Five Rules Jack WishesWritten for the sg1_five_things comm on LJ
A tag for Threads
What the hell happened to the mistletoe?
Written for the sg1_five_things comm on LJ |
A tag for Threads |
What the hell happened to the mistletoe? |
An Unbirthday Present for skater_g8r |
A Birthday Present for Feather_Autant |
A tag for Fallen |
Daniel's awake and thinking |
Jack's awake and thinking |
Every year at this time, Jack reviews his wish list. It's a hangover from childhood and it's turned into a tradition that's stuck with him. These days he sits in the light from the Christmas tree with a good bourbon to aid the process. When he was a kid, he used to have a glass of milk and a cookie he'd sneaked from the cooling rack - "just checking, Ma. Wouldn't want Santa to be disappointed." It was the annual lame joke that earned him a smile and a fond cuff to the head, which turned into a ruffle of his hair, every time. That makes him smile every Christmas he recalls it, which is every Christmas, pretty much. Of such simple things are traditions made.
These days, he mostly wishes that he could write the rules again instead of just following them. Funny, you'd think when you carried a bit of rank the rules would become less of a straitjacket, not more. Doesn't seem to work like that though. The further up the ladder you get, the more the rules crowd in on you, the less wiggle room you have. Especially when you're flying a desk. There's always some damn bean counter or other on his case these days. Never used to happen when he was in the field. Then he truly was in charge.
Writing new rules though, there's a thought. In pole position: one set of wannabe Evil Overlords is enough for any career. And they must come singly, not in droves. They've already beaten out the Goa'uld, for crying out loud. Isn't that enough? But no, once the snakes and the replicators were done and dusted, the damn Orii had to come crawling out of the woodwork.
A small commotion from outside draws his attention and he hauls himself out of his chair to go look out the window. Out in the street there's a small group of teens goofing off in the anaemic glow of the streetlight, their laughter hanging in the air around them like breath on a frosty day. Just about the age Charlie would have been now, he reckons. Which still hurts, though not as sharply as in earlier years. Mixed blessing, Jack thinks as he takes another sip.
It leads on to rule four: no parent should outlive their child. That's just plain wrong, an affront to the natural order of things. He's kinda learned to deal even if he'll never accept it. But he'd sure make that a rule if he could.
His train of thought is broken as an arm snakes around his waist and a chin drops onto his shoulder.
"Whatcha doin'?"
Jack shivers a little as warm breath puffs across his skin, lips quirking a little as he relaxes back into the solid warmth pressing against his back.
"Just thinking."
He feels Daniel's face move into a smile as he presses a swift kiss into the place where Jack's neck joins his shoulder.
"Thinking what?"
Thinking, rule five. People should learn to count their blessings. Even ageing generals.
He twists his neck to smile sidelong into Daniel's eyes. "Wishful thinking, mostly. Nothing earth shattering."
Daniel's gaze skewered Jack like a butterfly on a pin.
"Flagpole fondling, Jack? Flagpole fondling? Are you at all familiar with the concept of subtext?"
"I didn't --"
"And you tugged your jacket down. Don't try to deny it, I saw you quite clearly."
"That was --"
But Daniel was on a roll and was not to be trifled with. With one imperious hand he shut Jack up as effectively as if he'd used a ball gag.
"Put flagpole fondling and jacket hem tugging in the same context - the context being me getting dumped naked on my ass again by Oma - and what sort of impression do you think any onlookers are left with?"
"Well, I'd --"
Obviously a rhetorical question, since Daniel scarcely paused for breath.
"And we had onlookers. Boy, did we have onlookers. Bra'tac and Teal'c were smirking, Jack. Smirking. I've never seen Bra'tac smirk before. Not at me, anyway, and it's not an experience I'd care to repeat any time soon. And Sam went pink and looked away."
"Now hold on just a minute here," Jack protested. "You can't read anything into that - the smirking was just a guy thing. Locker room stuff. Like you said, you'd just been dumped naked on your ass again. And Carter pinks up at the drop of a hat. Kinda bizarre in a woman her age, particularly when she's been in the military for so long, but there ya go. I guess it's nothing she can help."
