Of Ice And Men by Marcia
Slash:  Jack and Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves sex.
Rating: R.
Category: Established Relationship.  Humour. PWP.  Romance.
Season/Spoilers: Season 5.  No particular spoilers.
Synopsis: Answers the question on everyone's minds: Does Jack like peas? 
Warnings: Naughty words - avert your eyes 
Length:  40Kb

Of Ice And Men by Marcia

Paradise! We finally had a weekend off, and Danny and I celebrated our one-month anniversary of being together by driving over to Cripple Creek, having some fun, and spending the night.

Cripple Creek is this way cool, old gold mining town. It has lots of wild west history and probably more casinos than I thought could fit in a one-mile radius. Daniel and I hit a couple of those casinos last night, although I made sure to steer him clear of the poker table. I’ve seen him play—it’s not pretty. He couldn’t bluff an African Violet.

We even found a museum we both enjoyed. Yeah, I know! Floored me, too! It was brothel at one time (which appealed to my bawdy nature) and had some historical/human-condition significance that had my little anthropologist all hot and bothered.

‘Course the tight, black leather pants painted on that ass of his had *me* all hot and bothered. This morning, he was bending over a display case ogling some 19th century whatis, presenting his lovely tush for my consideration. I had to repair to the solitude of the men’s room to relieve myself. Luckily, Daniel followed me moments later and helped to relieve my loins of their growing discomfort.

On our way home, we stopped for dinner at that new Italian bistro on 78th Street. Away from prying eyes in a secluded booth, we shared a bottle of champagne on ice while Daniel performed lewd and lascivious acts with his cheesecake.

In order to make it out of the restaurant with at least a modicum of dignity, I was forced to hold the bucket of ice to my crotch and picture Maybourne and Kinsey naked until the little colonel stopped saluting. The amusement that played on Daniel’s face as I struggled to regain my composure did not escape my attention, either. I’d planned to make him pay, but I’m sure that was part of his dastardly scheme all along.

The ride home was an exercise in frustration, as well. You see, I’m still a little protective when it comes to allowing anyone else to drive my truck. Hey, it’s new—sue me! So following my steadfast and reasonable explanation as to why *I* should be the one to drive, Daniel decided to do everything he could to turn me into a road hazard.

He began by caressing his thighs through the soft, black leather. He then lifted the thin v-neck charcoal sweater exposing that smooth delectable abdomen. And while one hand rubbed his stomach, the other massaged over the leather that separated him from his cock. That was just for starters.

Then he slipped out of the seat belt and luxuriously made like he was heading over to go down on me. Instead, he straightened up, leaned over the back of the seat as if were reaching for something behind there, and stroked his body suggestively against the seat. Narrowly avoiding two telephone poles and one mailbox, I tried to join in the party when he sat back down, but my lover slapped my hand away.

“You wanted to drive, Jack. So drive.”


So now we’re at home in my kitchen – our kitchen (I like that) – and we’re both buzzed and horny as hell. My pissy archeologist is feigning disinterest as he moves elegantly from the pantry to the coffee maker to the sink and back. Only Danny can transform coffee-making into an erotic dance-of-the-seven-veils.

Coffee set to brew, he picks up one of the brochures from a tour company in Cripple Creek and starts reading from it.

Nope. No more. Time to get down to some seriously hot sex. I grab him from behind, pull him into my arms, and start kissing the nape of his neck. He doesn’t protest and starts to rock his leather-clad ass against the bulge in my groin and still reading the brochure.

“Wow! Groucho Marx … apparently spent some … time in … Cripple Creek, Jack.”

“Mmmm-hmmm.” Nice try, Danny. Biting his left earlobe now. He hisses, drops the brochure, and continues grinding into my cock.

“I … always liked … Groucho,” he pants, his eyes close.

“Say the secret woid, Danny, and I’ll bury my dick in your ass,” I leer in his ear.

Daniel bursts out laughing—music to my ears. He turns in my grasp to face me and wraps both arms around my neck.

“Such a poet,” he says. “It’s a wonder I didn’t fall for you a month ago. Oh – that’s right. I did!”

“A month, Hell! You fell for me a lot longer ago than that!” I remind him.

“So you say.”

“So I know!” And I *know* he fell for me years ago—not quite as long ago as I fell for him, though. That was a whole lot of wasted time that we are making up for with a vengeance.

“Hmmph!” He puts on a show of exaggerated indignation.

Can’t help it. I kiss him on the forehead. Then the nose. Then I claim his luscious mouth and that plump lower lip. As my tongue begins its exploratory examination of my linguist’s oral cavity, my hands move to his ass and he pulls me in closer to allow our cocks some quality time together.

I have him up against the pantry now, kneading the perfectly-rounded cheeks, thrusting my tongue against his, feeling his hands stroking all over my back and neck. Jesus! How many hands does he have?

That annoying need for oxygen interrupts the kiss-and-grope session for a brief moment, but only for a moment as I snatch a breath and dive right back in again. Time to claim what I earned at the restaurant and in the truck on the way home. He’s mine. The doorbell rings. All mine. I’m attacking his jaw line, then I’m inching my way down his throat to his collarbone.



“Don’t answer it,” Daniel whispers into the side of my head. Good idea, Danny. I return to my place along his collarbone and resume sucking.

“Colonel O’Neill?” A muffled voice is heard through the door, and the doorbell sounds again.


I know that voice. Lieutenant Froemming, General Hammond’s aide. Daniel recognizes who it is, too, and we both quickly move apart. Daniel rubs a hand over his face, I suppose in an attempt to wipe away the lust. It didn’t work. He’s looking utterly thwarted.

