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The Massage Series 4


Sometimes I think the Air Force doesn't pay me enough. No, I take that back, they don't pay me enough. Period. Hell, I've been around long enough not to complain, doesn't mean I can't bitch to myself. And Carter. Okay, and Teal'c and Mac. And the longer we sat there, in the den of Goa'uld iniquity, the nastier I got. It's not the stupid light, well, not as much as before. It's more like that a three-day mission became three weeks with one day off in between. One breakfast. One lunch. One dinner. One Daniel.

Damn. I wanted to kill him, showing up like that at O'Malley's. But I didn't kill him. I fucked him. In the freakin parking lot. Without a condom. It was wrong and I knew it. I still know it. And believe me, Daniel let me know it. Before, during and after the rest of that memorable night. But damn, when I thought about that quick, hot fuck, I got a sharp jolt in the balls. Needless to say, I didn't spend a lot of my time on that freakin planet thinking about it. So I got cranky instead. It worked.

And I tried real hard not to think about that morning. About Daniel's smell on my sheets or his leg over mine or how damn good it felt to have someone in my bed again. He wore me out, pulled every ounce I had to give and I think he wanted more. If I could've given him more, I would have. We were a mess, tangled in the sheets, so much skin touching and my stomach lurched. Bad. I thought, at first, that he'd released something in me, and if he had, it would've been a first. Sex does not, you know, bring that out in me. But the longer I lay there the worse I felt, which set off alarms in my head. I was sick. I had to call Frazier. I had to get Daniel out. Every moment that passed I felt worse. I rolled out of bed, I think I pulled on sweats. Daniel was talking to me, making sympathetic noises but I didn't listen. I'm pretty sure I turned into a class 'A' asshole when I told him to get out. The look on his face, even through the shit I was feeling, pretty much said it all.

I barely heard the door slam when he left. By the time we figured out what went wrong and got us all back to the 'crack shack', I was pretty sure Daniel never wanted to see me again. Between the condom thing and the asshole thing, I think I may not be able to pull this one up. Sometimes, when the thoughts spit me back out, I'd get a hard knot in my chest when I thought I might never see him again. So I swore to myself, whatever happened, I'd do anything...and I mean, anything, to get Daniel back.

Days filled with MRE's, report writing and cards with Teal'c and Mac. Sometimes Carter played, when we could pry her away from her laptop. We didn't get back for two more days.


Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.



Silence. No tapping.


"Hi, I..."

"No, Jack."

"I haven't even asked anything..."

"Whatever it is, just no. I have to go I'm working."


"I'll...um...good-bye, Jack."

End call


"Damn." I hung up the phone.

"Trouble?" Ah, Andy McNabb, first class soldier, friend and nosy bastard. We all gave up calling him Andy five minutes after he hit the base. He just didn't look like one and it was Siler who coined Mac when he stuttered the name out in the control room. Turns out, Siler's a big fan of Mac's since his book came out. Thought he was gonna blow a head gasket when he saw the team roster.

"Hi, Mac. No, just..." I tried not to look as shitty as I sounded. This fell firmly into 'don't ask, don't tell' territory. He gave me a 'don't give me shit' look and closed the door to my office.

"Something I can do for you, Mac?" I really didn't want to talk about it.

"Fuck yeah, there's something you can do. You've been a right bastard for a month." He always said 'month' like 'munth'.

"That obvious?" Deadpan is one of my best skills, honed by years of practice.

"Yeah, that fucking obvious. Whatever it is, and I'd lay money 'it' was on the other end of that call, you've got to put it right. So, who is she? And what did you do?"

I looked at Mac. I looked and thought and thought and looked. What to say? I could talk to him. Or not. He was in the same command structure but not the same service. And frankly, I'd no idea how he felt about the love that shall not speak its name. I could still talk and pretend it was a woman, just leave out the personal pronouns. But that did something to my guts I didn't want to think about. I couldn't do that to Daniel.

And if it was obvious to my second in command, how fucking obvious was it to everyone else? Shit.

"You got the short straw?"

Mac shook his head and combed his long fingers through his dirty blond hair. He's a nice looking guy, if you like the thin, blond, romantic type. But a tougher soldier I'd never served with. Both of us knew how to survive, keep moving, and keep quiet.

"No, mate. But don't get in front of Carter, she'll shoot you and no mistake. So, you've cocked it up with your bit of skirt. That's a crap reason for all this drama. How bad can it be?" he leaned forward in his chair. His blue eyes, hard as chips of ice, drilled me. Don't shit a shitter, they said. Crap. "Jack?" He cocked his head to catch my eye when I looked away.

