LAST REFUGE BY PHOENIX
Daniel involved in a loving and committed relationship, which usually involves
Relationship. Romance. Angst. Meridian Free.
Spoilers. Season 7 in a universe where Meridian
did NOT occur and Daniel did NOT leave his team.
contemplates Jack, life, love and why he has issues
with three little words.
|| 65 Kb
Originally completed and posted to the net 24 Oct
Notes: Thanks to Biblio for the beta and the wonderfullly helpful suggestions.
Unfortunately I still don't think I did them justice, but oh well, it wasn't
for lack of trying.
home. Jack’s home. He’s finally home. Omigawd,
he's home, he's home, he's really home!
Geez, I don’t believe myself. I couldn't be more
ridiculous if I was bouncing up and down on the bed.
I’ve known this man for seven years, been sharing his life
and his bed for just over a year. You’d think all of
this would be old hat by now and yet simply the sound of
his key in the lock of the front door is enough
to turn me into a giddy teenager hyperventilating with
ludicrously pathetic anticipation, my heart hammering with
joy because – because he’s home.
How sad is that?
I don't have any excuses for my completely over-the-top
reaction here. It’s not as if we’ve never been apart
before, or Jack’s been gone all that long, even. He's
only been away for a week. Seven lousy days. And
it's not like I haven’t had lots to keep even me more than
occupied during Jack's brief absence. Heck, practically
the entire time he's been gone, so have I - I've been
off-world, frolicking in archaeological heaven, having the
time of my life. Sure, I have. Yeahsureyoubetcha.
The ruins of P5S-608 were an archaeologist’s wet dream and
yeah, I had loads 'o laughs playing in the dirt with SG-11
while Jack was undoubtedly bored out of his skull in
Washington. I had lots to do, plenty to occupy myself
with, bags 'o fun, oh yes, oh my.
But it wasn't enough. I still missed him.
Yeah, I missed him. Missed him in spite of being
hip-deep in off-world wonders, squired by a pack of Marines
who couldn't seem to do enough for me panting right behind
me every step I took. I've never been accorded that much
concentrated respect from someone who wasn't either one
of my team mates or my current lover and a whole bunch
of them – all at once – it was pretty heady stuff. But
even with all those distractions and that attention I still…
Every single waking moment. Even though during the
entire time he wasn't around I had everything I could have
possibly wanted or needed. Everything that used to make
me – me. What I was all about. Yup I had it all
this past week except one itsy bitsy little thing.
Although in truth, not so little, not that I would ever tell him
The one thing missing from that otherwise perfect past
week? No dark-eyed, silver -aired, annoyingly charming,
irascibly omnipresent colonel who has become my everything.
Without him there in my face, complicating my life,
incessantly, wonderfully driving me out of my mind with his
nagging and his sulking and his teasing and his snarking,
the 'everything' I had last week that used to be all I
ever needed to make my day, fill my boots, furl my flag,
cream my coffee, ring my chimes -
The music definitely wasn't playing. At all.
Because with everything I had, I didn’t have him.
I missed him.
I lie quietly in the darkness, barely daring to breathe,
quivering beneath the covers and straining to hear him,
the sounds of his soft, covert creeping through the house
making me shiver with anticipation. He can move so silently,
secretly, and he’s in full stealth mode right now, no doubt
thinking I’m asleep, not wanting to disturb me. As
careful as he’s being, ghostlike in his concern for me, I
can hear him. I’ve learned how to listen. He doesn’t
know I’m so attuned to him that as good as he is, he’ll
never be better than my need to know – just to know he's
there. Stealth mode or not.
He’s become the sum of everything good in my life and
he doesn’t even know it. He doesn’t know; there's so
much he doesn’t know.
I’m no slouch at this covert ops things either. I
could teach the colonel a few things about how to keep certain
types of secrets.