"She was rolling her eyes," Daniel said, with exaggerated patience.
"She does that all the time!" Jack's protest was vehement.
"Not in that precise context," Daniel snapped, folding his arms across his chest and returning with determination to his original point. "One thing you learn in archaeolinguistics, context is everything."
"One thing I've learned from my time with SG1 - context is open to interpretation --"
"Ya think?"
Jack threw up one of his hands. "Will you let me get a word in somewhere along the line?"
Daniel frowned and shut his mouth with an audible snap, briefly extricating one hand and flapping it in a 'gimme' gesture before he folded his arms again.
"Thank you," Jack said.
"No, don't thank me," Daniel replied coolly. "I'm fascinated to hear what possible justification you can come up with for camping it up in your office when I reappeared in those precise circumstances. You go right ahead, I'm sure it's gonna be good."
"Okay," Jack said generously. "I'm prepared to admit that you might have a point - a small one - over the subtext thing --"
"Thank you, I thought so."
Jack's eyebrows rose at the interruption and he gave Daniel an exasperated grimace as Daniel defiantly lowered his chin and glared back at him. Jack's face cleared.
"You look hot when you do that."
"What?"
Shrugging one shoulder in Daniel's general direction, Jack repeated with a small twitch of his lips, "You look totally hot when you do that. That chin lowering thing you do. Makes you look --"
Daniel's eyes flashed dangerously. "Still waiting here, Jack. Stop misdirecting, start explaining."
Jack pulled himself out of his incipient fugue with a theatrically obvious effort. "Yeah. As I was in the middle of saying before you interrupted me - again," he said with heavy emphasis, "you maybe have a point over the subtext thing. But you've pointed out time and time again over the years - people see what they want to see."
"Only until they get a blatant wake-up call. I'd categorise fondling and tugging as pretty blatant, wouldn't you?"
"Except for the circumstances. Which render any suggestiveness null."
"How the fuck do you work that out? I'm stark naked, you take one look and start pulling down your jacket and jerking off a pole. How much more overt could you get?"
"And that's where the context comes in." Jack was starting to look a little - not smug exactly, but definitely self-satisfied. Daniel countered that with a slight grinding of his back teeth, but waited nonetheless for the extension of this statement with no comment save a bare twitch of one eyebrow when it wasn't immediately forthcoming. Instead, Jack's expression changed, until he was looking at Daniel with the slight air of a teacher waiting for his brightest pupil to solve a particularly challenging puzzle.
Daniel's irritation started to take a slightly different tack. Jack obviously expected him to be able to work it out for himself, so it couldn't be that hard, could it? His brow furrowed in thought before he shook his head in frustration. It was hopeless: O'Neill logic was always convoluted. But logic now, that sparked a sudden thought.
"Reductio ad absurdum?"
Jack nodded his head sagely. "That too, sorta. But mainly man management. And elaborate double bluff. Misdirection at its finest. We're on base, in my office, four career military, one of them a Brigadier General - what's the mindset there, given the context?"
As Daniel opened his mouth to speak, Jack continued, "Exactly. About as far removed from the sexual as it's possible to get. Teal'c and Bra'tac are in guy mode, ready to tease. The jacket thing buys into that - it says 'there but for the grace of God' as far as your situation is concerned, even if you and I both know that the sight of you naked gives me an instant hard on which I need to cover up."
Daniel was starting to look slightly mollified and Jack pressed his advantage.
"So the jacket works well - it has two desirable outcomes. It deflects attention from teasing you and from my hard on by putting us in the same camp."
Daniel mulled it over. Okay, that was possibly a fair - fairish - assessment.
"And the fondling? And Sam?"
Jack punctuated his points with his fingers.
"One, the last thing Carter was thinking about right then was the state of anybody's crotch, given the situation. Two, she expects me to be a smartass after all this time. So she's right now convincing herself that what I was doing was looking round for something to cover your dignity and hinting at excruciatingly obvious and unnecessary penis jokes while doing it--"
"Something you do have something of a reputation for, I agree."
