Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.
Rating: NC-17
Category: Established Relationship.  Humour.  Romance.
Season/Spoilers: Seasons 3 and 4.  Events to Small Victories.
Synopsis: Jack does it better than Jim.
Warnings: None.
Length: 270 Kb Download a printer-friendly PDF version of the story

“Jack, I swear to God, if you don’t leave that thing ALONE I’m going to come down there and beat you to death with it,” Daniel snarled.

“Lighten the hell up, darl-ING,” Jack called lightly.  “I’m not doing a damn thing except sitting here and melting.”

“Don’t call me ‘darling’.  You KNOW I hate it!” Daniel yelled.  “How the hell can you be melting with all that beer and ice cream you’ve been scarfing down while you’re PLASTERED to the one and only fan we have?”  Daniel tossed his pen down and impatiently swiped the beads of sweat from his brow.  He had WORKING air conditioning at his place, along with heat AND humidity control, so what the hell were they doing at Jack’s house in a heatwave?  Only Jack knew.  Daniel shook his dripping hand, stretched up and peered down into the living room, where Jack was destruct testing the TV remote and Daniel’s patience.  Daniel glanced behind him to the hallway.  He sighed.  What he had in mind – it was a mistake.  Huge.  But there was no way around it, he had to do it.  He had no choice, the heat was killing him, but still  - it was a mistake. He cautiously eased up and snuck out of the dining area without making a sound.

“Can I help it all the smart boys are fly boys?  Grab another beer for me while you’re up, willya?” Jack hollered without looking around.

Daniel ignored that command and made for the bedroom.  He was asking for trouble, he knew he was, but he was going to expire from the humidity if he didn’t get out of some of these clothes.  Egypt and Abydos were dry heat.  This oppressive, damp heaviness was like a live thing, knocking him wheezing on his ass and of course Jack pointedly had sole custody of their only fan.  Jack was half-naked, sprawled comfortably all over his couch, right in front of said fan, deliciously cool…and waiting.  Waiting for Daniel to melt in every sense of the word, go to Jack and sprawl with him.  Preferably on Jack's lap.  Jack’s blatant, gloating possession of the fan was entirely tactical.  A lure.  Bait for a very specific trap.  Jack was also hot, in the ‘horny as hell’ sense of the word, and royally pissed off about not getting any.

Daniel yanked open the bottom bureau drawer and fished around for the denim cut-offs he knew were in there somewhere.  Every single thing he was wearing was chafing.  Every single thing.  He stripped speedily and silently, his only defence against ambush.  He was naked and adjacent to Jack’s bed, which was pretty much how and where Jack wanted him to be, 24/7.  Daniel smiled suddenly, stroking gentle fingers over the comforter.  He wasn’t putting up much of a fight, to be honest.

Hustling into Jack’s cut-offs, which were bleached to a soft grey, blessedly cool and comfortable even if they were dangerously abbreviated, given Jack’s currently libidinous state, Daniel had to fight to keep a big sloppy grin from his face.  He was constantly amazed by how gentle Jack was with him, how Jack's instinctive warmth and tenderness could focus all the passion Jack felt for him into the most shattering love-making Daniel had ever experienced.

Daniel swallowed convulsively as sweet, remembered pleasure coiled through him, a deep, heavy pang that quickened his breathing and made the sweat stand on his flushing skin.  All that pleasure from mere touch.  Skin on skin, Jack’s boundless patience and stamina, making love as though they had all the time in the world, coaxing Daniel free of every inhibition he thought he had.  They’d been together five months now, though three of those they’d been forced to spend apart, and the only inhibition Daniel hadn’t shed, the only loving he hadn’t shared with Jack was intercourse.  Soon, though.  He knew what it was to be inside Jack, was shaken to the core each time by Jack’s willingness to be so open to him, to be so vulnerable.  Daniel’s lips twitched as he turned.  Jack was so passionate.  So pushy.  So LOUD.  And so – dammit! - so HERE.

Daniel gulped as he was clasped fervently to a lot of hot, hard, distractingly hairy and outrageously gloating Jack.

“Sweet Jesus,” Jack groaned, eyeing Daniel in disbelief.  He ran a shaking finger around the waistband of the cut-offs, slung low on Daniel’s hips, “and thank God for heat waves.  Let’s make love, Danny, please.  I’m DYING here,” he groaned, licking and nipping at Daniel’s sweat dewed throat.

“Well, die quietly,” Daniel snapped, breathing hard and quick as Jack tightened his grip imperatively and lifted Daniel off his feet to tumble him down on the bed.  Despite his wriggling, Jack had him pinned flat in a heartbeat.  In fact, Jack was grinning wolfishly BECAUSE of Daniel's wriggling, if the encouragingly filthy suggestions being whispered into Daniel's ear were anything to go by.  It was difficult to breathe, let alone think, and articulation was almost impossible as Jack insinuated himself between Daniel’s sprawled thighs and rocked suggestively.  He was iron hard, heavy, insistent heat straining against Daniel.

“Come on, you know you want to,” Jack growled, pinning Daniel’s wrists to the pillow, grinning like a fiend as Daniel’s hands turned in his, twining their fingers together, feeling Daniel shiver beneath him, the inviting hardness swelling against him.  “I love you.  Let’s MAKE – “

“Love.  Yes.  Mm hm.  Grasped that,” Daniel gasped as his hormones battled his report deadline for supremacy.

“Grasp THIS then,” Jack hissed, thrusting against Daniel.

“N-no,” Daniel protested faintly.  He wanted to, God, how he wanted to. “I can’t.  There isn’t time.  I HAVE to get this report done, Jack, you know that.  SG-5 goes off-world tomorrow.”

Jack bared his teeth.  “A quickie,” he coaxed, nibbling gently on Daniel’s ear, sidling his tongue around to that sweet spot just – Daniel quivered beneath him, gasping – THERE, he gloated.

“No,” Daniel refused with as much conviction as he could muster, given his body emphatically and indeed peremptorily disagreed.  “They’re NEVER quickies, Jack, you KNOW that.  We’ll be in bed all afternoon and I HAVE to get this done.  After the report is finished, I promise.”  He reached up and kissed the beloved, sullen face.  “I hate you too,” he said tenderly, “now let me up, I have work to do.”

“Leave it,” Jack ordered, scowling.  The scowl kinda segued into a grin as Daniel squirmed delightfully, trying to get free.  “Ni-ce,” Jack gloated, “Keep it up.”

“You don’t need any help keeping it up,” Daniel snapped tartly, “You’re doing just fine without me.  In fact, you’re positively rampant.”  He glared as Jack panted ludicrously, blatantly squirming in enthusiastic counterpoint to his own struggles.  “If you don’t get off me, right NOW, I’m marching in there tomorrow and telling the general I didn’t get the report completed as a result of taking the afternoon off to have sex with my pushy boyfriend.”

“A shit-load of HOT sex with your persuasive boyfriend,” Jack insisted.  “I can tell you without reservation that the general would completely buy that story.”

Daniel scowled up at him.  “You’ve been thoroughly out of hand since the first time I let you sweetheart me out of my clothes and apparently my senses.  To this day, I have no idea why I let you kiss the shit out of me.”

“I’ve told you a million times, it was the Blood of Sokar,” Jack smirked into huge, stormy eyes.  He lived to get Daniel hot and bothered. “I was confused.  I thought you were…“

“ME,” Daniel snapped.  “Confused my ass, which is exactly what you were after.  I’ve seen cobras strike slower than your hands grabbing my butt.  AND you knew I couldn’t so much as whimper a protest, what with being two feet away from the open chamber GENERAL Carter and MAJOR Carter were sharing and…”

“It was at least three feet and it was your own goddamn fault,” Jack interrupted hurriedly.  “You’re ridiculously tender-hearted.  You should have kicked me to shut me up, not snuggled up next to me and breathed on my neck.”

“I was trying to comfort you,” Daniel sniffed.  “You were having a nightmare.”

“I was feeling no pain at all, mostly because I was having a wet dream and when I opened my eyes you made it come true.”

“I was feeling pain.  I banged my head when you – you…“

“I was being chivalrous, shielding your body with my own.”

“Shielding me from what?” Daniel hooted incredulously.  “You rolled on top of me and kissed the shit out of me,” he corrected crisply.  “I was the only one who was confused.  I still don’t know why I didn’t just knee you in the balls, except you’d factored that in as well, and you knew I’d never be low enough to do that to you when you were wounded.  You’re such a prick, Jack O’Neill.  You knew you were in love with me for months before you bothered to let me in on it.”

