Clocking Off by munchkinott [Reviews - 1]
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Category: Stargate SG-1 - Slash
Characters: Daniel Jackson, Jack O'Neill
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Established Relationship, PWP - Plot, What Plot?
Warnings: None
Series: None
Word count: 5258; Completed: Yes
Summary: Sometimes Daniel really CAN'T get out of the office fast enough. Established-relationship. PWP.
Spoilers/Warnings: Broca Divide, Nemesis. No warnings.
Notes: Thank you to Al & Jen for prodding me most effectively into action, threatening to mortally wound me if I didn't write something soon etc etc - in short, their unending encouragement. Your friendly kicks up the backside have not gone unnoticed. :-)
~*~
His skin itched - a crawling dry heat that crept up from the blood, near boiling, in his veins. Anticipation churned with raw hunger. It was insane, it was crazy - it was just the way they were.
Daniel Jackson inhaled sharply, switching his foot to the brake as the traffic lights changed colour - the front end of his car nosed the rear bumper of the 4X4 ahead. Temptation was to rev. his engine, work the 2 litre's purr up to a roar. Anything to occupy him - fill his mind with more than the targeted lust coiling his senses. Take his imagination away from the freshwater scent of Jack O'Neill.
"Your concept of 'fun' is kinda like Carter's..." He'd said with a wickedly betraying smile. Jackson had ignored the comment and rearranged the stack of volumes on his desk. "You ain't got one."
That had rewarded O'Neill with a sharp glance from over the steel rim of his glasses.
"You should get out more..." O'Neill absently fingered the hardback spine of the volume nearest to his lazy position - lounging - legs thrown over Nyan's desk, crossed at the ankle.
"I'm already out, Jack - you're forgetting too much these days." Jackson had responded, curling and rounding the accusation and inference with too cruel ease. O'Neill's gaze shot up from the book's spine, conveying a dark reprimand - heated intent - as he feigned surprise and hurt. Jackson smirked inwardly - victory - permitting a wry benign smile to creep across his lips, darting his tongue out to moisten them.
He watched O'Neill shift uncomfortably, clear his throat with a subject-changing cough.
His desired reaction. Jackson repeated the motion - tracing the outline of his lips with velvet agility, methodically - slowly - watching O'Neill. Always watching. His darkening blue eyes never leaving deep brown -not needing to. Mind registering the agitated way O'Neill uncrossed then recrossed his ankles - his lips parted in a silent groan.
"Maybe you need reminding?" He smirked.
"Oh yeah?" O'Neill perked up at the promise. "O-oh, ye-ah."
Silence descended once more. Jackson went back to highlighting passages in his draft report.
"Then again - maybe it's you who needs the reminding." O'Neill commented out of the blue.
"About?" Jackson recovered.
He observed a distant smile prick the corners of O'Neill's mouth as he gazed distracted at the shelves.
"Let me think..." O'Neill threw him a sideways smirk. He unfolded his legs from the desk top and rose from his chair. The movement screamed pure sexual predation - likening O'Neill's slow, casual step as he rounded Jackson's desk and settled up behind him to being a feral stalk. The SFs keeping tabs on the office via CCTV surveillance wouldn't spy the connotation, couldn't spot the deliberate mistake. All they'd see was a sloping old colonel taking an interest in one of his teammates' work - before, Jack being Jack, being confused into submission.
He was close - too close. Jackson could smell his freshly showered skin - the coarse odour of whatever it was the base laundry was boiled in too - faded aftershave, shampoo - Jack.
Jack as he leaned over his shoulder.
Jack as he placed his left palm flat to the desk to steady himself.
Jack with one hand on the backrest of his chair.
Jack as he peered over and blew heated breath over his ear and the side of his face.
Jack as the hand moved from the backrest to chance a gentle stroke of his side.
Jack with his body arched guardingly over his - body heat burning through the layers of his shirt and T-shirt.
Jack as he spoke. "Four hours 'til school's out, kiddo."
He could hear his voice now. Sense the way the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with anticipation while O'Neill's warm, breathy words poured like liquid down his ear. Four hours, then ground zero. Four hours of having to work - having to concentrate - with that memory, that promise, ringing in his ears.
It rang now - louder than ever - as the traffic signals changed.
He was away - a hard right onto the main street. Bumper to bumper, still, with the 4X4 - it's driver checking the rear-view mirror.
Jack checking the rear-view mirror.
He was following. He would always follow. Unless, like today, it was his turn to lead.
The streets changed - store fronts and office buildings giving way to apartment complexes and small lawn-less houses perched on the roadside. In the distance the charcoal outline of the mountains as he drove along the road to suburbia and it's manicured lawns, bland two-car driveways - the sedative facade of the American Dream's reality.
Dusk was nearing when the 4X4 finally pulled in to the driveway. Rich honey-coloured sunlight reflected off the windows of Jack O'Neill's home - smoking the glass but for golden refractions off the panes.
Daniel Jackson parked his car up parallel with O'Neill's front lawn. Parking up on the driveway was still something he wasn't comfortable with - it seemed too casual, too familiar. Too permanent.
He got out of the driver's side of the car as O'Neill slammed the passenger door of his 4X4 closed - swinging the holdall he'd retrieved over his shoulder. Their gazes met. Their short glances spoke volumes.
O'Neill welcomed him.
Jackson accepted.
Daniel Jackson crossed the lawn to O'Neill's porch, O'Neill strode along the driveway and side path to meet him - fumbling with his door keys along the way.
"Got any plans for the next few - oh - lifetimes?" O'Neill asked casually, turning his key in the lock.
Jackson leaned against the frame, folding his arms under his chest - he didn't answer, only listened as the bezels clicked in sequence.
"We could order take out..." O'Neill offered, unabated, pushing the door open.
"I..." Jackson spoke in a hoarse warning whisper. "Am going to fuck you through the floor, colonel."
"Or we could do that." O'Neill swallowed, Jackson purposely brushing contact with him as he stepped inside.
~*~
The door slammed behind Jack O'Neill - a long arm stretched across the wood, Daniel's.
The archaeologist stood on the door's blind side - watching, as he leaned against the frame, a stubborn animal glint in his too-blue eyes. Jackson removed his glasses, folding the arms carefully before slotting them inside his jacket breast pocket.
A random image flashed into his mind, a memory. Carter in the men's locker room - infected, insane. Wanting. She had the same look in her eyes, the same alluring power. The difference was, if it had been Daniel in that locker room - Daniel with shreds of T-shirt clinging to sculpted, perfect skin moistened with steam and water - long strands of dark fringe curled over his shrouded eyes in damp, sweat tinged tendrils - stalking him. He couldn't have said 'no', even then.
The thought crossed his mind too vividly - Daniel pinning him to the bench, mouth closing over his. Stealing his air, stealing his voice -his weight and the clothed hardness digging into O'Neill's hip, paralyzing him in the most beautiful way. Making him lose himself in the emotions he had guarded so fiercely and permit O'Neill the fantasy of being taken by his friend.
