Jack is at bay, bathed in moonlight from the oriole window. Magnificent in his nudity and undeniable need.

"Come to bed," I murmur.

"Safer here." He swallows painfully. "Much safer."

I deliberately turn on my side, curling up the way he most likes me to be. Jack admires the 'sweet' curve of my body from hip to waist, the curve where his inspired, trembling hand unfailingly lingers longest before gliding up to my nape and into my hair. His fingers are magnetically attracted, made to twine in my hair.

"Let's make love." I smile at him.

"With Ruth on one side, and the folks on the other? Are you nuts? The way I - that's way more than they need to know about my sex life," Jack argues in a low-voiced hiss. "And the neighbours."

"Make love to me."

"Oh, God. Do you mean?" He doesn't know how to react to my sudden invitation to skate out with me onto the thinnest ice. "You're not doing anything, not just to please me," he insists quietly, willingly taking the pressure off me.

"Can't it be to please me?" I whisper. "I need you."

A moment later I have him, all of him, wrapped around me. Warm, firm lips in my hair.

"Want to know what I think, Daniel?" Jack asks.

"Always," I say, honestly.

"I think you're afraid of your sexuality. You're afraid of what draws people to you, what makes them want you. Take you," Jack's voice and arms tighten. "Like - how can you arouse this passion in others, when you've never felt it? Never trusted it, so you never get it quite right. That's what you said to me, right?"

I nod, shivering. If he'd just do it, give in, take me, I'll be fine. We'll be fine. I don't want to talk. I don't want to face this. I don't want him to know this about me. I just want to do.

"Getting personal here, kid. Who was your first?"

"Sha'uri."

Jack won't rest until he reaches the very heart of me. Until he knows all of me. He's quick, damnably quick. The name he was expecting to hear was Sarah Gardner's or even one he hadn't heard before at all. Not this one.

"I guess I just proved your point, huh?" I sigh acknowledgement.

"I'm not trying to make one," he counters generously. "I'm only trying to help. The way you helped me out when I got a little blinded for a while there."

I give him a kiss, so grateful for how often he says exactly the right thing to me. He's so much more giving than I deserve. He's a rare man, my Jack. I'm trying to love him the best way I can, but sex – physicality has never been my driving need. I have limitations I'm afraid of. It's threatening to me to even admit to this. I guess I don't understand why I can intellectualise and vocalise my feelings so well and still find it so damned hard to change them.

"Sha'uri was a gift. An obligation," Jack's voice is gentler still. "I guess I know why you stayed with her. In a way, it was a chance to love someone on equal footing, right? The rules were changed for you. You got to deal with her expectations, the limits her people put on you two. An entirely different set of pressures to the ones here. I think I get that. I understand."

"Not as simple as that. I did love her very much." There was none of that weight bearing me down the way it had with Sarah; no high expectations and disappointments over even the smallest things passing between us. No consuming focus on my researches, but a breathing space. A chance to just live for a while. Making love was about gentle curiosity satisfied and allowances made. In Sha'uri I found a rich vein of humour, delightful practicality and wonder at the universe. She was both teacher and student. Unstinting indulgence and pride in me in equal measure. Husband. Her Dan-yel. So different, but in that place, never less than an equal. I'm so glad Jack can see that. See her. I loved her and I know I disappointed her because I allowed my obsessions to take me again. I left her alone more than I should have and missed her too little. She didn't complain that I recall. She made it too easy on me and I let her. She married a man not of her culture, she made the choice, and she lived with it. It was my fault, again, that she also died with it. "Not simple at all."

Jack chuckles, a rich honey sound that makes my toes curl.

"Never is, kid. Never is. And that brings us to me."

"Most of our conversations do."

"Apart from me being the wrong gender," Jack begins in his best repressive tone. Don't know why he bothers. It's never worked for him yet.

"And a selfish, insecure asshole," I interject firmly.

"And that, yes, thank you for your contribution, Dr. Jackson," Jack says tartly.

There is a short pause. "Wrong gender," I prompt. I snuggle into him, pressing close the whole length of him, making him sigh. "Feels like the right gender to me," I nuzzle at his chest, feeling his heartbeat spike as I take firmly him in hand.

"Daniel," Jack emits an agonised whisper as he removes my hand and holds onto it for safety's sake. "Jesus, you'd tempt a saint. Be good. Be still."

"I want to be bad, Jack. I give you fair warning." I rock gently against him.

"How bad?" There's a needy, whiny note I recognise in his voice.

"Not that bad," I say crisply.

"Prick. First time out you turn me into the Happy Hooker and then you cut me off," Jack grouches.

"The happy what?" I choke.

Jack beams as I struggle to formulate a response to this outrageous statement and takes ruthless advantage of my paralysed vocal chords to go on with his lecture.

"Penetration is a biggie for guys," he asserts with what he fondly believes to be innate authoritativeness. "Trust me. For a while there, the screaming could have been girlie."

I struggle free of my warm Jack-haven to see him clearly. He cups my face gently.

"Hey, you asked, I chose." He shrugs and smiles blindingly. "Who knew?"

No trauma, just wall-to-wall lasciviousness and much sultry licking of lips. I barely get a taste of those lips before he's pulling me back down to what he believes is safety on his chest. He's still not comfortable, but I'm learning to live with it. No more prodding, at his request. I have to accept prodding doesn't help. The man is bony. His heartbeat lulls me to sleep each night we spend together.

"I mixed up all the signals, right? Did the whole smouldering thing from a safe distance. Drove you crazy."

I'm saying nothing. His ego is too big for the both of us as it is.

"Right?" The hopeful little-boy voice melts me.

"Right," I say weakly.

"Cool. Because of my – " Jack searches for a suitable synonym for arrant emotional cowardice – "restraint – "

And that's not it!

"You mumbled something?" Jack asks suspiciously.

No. About to kiss something though. Something wonderful. Something I never knew could do that. Make a grown man arch off the bed, whimpering and shuddering, and not girlie at all. Two seconds later I'm on my side with an indignant Jack spooned up behind me, holding on grimly to every single bit of me that keeps getting him in trouble. Except my butt, which is just about where I was hoping it would be. I wriggle back against him and get a firm expression of interest. Jack groans something about heavy artillery.

We lie trapped in delicious stalemate. I've learnt enough about my sexuality I love what I do to him.

"Jeez! All that research and you won't let me get a word in edgeways," Jack growls.

"Research? You did research for me?" Oh. Wow! That's major brownie points and he knows it.

"Why'd you think I was in such a foul mood on Sunday morning?"

"That tutor –" I suggest tentatively. Research. Mmm. Jack reading. Turning pages. Licking his finger and turning pages. The spicy tang of Jack sharpening the rich, mellow scent of words.

"Apart from that, and he totally frigging was undressing you with his eyes, and if I hadn't come along just then, probably his hands too."

"Did you use the indexes?" Jack looking things up. Cross-referencing. Mmm.

"You okay, Daniel? You're breathing a little shallow here."