"--and three, she'll have a lot of fun thinking up ways to make my life hell for it into the bargain," Jack said cheerfully. "Give her half an hour and she'll be too busy doing that to think any more about it. Win/win again."
Daniel nodded slowly to himself as he thought it over. Viewed in this light, the whole debacle did make some perverted sort of sense.
This time, Jack's grin was smug. "There ya go. Now will you shake your tail and get showered? You've been MIA for a while, your flagpole and mine definitely have some unfinished business. And since we're talking logic, it seems logical to blow this pop stand ASAP and do something about it."
"What the hell happened to the mistletoe?"
"Um." Daniel's brow creased into the familiar 'v' shape that denoted assimilation, concentration and deduction, deepening sharply with displeasure as he was forced to admit, "I'm not really sure, actually."
Jack surveyed the mess that three quarters of his team had become. Daniel was stolidly cleaning his glasses but other than that didn't really seem to be bothered about the white ropes of goop that now decorated his vest and his face. Carter had that far away look in her eyes that indicated she was hot on the trail of a theory, the spatter in her hair notwithstanding, but that it was possibly an outlandish one. Teal'c appeared stone faced, as usual. Even goop couldn't disturb his dignity: the man was capable of rising above pretty much anything. Although very close observation revealed the fact that his mouth was turned down in more than its usual expression of distaste as he plucked a gummy strand of goop from his staff weapon. With careful deliberation, he rolled it into a small, rubbery ball between one finger and thumb and dropped it to the forest floor.
Jack clicked his tongue with impatience at Daniel's not very enlightening response. "Carter, Teal'c, any ideas?"
"Not really, sir. It was just hanging there," Sam indicated the low branch overhanging their temporary camp which until recently had held a very large ball of plant matter, "and then for no reason I could see, it exploded."
"Exploded?"
"Exploded. Kaboom," Daniel elaborated, moving his hands in an expanding circle. "We suffered some uh, collateral damage."
"Large explosion?"
"Not really. Just a little messy. And unexpected."
"So you've no idea why?"
"None, O'Neill. It is as Major Carter and Daniel Jackson have said. We did not disturb it in any way."
"Should we be worried? Mistletoe's poisonous, isn't it?"
Daniel shook his head. "On Earth, yes - but you'd have to ingest large quantities for it to have any effect, as an adult, unless you turned out allergic to it. I'm assuming it's the same here. And none of us have eaten any of it." He looked to Sam and Teal'c for confirmation and they both shook their heads.
"I don't think it's anything to be worried about, Sir. Neither Daniel nor Teal'c seem to be feeling any ill effects at all," more shaking and nodding of heads as the two men agreed with her diagnosis, "and I know I'm not. As to the exploding thing - well, best guess I can come up with is that it's a method of seed dispersal."
"That could work," Daniel agreed. "There don't seem to be any birds here, and they're the most usual method of seed dispersal on Earth."
"And lots of Earth flora use exploding seed capsules to disperse," Sam continued. "There are reasonable models to back up the theory."
Daniel suddenly snickered as he looked at Teal'c. "Seed dispersal. Oh man. Seed dispersal."
Jack stared at him and the penny dropped. The long strands of semi-translucent white goop did look remarkably like -- he started to smirk, then chuckle as well. Until he caught sight of Carter's face, whereupon he cleared his throat and swallowed his laughter. "Yeah, well. If there's nothing we need to immediately panic about in your collective opinions, I suggest you go get cleaned up."
"Sir? We should take back a specimen for Janet to take a look at. Just to be sure there's nothing to worry about."
"Agreed. Maybe try and get a sample that's not quite as ripe though? It'd be good to get home not looking like," again Jack caught sight of Carter's flushed face and pursed mouth and rapidly amended what he had been going to say, "not looking sloppy, for a change."
"I'll stick it in a flask, sir, just to be on the safe side."
"Good thinking, Carter. Do that first. Now hustle, kids, we're due back at the gate in two hours. I'll start tidying things up here."
