Slash: Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.
Rating: PG13
Category: Slice of Life
Season/Spoilers: after Season 4
Synopsis: Jack and Daniel in bed ... PWP
Warnings: None
Length: 8 Kb

I'm right at that point, that cusp between sleeping and wakefulness, where you can actually feel your breathing slow ... where you've become one with the pillow, the blanket melding around your body like a secondary skin. The temperature of the room is perfect, freshly laundered sheets adding to the sensation of pure ecstasy.


Maybe if I ignore him, he'll think I'm sleeping and go away. Well, not literally go away, but go away as in just be content to lie next to me and not speak. I force myself to keep my eyes closed as he shakes my shoulder.

"Are you sleeping?"

'Yes!' I want to scream. 'See I'm one with the pillow, blanket ... and there's a little bit of drool pooling in the corner of my ...'

I move nary a muscle as his hand leisurely travels the length of my spine. Mentally, I count each vertebra as Jack's fingers loving trip over each and every one.

I grit my teeth in frustration at the man's persistence as he calls my name in that annoyingly sing song quality he uses when he demands my full attention. "Don't you dare," I hiss as Jack's hand slithers around my hip to awaken parts of my body, that until moments ago, were happy to join me in slumber.

"See, I knew you weren't sleeping," he states smugly into the darkness of the once restful bedroom.

Sitting up, I punch my pillows into obedience and then slam my body back down onto the mattress, tucking the blanket tightly around my body, holding the covering in place with rigid arms, refusing him access to my betraying body parts.

Spider-like, his hand inches over the blanket until he pounces and latches onto my penis. "I don't have to go under the covers to get what I want, Daniel."

"Please, I'm tired ..." I groan.

"Not all of you is tired," Jack answers, gently batting my erect, blanket-covered cock between his thumb and forefinger.

My vocal cords reward Jack's ministrations with a whimper.

"Oh, I seem to have woken up another part of you, Daniel."

I slam my eyes shut in defense of the lascivious grin-covered face that hovers over mine. Conjugation of Latin verbs is usually the easiest way to wipe that vision from my memory.

"You're talking to yourself."

With great exaggeration, I rub my hand across my forehead in the hopes that Jack will believe a headache has taken up residence and will then, out of sympathy and love, permit me to return to my previous state of 'almost achieved' nirvana.

There is honest concern in his voice as Jack inquires if I have a headache, making me feel guilty for a moment.

"Yes ... bad headache." I rub my temples for emphasis. "Could you get me some aspirin? Tea would also be nice." I'm thinking aspirin, tea ... giving me solitude for ten minutes tops ... yup that's possible. The Sandman and I could be hanging out together by the time Jack returns.

"Sometimes the slightest touch to specific pressure points helps to alleviate the pain."

I can feel my body melt into the mattress as rough hands produce a massage of small circles into the pulse points of my neck. "Still want an aspirin?" the husky voice in my ear interjects.

"Yes ... umm I mean no ... no aspirin ... better now," I whisper as the massaging touch travels to various other pulse points on my body.

Involuntarily, my back arches off the bed as Jack's deft fingers twist my left nipple and before I can catch my breath and beg for a cease and desist, he follows up this torture by a lathe of his tongue across the sensitive nub.

"Didn't realize they were pressure points, Jack," I gasp.

"Thousands of pressure points on the body. Maybe more than thousands."

"Thousands?" I squeak.

Various body parts make a valid, half-hearted attempt to pay attention as the teacher begins instruction of each and every location of these so called pressure points; but my mind has other ideas after existing on a diet of nothing but caffeine and adrenaline for forty-eight hours. A valiant battle is waged, but my thought processes do not permit the mutiny and retreat begins in quiet resignation.

The bed has stilled, the only sensation of movement is the rise and fall of blanket covered chests. Jack has undertaken and lost his tug of war with my libido. I try to hold onto conscious thought as he rearranges our bodies into a more comfortable placement, the point of his chin in the crook of my shoulder, his left leg capturing mine, familiar positions of sleep.

I'm back at that cusp again ... that edge between sleep and wakefulness that both simultaneously dulls and sharpens the brain to all primary senses within its immediate plane of existence.

"I love you, Daniel."

Four words; spoken with crystal clarity by the man who holds me in his arms. Sentiments not expressed in the heat of passion, or when lives are threatened, or when souls hang between heaven and hell. Four words simply spoken in the darkness of the bedroom that easily penetrate the fog of my brain like a gust of wind.

I apologize to Jack, soft murmurs of empty platitudes that he accepts with kisses to the nape of my neck. I'm the linguist, and there are a thousand expressions of love I wish I could recall at this moment. But I echo his sentiment with those four simple words that have touched my soul, knowing that for Jack, they are more than enough.


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