Jack’s lips twitched ruefully.  The sulky pout was softening him, as always.  “I was embarrassed, what can I say?  I’d felt – weird – about you…“

“Weird?  That’s romantic,” Daniel drawled witheringly.

“Shut up,” Jack said equably.  “Weird, ever since I took my eye off your balls and that bitch Hathor had you shorn like a sheep.  My libido has been jumpy ever since your nape was exposed to the world.  Flaunting the big blue eyes and the bone structure at me didn’t help at all.”  Not at ALL.  Except to make his trigger finger itch whenever anyone showed an inappropriate interest in Daniel, which so far seemed to be everybody.  “I didn’t really know I was in love with you until that debacle with Linea.”

Daniel blushed.  He hadn’t slept with Ke’ra, no matter what the base thought.  She’d lost her memory and could have been married for all he knew.  She’d kissed him, and he’d wanted that so badly, needed that connection, needed to be wanted again, so much.  He’d almost – well, it had been too close.  Knowing it was wrong had been barely enough to stop him, to make him back away when they both wanted it desperately.  The attraction was explicable for so many reasons, and loneliness was only part of it.  He’d looked at Ke’ra and finally realised he was seeing Sarah, another loss, not the bone deep ache of losing Sha’uri, but still a loss.

Ke’ra was reaction to so many old hurts, and she was someone he could help.  Had helped, despite Jack rampaging round the base with a loaded gun.  He knew now that Jack had been jealous, but at the time, he’d only seen Jack venting his rage at being the one to set Linea free, wanting to erase his own mistake with a bullet.  They’d all been fooled by Linea, but Daniel had faith in Ke’ra.  She had the chance she deserved to put her knowledge to good use, to live clean and free of her past, and though Daniel was still weighed down by his own past, it was due to Ke’ra he now had Jack.  The extremity of Jack’s jealous, protective rage had finally shocked Jack into thinking straight, and led directly to that outrageous ambush when they’d limped back to Vorash to get medical attention for Jacob after his ordeal on Netu.

Daniel still had no idea how Jack had known Daniel was in love with him before Daniel had, but somehow, Jack had known.  Just as he’d known on the journey back from Netu that Daniel had reached his lowest ebb, and had ruthlessly taken advantage of Daniel’s evident confusion, though Jack hadn’t learned until much later that Daniel was confused because Apophis had used his best friend against him.  Much, much later.

Making love with Jack that first time, in fact making love with Jack every time, stunned him with the intensity of the passion he could be made to feel, the uninhibited responses he was encouraged to share.  Daniel remembered with crystal clarity making love with Jack amidst the comforting familiarity of the dunes.  He remembered Jack's fervent kisses, Jack's sure, certain touch, the deep, powerful glides against his aching erection.  He remembered pushing urgently against Jack, clinging desperately to Jack's shoulders, shuddering, sobbing into the hollow of Jack's throat as the hot, aching pleasure rippled through him endlessly.  He hadn't even known Jack could spell 'Tantric'.

Jolted back to the here and now, literally, Daniel scowled.  Jack was doing a LOT of encouraging, right now.  In fact, the ecstatic rocking and rubbing was bordering on a one-colonel cheerleading section.  Jack was eyeing Daniel’s lips hungrily.  When Jack was this libidinous, it was time to play dirty.  Daniel made with the melting, soulful eyes.  “Please, Jack, let me up, let me finish,” he pleaded, batting his lashes gently.  Jack looked a little glazed.  He was SUCH a pushover. “SG-5 need this information.  You wouldn’t be putting the moves on me if the report was intended for SG-1, you know you wouldn’t.  Admit it.”

“Ruthless little bastard,” Jack bitched, refusing to admit any such thing.  He sighed heavily, easing his grip enough to let Daniel push and prod and finally shove hard enough to get out from under him.  Jack didn’t feel obligated to help in any way.  He had a boner with Daniel’s name on it and he was going to share this pain freely with the cause.  He didn't know why the hell Daniel allowed himself to be guilt-tripped into bringing work home the moment Jack's back was turned.  He stalked out of the bedroom and followed Daniel back around to the kitchen, pouncing on another cold beer as Daniel settled down at the dining table again with his laptop and his books.  Always the books.

Jack took a long draught of the beer and slunk back over to the couch and the remote.  He was tantalised by all the naked skin being flaunted at him, totally off-limits until duty was very definitely done.  He couldn’t fault Daniel for following orders.  We-ell, to be accurate, he couldn’t admit out loud he WAS faulting Daniel for following orders when they could have been rolling around getting sweaty, so he was just going to have to settle for amusing himself until Daniel was finished.  Then he was going to make Daniel suffer.  Jack sighed heavily and rested his beer on his boner.  An ice pack was obvious enough to be fun, paraded pointedly past his hard-hearted love, but Jack wasn’t into masochism and at least he could drink the damn beer after it took the edge off.  He sighed heavily and channel surfed.


Yeah, yeah.  Jack surfed a few more channels on general principles and then found what looked like a cop show.  The big guy was definitely your typical studly hard-ass cop  The little guy appeared to be a spaniel from this angle.  That was Big Hair, all right.  Aww.  Bless.  The little guy had curls AND big blue eyes.  The kid was about twelve and the hard-ass towered over him as they dove for cover.  The frigging rocket the bad guys were using was definitely over-kill.  Jack mused over the logistics of hijacking.  A little C4, a little CS gas, open truck, minimal noise, no casualties.  Nice and easy.  He sneered at the screen.  Strictly amateur hour, here, even if the fuckers did have MP5s, Jack’s own weapon of choice.

Jack guzzled some more beer and lay down to lazily watch the proceedings.  He noticed almost immediately there was sparkage between the cop and the little guy.  More than a spark as the big guy hovered protectively and hustled the kid home, out of danger.  Maybe the kid was one of these sensitive types, nerves couldn’t take it.  The studly hard-ass wouldn’t even let the kid drive.  Jack eyed the big guy thoughtfully.  Nah.  Stud just wanted an excuse to tuck him up all snug in bed.  That was one raging case of denial, right there.  Jack guzzled a little more, watched a little more.  Chuckled.  Whoa, boy, was it ever denial.  The two of ‘em were all over each other, even with the denial chicks fawning and fighting over them.

“These guys are SO doing it,” Jack called casually when the break started.

“Which guys are doing what?” Daniel called back, totally at sea.  He’d tuned Jack out completely.

“What we should be doing right now,” Jack said pointedly.  “This is a hoot.  Talk about repressed.  The big, macho cop has his hands all over the little guy every chance he gets.”  He heard a definite snort from behind the laptop and jumped up, grinning.  “THAT was entirely different.  I wasn’t trying to get in your pants.”  He loped around to stand behind Daniel, cupped his hand roughly around the back of a tense neck.  “Not at first, anyway,” he admitted, dropping both hands to give Daniel a little neck rub, ease some of the tension away.  “How’s it going?” he asked softly as Daniel sighed and leaned into his kneading hands.

“I’m getting there.  Slowly.  Can’t afford a mistake here, Jack, this is a rigidly structured society, with strict adherence to protocol.  The Tucau are cutting the upstart Tau'ri ‘aliens’ all the slack they’re willing to, and the best I can hope is that our responses aren’t seen as out and out insults.  Even acknowledging someone of a lower caste than our team has been granted would be a mistake, and all I can do is extrapolate from various Earth cultures so we can avoid the most glaring errors.” Daniel pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  He had a sickening headache, which was growing more intense by the second.  Humidity killed his sinuses.  “That feels good,” he acknowledged as Jack’s gentle, knowing fingers worked their magic.  “And that feels better,” he sighed as Jack planted a light kiss in his hair.

Jack headed off to the medicine cabinet and the aspirin without a word, slipping into the kitchen to pour Daniel an icy cold ginger ale and heaping a bowl full of ice cream for him.  He hesitated.  Aah, what the hell.  Danny liked something to hold onto when he got excited.  Jack scooped himself a slightly bigger heap and strode out to resuscitate his wilting archaeologist.  “Time out, Danny,” he ordered briskly.  “Take a load off.  That’s an order,” he used the magic words when Daniel grimaced at him.

“You can’t order me to eat ice cream,” Daniel protested, a grin getting away from him.

“I just did.  Now get your ass down here before I have to enjoy myself thoroughly coming back up there and fetching it,” Jack called over his shoulder as he headed for the couch.