As his team trooped off to the nearby stream with their bar of all-purpose soap and he started to gather their packs into a tidy pile, Jack worked very hard to forget all the spooge jokes he'd ever learned before they returned.
Succeeded too - years of self discipline in the field sure paid off sometimes. Although the thought of Daniel festooned with lines of what looked uncannily like jizz - his jizz. Him coming over Daniel's face, his chest, his balls. Daniel moaning and writhing underneath him, shooting his load over being striped with his come --
Hell yeah. That could work --
Dick one, self discipline nil. Ah well, couldn't win 'em all.
"Daniel, please."
Jack is getting pretty desperate. He's trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, slightly rough, hairy cord looped around his wrists, down over his chest, down and around his balls and over his dick, for chrissakes. The bindings aren't too tight, although they chafe his wrists when he tugs on them to test their strength. He can't use his hands at all. And he really needs to use them because Daniel isn't co-operating.
Daniel is behind him with one strong forearm looped around his pelvis, holding Jack's hips up and spreading his knees, denying him purchase to get his hands front and centre. He's resolutely refusing to go near his dick, refusing to hurry. He bites Jack's shoulder, right into the big muscle there, hard enough to hurt, goddammit, definitely hard enough to bruise and Jesus, Jack's dick gets even harder. If it weren't for the cord, looped around him with exquisite care just tight enough and no tighter, he'd have come long since. He's not sure he can wait much longer. His balls feel heavy and hot and way too tense for comfort.
He wants to feel Daniel's hand on his dick, stroking him with his usual firm, sure grip, speeding him towards release. Or failing that, he wants to drop his dick against the smooth cotton sheets and hump, hard. Anything to ease the pressure. But Daniel won't oblige, and won't let him drop either. Jack's cock is crying out for attention. When he squints down he can see it, hard and angry red, stiffer than he ever remembers, leaking pre-come, a couple of fat, sluggish drops that pool and fall, disappearing into the sheets.
"Please, Daniel. I gotta come." The voice doesn't sound like Jack's voice: he isn't used to pleading. Daniel's voice doesn't sound like his either. There's a taut, gritty quality to it, a dull blade sawing through the air that sends another ripple of heat dancing over Jack's skin.
"No you don't. Not 'til I let you. And I'm not ready yet."
And Daniel proves it by licking down his backbone, nape to tail, mouthing each knob of his spine in turn, using plenty of spit. Jack can feel the cold where the spit is drying slowly on his back, the prickle of his skin contracting as Daniel leaves one part behind and moves on to the next, the warmth where Daniel's mouth meets his skin. God, Jack can imagine that sloppy warmth round his cock, wants to feel Daniel's mouth on him, aches to feel those lips closing against a part that matters. The feeling pulls a moan from somewhere deep inside him. He doesn't mean to but he can't help it. It's worth it though, when he hears Daniel's breathing hitch in a ragged huff of air.
"Tell me what you want, Jack." The words are punctuated with licks and nips, Daniel's teeth grazing the skin over his ribs, his tongue making gentle whorls after his teeth have finished their work. "Do you want me to rim you?"
"Yes." The sibilance is muted, his lisp surfacing when he hasn't any leftover resources to spare on suppressing it. "Do it. Please."
Again with the pleading. It's not him, it's not what he does. Not for snakes, not for anybody. But goddamn if he isn't pleading now, and maybe even shamefacedly part way to enjoying it. Jack didn't know he was capable of that. Didn't know it could be hot to be at someone's mercy. Except for Daniel, a little voice inside his mind whispers. You can trust him, always could, always will. And then something inside Jack finally snaps. It's torture still, but it's the hottest, sweetest damn thing ever and he loves it. He was pretty sure he wouldn't, but he does. It feels like something he should get used to, if his dick and his balls are any judge.
