Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jack, fresh from his shower, in comfortable old clothes, had taken the first crisp swig of his beer, and was digging in the sofa cushions for the remote, when there was a rap at the door. He sighed, and got up. He knew who it had to be, and he was braced. Or, more accurately, resigned. He had assumed he might be in for A Talk. But crap. It had been an awful, dreadful, piss-poor excuse for a day, a very bad day indeed, and now he was home and there was going to be Monday Night Football. He didn't want A Talk.

When he opened the door, Daniel loomed on his doorstep, arms folded.

"Come on in," Jack said, turning back toward the living area and the lovely soft sofa.

"No."

Jack looked at him, and raising an eyebrow seemed like a lot of work, but he managed it. Sometimes Daniel just didn't know when to quit. It was one of the things Jack admired most about him, except when he didn't admire it at all. Except for when he despised it.

"Then don't." He turned away again, entirely willing to just leave Daniel standing there.

"You come out. Come with me." Daniel was glaring, but there was something in his eyes, something glittering that wasn't anger but was full of that kind of energy. Jack felt it more than saw it, like the rumbling that signals a volcanic eruption.

It was hard to reconcile this barely-restrained Daniel with the broken-hearted, frustrated, thwarted Daniel he'd had to watch only a few hours ago, on his knees in the gate room, mourning Rees, hating everything. Hating even Jack. Jack had wanted to drop beside that Daniel and hug him and keep everyone away from him and make him see that it would be all right, that it had to be all right, that if it was Them versus Us, it had to be Us, every time. Because Jack would never, never choose someone else's life over Daniel's, ever again.

That Daniel, he wanted to embrace, to protect. This Daniel, he wanted to punch -- if he weren't so tired, if he weren't bone-deep sure it would be utterly counterproductive. He didn't want to go anywhere tonight. Not even for Daniel. Plus, football.

So he said, "Why?"

"We-- I-- need to ... Just come, okay? Take a drive with me. Right now."

They stood there, a face-off. Daniel on the stoop, Jack in the hall. Jack felt heavy and dead as a stone. Daniel was wired for sound. Daniel clearly had not gotten to the post-mission stage yet, had not come down. His eyes were dry, at least; he'd gone from weeping/frustrated angry to just angry. It had been an awful, awful day. Jack wanted it to be over. Now. But Daniel stood there, implacable.

Jack tilted the beer and slowly chugged it until it was gone, and looked at the empty clear bottle, the foam sliding down the inside. Miller Genuine Draft; a domestic brand that Daniel usually lost no opportunity to dis. Jack sighed. He looked around. He stepped into the old pair of loafers that stood ready by the door. Keys, wallet, phone, sunglasses, were all on the hall table. He started gathering them up. Coat was on the hook.

"You're really gonna make me do this."

"Jaaack."

Daniel was still standing there like a statue. Jack sighed again and set the alarm and locked up the house and let Daniel lead him down the sidewalk.

They got into Daniel's big Volvo and Daniel headed straight for I-25 and turned north. Jack almost asked where they were going, but honestly? He didn't care, and he didn't want the work of trying to manage a conversation when Daniel was in this mood. Unless Jack felt like kidding around, it was usually quite the chore to manage a conversation with Daniel, period. Jack tried to remember the last time Daniel had been this mad, and that was not an enjoyable train of thought. He picked through Daniel's cd's and rejected them all and found a classical radio station.

Daniel did nothing but drive, except for turning up the volume a little louder than Jack would have liked. But that was kind of good, because it was a Brahms symphony, and because it meant Daniel wasn't going to talk to him after all. So. Driving as therapy. That would work. He decided to settle in, watch the Springs slide by, watch the sunset fade quickly behind the mountains, and he wondered, idly, where Daniel's mystery tour would end up. He hoped Daniel didn't intend to take him somewhere loud and crowded in Denver. That would just be too much. Way, way too much for tonight.

Twenty or so miles later, Daniel reached for the volume knob and, mid-movement, snapped it to "off." His voice was still clipped, chilly and dangerous. Jack looked at his stern profile. Commanding was actually a good look for Daniel, Jack thought, and tried to quash the thought.

Daniel stated: "I realized something. I realized why I get so goddamned mad at you."

"And that would be?" Jack was staring at Daniel's mouth, and then also staring at the point on his jaw where the muscle clenched, and he realized this and turned his head. Then he tilted it back against the headrest, and tried to stretch out his legs. He poked, frustrated, at the seat controls and the seat glided back. He really hoped this wasn't going to be the start of an all-night conversation. He could wrestle the steering wheel away if he had to. He could tie Daniel up with his own shoelaces. He comforted himself with that thought.