“You drive me up the wall when you’re masterful,” Daniel mock-gushed, hitting the save key gratefully.

Jack wisely said nothing as Daniel slipped onto the couch and curled up next to him, sighing softly and snuggling in, which was just fine by Jack.  Daniel swallowed the aspirin without complaint, which meant he had the headache that made him throw up, and took long, greedy gulps of his icy ginger ale, which meant he was dehydrated.  Jack felt guilty about hogging the fan.  He knew perfectly well Daniel coped with the desert heat better than the rest of the team put together, but intense humidity gave him this headache, the one where he threw up.  Not that he ever complained about it, no, not Danny.  He would just go grey at the first convenient moment, and disappear behind the selected tree or rock the instant Jack or Carter had checked it out.  Carter had mastered the difficult art of keeping both eyes on the treeline and one soothing hand on Daniel.  Not her gun hand, obviously.  Daniel would have died at the stake before he’d let Jack or Teal’c do the soothing pat thing, but Carter was sneaky, somehow convincing Daniel it was for her sake, not his.  That was of course entirely different.

Jack nudged over bowl and spoon invitingly.  “Dig in,” he encouraged, ploughing into his own goodies.  He watched out the corner of his eye, fascinated, as Daniel carefully scooped up a little of each flavour in turn and then ate them all together, tongue slipping slowly over the spoon, revelling sensually in the explosion of tastes.  Jack hid a smile and settled down to watch his show again.  The other one.  The one on television.

“What the hell is a student doing partnering a cop anyway?” Jack asked eventually, after he’d made a serious dent in the ice cream.  Big enough that Daniel had surreptitiously moved his own bowl to safety.  Lucky Jack didn’t take this stuff personally.

“He’s an anthropology student.  The cop is his doctoral research subject.”

“The cop is only interested in researching one thing, and it ain’t the doctorate.”

“I think they like each other.  A lot,” Daniel admitted after observing the onscreen action for a while.  “The big guy and – um – “

“Jim is the stud, Blair is the cuddly one,” Jack supplied helpfully.   He snorted.  “You betcha he likes him, only he’s not owning up to it.  If this guy was any more repressed he’d be up on the roof of the cop building with one of those MP5’s they just confiscated. The guys who made the show must have been tearing their hair out.”

Daniel nodded reluctantly.  The two main characters WERE a little too 'in touch' with their feelings – and each other - for any network executive’s peace of mind.  They - um - felt a lot.  He glanced at the screen.  Felt a lot literally AND figuratively.  A moment later he snapped bolt upright on the couch, bridling as Jack burst out laughing.  “He panicked?” Daniel snarled, outraged.  “Blair tripped and fell flat on his face in front of natives menacing him with SPEARS?”

“I guess the big, blue-eyed charm doesn’t work on every indigenous type in a grass skirt, huh?” Jack grinned.  “And cut the kid some slack.  He just told the denial chick he was uncoordinated.”

“It’s embarrassing.  It’s such a damn cliché,” Daniel snarled.  “He’s an academic so that automatically makes him some helpless wuss unable to function when he’s put into an alien environment?  That is such crap!  The process of getting a research grant is cut-throat, Jack, you’ve no idea.  Some kid who’d fall flat on his face the first time someone waved a spear at him wouldn’t stand any chance of getting a field project let alone a research grant in anthropology, because there are fifty more just like him who’d stand their ground.  Screw up once, just ONCE, you are O-U-T, out.  You’ve never seen me fall on my face when someone waved a spear at me, and I’m a linguist,” he snapped indignantly.  “I have to get back to my work.”  He scowled vengefully at the TV and stalked back to his laptop.  “They’ll screw anyone for ratings,” he grumbled.

“No, they won’t,” Jack corrected, reaching for the abandoned bowl just as Daniel trotted back down the stairs and snatched it from his grasp with a reproachful look.  “Jim wants to, he REALLY wants to, but they won’t let him.”

“That’s what fan fiction is for,” Daniel said cursorily.


“Fan fiction,” Daniel called as he sat down and opened his report file again.  “People write stories that fix things they think are wrong for the show.  Bad characterisation, improbable plots, even the death of favourite characters.”

“You read this stuff?”

“No, but I know it’s on the web.  A lot of anthropologists and information scientists are studying the impact of the free exchange of information and ideas on the world wide web - the global community, you know?”  Daniel accepted the moment the words were out of his mouth that was probably a rhetorical question.  “I’ve read some articles recently, and fan fiction was one of the issues addressed.”

Jack unplugged the fan and carried it up into the dining area.  He fussed with it until he got the maximum cool air playing over Daniel’s glistening and tragically still off-limits skin, kissed him gently on his shivering nape, and left him to it.

As he watched the show, Jack was wondering about Jim who’d wanted to do it with Blair, and couldn’t because it was prime time.  He was wondering if anybody had fixed that.

“For God’s sake!” Jack howled.

Daniel jumped.  All had been calm for a few hours now.  He was almost finished his report, mostly because Jack had been totally engrossed in whatever it was he was looking at on his laptop.  For engrossed, read QUIET.  He’d hooked up the modem, so Daniel presumed Jack was looking at something on the web.

“Sexy_colonel is taken,” Jack snapped in answer to a mildly enquiring look from Daniel.  “And leather_boy.  AND hockey_stud.”

“Excuse me?” Daniel bleated, totally taken aback by the stream of salacious non-sequiturs.

“I need a pseudonym, Daniel, try to keep up,” Jack said impatiently.  “I can’t have my feedback coming to my officially assigned USAF email address, can I?”

“Sexy ‘colonel’?” Daniel challenged.  “And more importantly, ‘feedback’?” he asked cautiously.

“Colonel is neutral.  Anybody could be a sexy colonel,” Jack insisted.

“Including an Air Force colonel,” Daniel commented crisply.  “Don’t give me any crap about reverse psychology, either,” he added hurriedly.  Jack’s mouth closed with a definite snap.  “Let it go,” he ordered his mutinous – and if he was being completely honest here – sexy colonel.

“You didn’t say I was sexy,” Jack muttered, trying out the hurt puppy eyes to no noticeable effect.

“I certainly didn’t,” Daniel said meanly, accepting his report conclusion and final read through were going to have to wait a little longer.  Things were looking much more interesting on Planet Jack.  “What the hell do you need a pseudonym for, Jack?  Feedback?  Feedback for what?”

“My story,” Jack beamed.  “You were right about this fan fiction stuff.  Found a shit load of it.”

“About ‘The Sentinel’?”

“About Jim and Blair, and it isn’t fan fic.  Well, it is, but it’s a sub-genre,” he added cunningly.  He knew Daniel well enough to judge the effect a carefully placed mention of technical stuff like transitive verbs or absolute dating could have on his susceptible lover.  “Slash fic.  I knew if I spotted those two wanted to do it, I wouldn’t be the only one.”

Daniel saved his report, put the laptop on standby, slid it to one side.  He leaned forward, fascinated, propped his chin on his hands and stared at Jack.  “And just how did you find this ‘slash fic’?”

“I did a search.  Not one of those fancy pants Boolean string beans you use, but completely effective nonetheless,” Jack said smugly.

“Which keywords did you use?”

“’Jim’, ‘Blair’ and 'fucking’,” Jack said crisply.

Daniel blinked hard.  “Ah.  The…direct approach.  Crude, but effective,” he admitted.

“Gotta love that document level indexing on Google.  I got four thousand three hundred and seventy hits.”  Jack grinned.  That was a lot of fucking.

“And just how, exactly, does this lead us to sexy_colonel and feedback?” Daniel queried gently.

“Because I’ve read some of those stories and I can do better.  Seriously, Danny, if I gotta read one more story about the kid having to take it up the ass ‘cause he’s the Guide and the Blessed Fucking Protector gets to stick it to him whenever he feels like it, but it’s okay, it's DESTINY, my head will explode.  It's just the little guy's bad luck he's a guy?  And what the hell, let's fix it by making the kid a wuss in crying need of protection and a good hard fuck to keep him 'safe'.  Keep him in line, more like, 'cause God forbid Big Bad Jim should make an effort, woo him or something.  Sheesh."

“Oh,” Daniel said weakly.  He was somewhat at a loss.  This was surreal even for Jack.  “You’re going to fix the fix-it fan fiction?” he clarified.  He caught the tender, somewhat speculative warmth in Jack's eyes and blushed.  Wooing was one of Jack's specialities.  Jack never assumed he'd be getting any, for all the teasing, and their dates were followed by seriously creative seductions.  Jack loved it when Daniel played hard to get, and Daniel loved Jack going postal when Daniel played TOO hard to get.

