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This is getting towards the end. Maybe two more chapters to wrap it up, maybe three. It's also a mix of kink and h/c and I came close to crying at one point and it nearly got really schmoopy.
Yes. Total mess :-)
Previous parts are here
Leaving Time
Part Nine
He could break the hold Daniel's got on him. Every instinct and trained response is screaming instructions on just how to leave Daniel a whimpering heap of agony on the floor but he's not listening. Not with the blood pounding thick and heavy in his ears, distancing him from the ache in his throat. Not with his cock filling and rising to the occasion, responding to the raw simplicity of Daniel's anger.
Daniel annoys him. Often. It's not arousing; it's a pain in the fucking ass. But Daniel angry with him, and finally doing something other than whine and nag, is shredding the barrier between what Jack wants and sanity like it's wet paper and mush.
Daniel could probably explain this to him, but Jack's fairly sure he's not going to ask him to.
And he's not going to let this carry on. They're at work, for fuck's sake, and they need to talk not fight.
He brings up his hand to push Daniel away, trusting, still, that that's all it will take, and the angry triumph in Daniel's eyes tells him he's making a mistake. Daniel wants that; more cake and beer for the pity-party he's throwing because Jack never lets Daniel sort out his own fuck-ups.
Fine. Let Daniel fix explaining away how he tripped and accidentally strangled Colonel Jack O'Neill USAF to death when he did it.
He turns passive with an effort of will, staring down into Daniel's flushed face, breathing easier than Daniel is, even though Jack's the one choking, spit drooling down his face, warm and wet. Daniel's breath is catching on the words he's stuttering out; words Jack can't hear, coming from a mouth he can't see, because the sparks and splashes of colour and dark in front of his eyes are hiding Daniel's face.
Then Daniel's hand relaxes and his thumb strokes across Jack's wet, open mouth and it's all sharp focus and clear again and Jack can breathe.
"Jack?" Daniel murmurs, his hand pinning Jack's shoulder to the wall, finding a nerve to grind against so Jack's mouth screws up tight, holding in a groan. Daniel's thumb pushes past the soft barrier of Jack's lips, breaking the split skin wider, taking the taste of blood deep inside Jack's mouth.
Jack turns his head away with a jerk and Daniel's thumb slips free and trails wetly across his cheek.
"Tell me to stop," Daniel says, making it sound a casual, reasonable request, although there's nothing reasonable about any of this that Jack can see. "Make me stop."
More of a challenge there.
His hand travels across Jack's throat, where the bruises are going to show soon, and then strokes a path down Jack's chest. His heart is slowing to normal until Daniel's fingers crook and scrape lower over Jack's stomach the damp T-shirt clinging to it doing nothing to diminish the rake and drag of Daniel's nails. "You really should, you know." Daniel's gaze flicks down, mapping out a path for his hand, and then goes back to Jack's face.
Jack can breathe now and it's enough to hold back the rush of white noise in his head, but not enough to silence the sound he makes as Daniel traces the shape of Jack's cock through his sweat pants.
"Why are you letting me do this?" Daniel asks, his voice low and strong. "Why are you letting me touch you now? Here? Like this?"
"'Now'? Daniel, what the hell does that --?" Jack knows that's what he meant to say but Daniel's other hand, the one that's hurting him, pushes harder, and he grunts instead, feeling the wall tilt and straighten as the pain rocks him. Daniel's fingers stroke and pet Jack's cock, before curling around it as best they can, jerking him off with an awkward determination.
"Like this?" Daniel whispers and it means something different now, just like 'here' had. Typical fucking Daniel, cheating, making easy words tricky and twisted and dangerous.
Jack's free hand moves again and Daniel stops everything he's doing and waits to see where it will go.
Daniel's hand is cool under Jack's, fingers spread wide. Jack's mouth hangs open on a gasp as he screws the heel of his hand into the back of Daniel's, just, oh, yeah, just there.
The agony ripples and races from his shoulder down to his dick and he lets Daniel see all of it, the lust and the hurt, only holding back the sounds he wants to make and can't, not here. Daniel's mouth compresses in a tight line but he doesn't look away.
It's all happened fast. Rush, slam, fingers and pain, wham-bam, thank you, Daniel, and what would someone watching see, Jack wonders. Daniel's standing well back, his hand on Jack's shoulder, his other hand lost in the shadow of his body. Sight wouldn't tell you much, unless you were close, and you'd have to be close to hear them because they're speaking like lovers after sex, disconnected, inaudible fragments of voiced thoughts.
"Daniel," Jack says, his voice a laboured gasp of nothing. "You've got to tell me."
"Why should I have to?"
"Because it's what you do!"
Still not going to tell him to stop and he's not begging him to. Won't do that, not even for Daniel. Not when it's Daniel he's begging, anyway.
"Not this time, Jack."
Daniel shrugs free and steps back, breathing heavily as he rubs his hands, busy, clever hands, over his arms, huddling in on himself. He's shaking, but Jack doesn't think it's because he's cold.
"Then I don't know what I can do." Jack eyes him warily and lifts his hand to massage some life back into his shoulder. His cock's throbbing worse, but this is fucked-up enough without him coming while Daniel watches. Daniel's left him so close that it wouldn't take much more than a couple more hard, fast pumps. Hell, the way he feels, walking across the room might do the trick.
"What's with the whole --" Jack gestures between them, trying not to make it graphic. Daniel's face closes off even more and Jack sighs. "Never mind. Something else you want me to work out for myself, right?"
