"What the hell are you doing Daniel?"
It wasn't the view of Daniel's very nice ass, tucked into a pair of even nicer worn jeans that set my Irish ire on edge, not at all. It was the precarious balance of said ass as the body it was attached to wavered atop the edge of the couch in his, what I called, den.
"Oh, hi, Jack. I'm looking for something."
I moved a bit closer, holding my arms out in the chance that Daniel took a header from his acrobatic stance. "Looking for what? What the hell would be atop one of those ... whatever the hell those things are." I had always hated those spire furniture pieces in his den, but for some very strange reason, Daniel seemed to have a soft spot for those monstrosities. I'm thinking it was all those nooks and crannies they harbored and hopefully not for their esthetic value.
See, I have this problem with an overactive imagination where Daniel is concerned, because the man has the horrific tendency to throw caution to the wind no matter what mission he's on. Totally focused, blinders tightly attached, which, when we're in bed together is an excellent attribute, but many times, the archeologist has an affinity to become oblivious to the numerous risks involved, which is a bad thing ... A very bad thing. And in my mind, at this exact moment in time, I can see with Kodak clarity, Daniel's weight pitching him forward, my not being able to help and him going splat in a very ungainly manner.
"Geeze, Daniel, don't look at me ... get down from there," I order in my best, cower before the Colonel voice. But Daniel being Daniel doesn't cower, he never did and I don't believe he ever will, quiver yes, cower no. "Did you know that most deaths and injuries occur within one's house?"
Bare footed he's now on tiptoes on the back edge of the couch holding onto the spire, while peering into a corner. "Got it," he crows triumphantly, wrapping his hand around something that's too small to see from my angle.
Like a mountain goat, Daniel steps from the back of the couch to the cushion to the coffee table onto the floor and once his two feet are on terra firma, I'm able to draw a deep breath for the first time since stepping through the front door.
"What was worth risking life and limb for, may I ask?" Peering at his fisted hand.
With a smile he opens his hand to show me.
"This? You nearly killed yourself over this?" I pluck from his hand one of those stupid rubber bouncy balls from the fifty cent gum machine.
"Hey, give me that!" He steps towards me and I retreat backwards, holding the multi colored ball over my head.
"Why do you need ... or better yet, want this thing?" I can't help but laugh. "And you have the nerve to make fun of me and my yo yo?"
"It's completely different!" he yells indignantly, swiping at my arm. "Now give it to me."
I slowly back up, waving the ball high above my head. "If you want it ... come and get it from me, Dr. Jackson" -- and I run, which is not an easy thing in Daniel's apartment, winding this way and that around various piles of books and precious artifacts. He's fast, but I'm motivated and we make two circuits around the loft before ending up back in the den.
I hold my arm in front of me, teasingly rolling the ball between my thumb and forefinger. One minute I'm dancing my jig of triumph and the next I'm pinned against the side of the piano in a move Daniel didn't learn in his years in academia and one I'm sure I've never taught him. I make a mental post-it, that the next time I see the other two members of SG-1, we are going to have a nice lengthy chat regarding Daniel's extraneous training sessions that the commander of the team obviously isn't privy to.
"Nice move," I admit.
"Gotcha," he whispers into my ear, his voice taking on a husky quality that catapults my overactive imagination into hyper drive.
"What do you mean? Gotcha?" I squeak as Daniel's tongue creates a path of least resistance on my jaw line.
"You are soooo easy, Jack," he chuckles, the reverberations echoing quite nicely against my chest. Daniel locates my hand with the ball and pries it from my lax fingers. "Watch ..." Daniel commands breathlessly.
And I watch as Daniel steps away from my body, studies the ball, narrows his eyes and glances at the top of the spire like furniture. At the count of three, he releases the ball and both he and I observe it ping around the room, bouncing off various items before landing right where Daniel rescued it from.
"It was a setup?" I ask incredulously.
"I like to think of it as a seduction."
"Look me in the eye and tell me what the first thing you thought of when you saw me on the back of the couch."
"That you were going to kill yourself."
"Nice ass ... I was thinking what a nice ass you had," I admit, slightly embarrassed because Daniel's right, I'm sooo easy as far as he's concerned.
Daniel leans back, and this time I allow myself to be willingly trapped against the piano. "You got any more balls we could play with?"
He buries his snort of laughter against my neck and I burrow my hands under the waistband of his jeans, not overly surprised to find he has gone commando, when I dig my fingers into his perfect ass. "Gotcha," I proclaim.
Feedback makes the difference between writing and posting; please contact me at firstname.lastname@example.org