"I'll tell you when we get there." Daniel bit off the words, obviously forcing himself to postpone whatever he needed to tell Jack about why exactly Daniel should rip him a new one.

"So are we there yet?" Jack said. He closed his eyes. If there was not going to be a conversation, that was good. And, making the best of it, he thought that being driven was almost as soothing as driving, though not as soothing as the 49ers versus Green Bay game he was going to miss. Daniel was a good driver. Came of spending so much time in Chicago and in the Bay area, Jack figured. So he was glad the moment for The Talk was not yet, and he let himself doze. Maybe when he woke up Daniel wouldn't be mad any more and there would be beer. The day certainly couldn't get much worse at this point.

"Hey. We're there yet." Daniel nudged his shoulder; not gently, and Jack sat up and looked around. It was fully dark. They were obviously in Denver, parked under the awning of a sprawling Ramada Inn in a part of town Jack didn't recognize. It looked suburban and upscale. The expressway traffic roared along, just beyond the roof of the motel.

"What the hell--"

"Wait here," Daniel said, interrupting, and he disappeared inside. He came back in a couple of minutes with a key. It was a nice Ramada -- lots of landscaping, lots of corners and alleys and covered alcoves. Daniel backed into their space. Jack followed him into the room, just going with it, but puzzled as hell. Daniel was taking off his coat and looming at him again, challenging and just as pissed as he'd been on Jack's doorstep.

"Daniel--"

"As I was saying, Jack, I figured it out. I finally had to get down to it, the reason why I can get so incredibly fucking mad at you. It's like this. The degree of my anger, disappointment and frustration is directly proportional to the degree of my desire, attachment and lust."

Jack started shaking his head, and sat down on the foot of the double bed, one of two in the room, that was conveniently just behind him. Oh, no. Oh, no no no. Not this conversation. Not now, not ever.

"Daniel --" He was starting to sound like a broken record. He was going to misdirect, to say something about getting a bite to eat, getting back home, taking a break, bad day and all that, but the words knotted up in his throat, because fast as lightning, Daniel dropped his overcoat and dropped to his knees and reached for Jack's fly.

Jack, wide-eyed, pushed his hands away, but shock made him sluggish and Daniel evaded him. He jerked Jack's shirt from his waistband, ripped open the 501s and leaned close, so close that Jack could smell his hair, and Jack's hands fell to Daniel's shoulders, which curved invitingly under one of those tight silky sweaters that Jack had kept himself from admiring, more than once.

"Daniel," he choked, "we can't do this."

"Oh," Daniel drawled, and his breath was warm on Jack's skin, and his fingers were warm, too, and the fuck -- Daniel was speaking with his lips against Jack's dick, which was quickly giving the lie to Jack's words. Daniel went on: "This is just the beginning of the things we can't do."

And Jack gasped, because Daniel had pushed Jack's hard dick right into his mouth. Jack flailed a little, as if to push Daniel away, make him stop, and he knew how to do that, knew how to break any hold, but maybe he didn't know how to make this stop because he wasn't stopping it. Daniel looked up at him -- when had he lost the glasses? -- one hand bruisingly hard on Jack's ass, wedged into the top of Jack's jeans, holding him still, the other hand gripping Jack's wrist, his right wrist, his strong side.

"Daniel," Jack tried to say, but it didn't come out as a word, more of a moan, and he let his left hand cup Daniel's head and he surrendered. Just like that. He watched. Shocking, how he felt and saw it, himself, pumping in and out of Daniel's full lips as Daniel moved his head, and Daniel knew exactly what he was doing. Jack was at the edge right away, that supple mouth, that relentless tongue, it had been so long, so long for this, and he was hard, hard and leaking, and Daniel looked up at him again -- impossible, unthinkable -- and pulled off of him and stood up.

Jack gasped. He felt like he'd been backhanded and shoved against a wall.

"God, Daniel," he said, and he couldn't move, couldn't think. He watched as Daniel stripped off all his clothes and climbed on to him, pressing him back into the mattress, holding his shoulders down, kissing him. Daniel flattened him, pushing a knee into Jack's thigh. It hurt.

Jack tasted himself on Daniel's mouth, and he wanted to come, wanted to do this, wanted Daniel with the hollow wrenching longing of a thousand days, a thousand touches, a thousand futile dreams. He was holding Daniel tight, he was still wearing his coat, for Christ's sake, and Daniel was pushing his own hardness against Jack's. Jack was hanging by his fingernails over a thundering waterfall of need and lust and pleasure.