“Yeah, sure.  I’ve skimmed.  Big Jim was military, Special Forces.  Me too.  He’s hot for an archaeologist with beautiful big blue eyes.  Me too.”

"Blair is an anthropologist,” Daniel snapped, ignoring the 'eyes’ stuff.  Jack got sappy from time to time, and all Daniel could do was ride it out until Jack came to his senses and started biting his head off instead of stroking it.  Daniel tried to avoid pillow talk, even when they were both naked and feeling pretty sappy.  The occasional 'sapphire' or 'cerulean' reference was liveable, but Daniel wasn't about to reciprocate because Jack would want to be 'velvety' the whole damn time.

"Huh?" Jack muttered vaguely, eyes on his screen.

'He's an anthropologist, not an archaeologist,” Daniel insisted.

"Ah, they both dig up dead guys, what's the difference?" Jack brushed it off impatiently.

“Anthropologist is easier to spell,” Daniel said dryly.  “And you mean palaeontologist.”

“You both study cultures, though.  You got the damn PhD on your records.”

“You were Black Ops,” Daniel said lightly. It was a little blatant to point out that there were three branches of military service, and Jack would be as happy to be called 'sailor' as Daniel was to be called 'anthropologist'.  He was a Doctor of Archaeology.  Jack was an Air Force colonel.  After a moment's careful reflection, Daniel decided never to mention the word 'sailor' in Jack's presence.  It would only encourage him.  Daniel could actually picture several scenarios where Jack wouldn't mind being referred to as a sailor at all, most of them involving an inflatable submarine and various ways of getting Daniel wet and wild.  Anchors aweigh, indeed.  Daniel glanced at Jack, thought about boarding parties, and shuddered.

“I fucking wasn’t Black Ops,” Jack snarled, “I’ve never sunk THAT low – oh, very funny, I get the damn point.”

“I’ve spent half my life studying the written word, Jack.  I’m an archaeologist, and my area of expertise is the languages and literature of ancient cultures.  Archaeology is a specialised field of study within anthropology, certainly, just as linguistics is a specialised field of study within archaeology.  It was studying the development of early writing systems that led to my research on the cross-pollinisation of ancient cultures.”

“Linguist is easier to spell, too,” Jack said lightly.  He stared at Daniel for a moment.  “Special Ops is sanctioned, Daniel,” he said seriously.  “It’s not the same as Black Ops.  I’ve never been a paid assassin.”  Or a kidnapper, or a torturer, or…

“You don’t need to tell me that,” Daniel said softly.  “And I don’t want this to be construed in any way as encouragement, but how about Fly Boy?”

“Damn, I like that,” Jack pounced on his keyboard and typed furiously, hitting the submit key with a flourish.  “Godammit!” he glared accusingly at the infuriating red field on his screen.


“Sixty-nine of them, apparently,” Jack complained gloomily.  “I know!”  Jack added ‘fanfic’ and beamed when it sailed through.  “There ya go, flyboy_fanfic at your service,” Jack gloated.  “And at”

Daniel strolled around the table to take a look at Jack’s new identity.  Then he took another look.  “Um, Jack, I can’t help but notice this profile has ‘female’ checked in the gender box.”

Jack shot him a withering look.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Daniel.  If everyone knew I was a man, my work would have no credibility.  These are women, writing for women.  Actually, I think some of them are little girls writing for women, from the realism of some of the sex scenes I’ve saved on my hard drive for later.  In the humour folder.  I have to be a woman.”

“Flyboy?” Daniel queried.

“An assumed identity,” Jack explained patiently.

Daniel sat down limply.  “Let me get this straight.  You’re a gay man – “

“Celibate at this precise moment,” Jack grumbled, “but I’ll let that one go.  And not gay per se, since my cup pretty much runneth over with you.  I’ve never felt the slightest urge to have - random example here - Teal’c squirming all over me.”  He grinned as Daniel’s blush bottomed out somewhere round his knees.  Daniel brought a certain quality of enthusiasm to his intense, ongoing and protracted explorations of Jack’s body that reminded Jack irresistibly of a possessive puppy worrying at a bone that was too big for it.  Lots of concentrated licking, kissing, nibbling and growling.  Except for those occasions when Jack had Daniel inside him, and then Daniel was pure sultry confidence.  Boy, was he EVER.  “Jim himself is strictly ‘Blairsexual’ so I guess that makes me – “

“If you say it I’m going right home, storm or no storm,” Daniel snarled.  “Blairsexual?” he asked incredulously.

“According to Blair.  Some of them write him like he’s twelve years old,” Jack confessed.  “It’s disturbing, actually.  He’s a grown man, but they’re letting the curls, the big blue eyes, and the studly cop fool them.  In one story, Blair was a foot shorter than Jim, just to make sure we got it.  Poor kid is the designated bottom.  The ‘girl’.  He hardly ever gets a break. Scary stuff.”

“It certainly is, if some of the writer's are making the relationship unequal…” Daniel began.

"Wussifying…" Jack supplied helpfully.

"Disempowering,” Daniel amended, “and feminising Blair to emphasise Jim's role as the archetypal warrior-protector."

"Did you have to bring a word like ‘archetypal’ into a serious literary discussion?” Jack asked sourly.

Daniel opened his mouth, ran through the ensuing argument in his mind and closed his mouth again with a decided snap.  He settled for an apologetic look and made suitably encouraging noises to his haughty artiste.

Jack graciously acknowledged Daniel’s surrender.  “Blair seems to be the designated bottom even in stories that shouldn't know what a bottom is," Jack sighed.  Some of the denial-repression stuff wasn't pretty, and he hadn't saved a single story where Jim vented all over the kid 'cause he wouldn't admit he wanted him.

Daniel took a deep breath and tried to get a handle on flyboy's world-view.  “So, just to clarify, you’re a gay man who gets so much a couple of hours doing without feels like the end of the world, pretending to be a woman with no experience of gay sex or possibly no experience of sex at all pretending to be a repressed gay man with no experience of gay sex.”

“Just throw in Jimbo’s super powers and you’ve got it nailed,” Jack added judiciously.  “Speaking of which, it’s been ALL DAY since either one of us got nailed,” he whined.

“You had brunch on me.”

“Except for the brunch quickie.”

“See?  See!  We don’t DO quickies.  You dragged me out a deep, refreshing sleep at ten this morning and we didn’t get out of bed until two this afternoon and you’re still bitching about not getting any,” Daniel accused.  “Some people could get through a month of Friday date nights with what YOU demand out of a ‘quickie’.”

Jack bit down a grin.  It seemed petty to point out that Daniel was the one who liked to make love in the morning, especially Sunday morning, and he was the one who loved cuddling up under the covers, talking about anything or everything, snacking, making love again.  And again.  “Yeah, well, I’m getting a few ideas about demanding a LOT from the good stuff for when the drought is finally over.”

“The good stuff?”

“Some of the writers are good.  VERY good.  Some of the sex is better.  The guys are grown-ups.  These are filthy, filthy women, and I only wish I could meet some of them.  They know what nipples are for.”

Daniel blushed.

“You were a quick study,” Jack said indulgently, stealing a swift kiss.  “Now get your ass back to that report and let me work here.  And prepare to be ruthlessly exploited.”

Daniel shook his head despairingly and went back to his own laptop.  As he was powering up, a thought struck him.  “How on Earth can you write a convincing story after seeing only one episode?”

“I know all I need to know.  It’s right there in the fan fiction and the episode in question was pretty conclusive from what I’ve read.  The Big Bad Blessed Protector Jim is a mother hen with a colour co-ordinated Tupperware fetish and a MAJOR cleaning perversion.  Blair is an adorably cuddly, enthusiastic little – literally little - innocent who gets hustled home after nasty action scenes 'upset his sensitive disposition' while Big Jim does the manly cop thing.  Blair doesn't do what he's told, he wanders off, he can’t fight for shit, he has to be rescued, and he cries.  They got denial chicks all over the damn place to take our minds off the fact Jimbo would be dragging the kid into the nearest holding cell to take down his particulars every five minutes, and the denial chicks have a name.  Mary Sues.  I got all I need.”

Daniel strove for but failed to find an adequate response.

Jack glanced up, grinning fiendishly.  “I swear to God, the kid did all of those things in the episode I watched.  And it had TWO Mary Sues.  One each.  Hedging their bets, I guess.  Major mojo they’re trying to ignore.  Blistering the screen.  And it turns out the kid is actually LIVING with the cop.  Subtext my ass.”