I close my eyes, listening, seeing him clearly in my mind
as he glides through the house, filling it, making it home
once more. He goes immediately to the closet, hangs up
his coat, puts his cap on the shelf and stashes his briefcase
in its allotted spot. Even though it’s late and he’s
been travelling for hours and he has to be dead tired he
still takes the time to do it right. Anyone else might
just have dropped everything by the door, telling themselves
they’d sort it all out in the morning but that’s not the
way Jack operates. Such a creature of habit and
discipline is my colonel. A place for everything, and he
makes sure he puts everything in its place when he’s done
with it. He needs to know everything is exactly where
he needs it to be so he doesn’t have to waste time or effort
looking for it the next time he needs it. No detail is
too small, trivial or unimportant to be considered a waste
of his time or effort to ensure it's done right. He takes
care to take care.
He cares about me the same way too. It took me the
longest time to clue in, what Jack was actually doing, what
it was all about, the way he was with me always insisting
on this and that – his bossiness, annoying obsessiveness
with what I was or wasn’t doing – whether I ate or not
for God’s sake – and what did it matter when we were out
there, whether I jumped the instant he said ‘Daniel, move
It mattered. It wasn’t just his job or some bizarre
colonel power trip thing; it was all about how much he cared.
About me. I didn’t get it right away and more often
than not what I did get was incredibly annoyed with him
because I thought he was being – well – over the top with
his obsessiveness, but then I’d never been the unrelenting
focus of such utter determination. I wasn’t exactly
accustomed to someone giving such an emphatic damn about
me. Every single moment of the day – waking – or sleeping.
I know it’s not much of an excuse but some days I’m not
the sharpest pencil in the box, no matter what certain
people might think about how smart I allegedly am. Certainly
when it came to clueing in about Jack, about the fact he
cared, and how much…
I won’t claim any genius points for how long it took me
to connect those particular dots. But when I did…
No one has ever cared for me and about me as much as Jack
does. No one. Finally figuring it out has taken me
to a lot of different places. From bewildered to humble
to out-and-out terrified, boomeranging back to bewilderment
from time to time but mostly, mostly I’m happy and so
grateful. For him, everything he is, what he does, how
he makes me feel, giddy and scared, frustrated and glad,
safe, no longer alone, seen, appreciated, understood –
okay, maybe not always that one but he tries, God, how
he tries – but most of all – loved. Jack loves me. Really
- loves me.
I’m grateful for that most of all.
He doesn’t know that either.
I thrust the thought aside, not wanting my anticipatory
euphoria to be spoiled by an unwelcome bout of inconvenient
introspection. I'm happy now, and I want to stay that
way as I lie in Jack’s bed, cozy and warm beneath blankets
and sheets spiced with his scent, trembling with needing
him as I wait and listen, breathless, yearning.
He’s in the living room now, creeping softly towards the
doors out to the deck, the first stop on his tour of the
house before retiring, checking all the exits, ensuring
everything is locked up tight and the house is secure.
He always does this, without fail, before he turns in.
Not that he doesn’t trust me to have already done so, he
just has to know. And to be honest, I sleep better too
knowing he’s taken that little extra bit of time to take
care of both of us.
Nothing gets by Jack. Well, almost nothing…
He’s in the kitchen now. He’ll be hungry, but he’s
not turned on the light yet, so that means he’s debating
with himself. He wants a snack, but he also wants –
he’s been gone for a week too. And he knows I’m
here. Even though he thinks I’m asleep and it’s not
like I’d know if he put off coming to me for a couple of
minutes and grabbed a quick snack so what difference would it
make, but still, he’s torn, he can't decide what he wants
What will it be, hunger or me?
He’s walking away, back through the dining room, toward
the hall. Looks like I win.
But then, I joined those dots a long time ago too.
He’ll undress in the bathroom so he won’t wake me.
In my mind's eye I see him quickly but carefully taking off
his uniform jacket, hear the relieved sigh he always heaves
when he rips off his tie and undoes his collar button.
Deft fingers making short work of divesting himself of
the uniform defining him as much as it constricts and confines
him, dictating how he must behave, what he can and cannot
do. A barrier stopping us being able to demonstrate what
we are to each other anywhere else but here, until he
takes them off for the last time.
That day hasn’t come yet and we’ve both made our peace
with the way things have to be until it does. There is
a price for everything, even the best things in life, and
the one we pay for a privilege few will ever know – the
cost of our passage through that big, round naquadah circle
- is loving in secret, never taking what we do and feel
here beyond these four walls. It’s true that while it’s
far from a perfect world out there the one we’ve made for
ourselves here has more than enough compensations to carry
us through. Maybe we can't go strolling hand in hand down
the street, but that's okay, what's far more important
to me is knowing I have him, even if I can’t let anyone
know but him.
