|Slash:||Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.|
|Category:||Established Relationship. Humour. PWP.|
|Season/Spoilers:||Season 5. No particular spoilers.|
|Synopsis:||A colonel, a cat, and a loveable archaeologist whose heart is in the right place.|
|Warnings:||Cat-lovers beware: No cats were hurt during the writing of this fic. I really like cats (mostly,) so don't worry too much. <g>|
Jack O'Neill was sulking. He had plans for these four days off, including but not limited to getting into Daniel's pants early and often. Daniel was on the same page. In fact, Daniel was practically giddy with anticipation of time alone with his colonel, but a frantic call from Mrs. Lewicki next door derailed those plans.
The elderly woman was experiencing shortness of breath, and even though she had called 911, she asked Daniel to come over and stay with her until the paramedics arrived. Of course, Daniel had to go to her. They were very close, and she treated both Daniel and Jack like family. She always looked out for the younger man, and Jack would never begrudge the sweet lady anything she needed. Er- well, perhaps maybe one thing.
For the sixth time in as many minutes, Jack looked up from his cup of coffee and newspaper and scowled at the gray feline interloper gazing at him serenely from atop the kitchen counter. Muffin.
Eyeing the creature that had become his nemesis for the past 12 hours, Jack tapped the newly refilled squirt bottle reassuringly.
"Bring it on, Muffin," Jack sneered. Muffin merely blinked through half-closed eyes, and Jack went back to his paper muttering something about the many ways to cook tabby.
It was Daniel's brilliant idea to have Muffin stay at his apartment until Mrs. Lewicki came home. He got it into his head that the cat would be more comfortable with people around, since his owner rarely left him alone for more than an hour or two. So after the ambulance drove off, Daniel returned with the litter box, scratching post, cat food, and ... Muffin.
"Big mistake, Daniel," Jack warned melodiously from the sofa. His eyes were fixed on the baseball game on TV and shaded under the visor of his Chicago Cubs baseball cap.
"It'll be all right, Jack," Daniel said assuredly, putting the cat's things away. "You worry too much."
"And you, my love," Jack allowed his head to loll back against sofa and his gaze drifted up to Daniel, "are too softhearted and bullheaded to listen to the voice of reason."
Daniel merely huffed and grabbed his book from the table. Descending the stairs, he crossed over to the sofa and tucked himself firmly next to Jack who automatically pulled the younger man into his shoulder.
The rest of the evening was spent getting the cat to adjust to its temporary surroundings. Muffin decided rather quickly to make himself at home and proceeded to mark his territory accordingly – much to Daniel's horror. And Daniel, in response, filled a squirt bottle with water and set about exercising a little aversion therapy. When Muffin jumped on a bookshelf, got too close to an artifact, or decided to dig up the potted palm, Daniel took careful aim from the couch and sprayed – an effective and humane course of action.
Even Jack got into the spirit of things – perhaps a little too much. Daniel was nestled comfortably under Jack's arm on the sofa when Jack picked up the bottle for the twentieth time that night and squirted Muffin.
"You know, despite your claims to the contrary, Muffin is not a Goa'uld, and the squirt bottle is not a P-90. Stop torturing the cat — this apartment is getting drenched."
"He was thinking about climbing up the curtains," Jack whined.
"You know what the cat is thinking?"
"I'm telling you, it's the eyes. I know exactly what he's planning."
"I'm Special Ops trained, Daniel. You just know these things."
"Oh. Right." Daniel rolled his eyes.
"I'm telling ya, this is a big mistake," Jack sing-songed.
The older man screwed up his face and squeaked out nasally, "Yes, dear."
And, again, in the same nasal tone, "Yes, dear."
Eventually as the evening wore on, Daniel felt confident he and Muffin had achieved an understanding. He also felt horny. Gazing at his silver-haired Air Force Colonel, complete with remote control, Daniel put his book on the coffee table. Rising from the sofa, he held out a hand for his lover. "Wanna make love?"
Jack bobbed his head in brief consideration of the offer then said brightly, "W'okay," and popped up excitedly. Daniel giggled, while Jack pulled him into an enthusiastic bear hug. Daniel pulled off the baseball cap, letting it drop to the couch, and started nibbling behind Jack's ear. Jack went after Daniel's neck in response, then soon found Daniel's mouth.
Simultaneously kissing and groping, they managed to sidle their way into the bedroom closing the door behind them, leaving Muffin the run of the apartment and easy access to water and the litter box.
Muffin. Not ten minutes into foreplay, the cat instigated a campaign of incessant scratching and meowing at the door, demanding entrance. They tried to ignore it, but the activity just became louder and more insistent, and Daniel was beginning to worry about damage. Frustrated, neither man was able to ignore the distraction any further and, reluctantly, they parted, Jack growling out an exasperated grunt. Flopping over onto his back, he scrubbed his hands over his face as Daniel got out of bed and went to open the door.