“You’ve covered an awful lot of ground in the space of a few hours,” Daniel commented suspiciously as Jack typed furiously.

“King of Skim, that’s me,” Jack muttered distractedly.  “How the hell do you think I get through all the crap you and Carter keep inflicting on my in-tray?”  He became aware of a very crowded silence.  He looked up.  He looked down.  Quickly.  “I just bought myself another hour of report time, right?” he asked, already knowing the answer was an emphatic yes.

“At least.  And a vegetarian feast pizza.”

“Ow!”  Jack eyed his love cynically.  “How come you look all adorable and cuddly and big eyed and you’re actually a vindictive prick?”

“You got lucky,” Daniel smiled sweetly.  “And you put up with me because you want to keep right on getting lucky.”

“See?  Mean,” Jack complained to the room at large before the lure of creativity sucked him back into the depths of formulating deathless fan fic prose.

”What’s the title of this epic work?” Daniel asked after a discreet interval and very little in the way of productivity on his part.

“’Blair’s Savage Secret’,” Jack typed a little more.  “Stop laughing.  It’s either that or ‘Primal Impulse’.  I’m subverting the sub-genre.  Gonna play along with the helpless Guide/studly Blessed Protector thing until the end, then the poor kid gets to drill the big guy up the ass for once.”

“Can’t be ‘Blair’s Savage Secret’, then,” Daniel suggested fair-mindedly.  “You’ll clue in your audience at the start.  ‘Primal Impulse’ is better.”  Daniel did a little desultory typing.  “Subverting the sub-genre?” he asked softly.

Jack looked up again.  He smiled.  Very big, very blue, and right now very soft eyes were fixed on him.  Daniel melted whenever Jack gave any hint whatsoever he was either listening to Daniel or just learning new shit out and about on his own.  That softness suggested a rapid final read through and the meat feast from Domino’s, side order of naked archaeologist to go.  Tender hearted.  Susceptible.  Hmm.  “What do you want to be called?”

“What?” Daniel stiffened.

O-kaay.  So Danny wasn't THAT susceptible.  “You’re going to be in the story, and Daniel is too obvious.  OMC.”  Jack threw that in deliberately to throw Daniel off the scent. Daniel would ask.  Daniel needed to know.  He always needed to know.  It was one of those immutable things.  Maybe even archetypal.


“That’s guy for Mary Sue.”

“I don’t want to be anything in your story.”

“Well you are.  I need you.  I’ve already rejected the idea of having me as the main OMC, Jim’s superior officer from way back when, a mission gone wrong, torturing us both with guilt, his fault of course,“ Jack challenged.  He had considered some him-Jim UST but he was about as attracted to Jim as he was to Carter, so he was regretfully letting that cliché go.

“Oh, of course,” Daniel gushed, rolling his eyes.

“But that wouldn’t work.  Blair would drop Jimbo in a heartbeat if I was on the table.”

Daniel took in the predatory gleam in Jack’s eyes and put his head in his hands, despairing.  “You mean that literally, don’t you?  Jeez.”

“Kitchen sex is hot,” Jack said crisply.  “I’m conscious of my demographic, here.”

“Demographic?” Daniel’s head snapped up.  “You’re not thinking of letting anyone read this story, are you?”

“Why write it if only I get to read it?” Jack said reasonably.  “It’s a good story.  Visiting student friend – that’s you – seducing sweet little Blair," he glanced at Daniel shiftily, "well, kinda."  And it had to be Blair.  No way was Jim getting his claws into Danny even in the guise of a gratuitously exploited OMC.  "Blair comes home dazed.  Jim smells you on the kid – he’s always sniffing Blair for some reason.  Super powers, I guess.  And listening to the kid’s heartbeat.  Voyeur if you ask me.  Anyway,” Jack dragged himself back to the point, “Jim goes NUTSO and throws Blair out – that’s a fan fiction classic too – guy gets crazy jealous – what?” Jack demanded as Daniel buried his head in his hands again.  Daniel’s shoulders were shaking.  “I do NOT get jealous.  I’m protective.  I have to be, because it took a five-alarm hard-on and my tongue down your throat for you to pick up on the sparkage between US.  That’s the ONLY alarm I want you feeling.  Speaking of which – “


“It would help me to visualise, and we’re right here AT the table,” Jack wheedled.


“Mean-spirited shit,” Jack sighed.  “Stifling my creativity, here."  That appeal also failed to yield visible results.  Jack abandoned the unequal struggle.  "Anyway, Blair moves into your hotel room with you, and Jim does the psycho stalker thing he’s apparently pre-programmed to do if it looks like he’s going to lose his guide, and in the middle of this it turns out you have this – “

“Pathologically jealous, devilishly handsome, dangerously sexy older boyfriend with shady government connections?” Daniel was appalled, he just KNEW how Jack’s mind worked.

“Devilishly handsome?” Jack straightened up, beaming.  “Dangerously sexy?”

“Fan fiction hyperbole,” Daniel quelled him.

Jack scowled.  “I’m excising all references to pert buttocks, then.”

“Thank God for small mercies.”  Daniel eyed Jack’s sleek, deceptive innocence dubiously.  “No.”

“What?” Jack tapped each key, slowly.  Precisely.  Tauntingly.


“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No goddamn way you and me and Blair have a threesome.  NO.”

“I have full creative control, here, and don’t criticise my sex scenes until you can make me come just by biting my tongue.”

“Jack, I can make you come just by biting MY tongue,” Daniel smiled sweetly.  “And YOU need a beta reader.”

“A what?”

“A beta reader.  To check for grammar, punctuation, spelling, insane plots and ludicrous characterisation.”

“And that would be you, would it?”

“It would indeed,” Daniel said firmly.  “So just email that puppy on over the moment it’s finished.”

“To your officially assigned USAF email?  Or…” Jack let it trail off gently.  He smiled wolfishly as Daniel glowered at him suspiciously.  “Check out chocolate_covered_archaeologist,” he taunted, “also at  Sexy Naked Archaeologist was already taken and Studly Spacemonkey was too obvious.”

“You can’t save the day, you know,” Daniel ignored the deliberate provocation, because he had a horrible feeling he’d find that email account when he went looking for it, and he was sure now he had a firm grip on Jack's terrifying creative processes.  “That has to be Blair.”

“Jim,” Jack corrected absently.  “Blair is the rescu-ee, not the rescu-er.  And I can save the day if I want.  I’m an OMC.  It’s my JOB.  I get to be skilled and resourceful as well as devilishly handsome and dangerously sexy.  Just kiss my ass and call me Mary Sue.”

Daniel shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it, then cautiously loaded IE5.  Unlike Jack, he had a wireless modem on his laptop.  He also had way more ram, a bigger hard drive and a multi-processor kernel that gave the colonel a severe case of laptop envy every time he whipped it out.  Daniel pulled up Yahoo from his favourites and hit the mail button.  After typing in the username he had no hesitation in typing in **** as the password.  It couldn’t be anything else, not with an ego the size of Planet Jack to deal with.  It wasn’t anything else, and he had two emails, one from Yahoo and one from flyboy_fanfic.  Daniel read, digested, did a quick web search, hit the reply button and rapidly typed a restrained - under the circumstances - response.  Then he hit send.

Jack knew it was only a matter of time before he got an answer to his various suggestions, so he was alternating between saving his story and hitting the check mail button.  He grinned when he saw that Daniel had tabled a response.

Date:        Sun, 27 Aug 2000 19:07:41 (MDT)
Subject:   Primal Impulse

They’re hanging just fine, flyboy, thank you.

> Hey gorgeous!
> Can we have sex?  How about you just…
> <snipped>

No, we can’t.  Not now.  Possibly not ever.  And if you pull what I snipped, your email won’t be the only thing singing soprano.

> How do you feel about being called Sebastian?

I hate it.  I do not want to be in this story.  If you persist in your attempts to write me into this story to exploit me for gratuitously graphic ‘three on a table’ sex scenes I’m going to smack you in the head with your laptop.

I also hate James, Will, Benjamin, Julian and Jean-Luc.  I wish you’d watch something that didn’t make your brain rot, unlike the Sci-Fi channel.  I’m only glad you didn’t try to saddle me with Obi-something.  I know all about your thing for padawans and their light sabres.  And in the interests of accuracy, I’m fairly confident that ‘Jackson Heights’ is a suburb in New York.  And finally, FYI, they named the DOG Indiana!