Although, to be honest, I've never let him really
Okay, so maybe not in words, but I show him in other ways,
all the time, of course I do.
Well, I do.
The uniform will be carefully hung on its hanger on the
back of the bathroom door. Where it will stay until he
takes it to the cleaners, probably tomorrow, so it‘ll be
ready for the next time he needs it. No surprises, no
being caught unprepared. Not Jack. Nothing important
left to chance, unconsidered, forgotten. He’s as constant
as the march of time, and pretty near as relentless.
But believe me, that’s not a bad thing. You have to
understand. I've had a kind of a problem with
relationships. Making them last. Not that I don't
try, but the people I've – loved - most of them, well, it's
not their fault but they kind of…leave me. Sort of
permanently. That's just the way it's worked out, so
far, I'd learned to live with it, resigned myself to being
alone. It was safer that way - I was even getting
used to it. Kind of.
And then, Jack…happened.
Jack's different. He's not going to go. I know
that sounds like a crazy statement to make, given the kind of
life we both lead. We take our lives in our hands,
literally, every single time we walk through that gate and
statistically, although we've both managed to beat the
odds so far, all logic and reason dictates the luck we've
both been living on, sooner or later it has to run out.
That's just the way it goes, right?
Maybe so, maybe no, but as far as I'm concerned it doesn't
change what I know. I can't tell you how or why, but I
know I'm never going to be alone
Jack will never leave me.
Okay, I know how that sounds, denial isn't just a river
in Egypt, ha ha, I've been down this road so many times
before I'm deluding myself believing I'll never need to
go there again, living in a fool's paradise, however you
want to call me on being irrational about certain aspects
of reality, but I don't care. I'll believe what I want
to believe and live where I damned well please, it's my
paradise and he's my fool.
I probably could have put that another way.
However, speaking of the fool in question, from the sounds
of things he's finishing up his pre-retirement ritual.
Uniform and tie hanging on the door, shirt, socks and
underwear in the hamper. Thank you very much. And now
he's standing in front of the sink. Brushing his teeth.
I'm getting hard just thinking about it. About him,
imagining him standing there, frowning at himself in the
mirror, probably red-eyed, definitely bleary. He hates
travelling. He says the whole 'step through and you're
there' way we zip around the universe has spoiled him.
After becoming accustomed to travelling billions of miles
in the blink of an eye he bitches every time he has to
get from point A to B the conventional way and it takes
longer than twenty minutes.
So there he'll be, Colonel Grump, still resenting every
minute of his life he's recently expended terrestrially
travelling while he brushes his teeth in the altogether,
makes faces at himself and checks himself out in the bathroom
I've caught him, now and again, giving himself the once
over, but I've never let him see – and certainly never
let him know I know he harbours certain – physical insecurities.
He's an interesting contradiction in terms, is my dear
Jack. Most of the time he's utterly brazen; unlike me he
has no issues with strutting his stuff about the place
– too many years in the military I guess. Let's just say
he sure isn't shy about either getting naked or parading
around that way, and yet, for all he has no qualms about
hanging about the house in his birthday suit he has an
interesting and unexpected closet insecurity concerning
the condition of said suit, that is to say – he worries
about – although he'd never in a million years own up to
it – whether time and age and wear and tear are making
certain parts of him go soft, and south. And if, when
that happens, will the fact maybe he's not so taut and
tight as he used to be – will it change the way I feel
I think it's the age difference. Not that it's that
great between us, because it isn't,
but it's there, and it worries him sometimes, I know it
does because he thinks of me – a certain way and while
I've never come right out and told him surely he knows,
he must know I see him the same, always will. No
matter what he actually looks like that won't change the
way I see him, but still, he wonders. I'm with
him now, when he's still strong, and tight and toned -
maybe not young but not exactly old either, but, when
things start to go, and they will, sooner for him than for me,
nothing either of us can do about that – he wonders if once
he's gone to seed - will I still be interested in
rotating his crops.