When I looked back, my stomach took a swan dive towards my feet. It was textbook, the look he had, absolutely textbook. Talk about the light bulb going on. The penny fucking dropping. His eyes widened, just that little bit, then his face shut down and he leaned back in his chair, all lanky unconcern.

"It's like that, is it?" Cagey bastard.

I shrugged and began making doodles on my note pad, pointedly not looking at him. He snorted, then barked out a laugh and shook his head.

"Oh, Jack." He laughed again. "You fucking bastard. Carter's going to kill you." He gave me a filthy grin that quickly melted into a frown. "Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't say anything, you know that."

"Yeah, I know." What could I say? Hey Mac, guess what? I'm fucking a guy and I screwed it up? I waved my hand around the office and looked at him again. "Don't ask... Besides, I think it's shot. I screwed up."

"Uh, I thought that was the point?" I gave him my pissed off look. He put his hands up in supplication and snorted more laughter. "What happened?"

"Oh, the usual. I was an arrogant bastard, then a class *A* asshole."

"Just being you, eh?" His accent used to be cool. Now I just wanted to punch him.

"Funny." Deadpan was wearing thin.

He shrugged. "So, apologize."

I must've looked at him like he had two heads. He laughed again.

"So this phone thing, working well for you, is it?" Now he's getting nasty. He looked positively evil when he smirked.

"Ha fucking ha. Won't talk to me so how can I apologize?" Okay, that was lame.

"You've got to be kidding." He leaned towards me again, pointing his cig and pinning me with angry eyes.

"Stop lying to yourself, Jack. It's not becoming and it's not like you. You've been a shit. Fine. But don't dick yourself around by letting a little thing like 'no' put you off."

Had to give it to Mac, he didn't beat around the bush.

"And what the fuck're you doing calling from here? We're on leave, in case you haven't noticed so get your ass over there and make it work." And right here all sympathy went from his face and I got a glimpse of the man who'd seen hell.

"And don't come back 'till it's sorted or Carter, Teal'c and I will be asking for transfers. Is that clear?" I think his voice could've carved wood it was so hard.

"Crystal." I watched him stand up and wend his lanky way out of my office, shaking his head. I raised my eyebrows and blew out a breath. He was right. It was time to go.



"Who is it?"

"It's me."

"Go away, Jack."

"I want to see you."

"Well, you can't. I'm working."



"Just buzz me in, okay?"




"Okay, you've got the right to be angry, I'll give you that, but at least let me explain. C'mon. Don't make me stand out here and say it like this."


"I was sick. I couldn't tell you why and I couldn't think straight. Dammit, I didn't know what it would do to me or if it would get you sick, too."


"Okay, so I was an asshole. No excuses. And yeah, if you want to get technical, I took you for granted. It's not...it wasn't...hell, it's not you, Daniel. It's been a long time for me. Since...no, it doesn't matter now."


"I can't...no...I don't want to do without you."


"I can. I've been alone a long time and I can do it. But...I don't want to. Please, don't..."


I don't remember opening the door or running up the stairs, eight floors of them, or breathing hard or sweating. I remember flying.


"Hey." We stood at his open door, he inside, and I outside.

I'd almost forgotten what his voice does to me when that 'hey' snaked around in my head leaving heat in its wake. And he looked...good. I mean he looked pissed, but good. I shoved my hands in my pockets and tried to look casual, not desperate or needy or just plain pathetic.

"Hey, yourself." The air between us solidified into awkward silence. Opening lines fell through my mind like so many motes of dust, too small or dry or hazy to see or say so I settled for quiet scrutiny. I don't like to think I'm so tied to work that I can't operate outside it, but I fell into it easily as I 'assessed' Daniel; the new haircut, the snug fit of denim over slim hips, and the dark smudges left by sleepless nights, easily seen without the cover of glasses. And something else, a guarded smile, just a sweet turn of lips, no more than that.

He stepped back and I came through the door and followed him to the kitchen. I leaned against the counter, waiting for an opening or a word or some idea from him about what the heck to do. He gathered folders and shut off the laptop and generally kept his hands busy while 'not' looking at me. Okay, this was awkward and now it was getting stupid. Things were hard enough as they stood without us being so thickheaded.

I shifted, edged around the corner of brown tile till I was near enough to touch, waited and when he didn't shift away I put my hand on his arm. I felt his pulse through the tips of my fingers, my thumb brushed across his soft skin and the closed, choked feeling in my chest swelled and pressed up my throat.

I wanted to say something reassuring, but as it turns out I didn't have to. I looked up. His eyes were on me and he had that expression like the first time, on my bed after he'd washed me when I thought he might just leave. I was so wrong to think he'd ever do something like that, something that callous because he was, is, anything but callous. Maybe I'd said the right things after all.