Hah! He’d been doing this to me all day—I should be gloating. Unfortunately, my level of frustration has been pretty well sustained for the last six hours thanks to Daniel’s teasing and maneuverings.

“Coming!” I call.

“Pffft!” Danny snorts. He crosses his arms and leans back against the countertop. “Not bloody likely, now.”

I have to get composed here. Gotta get some blood to migrate north again. I run the faucet, and splash some cold water on my face. Unfortunately, my dick is still saluting seven ways from Sunday. I can NOT answer the door like this.

I’m frantically looking around the kitchen, and I don’t see Daniel cross over to the refrigerator. The next thing I know, he’s in front of me, untucking my shirt from my pants, then shoving a bag of frozen peas down the front of my boxers.


Daniel returns back to his position against the countertop, arms folded across his chest. I’m hopping around the kitchen, bent over trying to adjust to the pain and the intense sensation of cold. I glare at him. He sticks out his chin and returns the glare.

Shaking off the agony, I leave Daniel in the kitchen out of sight and stagger to the front door. I position myself bent slightly over at the waist so my shirt can flare out a bit in front of me to cover up any evidence of frozen peas and the incredible shrinking hard-on. One hand on the half-wall for support, I open the door to face my CO’s aide.

Lieutenant Keith Froemming snapped a quick salute. “Begging your pardon, Sir, but General Hammond asked me to find you and bring you to the SGC immediately.”


“What’s this about, Lieutenant?” I breathe through clenched teeth and snap an irritated salute back at him. My first thought (other than the fear that my penis is now encased in a layer of permafrost) is what you might expect: Daniel and I are busted.

“He didn’t say, Sir. He just said ‘find Colonel O’Neill and bring him back to base immediately and without delay.’”


“Although, Sir, he did mention a report he needed revised before tomorrow’s 0800 meeting with Senator Kile.”

He had to have heard that very audible sigh I just heaved. Daniel and I live in fear of being found out, so it’s a knee-jerk response to a Hammond-wants-to-see-you-immediately message. And despite the fact that Daniel and I are very discreet, you never know when the NID will start stirring up shit. So we’ve been careful—very careful.

In fact, I have an old friend from my black ops days who’s been helping us to stay on our toes. He left the military 10 years ago and is a self-employed security consultant. He’s also a conspiracy theorist and trusts our government about as far as he can throw it. He’s harmless and fiercely loyal to the few real friends he has, me included. I trust him to look out for my friends, too. He sweeps my place, Daniel’s and Carter’s regularly. So you see? VERY careful.

I rub my hand over my face and shuffle into the house still bent over.

“Sir, are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Back spasm.” I turn back to face him. “So why did he send you to come get me?”

“We left messages, Sir, and tried your cell phone. It seems either your cell phone was off or out of range.”

Just then I glanced at my answering machine. The number 8 flashing in the display. Damn.

“Okay, um, Lieutenant, why don’t you give me a few minutes. I’ll meet you outside.”

“Yes, Sir.” He does another quick salute, turns, and lets himself out the front door.

God – fucking – damnit.

I’m pulling the frozen peas delicately from my pants as I enter the kitchen. Daniel is all tensed up and pacing. He stops when I toss the bag of peas on the counter.

“What’s going on, Jack?”

He’s afraid for me. Since we admitted our feelings and embarked on this relationship, he’s made it his duty to protect me from court-martial and ruin. I’ve told him numerous times not to worry, that if I even remotely suspect we’ve been discovered, I’ll retire first. Besides, if it really comes down to being found out, I believe Hammond will support us and protect me. He’s a shrewd and clever military man, but he’s a human being first. And a good friend.

“It’s okay, hon,” I reassure him. “The general needs a report revised for tomorrow’s meeting with Senator Kile. He needs a hand.”

He is visibly relieved and crosses the kitchen to hug me.

“Oh, God, Jack. All I heard was ‘find Colonel O’Neill and bring him back to base immediately.’ Scared the shit out of me!”

I hold him close and stroke his back. “Yeah, I just about had a heart attack myself.”

“So you think this will be an all-nighter?” he asks into my throat as he lightly massages my chest.

“I suppose it depends how much revising he wants done.” Damn. What a crappy ending to a great weekend.

“I suppose.” Daniel sighs and nibbles my ear lobe. Oh, that feels good.

“Daniel,” I warn.

“Mmmmm-hmmm.” His mouth is latched onto my neck, and he’s rubbing a nipple on my chest. God, that drives me crazy.

“Danny, I have to go.”

“Yeah.” He gazes up at me and pulls my face to his, plundering my mouth with that tongue.

Okay, I’m kissing back but I really have to go. So talented, so clever, so sexy, so… mmmm.  Shit! I gotta go. I pull away slowly and kiss his nose. He smiles and brushes his groin against mine.

“To be continued, Daniel,” I promise as I turn toward the door.

“Oh, Jack?” he beckons in a lilting voice. I know I shouldn’t turn around, but I do it anyway.

His back is towards me. He’s bent over, his pants peeled down just enough to expose his beautiful ass, which he wiggles invitingly at me. He turns those blue eyes on me over his glasses and says, “would you like a rain check, Colonel?”


I grab the now half-frozen peas, shove them down my pants and stagger out of the house.

I hate peas.

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Daniel Jackson was written out of Stargate: Click here to help get him reinstated
Marcia, 2002.
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