"Fa-abulous, Jack. Do go on," I urge him.

"I was ticked off 'cause I got caught red-handed in the Relationships section by Beth Anne herself. Came staggering out of the store with a couple of personal recommendations."

"Bad, love?" I ask anxiously. If he's had a bad research experience, he might stop. I don't want him to stop. I want to watch.

"Still blushing. She's the same age as Mom. Got them stashed under the bed with your – um – never mind," he back-tracks hurriedly. "Oh, yeah, I've got to tell you, around about page hundred and seventeen, I was nearly spontaneously unfaithful to you and the portrait both. Er - No."

"What?" I ask demurely, writhing a little and hearing again his hiss of pleasure. Piqued a little more interest there. Pique. Peak. Mmmm. Pikes Peak Public Library. Stunning natural beauty. Me. Jack. Books. So many, many books. Booths. Active member of the library, Jack? Wanna check me out? Jack in me on books in booths.

"No. You're too young to look at either of those books. I'm too young. I didn't realise most of the stuff we do, they got names for. I kind of dipped – you know?"

"Skimmed," I sigh. Hands that have skimmed books are now skimming over me. I feel – weird. Hot and cold all over. Shivery. Breathing quick, shallow. Holding my hands, he's just holding my hands, I can't be – a point deep and low inside; sweet, heavy waves rippling out; faster, stronger, pulsing. I am. My god. "Jack!"

"Easy, Daniel, easy, I got ya. Let go, Daniel, just let go."

Hands on me, urgent, strong, loving. Barely there and I spasm into them, back arched in extremis, wrenching cry stifled behind my hands, world overturning, spilling, spilling out all over him, over and over. He's there for me, with me, all the way, always. I know nothing but Jack. My heartbeat steadying, his hands soothing, his warmth and love wrapping around me, as long as I need them. Just Jack.

"Now, please, love me now."

"Daniel –"

"Please." You can't refuse me. Don't. Please don't. His heat is withdrawn from me, leaves me adrift, bereft, shaking with need for him. Smell him, taste him in the air before he touches me, makes my body sing for him. Coolness, probing. My hand clenched around his wrist, supposed to be my signal, tells him stop, no. My lifeline, hanging on for his dear life. My begging hand tells him yes, only yes, and please and soon. There's pressure behind me. Jack's soft, soothing voice as to a child. His warm, confident lips at my throat. Trust is here. Love is here. Jack is here. Jack in me. Home. Sighing, I'm relaxing into that awesome delicacy of certain, patient touch.

Loving. Loved. Letting go of me, in Jack. Safe in Jack. A touch inside that sends me arching; arcing into wildfire, shuddering and stammering, begging for more and soon. Jack's tongue pulsing deep in my mouth, kisses catching me as I fall from every touch deep inside.

Still spooned behind me. Lifting my leg a little. Easier this way? Gentle. He can hold me at the centre of his world this way. Lovely thought. Am I ready? For you, always. "Love me." Love me tender and true, Jack.

Pressure, pain, pleasure ebb and flow with that pulse of Jack's tongue and Jack coming into me slowly, but surely. Jack, in me and all around me. Nothing and no-one but Jack and this. Hurts to welcome him in, even as gentle, as generous as he is.

"Oh, Jack," I groan, tears starting to my eyes. So much of him, filling me so deep, deeper with every gentle rock and thrust.

"I'm hurting you." Jack's voice is strained with effort. He knows. I hurt him too. "Let go, open for me, let go, trust me."

I do. I can. I will. I – I am. Pushing back, relaxing, Jack sliding sweetly in, a deep moan wrenching from his throat.

"Oh, God. Oh, Daniel. Oh, Christ, the feel of you." His rapture humbles me. I can't believe I'm capable of making him sound like this. "Let - god - let me love you."

Asking, always asking. He never assumes. Never takes. "Oh, yes, Jack, yes. Oh, yes." I'm whimpering as I feel that magical touch deep inside, so much better, stronger this way. Jack is contained strength, taut with controlled power and driving need, bound by his will to love and give no pain, only pleasure. Only pleasure. More, and more again as his hard, heated length moves inside me. Jack is grunting with effort. He needs more. Wants more. Wants all of me. Deserves all of me, nothing held back. "M-more. Deeper."

"Not this way, not like this. Deep enough, Daniel. You're enough. Ah, Christ," he murmurs into my nape. "Loving this, loving you. Wanted – so long – so much of you. Given me everything, this - it's enough for me."

"Not for me." My voice is as weak, as strained as his. Those soft, maddening, slow rocks of his are massaging that sweet spot; gentleness shocking through me, gentleness so intense it's almost pain. "Not nearly enough."

A nod and kiss against my sweat-soaked back, then infinite care settles me down on crisp cream sheets, a pillow beneath me and Jack's satin strength weighing me down, his voice hoarse, triumphant, love-filled as he finally glides home, has all of me to himself.

So different from loving Jack, thrilling to his surrender, his willingness to embrace vulnerability for me, his utter trust and faith in me. This is Jack raw, primal, wild for me; I feel his compulsion to drive into me, to claim, own, possess, feel it shivering against my back, Jack poised, balanced at the uttermost limit of his control. Love and only love holds him to this; tenderness, respect, infinite loving care. I'm driving him wild with my moans and stifled cries of pleasure, moaning into the pillow as he touches, touches, touches, with each smooth, sure stroke inside me. With all that Jack could do and take, all he will do is give. Jack's passion isn't stronger than his love, and every tranquil thrust drives only ease, comfort and home into me.

I push back against him, shyly, hesitant, hear the sob wrenched out of him as his rhythm falters and adjusts. My own sob a moment later as he scrapes that spot deep inside. Want to scream with joy as those sweet, heavy ripples roil through me, stealing the breath from my lungs and thought from my mind. Only Jack, hot and heavy and hard against me and in me, his loving irrevocable, immutable as we strain together, falling away from the world and into each other.

Those ripples deep inside me are electrifying stabs now, surging through me closer and closer together. "Ja-ack," I sob, wracked with pleasure.

"Love you, oh god, I love you, Daniel," Jack whimpers into my shoulder and drives deep into me; his heat flooding through me and mine out of me, onto him.

"Love you too, Jack. My Jack." All of him mine.

"You're stuck with me," he swears.
 

JACK

"Mmm. Mmm."

Kissing Daniel awake is just about the best way to start both our days. He purely loves to kiss, and those tiny sighs and moans of his boil the blood in my veins. I roll on top of him, sure of a warm welcome and new heights of enthusiasm.

Oh, Daniel's been a clever boy. Such a clever boy. Broke through his block. Exploded through it. Shattered it into a million pieces. Three times. Four if you include his first solo flight. And all it took was a totally Daniel-like fantasy of sex in a study booth in the Pikes Peak Public Library. The first time he'd fantasised me inside him. I see reading in my future if it gets results like this. He went into some kind of orgasmic meltdown right in front of me. Couldn't believe it happened. Either of us. I've never been so flattered in my life.

