You're right, he thinks, I do. I need to get off with more than the company of my right hand for a change. I need to feel other warm hands running over my skin; I need to hear someone else's voice; I need to feel hot breath against my neck and warm flesh sliding into my ass, not warmed, flesh coloured silicon. I need heat, and solidity, and weight, and sweat. I'm sick of fantasies. I need the real thing.
But he doesn't say anything out loud. He just shrugs as usual, and shoots back with a sarcastic grin, "That's your answer for everything, isn't it?"
He gets a shrug back, as expected, and a twinkle in the eyes. "Like grandma O'Neill always used ta say, 'It's good for what ails ya'."
He laughs out loud at the picture in his head, it's so absurd: "Yeah, and I just bet grandma O'Neill applied that particular sentiment to fucking."
Jack just grins at the unexpected crudity and refuses to rise to the bait, before he gives a quizzical lift of the brows. "I could make it an order?"
"You could try. Last I looked, the military had no jurisdiction over my sex life." His tone is mock-challenging, and he gets a good-natured punch on the upper arm as his reward, before the eyes turn serious.
"I mean it, Daniel. You need to get out more. I think I will make it an order." Jack's voice turns authoritative. "Doctor Jackson, you will get out and enjoy yourself, or I'll be tempted to get hold of you and shoot you myself."
Shoot me, or shoot into me? I'll take option two, he thinks. But there's no way he can say it.
"Yeah, and while I'm getting laid, you'll be...?"
"Out. Getting laid," Jack says, succinctly. "I got plans."
He's a little taken aback - it's about the last answer he expects. But he recovers quickly and grins anyway, does the guy thing. Nothing else he can do, not in these or any other circumstances. "Yeah? Who's the lucky lady? Anyone I know?"
Jack taps one finger against the side of his nose, head cocked to one side, aggravating smirk tacked firmly in place. "Don't ask, 'cause I'm seriously not tellin'."
He's lying, he thinks. The psychological approach. Trying to make me feel like I'm missing out. I know for a fact Jack isn't seeing anybody - and I'm pretty damn sure he hasn't got the energy to go out to a bar and pick up some stranger for a one night stand, no matter how desperate he is. Well, two can play at that game.
"Okay, I won't ask. But actually, you're preaching to the converted here. As it happens, I have plans myself."
In point of fact, he hasn't - not until that moment, anyway. But the plans solidify as he speaks, fall into place with a kind of inevitability that he recognises instantly as not wishing to be seen as sad, lonely, reliant, any of those things. Because he's not, not at all - just solitary, by habit and custom. Besides, he has his pride. And he's starting to feel horny, all this talk of getting laid.
"Yeah? Way to go, Daniel." Jack's face splits into a grin. "Who is she?"
He waves a vague hand. "Oh, no one you'd know."
The guy is huge. Huge and glistening in the semi-dark, shards of dim light splintering on the pre-come on his enormous dick as he pulls it out of his jock, as it springs against his hand like a living thing with a will of its own. Beautiful. Mouth watering, Daniel leans in to taste and suck while strong fingers knead his shoulders."Turn around."
It's a growl in the dark and the hairs on the back of Daniel's neck rise as he moves to comply without thinking about it.
"You've got a real pretty little ass there. Oh yeah, I can't wait to fill it..."
Large, rough hands run down over the swell of his buttocks and grasp them, not gently, to pull them apart, baring him for inspection. He shivers involuntarily, loving this and yet not, anticipating and yet -- but the way his physical need is rocketing up right now, he has neither the time nor the inclination for analysis.
The guy seems to like what he sees and leans in to take a long, sticky swipe at his asshole with his tongue and then another, blunt thumbs and tongue working in tandem to open him up and get him ready. Daniel deliberately sinks himself in sensation, strokes his dick with one hand to help the shivery heat low in his belly along, pushes it back between his legs so that the guy can suck on the head, growls his approval at the heat and the slickness of the guy's tongue in his slit, round his balls. Shit, it feels good, and it's been a while.
The thumbs are getting more insistent now, both sliding into him, stretching him relentlessly, stoking the fire in his belly, before the moment comes when he hears the rasp of ripping foil. Jesus, he thinks as his dick jerks, when did the sound of a condom wrapper start to crank my shaft so much? He feels blunt pressure at his ass and hot breath against his throat.