Feels even better when Daniel takes him at his word. He feels Daniel's dick sliding over the skin at the back of his thigh, leaving a warm, sticky smear as he shifts position, and almost grins on the inside. Daniel's getting off on this as much as he is. Then all thoughts of grinning recede as Daniel's hands grip and spread his cheeks and his fat, warm tongue trails round the start of his ass crack and then down, slowly and wetly, to his hole. Lots of spit, hot then cool as it dries. Rasp of slight stubble over his ass cheeks and along the sensitive ridge behind his balls. Soft lips and firm tongue surprising his skin with unexpected caresses.
Jack drops his forehead to the cool cotton, feeling a stretch in his arms. Relishing it because it grounds him, making his imminent implosion recede a little.
His eyes slide shut. The burn in his shoulders, the rough kisses of the cord, the slick heat of Daniel's tongue as it slides over the sensitive inner skin of his ass - so many sensations and they're shorting him out. He can feel his reason shutting down process by process as he lets Daniel do what he likes. Because what he likes feels more than good to Jack.
Jack feels his dick jerking and dancing and he knows he's going to come soon. Or maybe have a heart attack, the way his heart is pounding in his chest. He's breathing like he's just run 10 klicks with a full pack. The pressure is intense and something has to give.
"Daniel. Please, Daniel, now..."
"Turn over." He hears an edge in Daniel's voice and blindly scrambles to obey, with Daniel's help. He manages to open his eyes just a crack to see his way, but no more than that, his lids seem way too heavy to cooperate. He rolls heavily in a graceless tumble and lands awkwardly, hands trapped behind his head but legs splayed and ready. Two fingers shove into his ass at exactly the moment his cock slides into Daniel's mouth and Christ, he needed to come, but not this quickly...
The heat around his cock is enough to make him flood Daniel's mouth, dick pulsing strongly for fucking ever, pleasure so sharp that it's almost pain, while his bound hands grope uselessly for something to hold on to. He's flying apart, coming to earth, freefall to end 'em all. Every damn cliché in the book.
Jack expects the fingers to withdraw, but they don't. When he finally realises that they're staying a while and cracks open his eyelids as far as he's able, he's transfixed. Daniel's kneeling beside him, jerking himself slowly and his eyes are on Jack's. When he sees Jack's looking now, he speeds up and Jack is fascinated by the slip-slide of his lovely cock through his fist. Faster, harder, Daniel's grunting, breathing noisily through his mouth, and Jack feels a familiar countering squirm deep in his gut as his breathing quickens too and his mouth falls open.
A quick wriggle, slippery as a fish, and Jack gets his still-bound hands over his head and in front of his chest. He forms them into a tunnel. Daniel gets it and grins, a wild, unexpected grin, as he gropes behind him for the lube and coats Jack's doubled fists. And then oh yes, oh shit, this is what Jack's been wanting: to feel Daniel's dick, to savour the hot silk feel of it rigid against his palms as Daniel fucks his hands.
He looms over Jack, head drooping, straight-arming the bed, ass bunching as he powers towards coming. So close that Jack could stretch his neck just a little and eat his mouth, but he doesn't. Instead, he watches avidly as Daniel's cock head flares and spurts, striping Jack's face and neck with come. And goddamn if there isn't an answering shiver through him as he licks what he can reach on his face and his hands. Not strong but strong enough, and that hasn't happened for twenty-some years.
A short while later when the glow's banked down a little, Jack starts to feel constrained. Daniel's lying over him, solid and uncompromising: very nice, but his lungs need some space to do their best work. He hunches one shoulder and Daniel responds with a muttered 'hunh', more breath than meaning. He hunches again and this time bucks a little too and Daniel slides off to the side. Okay, problem: he's still tied and he really doesn't want to be. He wants free movement now, to be able to stroke and cup - and maybe pinch, just a little. Whatever works, and improvisation is king.
"Daniel."
"Hnnnh?"
"Daniel. Hands?"
Daniel sighs a little, gives a dopey smile and stirs himself enough to reach across with one lazy hand. He gropes for the end of the cord and tugs. And dammit if the knot doesn't just slide apart like oiled silk. Jack really wasn't trussed that tight at all. He could have loosened the bindings any time. If he'd really wanted to.