"Mmm. Tom, Tom," he moans.

Ah, God save us all. He's still feeling 'naughty'. Won't be happy until I've gone up in flames or been busted for something indecent. If I ever want out of the Air Force quick, the Pikes Peak gig is definitely the way to go.

"Jet propulsion," I moan right back. "Come on, kid. Time to get up."

A curious hand verifies. Daniel pouts. "Liar, liar, pants so not on fire. Sleeping now. Crack of dawn."

"Crack of noon," I say dryly. "Come on. I fear the Wrath of Mom."

Daniel's sweet lip curls. "Wuss."

"Hey! You ate half that caramel pecan ice cream, you know. You're in the shit, just as deep as me. The least you can do is face your share of the music."

Daniel's eyes open at last. Big, blue, guileless and sparkling with mischief. He's gonna give me hell. Hope we can make the bail money.

"Not me," he breathes into my ear. "I'm Kate's darling."

"Want me to read to you in bed tonight?" I counter.

Daniel blushes to the roots of his hair but the very eloquent look I get tells me the answer is YES, JACK, YES! Possibly a WHOO! in there somewhere.

"So get up and be a good boy."

"All work and no play make Jack a dull boy." Daniel is all little-boy winsomeness in voice, but those eyes could get me arrested for what I'm thinking about doing.

"I've seen the way you play. I still owe you one for the footsie last night," I growl. "Now get your ass out of that bed and hit the shower." Daniel pouts and snuggles into me. "Poetry?" I hint obliquely. He shows an amazing turn of speed, out from under me and through the door in less than a minute. Motivation is definitely the key to good leadership.

I grabbed my shower while he was still sleeping. Cold, hence my uncooperative mood. That and the thought of turning up at the kitchen table with Daniel mussed, sated and thoroughly kissed, right where Mom can see what I've been doing to her precious darling. And hurt me for it. I dress while I wait for him. Daniel likes me in jeans, so jeans it is. Plus a green shirt he's particularly fond of, reminds him of frosted grass. I hesitate, then decide what the hell. He wouldn't have packed these clothes if he didn't want to wear them. Navy blue chinos that fit like a second skin. I felt that blood rush the moment I laid eyes on him wearing these. And the sky blue shirt. Mom will drop on the spot.

I can hardly believe the trust he gave me last night, letting me love him like that. He gave me my dearest wish. Tried to give it again but hey, if he won't let me, I won't let him. If Daniel can't sit down this morning, Mom will drag me outside and shoot me dead. So he got to find out what oral sex felt like on the receiving end instead, and hell, I'm just as good at that as ever. Daniel didn't have a great deal to say. Too busy whimpering into the pillow he had stuffed over his face, but I'm taking that as a good sign. He was dazed and speechless for about five minutes after, so I'm making careful note of it for the future. Woke me up at around four this morning and said he needed to feel my weight on him.

Like I could refuse him? Especially a request like that. Somewhere along the line, I think I convinced Daniel I loved him far more than I wanted him and that was it. That was the key. I still think he thinks sex is about me, what I want, what I need, but he's wanting, he's asking. That's a good start. Hell, it's way more, way quicker than I was dreaming. And I've got plans for tonight that might help him further on the way. Chapter thirteen of book number one had a lot to say about a healthy fantasy life. Just point me at the cherries.

Daniel shoots back into the bedroom and closes in on me purposefully. I automatically hold out my arms and find myself rocked back on my heels from the force of an insouciant kiss. I get dancing eyes and that sweet little smile of his. God, he's so beautiful. I do not know what this man sees in me, stroking my shirt, admiring me the way he is. He thinks I'm beautiful.

Daniel peels himself off me, reluctance in every slow movement, then he catches sight of the clothes spread out temptingly on the bed. I flush and can't meet his eyes. I can't actually come out and ask him to wear those for me, can't tell him how good he looks in them, how much I enjoy seeing heads turn and jaws drop as my gorgeous lover walks by oblivious, seeing only me. I get to wonder how many people know, how many can tell we're together, wonder what in hell I've got if a man like Daniel can go for me, and envy the shit out of me for being the too-lucky, undeserving bastard I am.

"Mom wants to take you out and show you off around town," is all I say, teasing. Ruth has some kind of field trip planned with the folks down at the Senior Citizen's Centre. God help the denizens of the Lincoln Park Zoo, that's all I can say. Ruth is up for anything. Daniel nods gravely and dresses without a word of protest, not seeming to mind that I sprawl on the bed and watch him. Admire him. He doesn't make me say things. He just – knows. He knows I'd quite like to hold his hand on the way down stairs, so he takes mine. He knows I want to kiss him. So he kisses me, right outside the kitchen door. Smiles. I smile back. I think I look goofy, but he just looks stunning.

For safety's sake, I make him go through the door first. Mom and Dad look up as Daniel is propelled into view and I get into my seat without fuss as Mom makes a beeline straight for Daniel's arms. She's really pushing the envelope with this hugging thing. Really pushing. That hand is headed straight for what makes the roof of my mouth go dry when he wears those pants.

"Mom! Enough already. Stop sexually harassing Daniel."

"Oh, yes, Jack, yes!" Mom says sweetly. "Brunch, boys?"

Daniel is sniffing the air gently. "Pancakes?" he asks eagerly.

"With Canadian ham, eggs, maple syrup, waffles, biscuits and all manner of good things," Mom says cheerfully. "I'll just get Daniel set up on his caffeine drip, then you can dig right in." Mom ruffles Daniel's hair affectionately as he slips away. He keeps trying to be shy, but they won't let him.

Dad's smile is warm and reassuring.

"Um – can I help with anything?" Daniel calls just as he's sitting down.

"Not in front of an audience, no." Mom chuckles meanly as Daniel blushes.

"Ah! Intercourse," Dad crows.

Daniel and I both freeze.

"Twenty-seven across. Another word for conversation," Dad says mildly.

Daniel relaxes infinitesimally.

Mom bustles out with two steaming mugs of coffee, has the nerve to ruffle my hair and bustles back to the counter again for food. She won't let Dad help, and Ruth can't. But why she won't let me or Daniel, I don't know.

"We'll cook dinner," I offer impulsively. "French. Daniel is good with herbs and I'm good with knives. Okay, Daniel?"

Daniel is deep in a pancake. The other good things included blueberries. He's only capable of a vigorous nod.

"Done, then. Aww, take that look off your face, Mom. I'm not a complete Neanderthal. I cook."

"Sometimes," Daniel supplies. "Usually when he forgets to pay the phone bill."

"Domino's Pizza call me if I don't call them," I joke smugly.

Mom gives us both a long, steady look. "So, I'm curious."

I try the eggs. "Yeah? What's new?"

"Now that we're officially a dysfunctional family and all," Mom begins.

"Whaa?"