Jackson leaned up from the door frame and stepped towards him - almost reading his mind.
Large, capable, hands cupped his face - capable of removing the most fragile of artifacts from compacted earth without so much as a scratch. Capable of locking and loading a P-90, taking out ten jaffa with lethal force. Capable of so many things - most of which O'Neill realised he hadn't scratched the surface on discovering long ago. Fingers fascinated with the rough brush of his eyebrows, lingering at the scar on his left brow.
He was there for the ride - the discovery, the adventure - not a ride. Nothing a stargate presented could come close to the man standing less than a foot away from him. Guarded, wounded - though not to be pitied. Intense and passionate about... everything. Every culture, ever relic - no matter how small - and right now, about him.
Daniel's eyes searched his. The power and humbling awe in his gaze never failed to take O'Neill aback - make him fall deeper. He was his, he was forever, he was so not going to get takeout before 3am.
~*~
Jackson pulled O'Neill into a kiss - short and hungry. His hand tempering and controlling - fingers raked then clutched O'Neill shortly trimmed hair - his tongue filling O'Neill's mouth, stealing and giving at the same time. Jackson's arms enveloping his lover's torso in an answering embrace to the long arms that draped over him and pulled him closer. Grazing O'Neill's lower lip with his teeth, he sucked mercilessly - relishing each throaty moan the action elicited.
Take-out? What take-out.
O'Neill ran his palms the length of Jackson's spine, gasping into his lover's open mouth as he felt solid tensed muscle beneath the coarse fabric of his jacket. Groaning sweetly, the tip of Jackson's tongue tracing the reddened outer edge of O'Neill's bottom lip. Jackson turned as O'Neill's hands reached the curve of his ass - his arm loosely circling O'Neill's waist tightened around him, forcing him into the turn, pushing the colonel back against the hallway wall.
Jackson crowded him - closed any distance there may have been between them with another kiss. O'Neill tried to lever himself into it - push his shoulders up from the wall. Picture frames dug into his left shoulder, the small hall table's edge cut into his thigh - Jackson pushed him back, a strong hand holding his right shoulder hard against the wall, thigh insinuated between his - body blocking, body covering, Jackson's lips drawing on the tantalising line of O'Neill's collarbone.
O'Neill knocked his head back against the wall, clutching at the open folds of his lover's jacket he hauled him in, hauled him up and closed his mouth over Jackson's. The archaeologist tugged O'Neill's jacket down by the collar - emitting a frustrated hiss as the garment stopped midway down O'Neill's upper arms.
"Woh boy!" O'Neill chuckled, warm air glancing Jackson's nose and cheek.
Ignoring the comment Jackson released O'Neill's jacket and sloughed his own - gleefully returning to O'Neill's mouth with hunger renewed.
"Off - take it off!" Jackson growled, his teeth nipping the course of O'Neill's jaw up to his right earlobe. "Now..." He warned, curling the earlobe into his mouth with the tip of his tongue.
O'Neill instinctively moved his hand to stroke his fingers through Jackson's soft, short, brown hair - waves of warm bliss swept down the right side of his throat and face, the path travelled south in lingering sweeps, fuelling his arousal. O'Neill eased his shoulders carefully away from the wall, wary not to interrupt the glorious attentions of his lover. Lazy sucks, interspersed with teased nibbles and licks, met gentle kisses that graced the pulse spot just below his ear - O'Neill slipped his leather jacket from his arms and let it fall to the floor behind him.
"Daniel?" He resumed the coaxing stroke of his lover's hair, trying to push forward a little further presented O'Neill with being forcefully pressed back against the hallway wall. "Oh-kay - be like that." He twisted his neck to make it more difficult for Jackson to reach his goal - meeting O'Neill's lips instead.
Softer this time - almost tentative pecks and brushes exchanged - Jackson parted slowly to O'Neill's tender touches. Tongue tip sliding easily between his lips, glancing over the edges of Jackson's teeth as he explored. Touching tips, playing for leisurely victory before the rhythm of O'Neill's tongue fell into that of his hips as he ground against Jackson's erection.
O'Neill's right hand moved to cup his lover's cheek. Jackson's fingertips softly combed through the unruly tufts of his lover's silvering hair.
Downtime. The itch that had burned through Jackson's veins for the better part of a day subsiding with each wondrously loving kiss. Chasing tongues, sharing breath - revelling in the sensation of being close enough now to comfort. Space folded in on itself - there was no time, there was no distance. His hard thoughts of wrestling O'Neill to the ground the minute he walked through the door, disappeared - satiating them both in a barely contained fury of bodies and need, disappeared.
Making love.
Daniel Jackson permitted himself to be backstepped to the front door. Tilted his head to one side, exposing the long luscious line of his lightly tanned throat to his lover's kiss. Groaned when stubble preceeded sweet butterfly kisses, gasped when teeth dragged as slow easy trail over already sensitised skin - moaned as O'Neill lapped the hollow at the base of his throat.
Ecstasy - slow, sweet; as infuriating as the man who brought him to it.
Jackson bucked his hips in frustration, groaning disappointment as firm hands pressed him back against the door. O'Neill chuckled wickedly, tracing the V-shaped inset of Jackson's open shirt collar with the tip of his tongue - provoking more wriggles of complaint.
"Jack!" He hissed, glancing furtively down - O'Neill tugging the base of Jackson's shirt from his trouser waistband.
"Humour me..." O'Neill threw his lover a grin.
"Humour you...? Yeah, sure! You... BETcha!" Jackson kicked his heel against the door in frustration, moist lips now caressing his abdomen -his nerves tingling from the sensation.
"What happened to 'I'm gonna fuck you through the floor'?." O'Neill remarked, pushing his lover's shirt up further leaving a wider expanse of sun-tinted skin at his disposal. He tilted his head to one side, kissing and trailing his lips barely above the edge of Jackson's belt-line - fascinated by the sight and sensation of his lover's flesh trembling at slightest touch. Pausing, intrigued by the pinkened surgical line of Jackson's appendix scar - it's tip peeking less than three inches above the waistband of his lover's grey suit trousers - to trace it's line with the flat of his tongue.
Jackson shivered in response to the attention - part embarrassment, part arousal - his fingertips softened their stroke through O'Neill's hair. Assuring - a silent moment of mutual regard at the eye of the storm.
Breaking the moment O'Neill stopped shy of the betraying line of soft dark hairs that showed above Jackson's low-slung waistband and repeated his torment to his lover's left side. O'Neill listened to the short gasps his work evoked, held Jackson's sides with gentle firmness when his squirming became too much, exhaled into the shallow oval of his navel then laved it's rim with the tip of his tongue, probed it's recess with a gently rocked rhythm - letting the tremors he sent through Jackson's body, reverberate through his before trapping the lower edge of his lover's navel in a deeply drawn kiss - pinning Jackson's upper body back to the door as he arched away from it with a frustrated yelp.