Now there's a metaphor, Jack thinks. He smiles and nods very slightly as Daniel moves in tight to his side and he can finally slide his palm lightly over Daniel's hip.
Yep, that sums it all up very nicely.
Take those off," Jack says quietly. It isn't an order: Daniel clearly hears the slight rise in his voice that shades it into a question. But there's no question of not complying.
He licks dry lips and thumbs open his buttons, inching the fly apart slowly. He pauses for a moment to lock his eyes on Jack's before he slides his fingers under the waistband of his fatigue pants and shorts and hooks them off in one deliberate out and down movement, dropping them at knee level to slide down his calves under their own weight and puddle over his boots. He stands straight and still and listens to the beat of his own blood in the silence.
Jack stares at him, standing there in front of him. He runs his gaze deliberately from Daniel's eyes down the length of his body. Daniel feels himself warming under Jack's intent scrutiny, but forces himself to stand still and wait, watching Jack watching him. When he gets to his groin, and Daniel's cock poking ruddy and proud between the fronts of his jacket, Jack catches his bottom lip between his teeth and smiles, jerking his chin forward with a quick up and down of his brows as he looks Daniel in the eye again.
"That for me?"
"I don't see anyone else here, do you?" Daniel's chin comes up with a hint of challenge.
"Nope." Jack's eyes are coal-black, unreadable in the half-light.
"Like what you see?"
"Uh huh."
"How much?"
Jack surges forwards and drops like a stone. Strong fingers dig into Daniel's hips, push them back against the wall. Stubble rasps against his belly, prickly and perfect. Hot breath tantalises his groin as Jack nuzzles and sniffs. Then hallelujah, slick heat and dragging friction as Jack's lips close tightly around his shaft and he sucks strongly.
One hand releases its death grip on his hip and slides round lingeringly towards his ass. Daniel obligingly shifts his legs as wide apart as he can, and both Jack's hands tighten in approval for a second or two before long, sure fingers trail round to his cleft and trace it down to his favourite hotspot, delicious pressure just behind his balls.
His fingers dig into Jack's shoulders and he gasps his appreciation in a quick huff of breath. Because that just feels too good. It's quick and nasty and he loves it. Jack knows it and the lips round his dick slacken off for a moment; Daniel knows he wants to grin smugly but can't because his mouth is full. But there isn't time to waste on that: Daniel's hurtling towards a stupendous orgasm and doesn't want to stop the ride for anything. So he tightens his fingers warningly and Jack takes the hint, tightening up again but relaxing his throat, swallowing him down as far as he can.
Daniel feels the head of his cock bump against the back of Jack's throat and yes, that's it. His heart hammers, his balls tingle and draw up, he feels his cock swell slightly and knows he's poised on the brink. Jack growls encouragement from somewhere deep in his chest and the vibrations so do it for him. White hot pleasure crests and breaks, the backwash intensifying every time Jack's tongue kneads him as he swallows, until he can stand no more and taps Jack on the shoulder to tell him so. He's dimly aware of the draught of cooler air hitting his softening dick and making it twitch in aftershock as strong hands support him on his slide down the wall, but all he can do is gulp air.
Daniel's breathing gradually slows and he feels a bony, solid knee nudging against the side of his thigh. He grunts, "Gimme a minute here."
"Jeeze, no hurry, Danny-boy. Take all the time you need. It's not like we haven't got oh, at least ten minutes before Carter and Teal'c get back here." The sarcasm is thick, impatience laid on with a trowel, but Daniel can also hear the ragged intake of breath between sentences and it makes him smile as he opens his eyes.
Daniel glances round, sees Jack, dick in hand, legs sprawled wide and back to the wall, beside him on the floor. He grins and rolls onto his knees, then gestures Jack's hand away with a flick of his eyebrows and glances at his watch.
"We've got at least twenty, but tell you what, flyboy. I'll finish you in six," he says buoyantly. "Start the clock."
"Not even me?"