"Can't tell you how proud we are, son. We can't actually tell anyone about our big gay son unless you annoy us to the point we want you doing hard time in Leavenworth, but the next time Doris Obermeyer drones on and on about her Phyllis, we'll have the comfort of knowing," Dad beams.

"Won't get near the Hockenberry's," Mom says gloomily. "Not unless you've taken to wearing dresses and we don't know about it." They both look at me hopefully.

I have to smack Daniel on the back quite forcefully, I think he inhaled a blueberry. I'm inured to the folks. Years of bitter experience. "Only on the weekend, Mom. The heels kill me."

Daniel drops his fork and makes those little snuffs of air instead of words. Bless him, he's totally out of his league here. If they didn't worship the ground he walked on, and tone it down for his sensitive nature, he'd never survive a two-day visit.

Mom beams at us both. "So, boys, you want to tell me about frottage?" she invites us brightly. Dad's newspaper trembles.

I slice into my ham. "Frottage? That's French for cheese, right?"

Dad's wide eyes appear slowly over the top of his newspaper.

Daniel brightens up. "Well, it is French. From frotter, to rub. It's a noun. It refers to the use of rubbing to obtain a textured effect in a work of art. I do it a lot."

A tremor shoots right through Mom and into Dad. The newspaper shakes.

"You do?" Dad asks in a failing voice, transfixed by Daniel's pleased little smile. I don't know why Dad is so taken aback. Surely they've learned by now there's nothing Daniel likes better than an audience.

"On digs. With Jack. He usually grumbles he's got better things to do, but he always comes regardless," Daniel says cheerfully.

"That's good to know, sweetheart," Mom gasps. She looks intently at Dad. Dad looks intently at her.

Weirder than usual. Definitely. Whatever. Now, these are good pancakes.

"So-o," Dad drawls. "Jack. Daniel. You don't actually know what frottage is?"

"Huh?" I mutter, checking out the blueberries for myself.

"I do. To rub," Daniel begins to explain again, patiently.

"Rubbing, yes. Art, no. Not in this context," Mom snorts.

"Spit it out, Mom."

"Cast your mind back to around – when was it, honey?"

"Four forty seven am," Dad says promptly.

"Thanks, honey. Four forty seven am precisely. If you boys don't know what frottage is, then what the hell was all that screaming about?" Mom asks triumphantly.
 

"Breathe, Daniel, breathe."

He's prostrate on me. I'm prostrate on the bed.

"I didn't faint," Daniel protests faintly.

"Of course not!" I agree heartily. "You just zoned out for a minute there from sheer heart-stopping embarrassment." Me too. Jesus. They nailed us but good. Couple of innocent little lambs taken out by a pair of goddamn wily old wolves. I could kill them.

"'He always comes regardless'!" Daniel shudders convulsively.

"I know, I know." I keep up the soothing petting.

"I could die!"

"You gave it your best shot," I sympathise. "Daniel, you've got to pull yourself together. We've got Art."

"I hate museums!" Daniel whimpers.

"No, you don't, that's me. We've got to go, Daniel. If I've learned anything from living with them it's that you can't show fear. We stick together, watch each other's backs. Okay? Just like with the team. We can do that. We can stand up to them." I hope he doesn't ask me if I've ever managed it. He'll be under the bed, next.

"It's hopeless."

"Come on," I coax, "Museum of Contemporary Art. Lots of opportunities for revenge."

"Revenge?" Daniel shows faint signs of resuscitation.

"Not just Art, Daniel. Weird Art. You know about this stuff. You can do this. Do your stuff. Anybody looks at you funny, I'll take 'em out back and beat seven kinds of shit out of 'em." Including Mom.

"We'll be banned from the MCA for life."

"We can dream," I say gloomily.
 

"How much? It's a bunny. It's a bunny in a meadow. Not even a very good bunny. Bad Bunny in Mangy Meadow. What's the catalogue say?" I ask loudly and indignantly.

Daniel makes a great show of reading the entry. "Schizophrenia."

I lean over and read the entry too. We look at one another. We look at the bunny. No. No way!

"Who are they trying to kid? The damn thing isn't worth what we paid for the catalogues!"

We both turn slowly and look at Mom and Dad. Mom and Dad both look as if they have nothing to do with either of us, even though we came in together and one of us looks a lot like both of them. Daniel and I sneer as one and move on to the next exhibit.

"Sculpture in marble, circa 2000, a bust," Daniel reads before he sees. Then he drops the catalogue from nerveless fingers. "How right I was."

"A bust? Well, they called that part right at least. Lemme guess the name. Duckhead?"

Daniel retrieves his catalogue and takes refuge in something he thinks makes sense, even if the sense has failed to translate off the page so far. "The Subconscious Mind."

"A duck?"

We both look at the bust of a man with a duck on his head.

"Mallard?" Daniel suggests, curiously eyeing the duck's bill. A finger is poised to prod but he's too well-trained in museum etiquette to give in to the urge.

Me, I'm coming back some time with my P-90.

"A duck!" I utter in disbelief. Forget the P-90. Maybe I should try a grenade launcher. I want to see that duck in flight.

"Jack!"

"Mom?"

"The artist!"

"Oh, really? Wherefore art thou, duckhead?" I track hasty movement on my periphery. Someone skinny and very pale is beating a rapid retreat. "Is that a photographer in hot pursuit?" I ask innocently.

"It's an exhibition opening. Of course the press are here!" Mom fires the words out like bullets.

"The same photographer from before?" Daniel asks even more innocently.

Mom fights it. She does. She gazes up into those lovely, guileless eyes and I just watch her spine melt. "Yes, darling. The very same. He's been following Jack since the performance art, just waiting for him to happen to someone else."

"Hey! That guy had it coming. He put his hand on Daniel's ass right in front of witnesses. It absolutely screamed sexual harassment suit to me."

"Funny. I thought he just screamed," Dad marvels.

"You should have hit him harder, Jack," Mom snarls, forgetting whose side she's on for a moment and fifth column-ing it over to Daniel's side to give him a supportive hug and a little check-it-out kind of a thing on the violated portion of his anatomy.

"I got one hell of a round of applause," I say smugly. "Livened up the show considerably. Okay, Mom. Move it along."

We all move it on to find a huge white canvas. Vast. Blue dot. Minute.

"Dot?"

Daniel delves into the catalogue again. He reads the entry. Looks at the canvas. Reads the entry again.

"Not Dot?"

"The Dichotomy of Violence," Daniel reads dubiously.

"The dot isn't even in the middle. The guy could've measured it. I mean, how long would it take? To measure it? It makes the whole thing look lop-sided. It's wrong. On every level it's just wrong the guy didn't take the time to measure up where to put the dot. It's annoying the crap out of me."

"I know the feeling," Mom snaps.

"Hey, I have a legitimate gripe here!" I argue. "I know violence and this." I stab an accusing finger at the canvas. "Is not it."

"We could come back some time and shoot it?" Daniel suggests, keen to soothe the offence to my artistic sensibilities.

Finally, he's on my wavelength.