"Ja-ck!" Jackson spat, his lungs dry of air. "Do that again and forget what I said - I'll kill you!"
O'Neill gave his response in a throaty chuckle - allowing the slight ridges of Jackson's abdominal muscles trail under his lax lips, noting as his lover took deeper breaths the upwardly curving indent of his ribcage was left temptingly prone.
He dipped lower, now his attentions turned to the fined-out line of dark hairs he'd purposely ignored. Swirling licks rewarded O'Neill's ears with moans, kisses brought bitten gasps - light sucks; the loving stroke of Jackson's fingers through O'Neill's hair altered to a taut grip, his straining arousal pressing clothed heat against O'Neill's throat and collarbone. He pushed back up countering his lover's downward pressure on the back of his head, kissing a trail over Jackson's stomach, the flat of O'Neill's palms not breaking contact with the inches of smooth flesh he uncovered as fingertips pushed the base of Jackson's shirt up further until it crumpled awkwardly at the archaeologist's armpits.
Daniel Jackson bit the lining of his lower lip, his lover's lips leaving a trail of nerve tingling heat in their moist, tender, wake. "Jack..." The name came out more a delirious whisper. The coarse flat of O'Neill's palms glanced the contrasting smoothness of Jackson's ribs. Long fingers curled a secure hold on the rumpled base of his checked cotton shirt - occasionally the tip of O'Neill's left thumb would graze the sensitive peak of Jackson's nipple while his mouth worked the side of his waist. Always moving up, never moving down - where he wanted him, where he needed him - only prolonging the torture. Perfect teeth nipping playfully between kisses, O'Neill's tongue leaving wet trails and prickling nerve endings - a reminder - as he traced the barely visible indents and rises of Jackson's ribs. Stubble abraded his skin as O'Neill lapped and teased the arch of Jackson's breastbone.
Every nerve in Jackson's body was alight, like a hundred-thousand needle points scratching his skin. Warmth, centred on his throbbing groin, spread out in waves with each heartbeat and delicate glance of the colonel's skin against his. Shivers coursed the length of his spine - muscles tensing in response -Jackson eased away from the door, reaching over his shoulder he hauled the crumpled shirt over his head and pitched the garment into the lounge. His action eliciting a surrendering moan from his lover whose roaming hands were now given free range to course his torso.
Jack O'Neill slid his palms down Jackson's sides, hooking his fingers under the waistband of his trousers - pulling him closer to kiss the archaeologist's flat, undulating stomach. Down, slower - his lips barely grazing skin. O'Neill moved his fingers around, confined to the inner line of Jackson's trouser waistband until his pad of his left thumb grazed the cool metal edge of Jackson's belt buckle. He brushed it thoughtfully, let the sensation of roughened leather and smooth aluminium permeate the sensory memories of Jackson's toned flesh beneath his hands. He eased the leather belt strap to a loose loop, slipped his thumb through it and tugged the belt strap through the metal loop - flicking the pin and drawing the buckle side away from the strap. O'Neill leaned back, dropping lower, he pushed his right knee closer to his chest to steady his balance as he concentrated on Jackson's fly - taking his time to slip the two buttons from their holes and slide the zip down with his finger and thumb.
"Danny, Danny, Danny..." He whispered, more to himself than his lover - his hands smoothing outwards over Jackson's crotch from the open V of the archaeologist's fly. Jackson flinched in response as O'Neill stroked his erection through the fabric, then inched his trousers down by the outer side seams. Jackson's shorts followed, left to rest mid-thigh - O'Neill teasing back the elasticated waistband so it didn't graze already sensitised flesh.
"Danny..." O'Neill cradled Jackson's heavy testicles in his hand, closing his eyes to grace the right side of his lover's swollen length with kisses from tip to root. "Danny..." He murmured, inhaling the scent of Jackson's body - unfragranced soap, fresh perspiration and arousal. Raw, sweet and sour - soft pubic hairs tickling O'Neill's nose as his laid longer drawing kisses at the root, lapping at the base of the archaeologist's penis with his tongue. Delicate ministrations that had Jackson rocking his hips into it - cold trails of ecstasy travelled his spine pursued by warm waves of pleasure as he glanced ready flesh against O'Neill's cheek. A choked gasp escaped Jackson's throat.
The colonel closed his hand over the base of Jackson's erection, taking a short breath as he sensed the archaeologist's body tense in anticipation. O'Neill took his lover into his mouth. Leisurely swirling his tongue around the tip, the colonel moved to take more of him. O'Neill's tongue forming a slickened channel which caressed the underside of his lover's length.
Jackson braced his shoulders against the door. Teasing licks, the slide of O'Neill's wet lips on his length - the moist, wonderful heat as he entered the colonel's mouth. Jackson groaned to the ceiling, clenching his fists as every muscle in his body demanded he seize temptation and pull O'Neill's head down, end his rationed bliss by burying himself to the hilt in his lover's throat.
O'Neill took him further, to the limit - his upper lip rested on the knuckle of his index finger, his cradling hand massaging Jackson's testicles as he sucked on the hard heat in his mouth. The archaeologist's tip grazed the back of his throat, O'Neill dropping away two of his fingers to press his lover deeper without taking him completely.
It was involuntary, Jackson writhed against O'Neill - grinding and bucking his hips in frustration. He tangled his fingers in O'Neill's hair; begged for release, scowling disappointment as the colonel withdrew his mouth and forced Jackson's hips back against the door.
"Mmmm..." O'Neill threw the archaeologist a confident smirk, darting his tongue out to lazily sweep the beads of pre-come from the tip of Jackson's aching erection. "Want you..." He whispered possessively, looking up as he took another lick. "Fuck me." He groaned weakly, the words almost lost as O'Neill returned his mouth to Jackson's groin, raining gentle kisses across his naked right hip.
Jackson reluctantly gave in to his lover's persuasive lips; sliding carefully down the door to crouch, facing O'Neill. His entire frame tingled with sensation, brought to the edge of release then pulled back from the brink, where there was heat - sweet, excited heat - there was now a sore ache. O'Neill repeated his plea, nibbling and licking the side of Jackson's neck - paying greater attention to the pulse spot below his lover's right earlobe. Jackson moaned feebly, his mind taking it's time to scrabble back from the coloured lights he envisaged to focus on events - on action. Specifically: Lubrication. The bedroom appeared a million miles away, the kitchen even further, entertaining the thought of taking O'Neill's ass on the hallway floor was one thing, the act itself required movement - walking - the physical ability to take more than one step without collapsing. His body shifted into autopilot, fingers seeking the bottom edge of O'Neill's sweatshirt - the colonel groaning softly as Jackson lifted the garment, hooking the base of O'Neill's T-shirt in his grip.