"You ready for my cock there? You ready to be filled by a real man? You like my cock, right? You want me to slide in there and fuck you long and slow?" The guy's dick is as good as his word as he inches inside.
Daniel nods sharply then moans and bears down as he takes his own dick firmly in his hand and stifles any momentary regret he feels because the voice he wants to hear saying those words... isn't. He's got a good imagination and he's not scared to use it - and besides, the guy's a good fuck.
It's been a while since the last time, and she was fine with that yesterday, but today, now that she's phoned him and it's going to be soon, she feels horny as hell. You look it too, she adds as she checks out her make-up one last time, her lips slightly parted and a slight flush over her cheekbones that owes nothing to rouge.
She feels a coil of excitement squirming in her stomach as she plots out the probable course of the evening. A nice meal, some flirting and amiable conversation, then back to her place for coffee, both of them holding themselves in check as they anticipate the usual, sweet end. She'll go down on him first, because she loves the feel and taste of a dick swelling in her mouth, against her lips - not enough to make him come, just enough to make him really hard and eager. She wants a chance to watch him groaning and shuddering as his head thrashes about on the pillow when she sucks him down and palms his balls, handsome face distorted by his pleasure. And he'll return the favour, give her at least one orgasm before she welcomes him in: he will without her having to ask. He's good, and he's generous; he takes her pleasure as seriously as he takes his own, because this is what it's all about for both of them.
She pauses a moment in her planning to savour the sudden feeling of coolness between her legs as the increased dampness there evaporates within the warm confines of her skirt, then glances at the clock by the bed and hustles. She still has to find her shoes and he'll be here soon - god damn it, why is the pair you want always the most difficult to find?
She finally finds one and then its partner, slips them on. Killer heeled, strappy, 'do me' shoes, bright red and high enough to lengthen and define the muscles of her calves. Impossible to walk in - but then, she thinks with an impish grin, walking isn't the kind of exercise either of them has in mind for later anyhow.
And he does care about Janet; he likes her very much indeed. He likes that she's not scared of him or his rep so she doesn't kow-tow; he likes that she can match him wisecrack for wisecrack and won't take his crap without comment; he likes that she doesn't expect more of him than he's prepared to give and vice versa. They're on the same page. And she's great in bed; they're great together. So he has it all, pretty much. He has his career and he has his fuck buddy, and the 'buddy' part of that'll never change even if, when, the 'fucking' part does, this they both know. A win-win situation, satisfactory all round.
Except even when he's with her, his imagination often slips off into another place entirely and before he knows it, he's ploughing ass in his mind, not pussy. It's happening more and more these days, which surprises him a little: he thought he'd stuffed that leaning deep into its own little box and nailed the lid down tight long ago. But even after all this time it's the furred weight of hard-muscled legs over his shoulders that he thinks about, the growl of a male voice roughened by desire that he hears. Hell, he even smells the sharp, musky scents of sweat and pre-come in the privacy of his head. And the eyes that he imagines fixed on his face are disconcertingly wide and blue.
His thoughts circle back to an earlier conversation: 'Okay, I won't ask. But actually, you're preaching to the converted here. As it happens, I have plans myself.'
He was lying, he thinks. The psychological approach. Trying to make me think he had plans, pfft! Just a ploy, so I wouldn't feel sorry for him. I know for a fact he's not seeing anybody - and he's not the type for a one night stand. I know him; it's not his M.O. It might be easier for him if it was: he really needs to get laid.
And then his mind is wrenched back to the here and now as Janet stands in front of him, smiling, saying, "Okay. You good to go?"
Daniel's there already, which is a departure. Also looking relaxed, chipper even - yet more of a departure at this time in the morning. Damn, if he didn't know better, he'd swear he'd followed his advice. But he stomps down hard on the strange little twist in his gut at the thought and settles instead for a breezy, "Hey."
"Good weekend? You look like you had a good weekend."
Daniel nods and smiles, says, "Yeah. It was great, thanks. You?"
He smiles widely as he slides into his seat. "Yeah, also good. Thanks. It's great to get the chance to kick back and relax, isn't it?"
And that has to be his overactive imagination, doesn't it? That fleeting glimpse of -- something or other -- behind Daniel's eyes as he echoes with a smile of his own, "Yes. Yes, it is."