My mom growls.

"And we're walking," I singsong. We do manage to turn the gallery corner without mishap and Mom and Dad are starting to unclench a trifle when..."Jesus!" I reel back in shock.

"Oh, my," Daniel gasps.

"Don't look, Mom. We've got adult content here. What were you saying about overcompensating, Daniel? That's a – "

" - really – "

" – big – "

" – gun – "

"What's this one called?" I ask.

"The Reconstructed Male."

"I'll say," Mom looks dazed, fighting back when Dad tries to put outraged hands over her eyes. As they struggle, they both start to laugh.

Exasperated, I roll my eyes at Daniel. See? There's no point playing if they're only going to cheat and have fun on us.
 

"Do I need to frottage the fromage, Daniel?" I ask, embracing my part with gusto. "Or can I beat it?"

"Not so hard," Daniel says softly. "Just – rock – gently." He takes my hand and guides me into the correct motion.

So we're playing to the gallery. So sue us. Mom, Dad and Ruth are irrepressible. They can take it. I slip my clean hand onto Daniel's butt.

"Plump and perfect," I gloat.

"Premium quality," Daniel agrees placidly as he deftly shapes the stuffing. "Balls."

The little beauties spread out before us cost Daniel a fortune.

"I live for the pleasures of La Fleche," I say throatily.

Ruth is chuckling.

Daniel turns in the crook of my arm and stares into my eyes. "Jack," he breathes. "I need you."

He's exuding sweet sin from every pore but his voice is all husky, melting, little-boy hesitancy.

"Now, Jack, now." He's urgent, needy.

I lean in too. "Tell me what you need, Daniel."

"I need you to – " He tries for downcast eyes and stammering shyness.

"Yeah?" I lean closer, a breath away from soft lips and dancing eyes.

"Please?" An aching plea.

"Whatever you want," I whisper for the audience, rubbing my cheek against his. "It's yours."

There's a breathless hush as we all strain for the next throaty whisper.

"Hold my coq."

And the crowd goes wild!

"Daniel! Enough already! You're startin' to turn me on!" Dad hollers over the uproar before he surrenders and laughs himself sick with the rest of us.

Daniel looks around at each of us in turn, smiling like he's done something wonderful and I realise what all of this means to him. He's feeling part of it. Not an outsider, not an observer, but one of us. He's trusting us, letting go of the loner distance that's protected him most of his life. He's absolutely thrilled skinny he made the always easy O'Neills laugh.

For the first time, I don't feel I'm the one who got the sweet deal when we got together. From time to time, I put myself down, he picks me up, I get that little buzz of reassurance. It's a game, sure, but I mean some of those things I say. Maybe I should start letting go of the self-deprecation. Being with me is doing Daniel good. He's confident enough to take risks not only with his life but with his feelings. I don't remember him being this way before.

He's grown.

Which means he's going to turn right around and kick my ass until I do some growing too.

That's my boy.

I'll just have to screw up from time and grovel about it. I get make-up sex and he gets to fool himself I'm learning something.
 

" - but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought.
Not a kiss nor look be lost."

I'm sprawled against a heap of pillows, Daniel caught hard against my chest, resting his head on my shoulder. My legs entwined with his. Daniel is holding the book and I'm holding him. He's sheened with sweat, rosy and moaning his passion. I don't know if he's lost in the words or in my touch, but lost he is.

"Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head."

Sitting in absolute stillness, seeing nothing, feeling only me, hearing only the sound of my voice. The book is like a lifeline. The tremors in Daniel's body are making the book dance in his clenching, desperate hands. He's poised on the cusp of surrender. Not to me, I realise that now. To himself. I didn't know how hard it would be for him just to sit here and feel.

"Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find our mortal world enough."

A quiver runs through his hips as he arches into my purposeful, patient stroking. Just for a moment, then he holds himself to stillness again. So afraid of what will come boiling up if he surrenders to his own needs, his own desire. If he falls, I'm here to catch him.

"Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers."

I take a risk here, as the tremors grow more pronounced, the moans aching; I free one hand from its mission and ease the book from his grasp. He's too far gone to protest, but he doesn't know what to do with his hands. I know. I hold his hand beneath mine and slide it down the length of his slick, trembling body, down and onto his pounding, weeping cock. A soft cry echoes in the stillness as he feels both our hands moving on him, the spell I'm weaving over him faltering for a moment with his resistant hand.

"Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love."

He asked me to choose the poem and this is what I picked, caught and held by the first line as I skimmed through the book to please him. 'Lay Your Sleeping head, my love, Human on my faithless arm'. Opened a damn book and there we were in black and white, Daniel and me. 'Mortal, guilty, but to me the entirely beautiful'. Like this guy read my mind or something. Entirely beautiful, that's Daniel all right.

I lean in and finally kiss him, a deep, sensuous pressure against his salt-tanged throat. Lap my way up to his jaw and take his lips at last. He sighs into my mouth and cups his hand against my cheek as I glide my tongue against his. His hand beneath mine teaches me a new dance – his dance – a different way to touch him than any I've tried.

I follow and he comes alive in my arms, breath sobbing in his throat as he balances on the knife-edge of climax and holds. Calms. I soothe with lips and tongue, and our hands dance anew, more certainly this time; Daniel accepting, trusting, this knot of whatever it is holding him back slowly untwisting, giving him ease, letting him thrust, now, into our welcoming, guiding hands. Thrusting and rocking, soft cries of my name and love growing more urgent, more demanding.

Daniel wants. Daniel needs. Daniel feels and at last he falls, free and clear, driving into our waiting grasp and shattering climax.
 

DANIEL

"Dessert? Jack, it's two o'clock in the morning!"

"The perfect time to eat this dessert," Jack says mischievously.

He's standing in front of the oriole window again. Very knowing, moonlight illuminating his glowing skin, looking heart-stoppingly sexy, deliciously rumpled, barefoot and half out of those clinging jeans he's barely wearing. He's definitely piquing my interest. Mm-hm. Absolutely.

"If nothing else, it'll throw the folks off the scent by a couple of hours. Mom presses a glass up against the wall at four am this morning, all she'll hear is you snoring."

"I don't snore."

"You do. You woke me up."

"You woke yourself up, Jack."

"So-o?"

"So?"

"You wanna play, Daniel? You told me yourself, all work and no play make Jack a – "

"Big boy," I say admiringly. I spread myself temptingly over the pillows and crook a beckoning finger. "Come to Poppa!"

I see Jack's predatory smile flash in the moonlight and then something wicked this way comes, exuding animal magnetism. What did I do, to get so lucky? Must have been something amazing if it earned me my Jack. "Mmm. No rush for the jeans," I suggest, innocently. No rush at all. Sometimes less is more. Way more. Smooth, satin skin, sleek muscles and butter-soft denim, drenched in moonlight and desire. Dear Lord.