Reluctantly O'Neill pulled away from the clear, compelling expanse of Jackson's neck and earlobe - raising his arms as the archaeologist hauled his sweatshirt and T-shirt over his head, hurriedly returning to his task with renewed fervour. Jackson moaned - hurling the tangled garments into the lounge, eager to coast his palms over O'Neill's bared back and chest. He allowed himself to fall forward, using the door for leverage and bundled the unresisting colonel to the floor.
Jackson moved over him - O'Neill quickly shifting position on the floor so his feet didn't scrape the door or walls - straddling the colonel's legs with his own. The archaeologist's fingers and thumbs worked to unfasten the buckle of O'Neill's belt, preying on his lover's waiting mouth as he did.
"Just..." O'Neill whimpered, craning his neck to return the archaeologist's kiss - dropping back down as Jackson flicked the single-button of his jeans fly through it's hole, hauling the zip down with a rough outwards tug which rewarded him with a deeper groan. "Please be gentle with me." O'Neill sniggered raising his hips from the hallway rug for Jackson to free him from his jeans and shorts.
"Trust me..." Jackson paused then shrugged. "I'm a doctor."
"You're not that kind of doctor." O'Neill scowled.
"Ok... Trust me, I'm a doctor of archaeology..." Jackson replied, lowering his left forearm to the rug for steady support - sensing the heat of their swollen erections to guide his first angle. "Uncovering ancient relics is my area of expertise."
"Hey!" O'Neill protested, his spine arching away from the floor as Jackson's first sweeping thrust set his mind alight with potent sensation. "Je-zus! ARH!" He shouted, what was left of the blood in his body that hadn't already flowed to his aching groin fired there in a heated wave, the backswell coursing it's return through his veins and nerve endings in a cascade of bliss. He thrust hips against cooler air - Jackson pulling back.
"Ok, that was..." Gasped the archaeologist, still reeling from the rush himself.
"Incredible. More." O'Neill growled, forgetting his lover's joking slight - one hand moving up to haul Jackson's mouth to his own, his left forcing their hips together in a harder contact.
Jackson bit down on O'Neill's kiss-swollen lower lip, every muscle in his body clenching and relaxing, answering the desperate push and glide of the colonel's fullness against his own. Pre-ejaculate slickened skin, his heartbeat setting the rhythm with O'Neill's breathless cries which echoed in the cavern of Jackson's throat - pushing harder, pulling slower, moving his body against O'Neill's.
Teeth clashed, greedy kisses stolen as wave after wave of exquisite ecstasy washed over them. O'Neill wrapped his arms around Jackson, latching one hand over the archaeologist's shoulder to pull himself into the friction. Murmuring curses and abuse through gritted teeth - wanting to crawl under his lover's skin and share the devastating aftershocks that near liquefied every bone and muscle in his body. O'Neill held on to Jackson as if his life depended on it - blinking back tears of frustration, suppressing his climax until he couldn't hold back any longer. Shuddering chills swept through him, countering the thin sheen of sweat he could feel tracing down his spine, O'Neill's heat poured between them - his body arcing against Jackson's, forcing upwards - once, twice, more - his release surging with earth shattering intensity.
Jack O'Neill cried out for his lover as he came.
Daniel Jackson could never get used to that sound - no matter how hard he tried, they could make love forever and it would still fill him with a greater warmth than the heat of their bodies entwined.
"Daniel!" First and always, a cry of hard won pleasure.
"Daniel." The second said instead of a sated breath.
"Daniel..." More tender and beautiful than the words his name replaced.
Jackson buried his face in the curve of Jack O'Neill's neck and collarbone. Drowned in pleasure, his lips lazily caressing O'Neill's throat. "Me too." He affirmed, rasping the words out between dry breaths - slowly working the last friction between them as his release mingled with O'Neill's. His joints locked, eyes closed revelling in the sweet sensation of completion - Daniel Jackson called his lover's name and fell into his welcoming embrace.
~*~
Daniel Jackson ran his palm over his sleeping lover's shoulders and back in an curving S. "... Awake?"
"Always..." O'Neill answered drowsily as Jackson rubbed the small of his back in small circles. "I guess 'honey, I have a headache' isn't working for you?"
"It's working fine..." Jackson distantly replied, stretching over his lover's sprawled form to lay soft kisses over the pink friction marks on O'Neill's right elbow and shoulder. "Just... Wanna talk..." He sighed softly. "Converse..."
"Discuss?." O'Neill slurred - gentle, assuring kisses that stretched the length of his shoulder now continued up the back of his neck mixed with Jackson's slowly circling palm, still rested at the base of his spine. "Negotiate...? Just... one thing..."
"Hmmm?" Jackson whispered absently, his tongue tip stealing glances to the hard outer edge of O'Neill's ear.
"Cool it on the long words until my brain re-enters the stratosphere... Oh if you're thinkin' about the other kind of 'discussion' my knees are shot to hell. Hardwood floors, ACL - great combination, I'm tellin' ya..."
Jackson slid his supporting left arm under O'Neill's stack of pillows and moved in closer. "Not that kind of 'conversation', Jack."
O'Neill snorted out a small chuckle. "Right, this is where we forget we're guys, open up about 'feelings' and start choosing wallpaper together"
"No." Jackson passively disagreed, lifting his massaging hand to curl his arm under O'Neill's and spoon up behind him - head resting half on the pillow stack, half on O'Neill's left shoulderblade. "This is where I say 'this is insane', you agree. I say 'we've got to stop', you agree. We make up some rules - swear we're gonna keep to them..."
"Then break 'em all..." O'Neill shifted comfortably in Jackson's arms.
"Exactly." Jackson whispered, holding O'Neill tighter as his warm breath sent a small shiver through his lover. "It's like a drug... intoxicating." He sighed sleepily. "Jack?"
"Yes?"
"I need you..." Jackson closed his statement with a small kiss. "I have to have you..."
"I'm so gonna get fired - we're so gonna get fired..." O'Neill mumbled weaving his fingers with Jackson's.
"We're so gonna get killed, Jack." Jackson put more of his weight onto his supporting forearm, rising to kiss the large hand that covered his own.
"Or kill each other first."
"Aha."
"Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"We've got to stop... this." O'Neill said, his words meaning the exact opposite. "Tomorrow... when we're... we're more..." He yawned. "When I'm awake."
Jackson snuggled down, allowing his lips to brush the edge of O'Neill's exposed shoulder - listening as his lover's breaths settled into a deep pattern. "We can't stop, can we?" Jackson spoke hushedly, barely a murmur above the sound of his own breath - the sincerity in his voice frightening, even to himself. "Colliding - like this - we can't stop it, we can't stop ourselves. Jack O'Neill, I think I'm in love with you..." O'Neill's hand tightened fractionally over his - Jackson settled the side of his head between the colonel's shoulderblades and drifted slowly into his dream-filled darkness.