The words reverberated round his head now that he was finally alone, and damn it, he was thinking he really should have remembered. It was significant, he was sure of it. It was certainly important to the tall soldier who'd been standing before him, that much he was sure of, even if he couldn't figure out why. For some obscure reason, one that he couldn't even begin to guess at, one that he wasn't sure he wanted to guess at, it mattered to them both. And it seemed to matter a lot more to both of them than it mattered to the various other people who'd been claiming acquaintance with him. The woman: pretty enough, earnest and cerebral, which appealed to him somehow, familiar, yet… not. The man: smiled a lot, but somehow alien and always would be. Cerebral too, but yet – there was a distance there, a wariness. Something unresolved, something undefined, indefinable. The other man: definitely alien, other-worldly, almost fey – he liked him, felt a bond of fellow feeling, both of them somehow lost in familiar circumstances. The older man: familiar too, avuncular and kind, a man to place one's faith in – except that he wasn’t sure he had any faith, not in anything, not any more.
He was adrift on a sea of 'what ifs' and it was scary, though exhilarating too in a way – a chance to wipe the slate clean, to start over, to make the life that he would choose. A chance not often given to a grown man, to shape his destiny from scratch, mould it into a form pleasing to him, without the encumbrances of past history. The conceit pleased him until he thought of the grey-haired man, tall, forbidding, challenging – waiting for something, it suddenly occurred to him. But waiting for what? The idea started to grow in his mind that maybe this one would be an anchor to his past, although possibly not a safe haven.
His lips twisted in a grimace of frustration. This place made no sense; none of it made sense, his own thoughts made no sense. These people thought he had a place here, they referred to it as his home; they seemed fond of him and seemed to expect this feeling to be reciprocated. He could see no reason for them to lie, but he couldn't conceive what could have happened to make his withdrawal so complete.
Much as he might rail inwardly at his lack of comprehension, it did no good. He couldn't, or wouldn't, remember, he wasn't sure which. The small part of his mind that again functioned as himself cursed the embargo against full knowledge, the larger part accepted that what would be, would be.
It didn’t help. For the first time since he'd regained some small portion of his humanity, he put his head down and wept.
Longing. Strange little word, packed with layers and layers of meaning....
"Longing: to have a strong desire: verbal noun from long: verb, intransitive, followed by "for" or an infinitive. From the Old English 'langian' to belong, from 'gelan' at hand, belonging to. Related to long:1. having relatively great extent in space on a horizontal plane 2. having relatively great duration in time."
Oh yeah. I can see where that definition is coming from.
All those years - formative years, don't they call them? - defined by longing, spiked with anger. Longing for stability, for mom and dad and apple pie and a puppy - normal, ordinary, everyday things - but watching all the hopes dying inch by inch, withering and crumbling, sighing away into nothing. Anger at being left behind, cast out, drifting on the tides of circumstance, powerless to influence my fate...all the petty inadequacies of childhood, squared and cubed by random fate. A great swathe of wasted, arid years, trying to stay small and unnoticed, obliging and helpful. Longing to be accepted, to be valued, to be cherished, to fit in. Interminable ages of longing, and gradually turning inwards and convincing myself that it didn't really matter...
And now? Now I still feel it, the longing, the wanting, still as intense, but no longer hurting, now wrapped in the sweet comfort of belonging at last. I lie here, in the half-dark, propped on one elbow, staring at the man who lies beside me. I study the familiar planes of the face, hard edges softened by sleep, smoothed by dappled moonlight spilling through the open blinds...so easy to love, despite himself. He must feel my gaze, even in sleep: the sleepy dark eyes open, and a soft, smiling voice says, "Hey.."
Oh yeah. I belong.
Jee-sus. 2.10 in the freakin' morning and I still can't get to sleep...can't even toss and turn while I'm pinned down flat by 170 pounds of inert archaeologist...damn, my arm's numb...had so many dead arms in the morning recently, I'm often surprised I can hold my P-90...Christ, when did Danny-boy get to be so solid? He sure as hell doesn't look it in his BDUs, though thinking about it, he does seem to fill 'em a little better these days than he ever used to...hey, he's moving. 'Kay Danny, just a little further and I can get my arm back...good boy! Man, that's a relief, much as I love him...ack! Where did that come from? The 'L' word...figure of speech...wasn't it..? ...oh, now, here we go, I so do not want to be lying here at, what, 2.17 in the freakin' morning considering my feelings, for crying out loud! No, no sir, no way! I hate this feeling shit, especially when it's rattling round in my head at...oh, jeeze... 2.19 in the morning!