Jack simply straddles my hips, smiling still. He has a small crystal bowl and a silver spoon. He scoops out the first spoonful and looks a question. Go ahead, my love, go ahead. I'm yours. Do with me as you will. The cool silver slides between my expectant lips. Cherries, brandy, cream. Sultry, spectacular. An explosion of warm and warming tastes and textures. Delectable. A second spoonful and Jack there with it, the richest taste of all. Licking the brandy cream from the cherry on my tongue. Divine. The next spoonful into Jack's mouth. Take your cherry, Jack? Won't be as sweet a taking as the other, but now I've learned the luscious taste of sharing.

Cherry-sweet brandy-rich cream-smooth kisses paling before the taste and texture of Jack, my Jack, eating me up with a silver spoon and honeyed lips and tongue. Easing me down beneath him, trailing cream over my chest and lapping it up. "Just there, Jack. Just there," I moan, arching into maddening, slow provocation. Never loved like this. Never, before Jack.

He'll know the heart and soul of me, alright, and he'll learn them through this, through the loving. God, what he does to me, trailing cream and brandy-flavoured fire down my quivering, yearning body. Never known this, never been shattered and made whole like this. All my life I've waited for this, for him. All my life, coming closer to him and to this.

"Love you, I love you," I snatch him up to me, steal his breath away in a searing clash of lips and teeth and tongues, a fury of affirmation and desire. Loves me. He does, and he will. Now. Like this. Have to have his weight on me, wrap myself around him, feet gliding up and down his long denim-clad legs, hands pushing down the jeans, slipping beneath, kneading, devouring his ass. Jack driving his hips against mine in slow, deep, powerful glides. His hands firm, cradling me close as we love. Every deep glide of our hips met and matched by a deeper, softer glide of tongues.

Our first time. Not his, not mine. Ours. There's so much more than passion between us. There is affinity. Love; known, accepted and shared in full measure. No wild resistant coupling here, only surrender in ourselves, in each other; passion played out in sensuous ease. Loving and loved; soaring into shattering pleasure that means everything to me. Means Jack.

Boneless, breathing hard and blissed-out beyond speech, Jack spoons up behind me, every beloved inch of him mine, all mine; sleepy, sated and scrumptiously sticky.

"Poppa's got a brand new bag," I murmur, gloating.
 

"No. N. O. No, Daniel, no."

I sigh and try the big pleading eyes from under the lashes routine. Usually, this works as well on him as the sight of him half-out of his jeans works on me.

"No."

I lay my head on Jack's shoulder for a moment.

"No."

I put my hand on his ass and just smooth down all that chic dove grey cloth. Jack simply cannot stand there wearing those mouth-watering chinos and that skin tight T-shirt that goes so beautifully with his hair, and his black leather jacket, and those sunglasses, and not expect me to want to take him out and show him off around town.

And he can't blame me just because my gloating presence at his side means the family will be a gloating presence at my side and a thorn in his. He's going down fighting, but he is going down. No way he's getting out of another dysfunctional family outing. Why is he whining to me about fun? He's not supposed to be having fun. We're on vacation!

I lean in close and lick that little spot on his throat that always makes him shiver convulsively from head to toe.

"Okay, grab your coats and move it on out! Come on, let's go! Show some hustle!"

"Daniel, darling, if licking my sweet boy worked so well, what will smacking him accomplish?" Kate asks sourly as Jack selects a coat from the hall closet at random and throws it to – or rather at – her.

"So where are we headed now?" Jack demands in a voice heavily accented with blame and recrimination, keeping a wary distance from me. He's whipped and we know it.

"Um – how about we throw out a few suggestions, take a vote?" I ask innocently. "Go with the majority decision." My lips feel a little dry. Perhaps I should lick them. Maybe a little gentle nibbling, too, while I'm in the –

"Vote. Whatever," Jack's sunglasses seem to be steaming up.

"Museum of Science and Industry? Show of hands please?" I say crisply.

"Five for the museum?" Jack says coldly.

"Five?" I ask. There's only four of us with Jack opposing. Who's cheating?

"I can think of somewhere better for this other hand to be," Ruth says sweetly. "Daniel's just got it nicely warmed up for me."

"Five it is." Allowing Ruth to cast his vote for him, Jack steps prudently out of her pinching range, his ass to the wall.

"Coward!" Ruth scowls at this abject display of self-preservation.

"I can't believe I'm in love with a museum bigot," I mourn.

Kate shoots a sparkling look at Joe. "You think he came out of a box this way, love? They can be trained, you know."

"Rehabilitated?"

"Almost," Kate slips her arm through mine. "Just remember you're dealing with an O'Neill male. It'll take years, but eventually even Jack will realise resistance is futile. You look good enough to eat, by the way," Kate beams.

"K-Kate!" I stammer, blushing.

"I'll say!" Ruth crows and then returns Jack's possessive scowl with interest.

"Oh, you do," Kate says indulgently. "Cream is such a classy colour. Natural and warm. Those pants are linen, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"Peaches and cream," Jack says dulcetly.

Kate snorts with ill-suppressed laughter.

"Mom! You got our room bugged or something?" Jack hollers as I blush to the roots of my hair and tug my sweater down involuntarily.

"You think it was sheer coincidence you yanked open your bedroom door this morning and your Mom fell through it?" Joe asks, fascinated and slightly pitying.

"I was dusting," Kate says serenely. "I didn't see a thing."

"You heard plenty!" Jack snarls.

I was embarrassed enough hearing a cheerful good morning from Kate in the hallway outside as Jack was licking the last drops of cream off my – er – cheeks, but knowing she heard every single word and – and moan? Jack was indulging me with some aural sex. He always starts out talking downright filthy and winds up with the sweetest of sweet talk. Jack – like that – it's – it's private!

I give Kate a hurt look. Kate utterly fails to look guilty and compounds the offence by stealing a kiss. A couple of – well, a few – um - "Kate!"

"Unhand Daniel, woman!" Joe chortles. "Wait until the wedding night."

"Ah me, always a bridesmaid, never a bride," Ruth sighs. She grins up at me. "My love is like a red, red rose."

I'm a grown man. How is it the O'Neills – Jack included - make me blush like a schoolgirl? Sighing, regrettably still blushing and very flustered, I stoop and give Ruth a sound smacker on her handsome cheek.

"Well, hello, Gorgeous," Ruth breathes huskily, winding her thin arms around my neck. I melt before those laughing, wicked, wise old eyes and kiss her again.

Jack clears his throat as Ruth's arms linger. And again as she ignores his very existence, clinging a little closer.

"I'll carry you out to the car if you put him down," Jack offers heroically.

"Sucker," Ruth mouths at me. "If you insist, Jack, my lad, and only to please you."

Jack rolls his eyes as he stoops to scoop Ruth up into his arms. I don't even attempt to hide my grin as I turn and head out to the car behind Joe and Kate. Ruth is clinging to Jack like a burr. He's just too damn easy. For her, it's like zatting fish in a barrel.