> I take it you have no strenuous objections to a little BDSM?  Blair takes it on as well as up the ass in a lot of stories.  How about <snipped>

I know perfectly well you’re NOT just talking about the story!  Having identified the source of this acronym, all I can say is any part of you that touches me, you don’t get back, and if you wave any kind of implement at me with sex in mind, I’ll be using it on YOU where the sun don’t shine.

> picture galleries…can’t carry you around in my wallet, can I?

‘BOONIE BOY’????  You’ve been taking PICTURES of me?  With MY camera?  Oh my God!  I thought you were taking pictures of the structures for me!  You were joking about the photos of my ass, right?  Right?

> firmware

That’s disgusting.

> <snipped>

Well, okay, if you don’t annoy me to the point I have to concuss you, the answer is yes.

> love you

Why is frankly beyond me, but, yes, I love you too.  Now leave me alone.

> p.s <snipped>

I don’t want to be IN the damn story, and I certainly don’t want to be kidnapped and tortured with Blair just so you and Jim have to join forces to kick majorly bad guy ass and rescue us.  No.  N-O.  Not even if the two of you DO reach a grudging big cojones mutual respect thing as a result.  You’re NOT the Lone Ranger and I’m certainly not frigging Tonto, and this story isn’t supposed to be about US anyway.

> p.s p.s Hi Ho Silver! Away!!

That was NOT funny.

> breakfast

Not marmalade, though, it’s too sticky.  And nothing with seeds.  You simply can’t get them all, and God knows you give it your best shot every time.

> yours

Mine?  You certainly are.


p.s. Yes, my head still hurts.

p.p.s Yes, please, just so long as you’ve grasped that pickles DON’T go with tuna in any world that makes sense.


Jack created himself a C.C.A folder, moved the mail, then shut down Yahoo.  Danny wasn’t up to playing so – he shrugged.  “Philistine.  Pickles very definitely go with tuna,” Jack grinned.  “And no, you’re not having coffee, not with that headache.”  He saved his story one last time then put the laptop on stand by.  “Finish the conclusion and I’ll proof read the report for you.  If I don’t get it, Captain Noble won’t either.”  He nodded, satisfied, when Daniel just smiled gratefully, and headed off to make the sandwiches.

It hurt to do this to innocent canned tuna, but this was how Danny liked it, and Danny wasn’t feeling shit hot, so this was how Danny would get it.  Jack delved into the freezer for sweetcorn, the bottom corner cupboard for a bowl, plates and a glass, the top corner cupboard for the balsamic vinegar.  Then he grabbed submarine rolls, salad and mayo, and a potato.  Heated, chopped, sliced and diced, mashed and dished.  Three large sandwiches, one small, crisp, artistically arranged tuna salad with a hot potato in its skin, one milk, one beer, two aspirin.  And probably an early night and a long, recuperative sleep for Daniel if he could pry him away from his spell checker.

When he emerged from the kitchen, Jack found Daniel sitting at Jack’s laptop, looking distinctly accusatory.

“Boonie Boy?” Daniel challenged.

“Nothing you couldn’t show Carter,” Jack said lightly. “All the sexy naked archaeologist pictures are password protected.”  He slid Daniel’s plate and glass to a spot by the laptop and nodded.  “Go ahead.  I know you’re dying to read it.”  He set his own plate and bottle down by Daniel’s laptop and sighed.  One pristine document, open and waiting.

“Thank you,” Daniel delved into the tuna.  It was so easy to add too much balsamic and overwhelm the other flavours.  He tasted cautiously.  “This is great,” he praised lavishly.  Jack sulked if Daniel didn't enthuse at length about every single thing prepared by Jack's fair hands, and if he didn't enthuse fast enough, Jack started asking questions.  The only appropriate response to a loaded throwaway comment like 'I think I used too much chilli' was to guzzle down the iced water after every mouthful and insist he could barely taste it.  Allergies tended to cover incidental side-effects such as wheezing or streaming eyes.  In fact, allergies were vital survival tools in Jack's kitchen.  In return, Jack sniffed haughtily and picked at every nutritionally balanced gourmet meal lovingly prepared with the very best of fresh ingredients until he was absolutely positive Daniel accepted on a molecular level the magnitude of the favour Jack was doing him by choking it down just to please him.  Then Jack fell on it like a starving wolf pack bringing down an elk.  Daniel fully sympathised with the travails of various SGC parents who described in graphic detail the agonies they went through every time they tried to get a six-year old to eat a carrot.  Daniel had a similar experience every time he served Jack broccoli, and he, like the parents, had learned the hard way the ONLY way to compel obedience was by threatening to withhold dessert.

“This is no way to treat tuna,” Jack corrected.  It tasted good, but it wasn’t traditional.  Daniel had changed his life in lots of ways he’d never considered way back when the only thing on his mind had been burying himself in Daniel’s ass forever.  Five months – or two, given his downtime on Edora – together, and the ONLY spot on Daniel he hadn’t buried himself was Daniel’s ass.  Jack had been ready on day one, Daniel still wasn’t ready, and since it was Daniel’s virgin ass in question, he had the final say.  Jack was waiting with patience for the day Daniel stopped tensing up when Jack’s tongue or a careful finger slid inside him.  Daniel enjoyed it, once he relaxed, and Jack had learned he could coax Daniel into an incredible gentle orgasm which just rippled through him endlessly if Jack was careful, could hold Daniel just there.  In the meantime, he had to put up with shit like…balsamic vinegar.

Jack started wolfing down his sandwiches and reading at the same time.  Then he had to stop wolfing in order to open up the Webster's dictionary Daniel had stored on the hard drive.  After reading the first few paragraphs of the introduction, Jack opened the Oxford English too, just to be on the safe side.  Then he got back to wolfing and reading.  Carter could actually learn a lot from the way Daniel wrote his research papers and reports.  Daniel was in some ways a frustrated teacher; he no sooner learned a thing than he wanted to share it.  It wasn't Daniel's fault Jack tended to shut him down. It wasn't really fair, but Jack just couldn't get past the idea you didn't keep a dog and bark yourself.  It was wasteful.  If he REALLY needed to know something, he could always ask.  Daniel always explained so he could understand, and he wasn't giving Jack the Sesame Street version, his written papers were just as clear, just as comprehensive.

The only problem was Daniel knew too much for the rest of them to keep up with him, and he used language very precisely, used one appropriate multi-syllabic monster instead of ten sloppy sentence fillers to share all the things he knew.  Some of the vocabulary challenged had to look stuff up.  The guys on the base never got in slanging matches with Daniel.  One, he was a really sweet guy who remembered your pet guppy was called Pete, and everyone knew he was.  Two, when sufficiently provoked, he tended to call people names they had to go away and look up, which meant they either had to look dumb at the time or come back later and admit they'd had to hit the dictionary to work out they'd just been royally insulted.  A snappy comeback was impossible in either event.  Three, Jack would kill them.  It was mostly one and two though.

Jack had the dictionaries open because Daniel had a headache and he didn't want to bother him if he didn't have to.  Acting dumb was smart.  It was sometimes the smartest thing he could do.  It led to underestimation. Daniel was the exact opposite.  He was smart, and that led to underestimation too.  Being smart didn't make Daniel weak, any more than acting dumb and mouthy made Jack stupid. He glanced up and grinned at the bowed head.  Daniel certainly never confused ignorance with inability.

Hmm.  Jack noted that Daniel was now the equivalent of three sandwiches and about to be two beers into the story.  He was very quiet.  "This is LOL stuff," Jack prompted.


"Laugh out loud."

"I'm laughing on the inside."

"Oh."  Jack got up to fetch another beer, slightly disappointed.  When he strolled back to the report, which was surprisingly fluent, given Daniel's headache, Daniel was waiting, in what Jack realised was probably full-on 'beta' mode.

"James Kirke?  You think that leaving out the 'T' and adding an 'e' will in any way disguise your, for want of a better word, inspiration?"  Daniel drawled, shaking his head.  "You have one 'Jim' too many for this story and if one of you has to go, it won't be Big Jim.  Frankly, I think I'm getting off light with Jonathan.  Which brings me to my second point," he said smoothly.

Jack scowled.  "It was a graceful homage."

"It was a thinly disguised attempt to work in a lot of bad Star Trek jokes."

"Make it Mac then," Jack snarled.


"No reason," Jack said innocently.