So, worrying about that possibility as he occasionally
does, especially at times like now, when he's been away
for awhile, I haven't seen him, he hasn't seen me for a
bit, and maybe, just maybe during the time we've been apart
there've been…changes, that means he'll have to reassure
himself he still looks as good as he thinks I need him
to, so - he'll be checking for possible furrows.
Me not wanting to stick around after the decline and fall
of Jack O'Neill? As if! Mind you, I could
turn it around and say to him, so will you be trading me in
for a newer model when I'm not quite so young and
pretty – or whatever the hell it is he thinks I am –
after all, I won't be that far behind him.
I don't quite know where this idea came from, but it's
in there, lodged in his brain, popping up from time to
time to sneer at his ego. So if I know my Jack, there
he is taking a few more seconds before he comes to bed
for a last minute freak-out; working that mirror, making
faces at himself, sucking in his gut, craning around to
try and ogle his ass.
A very nice ass, it is too. Take my word for it.
Silly, it's so silly for him to feel like this. I'd love
him if he lost his hair, his teeth, his mind - hell, I'd
love him if he turned blue – I'll love him no matter what
– come what may, rain or shine, upside down, inside out,
through whatever cliché comes our way, and if I was there
with him right now. I could tell him all this, and so
much more, not just that I love him but how much I love
him, as I was pressing up close to that lovely ass, wrapping
my arms around him, while I was kissing the side of his
neck I could tell him, run my hands over every glorious
inch of him and I could say to him, I love you, I love
you, over and over, leave no doubt in his mind how much
I love him so he'd never waste another moment of either
one of our lives on foolish fears. He wouldn't have to.
Because he'd know. He really would. He'd know because
I could set his mind at ease – three little words, out
of my mouth to his ear, that's all it would take – clear
everything right up for him right now, this very instant
- if I was there with him.
I could tell him. I could. And yeah, if I
was there instead of lying here, while I was holding him tight
I could - that's probably what I would be doing.
I'm pretty sure.
But then – what that means, well, to do that I'd have
to actually tell him, wouldn't I? Say the words,
to him, I mean. I love you. You know. Those
words. That's a bit of a problem because, you see, so
far, I never have. Told him I love him. I'm not
exactly sure why – not…. I just, I just never have,
Never. I've never said those words to him, although with
him, I mean them more, I think, than I have at any time
in my life. He's the only one I've never told – of all
the people on my sad, short list of those I've loved –
he's the only one who's never heard me say those words
to him. Funny thing, saying them has never been a problem
before – though I haven't loved often, I've loved honestly
and those who've granted me the privilege of sharing with
them - I've never held back from assuring them I've loved
them in return. That is, until Jack. Jack has never
had any tangible confirmation, vocal or otherwise, of either
my affection or my commitment. I haven't given him a
frigging clue, even, about the true nature of my feelings
for him. I swear to God I don't know why.
Okay, maybe – maybe that's not true. Maybe I have a
bit of a clue, and maybe, just maybe I'm a fine one to be
lying here smugly smirking at Jack's closet insecurities
and south-bound ass issues.
Maybe – just maybe I've got an irrational fear of my own.
I guess it all goes back to history. I've spent most
of my life digging in the past, being obsessed with the
past and I'm well acquainted with the axiom those who don't
learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. Well guess
what, I think I've learned plenty from the sorrows and
losses littering my personal history and my own version
of the practical application of the sum of those hard lessons….
Well, here it is.
time I've said those words I've meant them – with everything
I am and I was so happy, not only to love but to be able to
give that gift to another, just as happy as I am right now
to love him in every other way, give him everything
I am but those three little words. The why – why
I won't now, when I did before with no hesitation, well,
it's only now just coming clear to me why I won't, not
for him, when I did before, for them –
I said those words to them and, well, you know what happened.
So I guess I thought, somewhere in my mind I got the idea
if I didn't say them this time, then it would be
okay. Nothing would happen to him, he'd be safe because
I'm not explaining this very well.
Many cultures believe words have power. They
certainly have been a magical, driving force in my life.
Anyway, a very commonly held and powerful belief in many
magical and religious traditions maintains the essence of
a person or a thing is contained in its name, and knowing
this name and saying it can be tantamount to summoning
it or controlling it and can give one tremendous power
over a person or thing for evil or good. Speaking a thing
aloud can be even more – an actual act of creation. One
can make a thing so, simply by saying it is.