"Do you serve red or white wine with cat?" the older man put forth sardonically, glaring as the source of his indignation hopped on the bed.
Jack stood up and gazed longingly at his and Daniel's soon-to-be- unused erections. "What a terrible waste of wood."
Resigned to an evening free of any joy whatsodamnever, the two men prepared for bed while Muffin parked his furry ass in the center of said piece of furniture. Climbing in, Jack reached over to kiss Daniel good-night only to be hissed at. Daniel looked defeatedly over at Jack.
"I think it's red wine," he offered hopefully.
Jack frowned and turned out the light. They were done for the evening.
But Muffin wasn't. Every hour on the hour — for no other reason than to amuse itself — the cat made it a point to wake Jack either by licking an ear or threatening to cough up a hairball on his head. Daniel somehow managed to sleep through this, which only served to infuriate Jack further. And sometime in the wee hours of the morning, following another one of Muffin's hairball-hacking moments, Jack gave up all pretense of sleeping.
Throwing off the covers in frustration, he pulled on his bathrobe and went into the kitchen to make coffee. The cat hopped off the bed, and cheerfully followed him there, where the two of them maintained an uneasy truce until sunrise.
Muffin licked its chops and purred from its perch on the countertop. Jack growled at it once more, folded up the paper and rose up to put his cup in the sink. Muffin sat up, too, watching every move that Jack made.
"I'm going to take a shower now, and you aren't invited. But try anything funny while I'm in there, and you'll get a shower of your own," Jack said menacingly, holding up the squirt bottle. Muffin made some noise, jumped down from the countertop, and scampered off.
"You'd better run, ya little shit," Jack muttered, setting the bottle down on the table and heading into the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, Jack emerged from the shower in his bathrobe, toweling off the remaining moisture from his head and feeling refreshed. He'd been considering his behavior toward Muffin and conceded that perhaps he had been a bit too harsh. He liked animals — he really did, and he wanted to make it work, for Daniel's sake. So he decided to make a concerted effort to be more patient and try to make nice with Muffin.
By now, Daniel had woken up and was shuffling his way to the bathroom. He stopped briefly in front of Jack and planted a sleepy kiss on Jack's lips.
"Mrnng..." he yawned, scratching his naked butt, then headed into the bathroom to get his bathrobe.
"Good morning, Daniel," Jack smiled and went into the living room, coming to an immediate halt as his eyes took in the view before him.
Toilet paper lay strewn about the living and dining rooms. It trailed in from the bathroom and was woven through chair and table legs, behind the sofa, around the entertainment unit — even the kitchen wasn't spared. An end table was turned over and a glass bauble Daniel had been given by Cassandra lay shattered on the floor. The curtains covering Daniel's balcony windows were shredded and other debris littered the chairs, the tables and floors.
"Jack, what happened to the toilet pa-" Daniel appeared by his side and suddenly took notice of what had the older man's attention. In stunned silence, both men stood gawking open-mouthed at the trashed apartment.
"Oh my God," said Daniel, finally able to speak. "That little-"
"Aaaacccckkk!" Jack spied Muffin poised to give the sofa upholstery the same treatment as the curtains and made a beeline for the squirt bottle. Returning to the living room, he took aim. "Come here, Muffin – Satan – whatever it is they call you these days."
The cat took off in the direction of Daniel's bedroom, Jack chasing after it and squeezing the trigger repeatedly getting water on everything.
"Jack!" Daniel called futilely.
Jack held a finger up to his lover, "Not a word, Daniel!" Then he pursued the cat into the bedroom.
Daniel closed his mouth and conceded the point – the cat had to go. His apartment was totally trashed, and he had to admit Muffin had crossed the line. The line? Okay, make that several lines. Resigned, Daniel went into the living room to begin cleaning up, leaving Jack to deal with Muffin.
The cat had darted under the bed. Jack fell to his knees, lifted the bed coverings and peered under the bed aiming the spray, but the cat scrambled out from under the bed and out the door.
"Dammit!" Rising to his feet, he followed Muffin out and closed the bedroom door behind him. "Hah! Try and get back in that room, ya little butthead!" Jack had a strategy now. "Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Come on. Uncle Jack's got a surprise for you."
As Daniel picked up the refuse and glass, he occasionally looked up and watched anxiously as Jack darted up and down stairs, in one room then out, yelling and cursing and squeezing the trigger on the water bottle. Every once in a while, Daniel could hear the cat meow menacingly and hiss.
"Jack, please be careful," Daniel called, hauling the trash bin to the living and dumping debris into it.
"The situation is under control, Daniel. I have him right where I want him!"
The younger man was unconvinced, then Daniel cocked an ear towards the vicinity of the bathroom just as a series of loud epithets, growls and hisses confirmed that both predator and prey were engaged in a battle to the death.
Dropping everything and racing to the bathroom, he heard the shower door slam and Jack's triumphant cry.