"Daniel, this is crazy," he said.

"Shut up," Daniel said, and proceeded to shut him up by shoving his tongue into Jack's mouth and pushing against him. Jack's hips liked the rhythm and in a few moments more he was coming, pulsing and shaking against Daniel's skin, his hands rampaging along Daniel's ribs, along the firm curves of his ass and thighs. It was a soundless climax, years in the making, and it was all body and no volition, as far as Jack could tell. He panted and jerked as the wave crashed. He clutched hard, digging his nails into Daniel's glutes, and Daniel groaned and pushed against him, still pinning him to the bed.

"Jesus Christ," Jack growled, as soon as he could speak, and he used his purchase on Daniel's ass and he hooked a leg over Daniel's calf -- Jack still had his shoes on, for crying out loud -- and rolled them.

Daniel went willingly, shoved his hand up under Jack's shirt, gripped his sweaty back, and tilted his head, giving Jack his neck. If Jack hadn't just come, the gesture would have surprised him into it, for sure. Daniel was still hard. He hadn't gotten off yet. Jack used his moment of apparent advantage to try to gather his wits. His legs were trapped in his jeans. He was sweaty and uncomfortable and blasted by endorphins. Daniel was naked underneath him. It was too much. He put his head against Daniel's neck, letting his mouth rest against his collar bone. Daniel smelled so good; soap and clean sweat and old leather.

Jack said, "What the fuck do you think you're doing."

"Please," Daniel said, hoarse and low. "Please."

And Jack, still breathless, pressed his mouth against Daniel's neck and slid his palm along Daniel's chest. Peak of nipple, ripple of ribs, downy trail of hair, and his friend was hard and hot in his palm, wanting him, wanting this.

"Oh, God," Jack said, and started pumping him.

Daniel moaned, and thrashed against Jack's weight, and soon he was coming, wet spurts that got everywhere, on his chest, on the arm of Jack's leather coat. They lay there, limp, defeated.

Jack couldn't do a thing but feel and listen. Daniel's sweaty skin under his cheek, Daniel's thudding heart. Finally Jack got an elbow bent and raised himself. He looked at Daniel, and Daniel looked back.

Jack saw resignation, and a softness that meant all the anger had gone out of Daniel with the sex, and something that looked like a grudging tenderness. All this in Daniel's eyes, in the fragile muscles around his eyes, in the set of his mouth. And Jack wondered if Daniel wasn't seeing all that in his face, as in a mirror. He closed his eyes, opened them again, and realized something was missing. He leaned and shifted his weight and brought his hand to his mouth and licked some of the stickiness, wanting to taste Daniel -- wanting that, too.

Daniel watched him, and his eyes widened, and Jack felt a subtle tremor in Daniel's hips.

"Are you getting dressed, or am I getting naked," Jack said. The counterattack into vulnerability was instinctive.

"You're getting naked," Daniel informed him (see you and raise you), and Jack marveled at how calm his voice was.

Jack stood up and removed his clothes, folding them carefully, wiping the semen off his jacket sleeve with a corner of the bedspread, mostly looking at Daniel. Daniel lay there, perfectly still, and watched him. His chest rose and fell with his breathing. He was beautiful, and unselfconscious, and this couldn't be happening. But it was. When Jack was naked he lay down beside Daniel and looked him up and down, and then he carefully, lightly, placed his palm on Daniel's solar plexus, and Daniel let him.

This is the deep end, Jack thought. This is it.

Daniel was gorgeous. Jack knew this; had always known it, but now Daniel was spread out for him, right here, right now. All Jack's tiredness and resentment fell away and he touched Daniel, touched him and petted him, felt his skin, traced the swell and dip of his muscles, for a long time. And added his mouth, kissed where he wanted to kiss, ribs, shoulders, navel, returned often to that mouth, and Daniel let him. Eyes closed, breathing quietly and deep, Daniel let him, and Daniel's cock stirred back to life as the proceedings went on, and Jack kissed and licked and petted. And when he pushed and nodded, more than a direction, less than a command, Daniel shot him a look and let Jack roll him over, and Jack kissed and petted his way down Daniel's back, too, just as he had the front, and Daniel writhed a little, but he never made a sound until Jack was rimming him.

Jack was drunk with the smell and taste of him by then, wide awake and noticing everything, every curve, every variation in the texture of Daniel's skin. They were wrapped close, Jack leaning on his legs, Daniel having wrapped a hand around Jack's calf, and finally Jack raised his head and said, "Where's the stuff?"

And Daniel said, "Overcoat breast pocket."

