Four Runs, One Hit, Lots of Eros by  Mellendramatic
J/D Friendship, Humour, E/R, Romance and a dash of H/C. 
Rating: NC-17
Jack takes Daniel out to the ballgame and scores a home run.

Four Runs, One Hit, Lots of Eros by Mellendramatic 

"Now, that was a ball," I tell Daniel as I lean back in my seat and take another sip of my beer.

  "Okay."

  "If the pitcher didn't throw it into the strike zone, meaning he didn't throw a pitch that was hittable, that's called a 'ball'."

  "Ah."

  “Three more and he walks the batter.”

  What do you know?  Three pitches later and that’s exactly what happens.

  This was a great idea.  Drive up to Denver, catch a Rockies game at Coors Field, and spend the day with Daniel.  Great seats, too.  Just a few rows up from the Visitors’ dugout.  It’s a nice stadium.  It has nothing of the charm of an old ballpark like Wrigley Field, but it’s still a great way to unwind. 

  It’s been a bad couple of months.  I’m still on medical leave from that damned mission on ‘666, the one where we lost Fraiser, but Daniel…   Daniel needs this.  Apart from the fact he and I haven’t had any 'us' time, he needed to get away – to forget responsibility and do something different, something that doesn’t involve a magnifying glass two inches from his face and runes so tiny they look like they were carved by sprites.  General Hammond had tickets from his cousin and he couldn’t use them, so I packed our duffles, snatched my Daniel -- who protested loudly – from the Mountain and headed north.

  For Baseball.  America’s Pastime.

  The next batter steps to the plate and a few moments later, the pitcher winds up.

  "Okay, now if the pitch is in the strike zone and they don't swing or they swing and miss or swing and hit it a foul, it's a strike."

  Damned if the pitcher doesn’t throw a strike.

  "And three strikes, you're out," Daniel affirms.

  "You know this?”

  He gives me a long look.  “I have heard the song.”

  “Ah.  Okay.”  I suppose he’s not a total baseball virgin.  Teal’c, on the other hand…

  Yeah, this is good.  I could do this every day.  A sunny afternoon, some baseball, a cold beer and a warm, gorgeous and bewildered archaeologist of the Daniel variety at my side.  Yep.  It doesn’t get much better than this.

  “Hope he gets a homerun," Daniel says brightly.

  "Yeah…  What?"

  “The guy at the plate.  I hope he gets a homerun.”

  “Uh…why?  He’s a Cardinal.”

  “So?”

  “Well,” I say feebly.  “They’re the other guys.”

  Just then, I hear the crack of the bat.  Looking out on the field and see the ball sailing over the head of the centerfielder and into the stands.  Homerun.   Cards are up two to nothing.

  “Hey!  He did it!” Daniel cheers, while all around us is a mixture of groans, curses and sporadic cheers and whistles from a few fans of the visiting team.  He gives me a grin that sends a shudder of desire through my nether regions. 

  That smile…  Jesus.  This is his 'Blissful' – a pure contentment, worry-free, I-don’t-deserve-to-be-this-happy smile.  See, it’s different from what I like to call his 'Eureka' smile, the one he uses when he’s discovered something, then talks really, really fast about it.  The 'Blissful' is rarely shown to anyone.  But I get it a lot.  When we’re alone together.  When we touch.  When we make love.  I tell ya, when I get one of those, it just… well, let’s just say if we were someplace private, he’d be defending his honour right about now. 

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