Jack is standing at the kitchen table reading the sports page when Daniel arrives. Actually, he's not really reading it, he's just staring at the headlines. He can't seem to focus on the words. His mind remains on unfinished business--reports and assignments and that tricky situation with the well-armed natives on P3X-0900.
It bugs the hell out of him that he remembers planet designations now.
"Hey, Jack." Daniel shrugs off his coat and kisses the back of Jack's neck. Jack feels the brush of cool lips on warm skin; his hand rests briefly on Jack's hip. "Did you see the images from SG-12?" he asks.
"Yes, Daniel, I did." Of course he's seen them. He sees every single goddamn image from every single goddamn team.
Daniel helps himself to a glass of water as he launches into a discourse, explaining to Jack that the murals on the temple walls seem to be Mycenaean in style, but amazingly enough, the writing is logographic, maybe even--get this--southern tungusic. Jack listens to Daniel's voice without understanding a word he's saying. After a minute, he frowns and looks up as if he just realized that Daniel was in the room.
Daniel's exposition grinds to a halt. "Okay. Maybe another time," he says with a small smile. "You all right?"
"Oh yeah. Just dandy."
"Oh." Daniel frowns, thoughtful. After a moment he asks, "Busy day?"
"You could say that." Busy doesn't seem to be the right word for it. It doesn't really describe what it's like to juggle nine offworld teams, three mission briefings, four mission debriefings, and seventeen equipment requests--not to mention that it may take an executive order by President Hayes to replace the burned-out light bulb in the control room. Jack can't think of another word for it, though, so he supposes that yes, he's been busy, even though he hasn't accomplished a damn thing all day. He wonders whatever happened to saving the world.
Aware that Daniel is watching expectantly, Jack turns to his newspaper and reads the baseball scores once again, not because he cares who won, but because he has nothing else to say. He's been talking to people all day. Not only that, but people have been talking back at him. Talk, talk, talk. Suddenly he's become the most popular man on base. Everyone has something they just can't wait to share with Jack.
Daniel tries again. "Have you eaten yet?"
"Had some foodlike crap from the commissary." He's not sure how long ago, but he suspects the ache in his gut is not from hunger.
"Okay." Daniel nods. He grows quiet. Jack flips to an inside page and checks out an article. After a time, Jack figures Daniel has wandered off, until he hears Daniel ask, "Do you want me to go? I can leave--it's not a problem."
Jack raises his eyes to Daniel, and there he is, still standing in the middle of his kitchen, rocking on the balls of his feet as if he could move off in any direction, at any moment. It's not a loaded question. Jack knows that if he says yes, Daniel will give him a kiss and leave, without anger or distress. He'll go home and ponder Mycenaean murals, tongue logos, and whatnot--except that would leave Jack by himself, with no distractions to keep his brain from spinning around like the Stargate itself. Jack isn't sure what he needs at the moment, but to be alone with his own thoughts and doubts is definitely not it.
"No," he says, tossing the newspaper aside. "Stay. I'm just--" He waves his hand, helpless, because he doesn't know what he is. "Tired. Frustrated."
Daniel comes up next to him, touches his shoulder. "A general's work is never done?" he asks, a tentative note to his voice.
"Something like that," he says, vaguely irritated. He doesn't want Daniel's sympathy. He just wants to do his job right. He wants that sense of accomplishment that he used to feel after a hard, dirty offworld mission.
He's not sure how long they stand there, Daniel's hand rubbing slow circles on his back, his face close enough that Jack can feel warm breath on his cheek. He likes the sound of Daniel breathing. It's a familiar sound, something he knows. Like Daniel himself.
Jack turns around to face him. For a moment Daniel looks as though he's about to speak, but instead he merely pats Jack's shoulder and nods. He steps away, and Jack reaches out, grabbing him by the belt loops and pulling him back in. Daniel's eyebrows rise, and his mouth opens, but he closes it without saying anything.
Jack isn't sure why he unsnaps Daniel's jeans and pulls down the zipper. But when he slips a hand under Daniel's briefs, pushing past coarse, wiry pubic hair to find Daniel's soft cock, it thickens nicely from his touch. It's a satisfying sensation. He caresses it, then wraps his hand around the warm length and squeezes. Daniel grunts, closing his eyes.
"Jack, what are you--you don't have to--"
Jack squeezes again.
"Not that I'm complaining," Daniel adds quickly. Daniel opens his eyes, and Jack finds them so intense that he has to slide Daniel's glasses off, just so he can get a better look. Daniel doesn't flinch. He he's too busy pushing his underwear down past his hips, freeing his cock for Jack.
A few firm strokes and Jack is making Daniel moan out loud. It's the best sound he's heard all day. He works Daniel's cock with both hands, his fists sweeping upward, one after the other, a slow, continuous stimulation that makes Daniel's cock grow rigid and his breath come quickly.
Jack watches Daniel's naked face, gratified by Daniel's reaction to his touch--lips parted, cheeks flushed, eyes heavy-lidded and vague. One hand grips the sleeve of Jack's shirt, the other touches his forearm. When Jack sweeps a palm over the head of his cock, Daniel lets out a soft "oh," so Jack does it again with the following hand. This time, he feels a slick of wetness. Daniel makes another small, desperate sound.
"Jack," he pleads. His hips twitch and he rocks forward, pressing his body awkwardly against Jack's. Jack switches to one hand, allowing Daniel to thrust steadily into his fist. He feels Daniel's chest up under his shirt, rubbing his hand over hard muscles. Daniel is a strong man, but right now he's whimpering against Jack's neck. Jack's fingers find a nipple, twisting it, and Daniel begins to really make noise, his hands grasping at Jack's shoulders. It's time to let Daniel come. Jack moves his hand faster over the smooth cock, his palm whipping over hot flesh. Daniel cries out sharply, his body shudders, and warm liquid spills over Jack's fingers.
There now, Jack thinks, that's a job well done. He doesn't realize that he is smiling.
He slows his stokes, intent on pulling the last bit of pleasure from Daniel's body. Daniel finally lifts his head and kisses him, lips slack and lazy, his tongue pushing into Jack's mouth. Jack's fingers are dripping wet, and now Daniel cuddles up to him, smearing his shirt with come.
"That was nice," Daniel says at last. It sounds like a question.
Jack chuckles and nuzzles Daniel's cheek. He decides that this is pretty good--a warm, relaxed, somewhat bewildered Daniel in his arms. Even so, when Daniel's hand slides down his body and strokes his thigh, he turns down the offer, telling Daniel, "Maybe later."
"Really? Oh, okay." Daniel pulls back, and Jack can see the disappointment.
"Definitely later." Jack kisses him gently.
With a small frown, Daniel tries, "How about the talking?"
"Nah. Not so much."
"I'm thinking maybe a cheeseburger." Jack, surprised, now feels genuinely hungry. And there's beer in the fridge--why wasn't he drinking one? He nods. "Oh yeah. Cheeseburger. Go get cleaned up. I'll get the food started."
This earns him a happy smile, with maybe a touch of relief around the edges. "Yes, sir, general." Daniel salutes him, even though pants are still down around his knees.
It's the finest salute Jack has ever seen.
|Genres:||Angst, Drama, Established Relationship|
|Summary:||General Jack O'Neill is still adjusting to the changes in his life. But at least some things remain the same.|