When Jack got up and pulled Daniel's coat from the floor, he found, in the deep inside pocket, not only a new box of lube and a new box of Trojans, but two new toothbrushes and a Drug Warehouse receipt. He shook his head. He couldn't laugh yet, he wasn't to the laughing stage, but he was close.

Daniel lay where Jack had left him, sprawled on his stomach with his legs apart, not even looking at him while Jack was away from the bed, and Jack had to run his hands up and down Daniel's back and thighs one more time, before he opened the boxes and packages and used them. Well, not the toothbrushes. He left them on the floor.

It was incredible. It was everything he had dreamed, reluctant, half-hating himself, at many, many midnights. It was all that and more. It was tight and hot and slick and perfect, and Daniel knew how to do this, too. Jack ignored his jealousy of the men, whoever they might have been, who had provided Daniel's experience, ignored his own rock-solid conviction that they were both batshit, crazy, out of their minds, and gave in to what he had wanted since they'd met, since the day he'd watched Daniel's mobile, arrogant mouth say, "I could do that" -- the outrageousness, the aggressive strength of the man hitting him so hard that he had had to insult him and turn away so that no one, especially West, would see, would know.

Yeah, for Jack it went back that far.

And he was in now. He had Daniel, all of him. There was no today, no tomorrow, nothing but now -- nothing but the flesh and skin and voice under his hands, nothing but the desperation of need and longing and love. He leaned over and pressed a kiss above Daniel's ear.

"Don't come," he begged. "Don't come yet; wait."

"Okay," Daniel ground out, "okay, but I've got to-- Let me--" and he struggled up and back, so that he wasn't rubbing against the coverlet, and he spread his knees and dropped his head and Jack went even deeper into him.

"Oh, god," Jack groaned. "Oh, god, Daniel."

He didn't last long after that, though they had all night in this borrowed room, in this anonymous place. They had all night, and Jack held it back, held it back as long as he could, but he came, hard, explosive, calling Daniel's name, sweaty and astonished. He held on to the perfect curve where hips met ass, and he made himself stay upright, because there was one more thing, one more thing. Daniel was taut, waiting and listening. Sweat glistened on his spine. His fine hair was almost red in the lamplight. Jack held on, threw his head back, panted. His knees ached.

He pulled out slowly, fumbled his rubber off and pitched it over the side of the bed. He collapsed on to his stomach, then rolled a little so that his back was to Daniel. Daniel's fingers skated over his ribs. Jack was still panting.

"How?" Daniel breathed.

"Unlike you, I wasn't planning this. So this might get pretty messy."

And Daniel laughed. Daniel fucking laughed at him and ran warm hands down Jack's back and smeared a kiss against the nape of his neck and bit him and Jack grinned. His cheek was smashed against a pillow; the bed was a mess, and Daniel took his hands away for a minute. It was amazing, how lonely that felt, just that minute or three, and then Daniel was back -- touching him, pushing with gentle slippery fingers, muttering under his breath.

"Oh my god; so tight, so perfect, you're so tight, Jack. How did you know I wanted this, too. How did you know."

He nattered on like that, Jack only catching about half of it, but his fingers were as busy as his mouth, and yeah, Daniel knew just how to do this, too. He fit himself against the curve of Jack's ass, and it had been a long time, but it was easy. Easier than it should have been; easier than Jack remembered, to let someone in like this. But Daniel had gotten through all his defenses years ago.

Afterward Daniel held him tight, but it was indeed a mess, and they dragged the bedding off the mattress and themselves into the bathroom, and Jack started the shower.

He watched Daniel as he bent over the tub, waiting for the hot water. Daniel sat on the closed toilet lid, looking stunned, disheveled, ravished. He was the most beautiful thing Jack had ever seen, his hair in tufts, his eyes soft. There was a red mark on his shoulder.

"Sorry about that," Jack said, smoothing it with his thumb.

"Pfft," Daniel said, dismissive, and they climbed under the water. Jack couldn't stop looking. All that skin; creamy and tanned and dark rose. Daniel was looking at him too, until he stopped looking and pulled Jack into a hug, the hot glorious water coursing down their sides.

Eventually Daniel found the soap. He was fumbling now, tired and drained, Jack assumed. Like Jack was.

He was washing Jack's back, and he remarked, "So. Sarah."

Yeah, Daniel. Wanting to figure it all out. Jack shook his head.

"It's not a short story, and I can't tell a long one tonight. I've made a lot of compromises, okay? Did what I thought I had to do. Don't oversimplify it."