"Mac what?" Daniel asked, clicking on 'find' ready to begin the laborious process of search and destroy on Jack’s alter ego.  It could take some time.  Jack or rather James cropped up throughout the text.  Like a rash.  “Big Mac?” he muttered sotto voce.

"Just Mac," Jack said evasively.  Daniel scowled at him.  Jack scowled back.  "Mystique," he suggested sullenly.  He wasn't sitting here tearing Daniel's turgid report to shreds, was he?  He wasn't being petty.  He was being helpful.  Supportive.  Clearly alien concepts to Doctor Clever Dick Beta Shredder Jackson.

Daniel eyed the brewing storm signs and sighed.  "About 'Jonathan'?"

"Yes?" Jack snapped.

"There is a certain - lyricism - to the physical descriptions suggesting - um…" Daniel faltered.  "Suggesting…"

"Suggesting what?  WHAT?" Jack snarled.  He'd spent AGES getting that just right.  You would have thought it would be easy, what with the primary source sitting there half-naked on the other side of a laptop.  "I left out 'prick' did I?"

"No-o," Daniel said judiciously.  He blushed.  "Jonathan is - um - blessed."  Built was more accurate.  He was also dazzlingly beautiful, slender, sleekly muscled, graceful, and the possessor of an enchantingly sweet, not to say shy, little smile, a lot of silken skin and ludicrously long lashes framing huge sapphire eyes.  All of which suggested - well - he stared at Jack, shaking his head despairingly.  "Suggesting you're six feet two inches of marshmallow with an MP5."  Jack had it BAD.  Bad enough to plumb depths of sappiness even Daniel, the recipient of Jack’s tenderest feelings, had never suspected.  "Pert?" Daniel asked abruptly, the blush deepening.

Jack caught the sparkling eyes and the quivering lips and let the mushy crack go.  It was never wise to attack from a position of weakness.  "And perfect," he agreed softly.  "Just…peachy, in fact."  He tried out a hopeful leer, just in case Daniel was becoming more amenable to, say hauling the ass in question into the bedroom for a little literary criticism.

"That level of sappiness in a grown man, let alone a Special Ops colonel,” Daniel sighed.  “It’s tragic."

Or not.  Jack glared at Daniel's once again bowed head and ploughed into the report again.  He was annoyed not to find so much as a typo to ostentatiously correct or a single out of place tongue twister in Daniel’s report.  The frigging story was his first EVER attempt at creative writing.  He'd thought Daniel would be more sympathetic.  Encouraging.  And if Jack timed it right, willing to try out the sex scene on page eleven.  A snort made him look up.  That was LOL.  "Page eleven?" he asked hopefully.

"Page fifteen."

"Oh."  Oh.  "You didn't care for page eleven?"

"You'll have to apply to me directly," Daniel said crisply.  "If that's what you have in mind."

"Oh."  O-oh.  Jack cheered up.

"But not right now," Daniel added hurriedly.

"Oh."  Jack sagged and scrolled pettishly down a few pages.  Then he felt guilty and scrolled back up.  He scowled at Daniel, industriously beta-ing.  And snorting from time to time with ill-suppressed amusement.  Sweet little Blair was looking pretty good right now.

Daniel looked at the screen.  He wasn't on page fifteen, he was on page nineteen, at the point where Jonathan was comforting Blair.  Blair was getting in a little practice on what Jack had in mind for the climax - pun obviously intended - of the story.  Jonathan had been sharing Blair's bed for less than two days and he'd - well - it was a little troubling.  Daniel had technically been sharing Jack's bed for two months and he…hadn't.

Jack looked up as Daniel quickly looked down, noted the sudden tension in the shoulders…"It's not a hint, and believe me, it is NOT an issue,'" he said briskly.

"But you want it.  You want me."

Jack looked at Daniel's pensive face and decided the naked truth wouldn't hurt for once.  "Daniel, I wanted it the first night we made love.  No one was more aware than I that you didn't know what the hell you wanted, and I was pretty sure if I'd pushed it, you would have given me what I wanted while you worked it out," he said dryly.  Once he'd gotten over the initial shock of Jack's declaration, and the first orgasm he'd had in his right mind for years, Daniel had been ready to try anything.  Daniel had been so fearless, so trusting, and so shocked at the speed it had all happened, Jack had just sighed and let it go, waiting for the right time.  Three months stranded on Edora, during which Jack had been unfaithful, and then, not to put too fine a point on it, breaking up for the fascinated audience with the surveillance equipment before they’d even begun to deal with what had happened between Jack and Laira, meant they hadn't reached the right time yet.  Daniel had forgiven Jack freely for both betrayals of trust, so Jack fucking Daniel by proxy in a parody while Daniel was still edging up to the main event in reality was a pretty shitty thing to do.  It was a sweet scene, and a good time was had by all, but still, it was shitty.  He shot Daniel an apologetic look, guessing he'd be waiting a while longer.

Daniel decided to table the discussion for now.  Jack had never put any pressure on him, quite the opposite, and it would be foolish to allow himself to become self-conscious over - well, he had an idea about how he wanted his first time, and it didn't involve a bed.  Maybe it was a little kinky, but his fantasy involved his desk, the smell and texture of the written word filling his senses as Jack slipped inside him.  And rain.  Soft rain, deadening the noise of the city, making Daniel feel like he and Jack were the only two people in the world.  Skin, and striving together, their sighing echoed in the rain.  He glanced up and realised Jack was watching him intently.  He smiled reassuringly and decided to tackle page twenty-one, which was where Jack had started to run out of steam in the post-orgasmic kidnap sequence.  He really needed to speak to Jack about the font too, the text was huge, hence the staggeringly prolific output.  Jack was clearly a stranger to writer’s block, and apparently had eyestrain he was hiding from Janet.

"You've slipped up in the action scene," Daniel announced, grinning as his colonel stiffened alarmingly.

"I DON'T think so."

"You did," Daniel insisted.  "Blair is acting completely out of character.  Instead of bleating in terror and falling over his own feet, he stabs one of the kidnappers with a table fork and kicks him in the balls after the loveless bastard knocks him on his ass."

Jack was slightly embarrassed.  "Anybody would do that," he said defensively.

"I don't think 'anybody' would tackle an armed man with a table fork."

"Ha!" Jack crowed triumphantly.  "He didn't have the gun then, you'd - Jonathan had disarmed him."  He smirked at Daniel.  "And you - Jonathan - CAN do that.  I've SEEN you  - him."  It occurred to Jack belatedly that this might just come off as encouraging Daniel to repeat an act which had taken ten years each off Jack, Carter and probably Junior, come to think of it.  Teal'c had looked like he was sucking a lemon for days after.  Daniel had brushed off a trio of gently worded lectures on the theme of scaring the shit out of his team, and none of them had been able to adequately answer some pithy counter-questions about incidentals like being pinned down.  "You being a wuss would be much easier on my nerves," Jack coaxed.  "Give it a chance.  You might like it."

"I could, but then you'd need to give Robert another chance, because you'd be so incensed you'd throw my ass off the team the first time I dropped you in the shit by hiding instead of shooting," Daniel hooted.  "And knowing you, the fallout would not be pretty."

"It was worth a shot," Jack shrugged philosophically.  "And I'd kick your ass before I did any throwing."

"It's always worth a shot," Daniel encouraged.  "It just won't happen."

Jack nodded reluctantly and got back to his proof reading.  He looked up after a moment.  "What do you mean, knowing me?  Knowing me what?"

"Nothing." Daniel lowered his head demurely, hiding a grin.

"'The fallout would not pretty' isn't nothing.  What?"  Jack glared.  "Knowing me, WHAT?"

Jack threw up his forearm and neatly blocked the out-flung arm before the blow could land.  He kept hold until Daniel relaxed, then gently lowered Daniel’s hand back down to the cover.  He peered up at the clock. Dear God. Two am.  Jack rubbed his gritty eyes and took a calculated risk.  No guts – no rest.  He sat up and carefully placed both hands on Daniel’s ribs and waited for a reaction.  All remained calm.  It could be deceptive calm, or it could be actual calm.  He’d never know unless he…you know…tried it.  Taking a deep breath, Jack carefully nudged Daniel over onto his side, then slid both hands round to the small of his back, gently urging Daniel onto his front in nice, easy increments.  Daniel sighed and snuggled his face into the pillow.

Jack sighed too, then slowly stretched himself out, keeping a wary eye on his restless love.  Daniel was NOT a happy camper.  In this sleep mode – as opposed to Sinus mode, which had its own way of murdering sleep - Daniel demanded every scrap of alertness and combat training Jack could muster.  Delays cost ribs.