The End
- Text Size +
Category: Stargate SG-1 - Slash
Characters: Daniel Jackson, Jack O'Neill
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Established Relationship, PWP - Plot, What Plot?
Warnings: None
Series: None
Word count: 5258; Completed: Yes
Summary: Sometimes Daniel really CAN'T get out of the office fast enough. Established-relationship. PWP.
Spoilers/Warnings: Broca Divide, Nemesis. No warnings.
Notes: Thank you to Al & Jen for prodding me most effectively into action, threatening to mortally wound me if I didn't write something soon etc etc - in short, their unending encouragement. Your friendly kicks up the backside have not gone unnoticed. :-)
~*~
His skin itched - a crawling dry heat that crept up from the blood, near boiling, in his veins. Anticipation churned with raw hunger. It was insane, it was crazy - it was just the way they were.
Daniel Jackson inhaled sharply, switching his foot to the brake as the traffic lights changed colour - the front end of his car nosed the rear bumper of the 4X4 ahead. Temptation was to rev. his engine, work the 2 litre's purr up to a roar. Anything to occupy him - fill his mind with more than the targeted lust coiling his senses. Take his imagination away from the freshwater scent of Jack O'Neill.
"Your concept of 'fun' is kinda like Carter's..." He'd said with a wickedly betraying smile. Jackson had ignored the comment and rearranged the stack of volumes on his desk. "You ain't got one."
That had rewarded O'Neill with a sharp glance from over the steel rim of his glasses.
"You should get out more..." O'Neill absently fingered the hardback spine of the volume nearest to his lazy position - lounging - legs thrown over Nyan's desk, crossed at the ankle.
"I'm already out, Jack - you're forgetting too much these days." Jackson had responded, curling and rounding the accusation and inference with too cruel ease. O'Neill's gaze shot up from the book's spine, conveying a dark reprimand - heated intent - as he feigned surprise and hurt. Jackson smirked inwardly - victory - permitting a wry benign smile to creep across his lips, darting his tongue out to moisten them.
He watched O'Neill shift uncomfortably, clear his throat with a subject-changing cough.
His desired reaction. Jackson repeated the motion - tracing the outline of his lips with velvet agility, methodically - slowly - watching O'Neill. Always watching. His darkening blue eyes never leaving deep brown -not needing to. Mind registering the agitated way O'Neill uncrossed then recrossed his ankles - his lips parted in a silent groan.
"Maybe you need reminding?" He smirked.
"Oh yeah?" O'Neill perked up at the promise. "O-oh, ye-ah."
Silence descended once more. Jackson went back to highlighting passages in his draft report.
"Then again - maybe it's you who needs the reminding." O'Neill commented out of the blue.
"About?" Jackson recovered.
He observed a distant smile prick the corners of O'Neill's mouth as he gazed distracted at the shelves.
"Let me think..." O'Neill threw him a sideways smirk. He unfolded his legs from the desk top and rose from his chair. The movement screamed pure sexual predation - likening O'Neill's slow, casual step as he rounded Jackson's desk and settled up behind him to being a feral stalk. The SFs keeping tabs on the office via CCTV surveillance wouldn't spy the connotation, couldn't spot the deliberate mistake. All they'd see was a sloping old colonel taking an interest in one of his teammates' work - before, Jack being Jack, being confused into submission.
He was close - too close. Jackson could smell his freshly showered skin - the coarse odour of whatever it was the base laundry was boiled in too - faded aftershave, shampoo - Jack.
Jack as he leaned over his shoulder.
Jack as he placed his left palm flat to the desk to steady himself.
Jack with one hand on the backrest of his chair.
Jack as he peered over and blew heated breath over his ear and the side of his face.
Jack as the hand moved from the backrest to chance a gentle stroke of his side.
Jack with his body arched guardingly over his - body heat burning through the layers of his shirt and T-shirt.
Jack as he spoke. "Four hours 'til school's out, kiddo."
He could hear his voice now. Sense the way the hairs on the back of his neck prickled with anticipation while O'Neill's warm, breathy words poured like liquid down his ear. Four hours, then ground zero. Four hours of having to work - having to concentrate - with that memory, that promise, ringing in his ears.
It rang now - louder than ever - as the traffic signals changed.
He was away - a hard right onto the main street. Bumper to bumper, still, with the 4X4 - it's driver checking the rear-view mirror.
Jack checking the rear-view mirror.
He was following. He would always follow. Unless, like today, it was his turn to lead.
The streets changed - store fronts and office buildings giving way to apartment complexes and small lawn-less houses perched on the roadside. In the distance the charcoal outline of the mountains as he drove along the road to suburbia and it's manicured lawns, bland two-car driveways - the sedative facade of the American Dream's reality.
Dusk was nearing when the 4X4 finally pulled in to the driveway. Rich honey-coloured sunlight reflected off the windows of Jack O'Neill's home - smoking the glass but for golden refractions off the panes.
Daniel Jackson parked his car up parallel with O'Neill's front lawn. Parking up on the driveway was still something he wasn't comfortable with - it seemed too casual, too familiar. Too permanent.
He got out of the driver's side of the car as O'Neill slammed the passenger door of his 4X4 closed - swinging the holdall he'd retrieved over his shoulder. Their gazes met. Their short glances spoke volumes.
O'Neill welcomed him.
Jackson accepted.
Daniel Jackson crossed the lawn to O'Neill's porch, O'Neill strode along the driveway and side path to meet him - fumbling with his door keys along the way.
"Got any plans for the next few - oh - lifetimes?" O'Neill asked casually, turning his key in the lock.
Jackson leaned against the frame, folding his arms under his chest - he didn't answer, only listened as the bezels clicked in sequence.
"We could order take out..." O'Neill offered, unabated, pushing the door open.
"I..." Jackson spoke in a hoarse warning whisper. "Am going to fuck you through the floor, colonel."
"Or we could do that." O'Neill swallowed, Jackson purposely brushing contact with him as he stepped inside.
~*~
The door slammed behind Jack O'Neill - a long arm stretched across the wood, Daniel's.
The archaeologist stood on the door's blind side - watching, as he leaned against the frame, a stubborn animal glint in his too-blue eyes. Jackson removed his glasses, folding the arms carefully before slotting them inside his jacket breast pocket.
A random image flashed into his mind, a memory. Carter in the men's locker room - infected, insane. Wanting. She had the same look in her eyes, the same alluring power. The difference was, if it had been Daniel in that locker room - Daniel with shreds of T-shirt clinging to sculpted, perfect skin moistened with steam and water - long strands of dark fringe curled over his shrouded eyes in damp, sweat tinged tendrils - stalking him. He couldn't have said 'no', even then.
The thought crossed his mind too vividly - Daniel pinning him to the bench, mouth closing over his. Stealing his air, stealing his voice -his weight and the clothed hardness digging into O'Neill's hip, paralyzing him in the most beautiful way. Making him lose himself in the emotions he had guarded so fiercely and permit O'Neill the fantasy of being taken by his friend.
