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The Massage Series 2


"I'm not a whore, Jack. I won't..."

"I don't want to pay for sex, Daniel. Please, let's not do this on the phone.

Come back."


"Because. I want..."



"You're gonna make me say it, aren't you? Damn it."

"Two years, Jack. You've been my client and not once have you asked for more."




"Danny..." I said again, holding the phone to my ear but he was gone. I wanted to crawl through the damn phone and inside his skin but he wasn't fucking there.

Damn it. Shit. I snapped the phone shut, threw it at the sofa and followed it; face down, burying my head in the pillows. He was there when I closed my eyes, when I opened my eyes, when I slept, ate, worked. For two long years.


"Uh, hi. I'm Daniel." He held his hand out to me. Goddamn. It took me a minute. I stood in my own doorway and just stopped breathing.


"Are you Jack? Do I have the right address? I..." He backed a step to look at the house number or whatever. I panicked.

"Yeah, you got it." Oh, man. He was a combination of hunk meets geek boy. Yeah, he had it all. And what was wrong with me?

I don't do 'love at first site'. Okay, not love. Maybe lust. Yeah, lust, definitely lust.

"Oh, great. I'll just..." and he pointed to the door, "bring my things in." He didn't move, just looked over his glasses at me, waiting.

"Sure." I stepped back and he walked into my house.

That was the beginning.


The sound of a car door slamming jerked me off the sofa. I stood and listened hard for a step on the gravel or leaves rustling underfoot.

I cocked my head, closing my eyes and filtered the out the house sounds; worked through them, sorting and eliminating.

The car door was too close to a neighbor's.

I went to the front door and stood a foot away, trying to hear again. I put my hand on it and I just knew.

I knew he was standing on the other side of the door. And it was such a fragile barrier, wood, glass and paint. The dead bolt.

Dead bolt. Now 'there' was an oxymoron. I wanted him to knock, wanted some sound, even a breath, to give me an excuse to open the door.

Shit. Fuck that. I opened the door.


"Todd told me about some of your injuries but I'd like to hear how you describe them."

We sat in the living room, opposite each other. I gave him my litany of injuries; bad knees, back, and several healed broken ribs.

A neat, precise little report, twenty-five words or less. Fraiser would've been proud.

"O-kay. Now tell me about your injuries. Describe them for me." He was working me, not taking any of my crap.

And I liked him for it. He didn't seem afraid of my crabby old Colonel act. I relaxed a little.


The door stood open, the only barriers now were air, clothes and breath. I didn't have to pretend anymore so I really looked at him. No, not looked. I raked him, fucked him with my eyes. God, he didn't even flinch, instead he closed the distance, walked right up and stood inches away and returned my look.

Heat shimmered across my chest down to my groin. His heat. I was beyond words. He was here, in my face.

His head tilted, taking me in, lips parted, eyes lidded, and I took his mouth, zero to sex in half a second.

I don't know if he shut his eyes or sighed or moaned and frankly, I didn't care. I only knew he returned the kiss with his whole body, tongue curling and fighting mine.

I felt his hands on my face, pushing me away.



"You didn't answer my question."

"Yeah, I did."


He was panting, quick little breaths and I kissed him again, kissed those soft, full, ripe lips. It was hot and wet and messy.

I stuck my hand in his pants and grabbed him by the waistband, broke the kiss and turned down the hall, dragging him behind me. He didn't resist.


He was wearing that tee again. A tight little sky-blue tee with 'rough ride' on the front stretched across the expanse of his chest.

My pulse jumped. It clung all the way down his flat belly, just brushing the top of his jeans. Jesus. That should be fucking illegal.

It was just as well I would be face down on the table. It was gonna take me a minute or two to get control even with my years of training, thank you Uncle Sam. I slid across the padded table top, wriggling to the center and caught a glimpse of his backside. Hmmm, Lucky Brand, he must do pretty well at this. Low rise. I could see a little curl of ruddy hair peeking out above his waistband at the small of his back. My dick pulsed and I smashed it between my belly and the table, relishing the momentary friction. I could wait. Would wait. In a minute those hands, covered in sweet oil, were gonna rub me so good. And when he'd packed his stuff and left, I would have some really nice sex with my right hand.



"C'mon, c'mon."

"It's slippery."

"Give it to me, I'll do it."

He grabbed the condom pack and ripped it open with his teeth, spitting the top to the side.

"Put it on me." Fuck, I almost shot right then with his long, long fingers wrapped around my dick, working the condom down. Shit. Gotta breathe.

"Daniel..." I worked myself closer, put his calves on my shoulders and grabbed the K-Y.

"'s cold..." he hissed at me. Not for much longer, I thought. I put my dick right against his ass, pressed it gently at his hole and looked at him.

"Now." He snarled hooking his hand around my neck and dragging me down, smashing our lips together and I slid into him with one, long, deep stroke.

"Gaahhhhh...!" he broke the kiss and I felt him buck and squeeze around me.

God, oh God. Jesus, tight. Fuck. He's so tight. Tight and perfect.

"Danny, don't. God...c'mon, relax ...yeah. Oh, yeah. Like that. Oh, Christ..."