Or conversely, by not speaking it, thereby actualizing
it, announcing it if you will, you protect it. Keep it
safe. A secret.
I know this probably sounds pretty dumb but every other
time I've made love 'real' by speaking those words aloud
– it's been taken from me. They – were taken from me.
This time I guess I wasn't taking any chances. My silence
has been my refuge. The secret, mine to keep and guard.
I've protected this treasure, withheld the gift, hoarded
the words, the magic, the truth, thinking as long as I
never spoke it into being no jealous outside influence
could get its shorts in a knot about me daring, once again,
to have a go at being happy and take him away from
me too. My silence would ward him and he'd be safe. We'd
Be honest, Daniel – I'd be safe.
I'd never have to risk losing him if I never declared
I loved him. Put it out there, dared whatever perverse
– whatever - that seems to have it in for me when it comes
to letting me keep anyone I care about - do it to me yet
again. They wouldn't take him if I never let them know
I cared for him. But in keeping this secret, in indulging
in more than slightly paranoid and egocentric eccentricity
– I've withheld from him the most precious thing
I have to give, and denied him the assurance and affirmation
he's more than earned.
For the sake of my safety Jack has suffered agonies of
uncertainty. He's never said, never asked, never pressed
me to commit or even admit what we've got going between
us isn't just great sex, good times and bickering. Great
today but tomorrow, who the hell knows. He puts on this
big act like he's totally okay with being Col 'We're here
for a good time not a long time', but that's not what he
wants. That's not what he needs. Not what he hopes for,
and is waiting for – from me.
He's been so faithful and true – and let's not forget
patient. The dearest friend and companion, and
what have I been for him?
A cruel and selfish coward. Not to mention slightly
nuts, if you look at the reasoning behind my reticence.
That is, if you can stop laughing long enough.
I hear the quiet, sure sound of Jack's naked feet
padding practically noiselessly along the carpeted floor of
the hallway as he moves confidently, unerringly through
the blackness, making a beeline for our bed.
I don't deserve him.
He pauses in the doorway, listening, looking. I feel
his eyes roam over me, the sensation as palpable and exciting
as if his huge, warm, wonderfully rough hands were tenderly
wandering all over me. I struggle to keep my breathing
deep and even though my heart leaps, starts hammering like
it's trying to pound its way right through my ribs, out
of my chest to fling itself at him and my arms tremble
with aching to clutch him and crush him to me. Close,
he's so close now, and yet so much distance gapes between
us, because of me, the barriers I've erected. There he
is, silent, staring and loving me so desperately I can
feel his hunger from clear across the room and here I am,
feigning sleep as I've answered his devotion with shrugs
and inscrutable smiles, presenting ignorance to his subtle,
hopeful glances, pretending I don't see the hurt in his
eyes he quickly buries as he waits for the words he needs
to hear. Words that have never come. As he's kept alive
a hope he's never presumed to utter I've skulked in my
self-serving refuge, keeping him out while I've stayed
safe within, imagining I've been protecting both of us.
I've been a fool.
"Daniel," he whispers, his voice as poignant as a
prayer, reverent and laden with rough adoration it caresses
me, making my breath catch in my throat and my eyes burn.
I can feel the moist pressure building behind my half-closed
lids as he quickly moves to the side of the bed.
I can't let this continue. I must do something say –
something - but I've hidden from him for so long, for so
little reason; I'm shocked as reticence rears its ugly
head anew. The words I owe him freeze once again in my
chest, constrained by fear, as before, but a fear of an
entirely different sort.
How can I tell him now – when I've wronged him
for so very long in not telling him? How can I
presume to claim what I so do not deserve?
"Hey honey, I'm home," Jack huskily whispers as he
slides under the sheets and in behind me, spooning carefully
but solidly against me. He wraps his warm, strong arm
around my chest, his splaying fingers ghosting greedily
across my ribs, his touch so tentative, and yet deliciously
possessive. He heaves an achingly contented sigh as he
nuzzles the side of my neck, looking for a comfortable
place to rest his head prior to slipping into sleep.