Jackson leaned up from the door frame and stepped towards him - almost reading his mind.
Large, capable, hands cupped his face - capable of removing the most fragile of artifacts from compacted earth without so much as a scratch. Capable of locking and loading a P-90, taking out ten jaffa with lethal force. Capable of so many things - most of which O'Neill realised he hadn't scratched the surface on discovering long ago. Fingers fascinated with the rough brush of his eyebrows, lingering at the scar on his left brow.
He was there for the ride - the discovery, the adventure - not a ride. Nothing a stargate presented could come close to the man standing less than a foot away from him. Guarded, wounded - though not to be pitied. Intense and passionate about... everything. Every culture, ever relic - no matter how small - and right now, about him.
Daniel's eyes searched his. The power and humbling awe in his gaze never failed to take O'Neill aback - make him fall deeper. He was his, he was forever, he was so not going to get takeout before 3am.
~*~
Jackson pulled O'Neill into a kiss - short and hungry. His hand tempering and controlling - fingers raked then clutched O'Neill shortly trimmed hair - his tongue filling O'Neill's mouth, stealing and giving at the same time. Jackson's arms enveloping his lover's torso in an answering embrace to the long arms that draped over him and pulled him closer. Grazing O'Neill's lower lip with his teeth, he sucked mercilessly - relishing each throaty moan the action elicited.
Take-out? What take-out.
O'Neill ran his palms the length of Jackson's spine, gasping into his lover's open mouth as he felt solid tensed muscle beneath the coarse fabric of his jacket. Groaning sweetly, the tip of Jackson's tongue tracing the reddened outer edge of O'Neill's bottom lip. Jackson turned as O'Neill's hands reached the curve of his ass - his arm loosely circling O'Neill's waist tightened around him, forcing him into the turn, pushing the colonel back against the hallway wall.
Jackson crowded him - closed any distance there may have been between them with another kiss. O'Neill tried to lever himself into it - push his shoulders up from the wall. Picture frames dug into his left shoulder, the small hall table's edge cut into his thigh - Jackson pushed him back, a strong hand holding his right shoulder hard against the wall, thigh insinuated between his - body blocking, body covering, Jackson's lips drawing on the tantalising line of O'Neill's collarbone.
O'Neill knocked his head back against the wall, clutching at the open folds of his lover's jacket he hauled him in, hauled him up and closed his mouth over Jackson's. The archaeologist tugged O'Neill's jacket down by the collar - emitting a frustrated hiss as the garment stopped midway down O'Neill's upper arms.
"Woh boy!" O'Neill chuckled, warm air glancing Jackson's nose and cheek.
Ignoring the comment Jackson released O'Neill's jacket and sloughed his own - gleefully returning to O'Neill's mouth with hunger renewed.
"Off - take it off!" Jackson growled, his teeth nipping the course of O'Neill's jaw up to his right earlobe. "Now..." He warned, curling the earlobe into his mouth with the tip of his tongue.
O'Neill instinctively moved his hand to stroke his fingers through Jackson's soft, short, brown hair - waves of warm bliss swept down the right side of his throat and face, the path travelled south in lingering sweeps, fuelling his arousal. O'Neill eased his shoulders carefully away from the wall, wary not to interrupt the glorious attentions of his lover. Lazy sucks, interspersed with teased nibbles and licks, met gentle kisses that graced the pulse spot just below his ear - O'Neill slipped his leather jacket from his arms and let it fall to the floor behind him.
"Daniel?" He resumed the coaxing stroke of his lover's hair, trying to push forward a little further presented O'Neill with being forcefully pressed back against the hallway wall. "Oh-kay - be like that." He twisted his neck to make it more difficult for Jackson to reach his goal - meeting O'Neill's lips instead.
Softer this time - almost tentative pecks and brushes exchanged - Jackson parted slowly to O'Neill's tender touches. Tongue tip sliding easily between his lips, glancing over the edges of Jackson's teeth as he explored. Touching tips, playing for leisurely victory before the rhythm of O'Neill's tongue fell into that of his hips as he ground against Jackson's erection.
O'Neill's right hand moved to cup his lover's cheek. Jackson's fingertips softly combed through the unruly tufts of his lover's silvering hair.
Downtime. The itch that had burned through Jackson's veins for the better part of a day subsiding with each wondrously loving kiss. Chasing tongues, sharing breath - revelling in the sensation of being close enough now to comfort. Space folded in on itself - there was no time, there was no distance. His hard thoughts of wrestling O'Neill to the ground the minute he walked through the door, disappeared - satiating them both in a barely contained fury of bodies and need, disappeared.
Making love.
Daniel Jackson permitted himself to be backstepped to the front door. Tilted his head to one side, exposing the long luscious line of his lightly tanned throat to his lover's kiss. Groaned when stubble preceeded sweet butterfly kisses, gasped when teeth dragged as slow easy trail over already sensitised skin - moaned as O'Neill lapped the hollow at the base of his throat.
Ecstasy - slow, sweet; as infuriating as the man who brought him to it.
Jackson bucked his hips in frustration, groaning disappointment as firm hands pressed him back against the door. O'Neill chuckled wickedly, tracing the V-shaped inset of Jackson's open shirt collar with the tip of his tongue - provoking more wriggles of complaint.
"Jack!" He hissed, glancing furtively down - O'Neill tugging the base of Jackson's shirt from his trouser waistband.
"Humour me..." O'Neill threw his lover a grin.
"Humour you...? Yeah, sure! You... BETcha!" Jackson kicked his heel against the door in frustration, moist lips now caressing his abdomen -his nerves tingling from the sensation.
"What happened to 'I'm gonna fuck you through the floor'?." O'Neill remarked, pushing his lover's shirt up further leaving a wider expanse of sun-tinted skin at his disposal. He tilted his head to one side, kissing and trailing his lips barely above the edge of Jackson's belt-line - fascinated by the sight and sensation of his lover's flesh trembling at slightest touch. Pausing, intrigued by the pinkened surgical line of Jackson's appendix scar - it's tip peeking less than three inches above the waistband of his lover's grey suit trousers - to trace it's line with the flat of his tongue.
Jackson shivered in response to the attention - part embarrassment, part arousal - his fingertips softened their stroke through O'Neill's hair. Assuring - a silent moment of mutual regard at the eye of the storm.
Breaking the moment O'Neill stopped shy of the betraying line of soft dark hairs that showed above Jackson's low-slung waistband and repeated his torment to his lover's left side. O'Neill listened to the short gasps his work evoked, held Jackson's sides with gentle firmness when his squirming became too much, exhaled into the shallow oval of his navel then laved it's rim with the tip of his tongue, probed it's recess with a gently rocked rhythm - letting the tremors he sent through Jackson's body, reverberate through his before trapping the lower edge of his lover's navel in a deeply drawn kiss - pinning Jackson's upper body back to the door as he arched away from it with a frustrated yelp.