"I'm sorry, shhhhh," Daniel whispered.

I felt the twist in my gut, the same twist I got when I remembered a dirty, concrete box. Stinking of shit and sweat and fear. I shuddered and his hands stilled, resting on the small of my back. "Do you want me to stop?" Whispering, again. I felt the heat of his hands resting on me and thought of him stopping. My reaction subsided a little, the fear receded and I knew I wanted him to stay.

"No. Don't. Just...not Arabic." I wasn't looking at him, my voice sounded distant and hard. I didn't want to sound like that, not with Daniel. I wanted to get control. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to forget the sound of Daniel whispering Arabic to me.

I really, really did not want those two things together in my mind.


"Uhhhh, oh God." I was stroking, deep and slow, trying to keep us both on the edge, just a little longer.

Just- slowly out. One- back in. More- god, out. Stroke- shit, not gonna make it. God.

"Daniel...uhnnn. I'm gonna..." oh, God, no more.

I hooked my arms under his shoulders, buried my face in his neck and rammed into him, all the way, deep as I could get. And I flew apart.


chirp. Chirp. Chirp.



"Who's this?"

"It's Jack. O'Neill."

"Hi, Jack. Uh, is there...did I miss an appointment?"

"No, no, I just wanted to know if you have any time today?"

"Hold on."


"God, I'm really booked. I might...well, how late can it be?"

"Whatever works for you..."

Silence. And tapping.

"Okay, I can do eight. Is that too late? What about tomorrow?"

"No, eight is fine. I'm out of town tomorrow and I'm hurtin' here."

"Okay, gotcha. I'll see you later then."

"Thanks, Daniel."

"Only for you, Jack."

Snort. "Right."

End call.




"Mmm hmmm?"

"Hey, roll over, c'mon."

I slid to the bed on my side and felt him slide off the bed. Maybe a minute later, I felt him come back. Well, maybe it was a minute. Or maybe an hour. I'm not sure.


I really didn't want to come back. I struggled to open my eyes, but oh boy, was I glad I did.

"Daniel." Oh-yeah.



"Take a shower with me." His fingers trailed on my back, down to my hip and thigh. And back up.

"I'll wash you." He said, low and breathy, right against my lips.

Whatever I may have thought about how this would be, how it would be with Daniel in my bed was shattered in that moment.

He was elemental, like a force of nature and how hackneyed was that? But true.

He lived in his skin, wore his body so naturally, it took my breath away. I could never do that. But with him, I could get pretty close.


"It's Jack. I'm not here. You know what to do."

"Jack, it's Daniel. Hey I'm outside your house, it's three o'clock on the twenty-fourth and we have an appointment. Are you there? Pick up. Please...okay, I'm off. If you want to reschedule call me at 555-1974. That's my cell. I, uh, I hope you're okay. Bye."

"Hey, it's Daniel. Leave a number and I'll call you back."

"Daniel, it's Jack. Call me."

"It's Jack. I'm not here. You know what to do."

"Okay, tag, you're it. 555-1974."

"Hey, it's Daniel. Leave a number and I'll call you back."

"Daniel, I'm sorry. Work just got really crazy. I'll uh, I want to reschedule. I'm in today, mostly. See ya."


"I have to go. I have a client at six."

He rubbed the towel over his hair and dropped it around his neck. I watched him walk around my bed, collecting himself, preparing to leave. He looked like a GQ add, straight out of Calvin Klein, boxer briefs and all. He snapped his watch on, buttoned his pants and slid his shoes on bare feet. For a minute I thought he was just going to go. I saw him tuck his shirt in then he caught my eye and I watched him become a predator, eyes hooded, grin feral. He crawled up the bed, eyes on me like I was food, trailing his lips and tongue up my belly and chest. My cock filled and jumped when his lips touched mine. The kiss only lasted for a minute, but when it was done I had no doubts about what had happened today. Or what was going to happen tomorrow. Then I was watching his ass walk down my hall and out my front door.


"Jesus, Jack. You're not a kid anymore..."

"Hey, watchit."

Daniel shifted his weight to one hip, rested a fist there and sighed.

"You know that's not what I meant. Damn it. Next time call me. The number is right HERE, 555-1974. Call me BEFORE you feel this bad."

Damn he was cute when he was pissed. Pissy Daniel. Sexy pissy Daniel. Okay, he can never know how much I enjoy this.

"Roger that. So are we doing this?"

He sighed again and I flopped down on the table, hiding my stupid grin in the crook of my arm.


Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.



"Hey, yourself."

"I want your email address or are you on an IM?"

"Jaaaack. You do know I'm working, right?"

"Hey, you're already on the phone, so give it up and I'll let you go."

Silence. And tapping.

"What is that tapping?"

"What tapping?"

"You know, when I ask you for something and it's quiet and then there's tapping."

"Ah, that would be my laptop. It's got my life on it."



"Whatever is on that piece of plastic and silicon is a pale imitation of your life. Of you."

Silence. No tapping.



"Where are you?"

"On the sofa. Why? You wanna know what I'm wearing?"

"Don't move."

End call.


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