This is getting real old, real quick. Okay, tactical decision here - what you can't avoid, meet head on and kick the crap out of it...okay. So what do we know? First, I want him. That's a given, taking into account present circumstances and all - have done for years, if we're being honest. Which is....weird ...never figured myself for gay before, not even close. Have not been disappointed, no sir....this is surely one talented guy...knew he would be...nobody concentrates like my Daniel. My Daniel - like the sound of that....no, wait, drifting off-topic here. So, physically, I've hit paydirt. What else?
Christ, this is one honkin' great can of worms! I need him. It's as simple, and as complicated, as that. Mr. Self-sufficient, Buttoned-up Colonel needs this man in a way that he hasn't needed anything, or anybody, in a long, long time. And by some miracle, Daniel senses that need - nobody else sees right through to the core, and I make damn sure they don't. Not Carter, not Hammond, not Teal'c, no way. But Daniel....Daniel has sifted through the overlying rubbish as painstakingly as he conducts any dig, and luckily he seems to consider that has hit paydirt too, hell knows why. God knows, bottom line is, I'm not much of a catch - old, cranky, smart-mouthed, hard ass, with a fine line in imitating "dumb as dirt" and more scars, inside and out, than you could shake a stick at - but he calls me... beautiful. Beautiful! Huh! Can you believe that? I sure as hell don't, but it still turns me to mush every time - not the sentiment, but the look on his face when he says it. Like the last time, when he had just finished easing me all the way into him, and was just sitting there on top of me, leaning back against my thighs, panting slightly, face screwed up with effort and a small trickle of sweat inching its way along his jawbone...
Whoa! Don't go there! He needs to sleep. Dammit, I need to sleep! Stand down, O'Neill, you're not twenty any more, even though you'd sometimes like to be! You screw up tomorrow on P5X-whatever because you've been behaving like a horny adolescent and Hammond will have your ass - and rightly so! A few deep breaths, a few cold thoughts and...better. Okay, I can do this. Okay. So, I want him - I need him. What else?
He makes me feel sappy. God help me, I want to woo him. Aagh, I can feel myself blushing... I want to put a great, big, dopey smile on his face, send him those Belgian chocolates he loves so much, touch him with little, intimate touches whenever I can, touches that send him a message that nobody else gets...Jack O'Neill, two 'l's, closet romantic....make that closet gay romantic...who knew? Except, it's not a question of gay or straight, it's just... Daniel. I want to make him happy. And judging by tonight's events, I seem to do just that. For God's sake, most times, I even enjoy lying awake, 'cos then I can watch him sleep - and that's even sappier than sappy.
Dammit, he's on the move again....oof! Okay, that's not so bad...my arms are free, anyway.....mmm, that's kinda nice, his leg over mine, his arm across my waist, his head nuzzling into my shoulder...just move that arm a little bit...perfect. Now just gotta sl-i-i-i-de my arms around him...oh yeah. This is it: everything I want in the world right here, right now, with me, wrapped up in a Daniel shaped package.
Where was I? Oh yeah - want plus need plus romance equals..? Sure sounds like love. Okay, Mr. Subconscious, you win, I admit it, I love this guy, capital 'L'.'O'.'V'.'E'. Furthermore, I am in love with him. And yes, I will tell him in the morning, yes, the 'in' love part too, now shut the fuck up and let me get some sleep! Sheesh! Wht a guy has to do to get some sleep around here!
Huh!....Huh?....silence - yess! That's better, warm and comfy now...still time to get a few good solid hours before the briefing...man, why does Daniel always smell so good? Feels real good too....mmm, feels like love... starting to drift now....think I'm finally gonna....zzzzzz........
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