"Ja-ck!" Jackson spat, his lungs dry of air. "Do that again and forget what I said - I'll kill you!"
O'Neill gave his response in a throaty chuckle - allowing the slight ridges of Jackson's abdominal muscles trail under his lax lips, noting as his lover took deeper breaths the upwardly curving indent of his ribcage was left temptingly prone.
He dipped lower, now his attentions turned to the fined-out line of dark hairs he'd purposely ignored. Swirling licks rewarded O'Neill's ears with moans, kisses brought bitten gasps - light sucks; the loving stroke of Jackson's fingers through O'Neill's hair altered to a taut grip, his straining arousal pressing clothed heat against O'Neill's throat and collarbone. He pushed back up countering his lover's downward pressure on the back of his head, kissing a trail over Jackson's stomach, the flat of O'Neill's palms not breaking contact with the inches of smooth flesh he uncovered as fingertips pushed the base of Jackson's shirt up further until it crumpled awkwardly at the archaeologist's armpits.
Daniel Jackson bit the lining of his lower lip, his lover's lips leaving a trail of nerve tingling heat in their moist, tender, wake. "Jack..." The name came out more a delirious whisper. The coarse flat of O'Neill's palms glanced the contrasting smoothness of Jackson's ribs. Long fingers curled a secure hold on the rumpled base of his checked cotton shirt - occasionally the tip of O'Neill's left thumb would graze the sensitive peak of Jackson's nipple while his mouth worked the side of his waist. Always moving up, never moving down - where he wanted him, where he needed him - only prolonging the torture. Perfect teeth nipping playfully between kisses, O'Neill's tongue leaving wet trails and prickling nerve endings - a reminder - as he traced the barely visible indents and rises of Jackson's ribs. Stubble abraded his skin as O'Neill lapped and teased the arch of Jackson's breastbone.
Every nerve in Jackson's body was alight, like a hundred-thousand needle points scratching his skin. Warmth, centred on his throbbing groin, spread out in waves with each heartbeat and delicate glance of the colonel's skin against his. Shivers coursed the length of his spine - muscles tensing in response -Jackson eased away from the door, reaching over his shoulder he hauled the crumpled shirt over his head and pitched the garment into the lounge. His action eliciting a surrendering moan from his lover whose roaming hands were now given free range to course his torso.
Jack O'Neill slid his palms down Jackson's sides, hooking his fingers under the waistband of his trousers - pulling him closer to kiss the archaeologist's flat, undulating stomach. Down, slower - his lips barely grazing skin. O'Neill moved his fingers around, confined to the inner line of Jackson's trouser waistband until his pad of his left thumb grazed the cool metal edge of Jackson's belt buckle. He brushed it thoughtfully, let the sensation of roughened leather and smooth aluminium permeate the sensory memories of Jackson's toned flesh beneath his hands. He eased the leather belt strap to a loose loop, slipped his thumb through it and tugged the belt strap through the metal loop - flicking the pin and drawing the buckle side away from the strap. O'Neill leaned back, dropping lower, he pushed his right knee closer to his chest to steady his balance as he concentrated on Jackson's fly - taking his time to slip the two buttons from their holes and slide the zip down with his finger and thumb.
"Danny, Danny, Danny..." He whispered, more to himself than his lover - his hands smoothing outwards over Jackson's crotch from the open V of the archaeologist's fly. Jackson flinched in response as O'Neill stroked his erection through the fabric, then inched his trousers down by the outer side seams. Jackson's shorts followed, left to rest mid-thigh - O'Neill teasing back the elasticated waistband so it didn't graze already sensitised flesh.
"Danny..." O'Neill cradled Jackson's heavy testicles in his hand, closing his eyes to grace the right side of his lover's swollen length with kisses from tip to root. "Danny..." He murmured, inhaling the scent of Jackson's body - unfragranced soap, fresh perspiration and arousal. Raw, sweet and sour - soft pubic hairs tickling O'Neill's nose as his laid longer drawing kisses at the root, lapping at the base of the archaeologist's penis with his tongue. Delicate ministrations that had Jackson rocking his hips into it - cold trails of ecstasy travelled his spine pursued by warm waves of pleasure as he glanced ready flesh against O'Neill's cheek. A choked gasp escaped Jackson's throat.
The colonel closed his hand over the base of Jackson's erection, taking a short breath as he sensed the archaeologist's body tense in anticipation. O'Neill took his lover into his mouth. Leisurely swirling his tongue around the tip, the colonel moved to take more of him. O'Neill's tongue forming a slickened channel which caressed the underside of his lover's length.
Jackson braced his shoulders against the door. Teasing licks, the slide of O'Neill's wet lips on his length - the moist, wonderful heat as he entered the colonel's mouth. Jackson groaned to the ceiling, clenching his fists as every muscle in his body demanded he seize temptation and pull O'Neill's head down, end his rationed bliss by burying himself to the hilt in his lover's throat.
O'Neill took him further, to the limit - his upper lip rested on the knuckle of his index finger, his cradling hand massaging Jackson's testicles as he sucked on the hard heat in his mouth. The archaeologist's tip grazed the back of his throat, O'Neill dropping away two of his fingers to press his lover deeper without taking him completely.
It was involuntary, Jackson writhed against O'Neill - grinding and bucking his hips in frustration. He tangled his fingers in O'Neill's hair; begged for release, scowling disappointment as the colonel withdrew his mouth and forced Jackson's hips back against the door.
"Mmmm..." O'Neill threw the archaeologist a confident smirk, darting his tongue out to lazily sweep the beads of pre-come from the tip of Jackson's aching erection. "Want you..." He whispered possessively, looking up as he took another lick. "Fuck me." He groaned weakly, the words almost lost as O'Neill returned his mouth to Jackson's groin, raining gentle kisses across his naked right hip.
Jackson reluctantly gave in to his lover's persuasive lips; sliding carefully down the door to crouch, facing O'Neill. His entire frame tingled with sensation, brought to the edge of release then pulled back from the brink, where there was heat - sweet, excited heat - there was now a sore ache. O'Neill repeated his plea, nibbling and licking the side of Jackson's neck - paying greater attention to the pulse spot below his lover's right earlobe. Jackson moaned feebly, his mind taking it's time to scrabble back from the coloured lights he envisaged to focus on events - on action. Specifically: Lubrication. The bedroom appeared a million miles away, the kitchen even further, entertaining the thought of taking O'Neill's ass on the hallway floor was one thing, the act itself required movement - walking - the physical ability to take more than one step without collapsing. His body shifted into autopilot, fingers seeking the bottom edge of O'Neill's sweatshirt - the colonel groaning softly as Jackson lifted the garment, hooking the base of O'Neill's T-shirt in his grip.