"Where would you like to go to lunch, Daniel? Our treat, seeing as you boys are leaving us tonight." Joe hugs Kate as her face falls.

"Giordano's is nice. They do a fabulous stuffed cheese and sausage pizza. It's not too far from the museum," I suggest.

A resonant cry rends the air. We all spin to find Jack pale and wild eyed, shivering convulsively from head to toe, with Ruth the picture of innocence.

"Oh. My. God!" Jack groans piteously.

"What? What is it!" I call anxiously.

"She – she - she," Jack whimpers.

"Well, whaddya know? That licking thing? Works like a charm every damn time," Ruth gloats.
 

"Admit it, Jack, the submarine was fun."

Jack delves deeper into his vanilla fudge sundae and sullenly refuses to admit to any such thing.

Kate sneers. "Just because you wanted to go down the coal mine. We voted, love."

"Democracy sucks," Jack says sourly. "Fairy goddamn Castles."

"I didn't vote for the Fairy Castle," I object cheerfully.

"Neither did I," Joe smirks. "Just remind me who had the casting vote, Daniel?"

"That would have been – ah – Jack," I say brightly.

"And all I had to do was offer to lick him," Ruth leers horribly, making poor Jack shudder, "into shape. Hiding behind his mother like that," she sniffs disparagingly.

"You did enjoy the RoboCup, Jack," I prompt my pouting, foul-tempered love, "even if you did get a tad competitive."

"I wonder if little Robbie has stopped crying yet?" Kate wonders.

"It said kids – aged eight and up - needed to be accompanied by their parents and I am more than eight and I was accompanied by my parents, so I was perfectly entitled to participate, and can I help it therefore if I kicked that kid's ass? So I'm naturally gifted with Lego and Artificial Intelligence. So sue me."

"In lieu of having any real intelligence." Kate snaps. "And it would serve you right if little Robbie's parents did sue you."

"It was an interactive learning experience," Jack says smoothly. "Me and Robbie interacted and he learned a hell of a lot. Crocodile tears, Mom. Trust me, it's my job to read people. The kid was a sore loser and a manipulative little bugger. He went straight for the weak link on our team."

Everyone looks at me.

Jack sneers. "Bleeding heart liberal do-gooder. Kicked yours and Robbie's asses."

"What was that our precious little angel was hollering as Robbie was led away sobbing?" Kate asks the world at large. "Lemme see. 'Mess with the best, die like the rest', I believe. We're just so proud of our darling boy."

Jack scoops out a vast spoonful of melted fudge and suckles it slowly off the spoon, smirking maddeningly at Kate.

"I swear to God, I'm putting you over my knee the minute we get home, Jack O'Neill! Gonna paddle some sense into you if it kills you!" Kate swears.

I clear my throat gently. Kate's stormy eyes meet mine for a long moment of perfect 'leave Jack to me' understanding, then she grins and vigorously fights Jack for the last scoop of sundae.

I decide Kate needs an assist and head straight for the weak link on Jack's team. The merest brush of my fingers over Mister Happy and Jack's gloating goes up an octave. Kate promptly wrenches the spoon from his slackened grasp, smacks him firmly over the knuckles with it, making him yelp, and eats the last of his sundae with obvious enjoyment.

Jack's wounded hand clamps over mine and pins it against his thigh. I smile tenderly as Jack melts with desire and unsatisfied need.

"Daniel," the soft, breathy plea curls my toes as Jack leans in, eyes fixed on mine.

Longing.

Yearning.

Craving.

"Jack," I whisper huskily, giving him a solid dose of what he refers to as The Eyes.

"Yeah?" he murmurs fondly.

The moment his coyly reaching hand settles, I smack it with my spoon. Hard.

"Get your own damn cheesecake, O'Neill."
 

I'm drinking in the sight of Jack, bare chest, bare feet, soaked to the skin and screaming with joy as he lands the fish.

Jack's hand is gentle in my hair. "The ever-elusive crappie," he chuckles. "My first." His knees hug me hard for a moment, then relax.

I'm curled up at Jack's feet treasuring up every single moment of his childhood preserved in what he described as hokey old home movies. I lean back and smile up at him. It says a lot about who the O'Neill's are that he doesn't hesitate to lean down and kiss me.

"No tongue, mother present," Joe calls.

"Who asked you?" Kate argues indignantly. "Takes me right back to when Jack was courting," she sighs gustily.

Jack goes rigid and tears himself away from courting me with unflattering promptitude. "Mom! Don't you dare start on that. Like I haven't suffered enough?" There is a brief silence while we all consider this. "Okay, stupid question," Jack shrugs, embarrassed.

"Tell me more," I demand.

Jack groans as Joe sniggers. "Mom was a holy terror, that's all you need to know."

"I was not!" Kate snaps. "All of Jack's girlfriends adored me."

"All of them?" I ask weakly.

"All of Jack's girlfriend's parents adored you," Jack contradicts her bitterly. "But the girls themselves wouldn't give me the time of day. Bad news like Mom spreads fast."

"How bad?"

"Mom liked to say hello."

"That's nice?" I suggest cautiously.

"Oh, yeah," Jack says witheringly, "She used to wait until things got – interesting – and then saunter in and say hi."

"Oh," I say uncertainly. This is a little outside my experience. Kate smiles sweetly at us both.

"After the screaming stopped, obviously," Jack says lightly. "And on one never to be sufficiently regretted occasion, after first aid was rendered."

"First aid?"

"Sprained wrist. Don't ask."

"I – okay."

"And if they were made of stern stuff, Mom critiqued."

"Critiqued?" I echo weakly.

"It was my duty as a loving mother to maintain a healthy, supportive, guilt-free dialogue and guide my sensitive son through those difficult early steps of exploring his sexuality," Kate explains fluently.

"That almost sounds plausible," I admire, trying and failing to picture a sensitive Jack, particularly one being supported and guided through an exploration of his de facto celibacy.

"Guilt-free?" Jack yelps incredulously. "Try completely shameless, damnably pushy and chronically manipulative."

Kate winks at me as I fight down a smile. No, doesn't sound like anybody I know. Not even close.

"We got off lightly," I realise, eyeing Kate with real trepidation.

"You have no idea," Jack says grimly.

Kate bats her eyes at me. "Only for you, Daniel, only for you."

"So your career choice was – um – " I glance up at Jack.

"Compensatory," Jack says flatly. I can see the dangerous sparkle in his eyes.

"Well, he couldn't kill me," Kate says ingenuously. "It's un-American."

Joe smiles gently at us all. Ruth is dozing by the fire. Kate is snuggled up at his side on the couch. Me, I'm curled up on the floor with Jack's legs splayed on either side of me, Jack idly playing with my hair. "I kinda like this dysfunctional family malarkey," Joe says softly.

"Me too," I sigh. "I could stay here forever."

"You could," Joe agrees as Kate smiles softly, eyes shining. "But we're throwing Jack back," Joe grins mischievously at Jack. "We love you, son."

"Oh, yes, yes we do," Kate agrees mistily.