"HAH! Gotcha, you bastard!"
Daniel halted in the doorway and looked in horror as Jack stared down at the cat trapped inside the shower stall, Jack's right forearm and hand streaked with blood.
"Jack, you didn't hurt him, did you?"
"Me hurt him? Daniel, do you see this?" Jack flailed his right arm in front of Daniel's face, and Daniel winced apologetically.
"I'm sorry, Jack," he said reaching for the medicine chest. "What happened?"
"I cornered him, then grabbed him by the scruff, and threw him into the shower stall. But not before he started tenderizing my right arm."
"Jesus, Jack," Daniel was horrified at the number of scratches and puncture wounds. He poured some hydrogen peroxide on a gauze pad, took Jack's hand, and gently began swabbing the wounds.
"Ow, ow, ow!"
"Hold still, Jack."
"You're Special Ops trained. Can't you pretend you're in stealth mode and hold still for five minutes?"
Jack pouted, and Daniel continued to tenderly minister to his wounds, squeezing triple antibiotic ointment on the scratches and punctures, covering them with gauze, and securing them with adhesive tape. He wasn't able to look at Jack, deeply ashamed that he had brought all this on.
"I'm sorry, Jack. You were right – I should have left the cat at Mrs. Lewicki's," he admitted to Jack's hand.
Jack didn't say anything, just raised his left hand to cup Daniel's chin. Lifting Daniel's face to meet his, Jack leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. Daniel smiled sweetly at the non- verbal act of forgiveness and put away the bandages and ointment while Jack went into the bedroom. Muffin meowed irritably from inside the stall.
"Oh, shut up, Muffin," Daniel muttered, shutting the medicine cabinet.
A few minutes later, Jack emerged from the bedroom, dressed and holding out his bandaged arm in an exaggerated display of discomfort. Quickly discovering the apartment was empty, he frowned and put down his arm. Where the hell was Daniel? He went into the bathroom. It was empty as was the shower stall.
At that moment, the front door opened, and Daniel entered the apartment, still in his bathrobe.
"Where's Beelzebub?" asked Jack warily.
Daniel closed the door and tossed his keys on the dining table. Hands on hips, he faced his lover and sighed.
"I took him home and made a few calls. Mrs. Lewicki's son is going to be in town tomorrow, and he'll take care of Muffin. He won't be staying here anymore. Ever."
"Praise God," Jack said loudly to the ceiling. "Those damned things need to come with a health warning from the Surgeon General."
"Cats don't like to get wet, Jack. He was soaked when I picked him up."
"Served him right," the older man declared and went over and sat on the couch amidst what remained of the debris from Muffin's mischief- making. Looking up at Daniel, he held out his bandaged arm pathetically. "Would you mind getting me a cup of coffee, love?"
Daniel smiled warmly and went into the kitchen – it was the least he could do for Jack. Then again, he was hoping to be doing a whole lot more for Jack later. Returning to the living room, he brought the newspaper and a fresh cup of coffee and set them down on the coffee table.
"I'm going to take a shower, then straighten up the place."
"He peed in my Cubs hat, Daniel." Jack held up the cap disgustedly between two fingers.
"I didn't like that hat, anyway."
Jack looked at Daniel incredulously. "I did battle with the Prince of Darkness in your bathroom. You owe me a new hat."
"Care to barter an exchange of services in kind?" Daniel asked, running his hand suggestively over his crotch.
Jack swallowed at this. "Um ... we'll discuss terms after you shower," he said shifting to make more room in his jeans for his suddenly burgeoning hard-on.
"Okey-doke," said Daniel, walking away.
Heaving a huge sigh of relief, Jack raised his feet and plunked them down on the coffee table. A moment later, he was startled by a stream of water hitting him on the side of the head.
"Feet off the coffee table, Jack." Daniel was standing at the top of the steps, squirt bottle in hand. "You know, you could use a little aversion therapy yourself."
Jack didn't even blink, he was up and across the living room in three strides. Alarmed, Daniel turned and ran into the bathroom, with Jack hot on his heels. Before Daniel could close the door, Jack caught the younger man from behind and pulled him into a firm embrace.
"You know cats aren't the only animals that are dangerous when wet, Danny," Jack leered in his ear, loosening the ties on his bathrobe.
"Oh? Would you elaborate, please?" Daniel breathed huskily as his robe hit the floor.
"The Great Horny Air Force Colonel, for one," Jack nibbled Daniel's ear and reached down to grasp his thickening cock.
"I've ne- never heard ... of it." Daniel gasped and closed his eyes, grinding his ass into Jack's groin.
"It's rare - only one in captivity. Owned by some hot archaeologist in Colorado somewhere."
"Really?" Daniel's voice was barely audible.
"Really. Just add water," Jack reached into the shower and turned on the water. "And it becomes very dangerous."
"You up for a demonstration?"
"Um ... yeah ... I-I'm definitely up for it."
"Funny, so am I."