"I missed you." And as suddenly as he said the words he was leaning into me, his lips covered mine and my comfort level went up a few notches 'cause now we were on familiar ground and I could tell him with my mouth and hands all the things it was so hard for me to say in words. There was no gentle, soft preamble; he was all hot, wet and demanding and suddenly this wasn't about me anymore. It was about Daniel; Daniel setting boundaries, Daniel reclaiming territory, Daniel in the driver's seat.

Pretty quick I found myself smashed against the counter with Daniel between my thighs and his quick, clever fingers playing across my skin. Even if I wanted to I couldn't stop him, every part of me was begging; my mouth, my hands, my prick. If the Goa'uld ever found out about Daniel, how they could use him against me, I would be up shit creek because right then I'd've given him anything. And here's where we get to the good part, Daniel's definition of 'anything' and my definition of 'anything.'

I'd like to say I put up a fight. That I drew a line between us about how far I was willing to go and what I was willing to do. I'm hedging, I know, but I hadn't taken it up the ass for over a decade, not since Iraq, and up to that moment it was something I would've sworn I'd never do again. Up to that moment. God I loved topping Daniel. I loved the feel of him below me and watching my dick disappear into his sweet, round ass and listening to him gasp and swear and demand.

It's funny how sometimes what we think is solid, what we've built to be unbreakable, gets blown away like feathery seeds from a dandelion. How the resistance, when it's broken, flies apart so easily. Daniel didn't scare me. And he wasn't rough or insensitive. But he drove. With firm, steady, demanding fingers and an immutable insistent mouth, and I was broken. Only when I broke, it sounded like a sigh.


"Daniel..." I was under him; his wicked mouth working it's way down my belly, his equally wicked fingers raking lines up my thighs. It all felt pretty damn good. Very damn good. I only had a few brain cells still working when his lips wrapped around my dick and they were blaming me caustically for not doing this sooner. For being such a selfish bastard and the rest of that thought dribbled away when his finger slipped into my ass. "oooohhhhh, sweet Jesus...Daniel..."

I wrapped my hands around the spindles of Daniel's headboard; knuckles tight, back arched, ground my ass onto his fingers and begged.

"unnnnghhh...jesus..." his thumb pressed just beneath my balls, another finger slipped in, "GAAAAAAAAAAAWWWD." My toes curled. "Please...pleaseplease," If I'd been able to think, I'd've been afraid. I'd've talked myself out of this, or been frozen with terror or just slugged him. Fire rolled up my back, licking the base of my skull, elegant, prickling, icy fire. I couldn't hear anymore, or see. I only felt; Daniel's hand in my ass, his mouth on my dick, his weight shifting forward, shimmering cold when his mouth left me, his hands covering mine. And the broad, bluntness of his cock.

"Jack..." he slid into me, his voice squeezed to a strained gasp then a big, open-mouthed groan. I knew how he felt except I had no breath to express myself, just a big, swollen vacuum in my chest where my lungs used to be. A moment suspended, hardened, empty except for the shredded sound of Daniel breathing; broken, shallow, swallows of air.

His hands dove under me, under my shoulders, his mouth near my ear, my hands clamped painfully tight on the headboard, every muscle aware, centered on that elemental connection. I'd been ludicrously wrong, stupidly bull-headedly stupendously wrong when I'd fought so hard not to do this. Not to let Daniel do this to me. With me.

My breath skittered out, pushed past the lump in my throat, only to draw raggedly in on the first gentle thrust. Just a little movement, more like a tilt of his hips but it sent a quivery snake of pleasure through my belly. For one dizzy moment I smelt the stink, felt the cold, gagging fear from so long ago but the warmth of Daniel's body, the small indistinct words that filled my ear, my own desire put paid to that old dragon. What I wanted was here now. No more running. No more hiding. Only more Daniel.

"More..." I dropped one shaky hand to his shoulder, I wanted him to hear me, and I needed to see him. "Daniel..." And suddenly I let go. I let go of the bed and my breath and the cramped set of my muscles. His head came up and I just knew, looking at him, being looked at, that this was it. And he fucked me so sweetly, with such gorgeous abandon, long and smooth and deep. I came long before he did, right after I let go, in fact. It rushed in to fill the void left by fear and I arched and fell away into it, each long, hot stroke drawing it out, making me ache.

And then I got to watch him take me. He was so deft, every move or shift meant to prolong his pleasure and mine. There was no rush and when, finally, he let himself climax, I held him, shaking and sweating.