I can feel something else – a raging hard-on is scorching
my ass but even though he must be the randiest colonel
in the room who hasn't had the chance to plant his flag
in over a week – being as how we were off-world three days
before he was called to Washington, thereby extending our
current bout of enforced and unwelcome celibacy past the
seven days we've actually been physically apart – he's
trying to be good. He thinks I'm asleep, as I haven't
yet done anything to correct that mistaken impression,
and he's not going to wake me.
I could let the moment pass, stay silent, let us both
slip into sleep and in the morning…
Nothing would have changed. And that would change
I don't understand the reason for the losses of my past,
if in fact there is one, but I do know if there is any
sort of cosmic justice, whether or not the mechanism by
which it dispenses its judgments is comprehensible to us
mere mortals caught in the crossfire… Well, aside from
the fact it's long overdue, let's just say I'm not going
to mess with fate. Or draw any sort of idiot karma for
failing to act upon the understanding I've managed to attain.
How can I tell him? How can I not?
I take a deep, shuddering breath as Jack's roaming hand
plants itself firmly over my wildly racing heart and he
smooshes his face against my back, smiling wickedly, his
breath tickling my skin.
"Danny?" he hopefully mutters into my ear.
"You awake in there?"
"What do you think?" I reply as I take the hand
resting on my hip and place it squarely on the rapidly firming
evidence of my alertness.
"I'd say that's a yes," Jack chuckles.
"Come to poppa and see what I brung ya," he growls
in that low, leering, sexy lewd tone that makes me shiver.
Jack brings 'dirty old man' to absolutely sublime levels.
"Presents?" I say eagerly, rolling over to meet him
in the middle.
"Youbetcha," he leers again, licking my cheek.
"I've got a big, long, hard one just for you. You don't
even have to unwrap it."
And I've got something for you as well. I hope you like
Jack is targeting my mouth, zooming in with heat seeking
lips to lay what I'm sure will be an absolute scorcher
on me but I can't have it, not yet, any more than I can
have him before I finally put things right between us.
Consternation creases his brow as I stop him, taking his
face in my hands. The room is dark; I can barely make
out his puzzled and slightly worried expression as I hold
him away from me, just far enough for him to be able to
look at me and see the truth of what I'm about to tell
His eyes widen as the silence sparks between us. Not
much longer, my love. One more deep breath, and then…
"I love you," I tell him softly, simply, and then
His breath catches as he hears, understands, and his fingers
curl, tightening around my arms as his eyes, shining
over-bright in the darkness devour my face without betraying
any clues as to what lurks behind them.
Right now Jack's as poker-faced as they come but it's
okay. I just caught him a little by surprise, he needs
a moment to get himself back on the rails, when he adjusts
he'll be okay.
"Thanks you," he finally manages to choke out before
hugging me so hard and long I'm convinced I'm starting to
turn blue from oxygen deprivation. He lets me go at last
and pulls back, his eyes fond as he strokes his thumb across
"I know how hard that was for you," he says at last,
his voice cracking. "And for what it's worth –
although I'm really glad you did, you didn't have to – I
would have been okay – "
Yes, I did. Although I know you would have let me get
away with being such a stupid, selfish shit –
"You've got a lot of guts, Daniel. After all the
crap you've – well, if it was me, I don't know if I could
– take a chance again – but you have - you're here, with
me – and – and I'm just so – "
I know, I know me too, and if I didn't understand it before
I do now, he's worth every risk he never would have asked
me to take for him, and in being willing to accept all
possibilities for his sake, even the ones I most feared,
I release us both.
He leans in at last for that kiss my declaration briefly
arrested and there's that mouth, those wonderful, sensual
lips, moving over mine passionately kissing, licking, happily
slurping upon my flushed and quivering skin and those hands,
oh my, those hands, I know he's only got two but moments
like this, the way he works me it feels like he's got a
couple of spares and every one of them as talented as the
Oh Jack, I'm so glad you're home.