Reluctantly O'Neill pulled away from the clear, compelling expanse of Jackson's neck and earlobe - raising his arms as the archaeologist hauled his sweatshirt and T-shirt over his head, hurriedly returning to his task with renewed fervour. Jackson moaned - hurling the tangled garments into the lounge, eager to coast his palms over O'Neill's bared back and chest. He allowed himself to fall forward, using the door for leverage and bundled the unresisting colonel to the floor.
Jackson moved over him - O'Neill quickly shifting position on the floor so his feet didn't scrape the door or walls - straddling the colonel's legs with his own. The archaeologist's fingers and thumbs worked to unfasten the buckle of O'Neill's belt, preying on his lover's waiting mouth as he did.
"Just..." O'Neill whimpered, craning his neck to return the archaeologist's kiss - dropping back down as Jackson flicked the single-button of his jeans fly through it's hole, hauling the zip down with a rough outwards tug which rewarded him with a deeper groan. "Please be gentle with me." O'Neill sniggered raising his hips from the hallway rug for Jackson to free him from his jeans and shorts.
"Trust me..." Jackson paused then shrugged. "I'm a doctor."
"You're not that kind of doctor." O'Neill scowled.
"Ok... Trust me, I'm a doctor of archaeology..." Jackson replied, lowering his left forearm to the rug for steady support - sensing the heat of their swollen erections to guide his first angle. "Uncovering ancient relics is my area of expertise."
"Hey!" O'Neill protested, his spine arching away from the floor as Jackson's first sweeping thrust set his mind alight with potent sensation. "Je-zus! ARH!" He shouted, what was left of the blood in his body that hadn't already flowed to his aching groin fired there in a heated wave, the backswell coursing it's return through his veins and nerve endings in a cascade of bliss. He thrust hips against cooler air - Jackson pulling back.
"Ok, that was..." Gasped the archaeologist, still reeling from the rush himself.
"Incredible. More." O'Neill growled, forgetting his lover's joking slight - one hand moving up to haul Jackson's mouth to his own, his left forcing their hips together in a harder contact.
Jackson bit down on O'Neill's kiss-swollen lower lip, every muscle in his body clenching and relaxing, answering the desperate push and glide of the colonel's fullness against his own. Pre-ejaculate slickened skin, his heartbeat setting the rhythm with O'Neill's breathless cries which echoed in the cavern of Jackson's throat - pushing harder, pulling slower, moving his body against O'Neill's.
Teeth clashed, greedy kisses stolen as wave after wave of exquisite ecstasy washed over them. O'Neill wrapped his arms around Jackson, latching one hand over the archaeologist's shoulder to pull himself into the friction. Murmuring curses and abuse through gritted teeth - wanting to crawl under his lover's skin and share the devastating aftershocks that near liquefied every bone and muscle in his body. O'Neill held on to Jackson as if his life depended on it - blinking back tears of frustration, suppressing his climax until he couldn't hold back any longer. Shuddering chills swept through him, countering the thin sheen of sweat he could feel tracing down his spine, O'Neill's heat poured between them - his body arcing against Jackson's, forcing upwards - once, twice, more - his release surging with earth shattering intensity.
Jack O'Neill cried out for his lover as he came.
Daniel Jackson could never get used to that sound - no matter how hard he tried, they could make love forever and it would still fill him with a greater warmth than the heat of their bodies entwined.
"Daniel!" First and always, a cry of hard won pleasure.
"Daniel." The second said instead of a sated breath.
"Daniel..." More tender and beautiful than the words his name replaced.
Jackson buried his face in the curve of Jack O'Neill's neck and collarbone. Drowned in pleasure, his lips lazily caressing O'Neill's throat. "Me too." He affirmed, rasping the words out between dry breaths - slowly working the last friction between them as his release mingled with O'Neill's. His joints locked, eyes closed revelling in the sweet sensation of completion - Daniel Jackson called his lover's name and fell into his welcoming embrace.
~*~
Daniel Jackson ran his palm over his sleeping lover's shoulders and back in an curving S. "... Awake?"
"Always..." O'Neill answered drowsily as Jackson rubbed the small of his back in small circles. "I guess 'honey, I have a headache' isn't working for you?"
"It's working fine..." Jackson distantly replied, stretching over his lover's sprawled form to lay soft kisses over the pink friction marks on O'Neill's right elbow and shoulder. "Just... Wanna talk..." He sighed softly. "Converse..."
"Discuss?." O'Neill slurred - gentle, assuring kisses that stretched the length of his shoulder now continued up the back of his neck mixed with Jackson's slowly circling palm, still rested at the base of his spine. "Negotiate...? Just... one thing..."
"Hmmm?" Jackson whispered absently, his tongue tip stealing glances to the hard outer edge of O'Neill's ear.
"Cool it on the long words until my brain re-enters the stratosphere... Oh if you're thinkin' about the other kind of 'discussion' my knees are shot to hell. Hardwood floors, ACL - great combination, I'm tellin' ya..."
Jackson slid his supporting left arm under O'Neill's stack of pillows and moved in closer. "Not that kind of 'conversation', Jack."
O'Neill snorted out a small chuckle. "Right, this is where we forget we're guys, open up about 'feelings' and start choosing wallpaper together"
"No." Jackson passively disagreed, lifting his massaging hand to curl his arm under O'Neill's and spoon up behind him - head resting half on the pillow stack, half on O'Neill's left shoulderblade. "This is where I say 'this is insane', you agree. I say 'we've got to stop', you agree. We make up some rules - swear we're gonna keep to them..."
"Then break 'em all..." O'Neill shifted comfortably in Jackson's arms.
"Exactly." Jackson whispered, holding O'Neill tighter as his warm breath sent a small shiver through his lover. "It's like a drug... intoxicating." He sighed sleepily. "Jack?"
"Yes?"
"I need you..." Jackson closed his statement with a small kiss. "I have to have you..."
"I'm so gonna get fired - we're so gonna get fired..." O'Neill mumbled weaving his fingers with Jackson's.
"We're so gonna get killed, Jack." Jackson put more of his weight onto his supporting forearm, rising to kiss the large hand that covered his own.
"Or kill each other first."
"Aha."
"Daniel?"
"Yes?"
"We've got to stop... this." O'Neill said, his words meaning the exact opposite. "Tomorrow... when we're... we're more..." He yawned. "When I'm awake."
Jackson snuggled down, allowing his lips to brush the edge of O'Neill's exposed shoulder - listening as his lover's breaths settled into a deep pattern. "We can't stop, can we?" Jackson spoke hushedly, barely a murmur above the sound of his own breath - the sincerity in his voice frightening, even to himself. "Colliding - like this - we can't stop it, we can't stop ourselves. Jack O'Neill, I think I'm in love with you..." O'Neill's hand tightened fractionally over his - Jackson settled the side of his head between the colonel's shoulderblades and drifted slowly into his dream-filled darkness.
The End