It's amazing how feeling so much can feel like feeling nothing. Everything was there in a weird, tangled skein of thoughts but no words offered themselves to help me out. This was outside my standard vocabulary, outside the expected requirements, not a part of my brief.

The rasp of his chin on my neck and shoulder, his small movements, his soft cock slipping out of me, shifting as if to move away. But I wasn't ready to let go. I made a small noise, tightened my hold and was rewarded with lavish eyes and a kiss- bruised mouth and barefaced vulnerability that matched my own.

He was so satisfyingly long against me, his long back and long, long legs and when he kissed me, it was as an equal. No adjustment required or wanted. He kissed me as he fucked me, slow and long and sweet and when we came apart he rested his forehead on mine, eyes closed and just breathed my breath.


It was after the shower. After the condom was thrown away and the sheets changed. Long after the food was ordered by Daniel from a local Italian place, his voice a husky song of lilting Italian. It was while we waited together on the sofa, the broad expanse of his back resting on my chest, hips settled between my thighs, in his room looking at Colorado Springs through fog-tinted windows.

There would have to be talk. I knew that. I knew Daniel had something to say, I could see the wheels turning, could practically see the smoke floating from his ears. What that would consist of was anybody's guess but for now I was content to let him simmer. I had what I wanted and now that I knew that, I was okay with letting talk happen on his terms. My mind wandered, skipping over the last hours, and the last minutes. I spent a little time wondering what we'd be eating, though if I was right, it might be a little green rubber figure cause it sounded an awful lot like Daniel'd said 'gumbi.'

"What is 'gumbi' anyway?"

"Hmmm? Oh, it's uh, rigatoni with butter, Parmesan, mushrooms, meatballs and sauce. Why?"

"Isn't' that what you ordered?"

"Uh, yeah. You speak Italian?"

"No. Just wanted to be sure we weren't eating little green rubber guys."

Daniel snorted with laughter. It was an easy, soft vibration that ran up my legs and through my groin, making me very aware of the man in my lap.

"Just so long as there's no 'pokey' marinara." I added and Daniel opened up, laughing louder.

"No, I promise. No pokey marinara, just Gumbi, killer antipasto and garlic bread. Hope you're hungry."

The tingly vibration of his laughter still resonated in me, so yeah, I was definitely hungry. I kissed his neck, right behind his ear, and down the sloping curve to his shoulder. Soft, lingering, open mouthed kisses, the kind I seldom took time for in the past. It was bliss. That lingering, tempting, sated feeling I'd been trying to name floated up suddenly and I realized how good Daniel was at creating it. Or how he made a space and invited it in. And if nothing before had softened me, that would have been enough. As it was, I was so changed I wasn't sure I could recognize myself.

There was a soft bell heralding the food and a chill swept over me when Daniel got up to retrieve it. It gave me time to think and assess myself, my physical self, to determine the changes. My chest, my arms and belly and soft, sated cock all looked the same. What I couldn't see, my ass, my achy hole, my back, felt like a rumor spread through my body but not believed. It was a rumor I wanted confirmed.

"Okay if we eat alfresco?" Daniel set a delicious smelling carton on the coffee table with a handful of napkins and silverware. Hunger banished thought.

The cartons lay open and we were swamped with moist, garlic-tainted aromas and there was a little table ballet while we arranged forks and napkins and bottles of beer and then dug into the flat open tray of 'Gumbi'.

"Jesus." It was either obscenely good or I was so hungry it didn't matter.

"Yeah. Not bad." Daniel tore off large chunks of hot, crunchy, fragrant bread and handed one to me.

"Not bad?" I shoveled another load in. And after I swallowed, "It's almost as good as sex." Which brought a wry, wicked grin to Daniel's face.

"I like this you." His look had softened and an eyebrow went up.

I'd been concentrating on getting my fair share of Gumbi when it hit me what he was saying. 'This me?'

"As opposed to what exactly?"

"Oh, you know, the arrogant, self-centered, bastard you."

I eyed him over the food.

"Uhmmm, huh." I contemplated more Gumbi. And bread. And made a pass at the antipasto as well, before replying. "You liked that me well enough at O'Malley's. And a few more times that night as I recall. Bastardness and all."

He toyed with antipasto. More smoke curls drifted from his ears. An idea occurred to me.

"Is it because you topped me?"

He looked up, a quick measured look, intense, focused.

"No. It's not that." He looked down, across the table, shifted uncomfortably then looked at me again. "Just, more relaxed I guess."

I'll fuckin' say. I picked up a napkin and leaned over the table like I was going to wipe something off his face. I did wipe something off his face. Doubt. We tasted like food. He tasted like Daniel.

Later, we ate the rest of the Gumbi, cold.

Ain't love grand?
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