He's home, he's home, and I've missed him so, it feels
like forever I've been waiting for him to come home to
me, and now he has, he's finally here, large as life and
three times as horny and seeing as how the hard evidence
currently poking me in the thigh would seem to indicate
I'm not the only one who's had a week-long itch needing
some serious scratching…
Words are great but there's a time for talking and a time
Jack utters a startled 'woof' as I tip him over on his
back, his amused chuckles rapidly sliding into a rough,
erotic growl as I straddle him and then lower myself upon
him, sighing deeply with my own pleasure as I sheath his
needy flesh to the root with one glorious glide.
Ohhhhh yeah, that's more like it, now – now we're talkin'….
"Missed me, did you?" Jack snorts and then groans
once again, his eyes rolling back in his head which is almost
swallowed up by the pillow he violently thumps down into
as I tighten around him.
"You complaining?" I tease as I lean back against
his strong, supporting legs and start to slowly rock.
"God – GOD, no!" he gasps, gripping my hips and
thrusting his pelvis upward, causing me to do a bit of
"I'd have settled for a kiss goodnight but this – this
is good too," he grunts, bites his lip and thrusts once
Oh – OH, uh huh, this is – oh boy, this isn't going to
take very long. Nuh uhhhhh… I've been
ready to blow for days and it won't take much, one good jerk
and we will achieve ignition.
My fingers are becoming happily reacquainted with his
chest hair as Jack runs his hands appreciatively over my
bunching thighs, then he opens his eyes and lazily smiles.
"So, what you said – before," he mutters as his
hands move up to cup my ass. I love it when he holds me,
touches me, his strong fingers kneading the muscles, massaging
me, abruptly clutching as the shocks of the pleasure I'm
giving him ripple through him.
"Before?" I murmur as I stroke his heaving stomach
and feel him writhe beneath me.
"You, you know – " he pants, licking his lips and
rolling his head back and forth. "Since you – you
know – does that mean – are you gonna – ah!" he
brokenly gasps before arching off the bed and sucking his
breath in violently as I lean forward and lick his right
"Yeah, I'll be sticking around for awhile. If
that's okay with you," I tell him before I kiss him hard
and deep. He hums happily into my mouth and runs his
hands along my back, tickling the length of my spine with
light, dancing fingers.
We kiss, deeply, lingering over each other's mouths,
delighting in taste, touch, the sensuous feelings of our
ecstatic communion. He hasn't said a word but his lips,
his hands, they do all his talking for him and they tell
me everything. It's okay. Jack's okay. I've
made him happy.
We break, I rest my brow against his, feeling contentment
rumbling in his chest beneath my hand. We rest that way
for a minute, the slow, sweet rocking rhythm I'm maintaining
spiralling us both, inexorably up and up and –
"Can I ask you something?" he says suddenly,
unexpectedly. "Be honest."
Colonel Mine, right now you can ask me anything and everything
your heart desires and provided you do it in the next –
oh – thirty seconds or so you might even get an answer.
But – don't hold your breath.
"Do you think I'm fat?" he pouts, giving my
dangerously volatile erection a playful pat.
Laughter and release shatter through me and I don't know
what takes me higher, my orgasm or the wave of love for
him I'm cresting on. Only Jack – only Jack would say something
so spectacularly – and endearingly stupid just before he
And no, I don't have to put that another way, I said exactly
what I meant.
I'm still giggling and snorting as I flop down on his
heaving chest. He shudders and roars, then winds his arms
around me, squeezes and sighs. Neither one of us can move
– I can't speak for him but as far as I'm concerned as
orgasms go – that was a doozie.
"I think I'm dead," Jack croaks at last, and gives a
contentedly little wiggle.
"So, am I?" he asks
again as he kisses the tip of my nose.
"Sleep, Jack," I return, yawning.
"Oh, I see, that's the way it works, use me and then fall
asleep on me."
"If you shut up and let me rest up a bit I'll use you
again in about another hour or so, how does that sound?"
"Shutting up right now."
Promises, promises. He might not always keep them, but
he's never let me down. I close my eyes, my cheek resting
on the chest of the man I love, the frantic beating of
his large, faithful heart gradually slowing and gentling
into the familiar, lulling rhythm of sleep. His arms enfold
me, holding me tight and safe with the one promise he's
never failed to fulfill.
I need no other solace or shelter, he is my refuge, my
last and best home.
And no, he isn't fat, but I think I'll let him stew a
bit before I tell him.