before his eyes as waves of giddiness rocked his world and tossed him
over the edge into always shattering climax.
Jack was struggling
back from his body’s conviction he'd just been pounded flat, only dimly
aware of Daniel's cautious upgrade to two fingers stroking.
Opening his eyes was beyond him at this point, but he summoned enough
energy to croak out a head's up. Then he had to croak it more
emphatically as Daniel hushed him soothingly and went right on with his
well-oiled preparation, preparation, preparation routine. "Waste
o' time. I'm ready, Danny, I swear, I couldn't BE more
ready. The store is SO open, we’re talking blowout here."
"Jack," Daniel began
dubiously. No WAY was he going to risk hurting Jack, of pushing
before Jack was physically ready. No way.
"If I was any more
relaxed I’d be dead. Fuck me already," Jack ordered. "And
don’t worry about the screaming," he drawled lasciviously, licking his
lips. He smirked as Daniel checked out the store, sighing
acceptance as his weight shifted, then gentle hands urged Jack’s thighs
apart, lifted them. Jack obligingly hooked his ankles high around
Daniel's back and pillowed his arms luxuriously behind his head.
If anyone had told
him a month or so ago he would not only tolerate but totally get off on
being fucked, he'd have laughed in their face. Possibly after
smacking it. Who knew? It was still too much effort to open
his eyes and watch Daniel easing into his body, but by God he could
feel every twitch and thrust of Daniel's straining dick. Hell,
he'd swear he could feel the blood pulsing. Daniel's caution
always made for an agonising wait until he was securely in, then he
could rock sweetly to the heart of Jack. Which was when the fun
REALLY started.
"Jack," Daniel
coaxed when Jack gave every sign of being ready to fall asleep,
snuggling back into the pillows and stretching like a cat basking in
the sun, perfectly at his ease.
"You want me, come
get me." Jack wallowed in the solid weight and reality of Daniel,
buried the hilt inside him, Jack stretching to fit Daniel, just as he'd
always done, in every way imaginable. "Mmmmmm…"
"Prick."
"And then some,"
Jack murmured complacently as Daniel's supple hips rocked against his
ass, angling the long, leisurely strokes deep inside to brush over his
prostate. "Oh, yeeeaaahhh," he groaned, arching up into each
tender thrust. He tightened his thighs around the strong, slender
waist and now the edge was off a tad, took pity on Daniel's desire to
kiss him.
Daniel leaned in as
Jack strained up and their lips finally locked in a deep, passionate
kiss, biting at lips and questing tongues. He was awed by the
naked pleasure on Jack's face, the unmistakeably smug satisfaction as
they loved. He never had any doubt this was just as pleasurable
for Jack as it was for him. And it was pleasurable, intensely
so. Daniel loved the unguarded heat in Jack's eyes, the
aggression in his kiss, the moans of appreciation and pleasure.
Daniel was aware of Jack stretched tight around him, every glide and
thrust wrapped in tight in Jack's silky heat…and trust. This was
total surrender on Jack’s part, a surrender of control of his body to
Daniel and to pure sensation. Daniel wanted to be buried inside
him forever.
Jack set an easy
pace, pushing back against the slow, powerful thrusts jolting waves of
incredible sensation through him almost continuously. Daniel was
always gentle, always unhurried, but his very gentleness gave Jack a
pleasure so intense it was almost pain. No small part of that was
seeing Daniel’s face with all the walls down, glimpsing the fierce,
protective joy of his love for Jack. At these times, Jack had no
doubt he made Daniel happy, that he was good for Daniel, and all he
could do was open himself to everything Daniel felt for him, try to
show what he felt in return. And REALLY try not to scream the
place down because Daniel was so goddamn GOOD at this. “O-oh,
Go-o-o-d,” Jack whimpered, writhing beneath the relentless, loving
onslaught. “DANNY.” He strained up for another greedy kiss,
almost swallowing Daniel’s tongue in his desperate quest for MORE.
Daniel was left
wheezing desperately as Jack tried to suck his lungs out, grinding his
lips against Daniel’s just as he was grinding against Daniel’s
hips. Pushy. Never satisfied. Never. Daniel
tilted his hips, angling for and striking Jack’s sweet spot, felt Jack
spasm and collapse boneless on the bed, shaking and cursing
Daniel. And wanting more. Of course. Daniel gave him
more, thrusting deeper, harder, driving into him, jolting Jack’s body
beneath him.
Jack threw his arms
above his head and braced against the headboard, shoving down hard to
meet Daniel, howling and cursing as Daniel angled for and struck that
sweet spot again and again.
It was too rough,
too perfect, they couldn’t last. Daniel’s muscles were burning,
his breathing labouring as his thrusts shortened to quick, almost harsh
jabs, then he felt that familiar tightening and his back arched,
driving him deep inside as Jack clenched his muscles around him; the
sudden shock slammed through his body and he came hard.
“Jaa-aack!” he cried as Jack, grimacing wildly, tensed beneath him and
hot stickiness splashed his stomach. The incredible contractions
milked Daniel’s orgasm until he was dry, left him stunned and shaking
as always. He dragged in a deep, shaky breath and gently
withdrew. “Love you,” he whispered.
“Love you too, kid,”
Jack whispered back. When Daniel collapsed, Jack was there to
catch him, to stroke soothing hands down his heaving sides and hug him
close. “Yes, I think we’re worth it. Whatever it takes,” he
admitted quietly.
On to Part Two / On
to Part Three
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