Oh, that's nice. I mean, it's obvious they love him dearly, but they all hide behind the teasing. Or perhaps it's just that the feelings are so strong, so accepted and certain, they don't need to be vocalised. They all just know. I wonder if –

"Daniel."

"Hmm?" If –

"Daniel!" Jack nudges me in the shoulder.

"What is it?" If -

"You ever hear them get that gushy over me?" Jack asks plaintively. "And he wonders why?" Jack marvels to the room at large. "They're talking to you."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't hear, what were you saying?" I apologise, embarrassed at being caught daydreaming.

Kate sits up straight. "Joe and I were just telling you that we've grown to love you dearly," Kate tells me gravely, despite a quivering lip and the little chokes of laughter trying to get away from her.

"Oh," I say helplessly.

"And we're very glad you've taken pity and thrown yourself away on Jack, even though we all know you could do better," Joe grins.

"Way better," Ruth pipes up from her nest by the fire. "Ditto on the lovefest, Gorgeous. You're a good kisser; not as good as Jack, but still, pretty good."

"I'm overwhelmed," Jack says ungratefully.

They all seem to be expecting something, and since my vocal chords appear to be quite paralysed, I scramble to my feet and hover, hoping someone will help me out here.

"Aw, for cryin' out loud, hug them, Daniel, before they explode," Jack prods me in the butt with his foot, making me stagger.

"Ignore him," Kate sniffs. "Kissing is good."

"No tongue!" Jack orders emphatically as Kate bounds over and grabs me, grinning like a fiend.

"Pfffft," she snorts at Jack as she cups my face gently in her hands. "Always knew we'd get to keep you, darling. Welcome." Then she kisses me and holds on tight until Joe gives her a little shake and moves her on.

"Welcome, son," Joe engulfs me in an O'Neill Special, cupping my head just like Jack did when he –

"Spacemonkey," Jack drawls whimsically.

"Yeah?" Kate looks me up and down, inquisitively. "Yeah!"

I emerge from Joe's embrace flushed, smiling and stammering incoherently, which is a considerable improvement on how I was doing before. People can't just go around telling me they love me. I'm just – I'm not used to it.

"My turn. Deal on the table, Jack. You can kiss me, or the Spacemonkey can kiss me, but if it's him, I'm definitely slipping him the tongue," Ruth cackles as we all look at Jack.

Jack looks at me, weighing, assessing. "You know how I told you I loved you? And there was nothing I wouldn't do for you and a lot of other stuff we needn't go into right now," he says hurriedly, catching Kate's fascinated eye on him, "About that?"

"Yes," I say softly.

"I lied my ass off. You're on your own on this one, kid."

Ruth throws up her arms dramatically, leering dreadfully. I've seen that exact expression on Jack's face a few times, usually as he's trying to sneak me into some kind of skin to skin interface while I'm intent on doing something sensible like taking my coat off or closing his front door. As I stoop to reach her she strokes my cheek and smiles. "Welcome, child," she whispers and kisses me, looking embarrassed at being so sappy. No tongue, but she does moan very artistically.

Ruth finally releases me and beams at Jack. "Your friend was magnificent."

Kate and Joe take one look at Jack's stiff, disapproving face and promptly break out into a rousing chorus of 'You've Lost That Loving Feeling', which, as they very well know, is the song he hates most in the universe, apart from –

"Whoa! My love, my darling, I hunger for your touch!"

Apart from 'Unchained Melody', which has the same effect on him as fingernails scraped down a blackboard. I decide it's only fair to be supportive and join in. Loudly.

"Woe indeed," Jack snarls.
 

"Haven't we done this before?" Jack grouches as he fusses over Ruth's blanket, thinking we're not looking. He snaps bolt upright the instant he realises we're all watching every move he makes, and has a pretty rough time of it fending off a dreamy-eyed Kate and a horny Ruth, who attacks from the rear as always.

Jack holds Kate away at arm's length, as if he's afraid she's going to bite him, and looks apologetically at me. "Usually she's okay, she hardly ever gets this mushy. I blame you entirely for the rocketing sap levels round here."

Kate looks up at Jack, wide-eyed. Then her face crumples and a single tear wells up and rolls slowly down her cheek.

Jack, as his family is wont to say, melts like butter under a blow torch. Kate waits until she's clasped urgently to his chest before she yells sucker, but the rest of us saw it coming.

"You are such a pushover," I tell Jack sadly.

"It's my only feminine accomplishment," Kate beams, as she forcefully blocks Jack's attempts to get away from her.

"Oh, for God's sake, Mom! Yes, I love you and only you, desperately. Worship the ground you walk on. Okay? Happy now? Then get off me!"

"Brings a tear to the eye," Joe says gravely. "A boy's tender love for his mother."

I'm so glad I made my dignified goodbyes in private.

"Mom, Daniel is waiting to say goodbye too," Jack wheedles. "Last chance before we board the flight."

Kate drops him like a hot brick and hugs me so fiercely my ribs are in serious danger. "Love you," she whispers, gurgling with laughter as I blush and stammer something incoherent again. She gets the gist though. Love you too, Kate. Love you all. Feel so lucky I found you and that you let me in.

I'm grinning like an idiot as Joe hugs first Jack and then myself, and then Ruth is demanding her kiss and then the last call for the flight comes and Jack has to tear me away, looking back over my shoulder and waving, not wanting to break the connection with them a moment sooner than I have to.

Ever.

Jack smiles at me, matches his pace to mine and patiently steers my erratic, distracted course in more or less the right direction.

"So, Daniel, you wanna join a club with me? I guarantee you'll love being inducted," Jack asks brightly.

"Sure, Jack," I agree vaguely, straining for a last glimpse of the family.

"Yeah? Not gonna back out on me, are you? It's a joint membership deal," Jack wheedles. "Promise me you'll give it a try?"

"Of course, Jack, anything, if it makes you happy."

"It will, Daniel, believe me, it will. Kinda got my heart set on it, y'know?" he confides happily, "It's always been a lifelong ambition of mine."

"I'm all yours," I say encouragingly.

Jack spins around as we reach the final corner and we both wave, the folks waving madly back until we really, truly have to go.

"Cool!" Jack exults.

I sigh. I'm missing them already. Jack slips companionably into step with me as we board the plane and take our seats.

My mind is still very much on the dear ones left behind us, so it takes me a while to realise Jack is revelling in barely suppressed excitement, sporting an evil smile and a disturbingly predatory gleam in the glittering eyes dwelling so lovingly and lingeringly on me. "Um – Jack – just what is this club we're joining?"

"The Mile High Club."

FINIS

Back to part one of Passion Play |  On to part one of A Dinner Of Herbs

If you enjoyed this revised version of Passion Play, please do write and let me know.  It was a nerve-wracking experience to say the least to re-write such a well-known and for some, fondly remembered story.  Even a simple 'thank you' or 'I enjoyed this' is an important message to send.  Thanks so much.  Biblio.