He had turned, so that he could see Daniel's face, and he was holding Daniel's neck, and he ran a thumb along Daniel's cheekbone. There were water drops caught in his eyelashes. Daniel regarded him gravely.

"You loved her," Daniel said. "It was real."

Jack nodded, more relieved than he could say that there would be no interrogation tonight. Daniel washed him all over, even Jack's hair. His hands were gentle and strong. He didn't hurry.

When they were clean they collapsed together into the other bed. They both tended to sleep on their backs on missions, Jack had noticed, but they both turned to their stomachs and burrowed into the pillows now.

Daniel turned his head to un-muffle his voice. Jack was close to sleep, but he listened.

"I'm bisexual; I always have been, always knew it. But you're the end of the line for me, Jack. It's you or nothing for me, and that's just how it is. After today I had to do this; I'm not living with that simmering tension between us any more. I can't and I won't."

For being so sleepy, Daniel was quite vehement. His eyes were closed.

"Shh," Jack said, and put a hand on Daniel's warm shoulder. "Enough for tonight. Who we are...." He let the words trail off.

He closed his eyes, too, and he was almost asleep, when Daniel spoke again, quite suddenly. Jack opened his eyes. Daniel's were closed.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Jack. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know if what I'm doing is even worth it. But I know who you are to me. And I'm not glossing over that or pretending about that, to you, any more."

"I get that." He left his hand on Daniel's neck, and it was there when he fell asleep.

~~~

When Jack woke, Daniel was watching him. His face was shuttered; he looked sad. Jack pressed against him and kissed him, kissed him until his eyes were peaceful and he smiled again.

"Coffee," Daniel said.

"Eye-hop," Jack said.

"Race ya," Daniel said, and he leaped out of bed.

Over breakfast, the sun shiny and too bright, they talked about sports, about history, about the impact of technology on warfare, about things at the far periphery of what they were thinking. They did not speak of politics, or replicators, or terrorists, or what would be done with Rees' body. They didn't talk about sex, or themselves, but they leaned in, across their cluttered plastic table.

"Look," Daniel said, into a pause that was not awkward. He was toying with his fork, making patterns in the syrup remaining on his plate. "There's a matinee game today; a hockey game. Let's go."

"That's what we were planning all along."

"Of course it was," Daniel looked up at him and smiled. The sun revealed the smudges on his glasses. It made Jack smile.

My absent-minded professor.

They killed time, driving around, not talking much. They got to the arena early. There were hot dogs.

After the loud, humid warmth of the game, the sky seemed too white and too far away, the ordinary noise of the city sparse and stretched thin. Jack looked around and shivered as he followed Daniel across the parking lot, back to the car. Daniel glanced back at him once, and when they got to the Volvo, he tossed Jack the keys.

Jack drove, and Daniel leaned into the back seat, and Jack enjoyed the view as Daniel bent double to scrabble through an additional cd case he had back there and find an obscure version of Turandot that he played for Jack with an air of conspiratorial triumph. The music crashed around them for a while. Jack drove. He was glad for his sunglasses. Daniel's car was nice. For a car. Tight steering, not mushy at all. Got to hand it to those Swedes.

At the end of Act II, Daniel turned down the volume and said, "I didn't know if you would let this happen, actually."

Jack glanced at him, and then back to the road. "I didn't know if you would, ever." He paused, choosing words. "How I feel about you after all this time -- it's not just about sex. Don't get me wrong; the sex was... you know."

Daniel flashed him the quick grin, and it made Jack warm. "I know."

"But for me that genie's been out of the bottle for a long time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well." Daniel settled back in the seat and snapped his seatbelt once. He seemed to have drawn some sort of conclusion.

"Well." Jack tried to deliver the word with Teal'c's kind of regalness. "So, thank you. I guess." And Jack reached over and put his hand on Daniel's knee, and he drove with one hand until they pulled up, once again, in front of Jack's house. Jack put the Volvo in park, and Daniel reached out and put Jack's hand back on his leg. Daniel looked at their hands, and not at Jack. Jack pulled his sunglasses off and let them hang around his neck.

Daniel said, "So I guess doing this -- this Lost Weekend thing I sprang on you -- so I guess it's worth it to you. Worth the risk."

"You're a force of nature, Daniel, and you know it." Jack smiled, and let the look in his eyes give everything, mask nothing.

They sat there a minute, and Jack got out of the car and waited while Daniel came around and slid behind the wheel. Jack held the door for him. Jack leaned over.

"See you tomorrow," he said, and carefully, softly, closed the driver's door. He stood there in the street, the afternoon golden and bright around him, watching Daniel drive away.

end.