Jack was JUST starting to relax when some unsettled head tossing told him Daniel was about to happen to him, big time.  Not embarrassed in the slightest to be such a wuss, Jack instantly rolled off the edge of the bed, demonstrating his usual flawless, stylish and frankly well practiced dismount, vacating his spot a moment before Daniel rolled rapidly into it, arms and legs splaying everywhere.  Bitter experience had proven if Jack delayed too long, Daniel would roll right over him and fall out.  He would then indignantly accuse Jack of shoving him out of bed.  Not bothering to hide his goofy, reminiscent grin, Jack trotted around to Daniel’s side of the bed.  Sure as God made little apples, the moment Jack’s head cautiously hit the pillow, Daniel rolled back, flinging his arm violently across Jack’s neck.


Jeez!  Slightly hampered by being on his side, and slightly regretting all that time and training he’d invested in Daniel’s self-defence skills, Jack tried to pry loose the textbook chokehold, not at all softened by a few random kisses scattered over his shoulder, or the soft sigh of satisfaction, or the snuggling.  After some ineffectual tugging, he eventually had to peel each finger loose one by one, firmly holding onto Daniel’s hand for good measure.

He sighed heavily.  He’d once slept on the couch when Daniel got like this, and all it got him was a stiff neck and an equally stiff Daniel, who was hurt AND self-conscious.  Admittedly, helping Daniel to work through his abandonment issues had been fun with a capital F-U-C-K, but still…Jack shrugged.  He was TOTALLY committed to Daniel, and on nights like this, commitment meant possible concussion.

Daniel nudged at his back.  Jack hitched over.  Daniel nudged again.  Jack hitched over again.  Daniel shoved hard and Jack tumbled off the edge of the bed, throwing his weight forward to roll smoothly onto his back as he landed bonelessly on the carpet.  Sleeping with Daniel was honing his reflexes to perfection.

Jack cut his losses, stretched out and pillowed his head on his hands.  Hmm.  He was pretty comfortable right here.  Maybe he could…


The plaintive, sleepy mutter gave him a different idea.  Maybe Daniel would sleep better if Jack, say, wore him out.


Daniel’s puzzled face appeared over the edge of the bed, chin propped on balled fists.  Jack beamed up at him.

“Restless?” Daniel asked sympathetically.

Jack eyed him incredulously for some time, debating whether to say something or not, then pulled himself together and shook it off.  Plaintive could so easily segue into pissy.  “Horny,” he murmured huskily, trying out the pantomime leer which never failed to - aah.  He reached up for the solemnly outstretched hand and tenderly kissed the veins at Daniel’s wrist.

“Come up and see me some time,” Daniel whispered just as huskily, cupping his hand over Jack’s hungrily kissing mouth.  “Any time,” he invited.  Jack was suckling each finger into his mouth, swirling his tongue sensuously around each tip, then blowing gently on the dampened skin, making Daniel shiver in the now blessedly cool night air.  Daniel swallowed hard.  “No time like the present.”


“Get UP here, Jack,” Daniel ordered briskly.  “NOW!”

Jack laughed when eager hands yanked at him.  Daniel seemed determined to literally haul his ass into bed.  Jack had no fault whatsoever to find with that.  In fact, he was happy to lend an assist, jumping to his feet and diving enthusiastically onto the invitingly sprawled Jackson welcome wagon.  It took Daniel about three seconds to wrap every limb around him and start licking his lips.  Jack moaned theatrically and licked Daniel’s lips in return.  He DREAMED about Daniel’s lips.  Strictly speaking, he had dreams about each and every part of Daniel, but the lips – or rather the pout – loomed large in all of them.

Daniel shivered and shook as Jack’s coveting hands roamed over every inch of him with rough, possessive passion, greedy lips suckling at his nipples until he ACHED inside.  Jack’s encouraging groans of appreciation grew hoarse as Daniel stroked and fondled Jack’s back and butt, skimmed over his heaving flanks.  Daniel clamped his hands to the back of Jack’s head and dragged him down into a delirious kiss of clashing lips and teeth, and warring tongues.  Jack wrenched away from him, froze, staring down into Daniel’s face for long seconds, his own harsh with wanting.  Daniel wasn’t fooled.  Jack’s glittering eyes were soft.  Intense but soft, as always.  Daniel strained up under Jack’s weight and they touched tongues, flickering, teasing, seducing, neither willing to cave and invite the other in.

Daniel broke the deadlock with a tactic Jack loved.  He wrapped his legs around Jack’s back, not bothering to hide his grin as Jack hissed with pleasure each time their straining erections kissed.  Jack tumbled into Daniel’s waiting embrace and thrust powerfully against him.  Daniel moaned his own appreciation, luxuriating in the glide and play of sleek, taut muscles under his stroking hands, between his clenched thighs, sliding over and over his stomach, his chest…Jack feasting on his throat…God, he loved this.  Didn’t know how he’d survived so long without being loved, without desire.

Jack was devouring all the quivering, sweat-dewed skin he could reach, delighting in the helpless moans of the man beneath him as Daniel clung to him desperately, head thrashing on the pillow as Jack drove into his body again and again.  He had no fear of letting himself go like this, even though it wasn’t like them to go mental, found his own strength met and answered as Daniel’s hips surged up, lifting them both from the bed, Daniel laughing at Jack’s surprise.

“Oh YEAH!” Jack howled, picking up the pace as Daniel nipped and worried at his shoulder.  “YEAH, B-mmmph!” he sputtered indignantly into the hand Daniel had just slapped across his mouth.

“Don’t,” Daniel warned softly.  “Don’t say it.  I can barely tolerate THAT in the living room.  He doesn’t come to bed with us.”

Jack made with the big, hurt puppy eyes and the innocent ‘who me?’s.  He also took the opportunity to lick hungrily at Daniel’s palm.  Sooner or later Daniel’s arm would get tired…

Daniel lowered his hand, glaring suspiciously.  Jack LOOKED suitably cowed…

Jack lowered his head and stole a kiss, nibbling on Daniel’s lips until they parted, plunging his tongue deep into Daniel’s mouth, and having a fight on his hands – so to speak - to keep it there.  Danny was feeling FEISTY.  Jack’s tongue butted, jabbed, poked, pressed, prodded, pushed, rammed, shoved and stabbed.  Vigorously.  Jack’s tongue did ALL those things – vigorously - and the whole damn time Daniel just lay there gazing up at him with his patented ‘Is this ALL you’ve got?  Wake me when it gets interesting…’ challenge.  Jack sullenly backed off from giving his all.  He glared at Daniel.  “Yeah, BABY!” he drawled deliberately, insultingly.

“Bastard!”  Daniel bucked and heaved, cursing Jack in every language he knew, which took some time, hoping to get Jack even more excited and out of hand.  Jack was heaving bawdily right back at him, driving into Daniel harsh and fast, jolting him relentlessly up the bed.  Daniel tightened his legs encouragingly around Jack’s back, whimpering through clenched teeth as the ecstasy slammed through him with Jack’s every thrust.  He scrabbled behind him for enough traction to sit up before Jack’s implacable passionate onslaught concussed him against the headboard.

“You awake NOW?  INTERESTING enough for you NOW?” Jack snarled as they wound up sprawled against the pillows.  “I got enough for you NOW?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about Jack, but yes, yes, YES,” Daniel gasped hoarsely as Jack’s fingers twined with his and pinned his hands against the wall.  The sweat was stinging his eyes, his throat was burning as he gasped and fought for breath, losing as Jack stole the last of it with a toe-curlingly wanton kiss.  Daniel was dazed, shaking like a leaf, poised on a knife’s edge between pleasure and pain when Jack’s back arched violently and scalding slickness erupted against his burning skin as Jack sobbed into his mouth.  The pleasure exploded in Daniel’s head and he came HARD, hips spasming violently, vision dimming.

He was still fighting for breath when Jack pulled himself together enough to yank Daniel back down the bed and tumble down next to him.  “Mmm,” Daniel breathed, nestling into Jack’s cradling arms.  “Mmm.”

“Mm hm,” Jack agreed.  They were both offensively sated, sweaty and sticky, but as his spine seemed to have dissolved, he couldn’t do a damn thing about any of it.  He stretched luxuriously, gently petting every part of Daniel he could reach as he got himself comfortable.

“For God’s sake, Jack, lie still.  I’m trying to sleep.”

On to Part Two

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