He gives Daniel a hopeful smile and gets a stare slathered in cool hostility back that snaps his good intentions in half.
"Daniel? Remember I told you to get the hell away from me? Now would be a good time to work on that." Jack frowns. "What did you come in here for, anyway?"
"You wanted my report," Daniel reminds him.
"Yeah? So?"
"Are you going to read it?"
"Don't I always?" Jack counters.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"I included three paragraphs detailing the life-cycle of a guppy in one last year and you never noticed."
"Never commented, Daniel," Jack says with a smirk. "Not the same thing. It was fascinating."
He's trying to keep it going, nudge Daniel back in a track they've worn deep and wide over the years, but it's like juggling snow.
"You'll want to read this one," Daniel says heading towards the door. "Trust me."
Jack glances down at an erection that's thankfully subsided and then rotates his shoulder gingerly. "Yeah. I'll get back to you on that one."
***
When Daniel's report appears on his desk Jack's not ready to read it. He's in a foul mood, low on sleep, jittery with caffeine. He hasn't seen more than the back of Daniel's head since their encounter in the gym the day before and Carter's called in sick with a cold which means she's finally taken some notice of him pointing out that spreading germs through the closed environment of the SGC and the universe in general will make her no friends. He misses her being serious and chirpy around the place. He'd send her some flowers, but hell, it's just a cold.
Teal'c, he's avoiding.
The slim folder's not bulked out by anything notebook-shaped but it's thicker than normal.
Jack picks it up, studies the cover intently and pointlessly, and then riffles through it. Words. Lots of them. Usually Daniel throws in a sketch or two...
He's four paragraphs in when he realises what Daniel's done.
***
He can't read it like this, Daniel's words, all twenty-two pages of them, turned grey and neat, typed and printed and dead, a fillet of bones through the tough dry meat of the report.
If he's going to read it, it'll be the source material, the original text. Daniel's taught him the importance of that, at least, grinning happily as he recounted a story about a man who'd followed his grandmother's recipe for vegetable soup for twenty years before finding the book she'd copied it from and realising it was for soap.
It hadn't been all that funny, but Jack had chuckled anyway, getting a kick from Daniel's glee at the punchline. His geek, eyes watering because he was laughing so hard, forcing out the words between snorted giggles. Something about serving it up for Sunday lunch and cleanliness being next to -- oh, it hadn't been funny, and it hadn't ever happened, and he wants that damn notebook and he's going to get it back off Daniel if he has to pry it from his lifeless hands.
Daniel's office is dark and quiet. Jack checks his watch and stops being surprised. It's late and Daniel's gone home.
Fine. Makes it easier.
Suspicion stirs and he leaves the light off, finding his way through the dimness with light-blinded eyes to the shelf. It's empty. Well, it's got stuff on it, sure, but not what he needs. Jack shoves a statuette back and hears an ominous crack of stone hitting porcelain that he ignores.
By the time he turns away, his eyes can see more than shades of darkness and it doesn't matter because he knows where it is.
The lamp on Daniel's desk blinks on and illuminates a second copy of the report, presumably edited although Jack doesn't bother checking, with the notebook resting on top of it.
Jack scoops it up and slips it back in his pocket, angled away from the camera although he's not doing anything wrong.
Not yet.
Not until he takes classified material relating to an ongoing inquiry out of the mountain and home.
***
It's mildly annoying that he's this predictable and Daniel's this stubborn.
"Doesn't occur to him that I might have a good reason for not wanting to read it?" he says aloud, taking a right when he should've turned left. "Noooo, of course it doesn't. He gets something in his head and we all have to just play along or we get told you so'd to death when it turns out he's right."
The steering wheel jerks as he slams the heel of his hand against it but he's already compensating for it. Wouldn't want to get pulled over. Not tonight.
He finds somewhere to park that's far enough away to be innocent, close enough that he won't get too wet in the light rain that's falling.
Daniel opens the door on the third knock, barefoot and sleepy, his short hair sticking up in tufts.
Vulnerable, even sweet-looking, grey sweatpants and a regulation black T-shirt that's too big for him and torn at the collar.
"Jack? Fuck off until you've read it."
Yeah. Sweet as sugar candy.
Jack gets past him before Daniel can slam the door in his face, as he's clearly dying to do, and goes through to the kitchen to help himself to a beer.
It gets slapped out of his hand before he's had time to take more than a single, icy-sweet swallow. Waste of beer and one hell of a mess, but the bottle doesn't break, just spins lazily to a halt, the beer still in it dribbling out until what's left won't reach the lip.
"Get out."
Jack tugs the notebook out of his pocket and waves it at him. "Why? Got my invitation right here."
"You haven't read --"
"You know, the only reason I'm going to read it is to find out why you think you can know that just by looking at me."
"It's not that," Daniel begins.
Jack shakes his head. "Daniel, I'm going to read it."
"Not here." Daniel sounds panicked which isn't as much of an improvement over vicious for some reason.
"Yes, here," Jack shouts at him, needing the noise because he's sick of whispering and being so fucking careful all the time. "But not yet. Daniel, I don't care what's in it, I care about you. What you went through."
"All in there, Jack," Daniel whispers, pointing at the notebook.
"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Jack says, putting the book away again. "Does it explain why you tried to kill me with kindness yesterday?"
Daniel pushes his glasses up in a gesture so automatic he doesn't know he's doing it and so familiar it takes Jack a moment to realise he's missed seeing him doing it.
"In a way," Daniel says cautiously. "I'm not sure it altogether explains why you let me, though."
"Yeah, about that --"
Daniel turns away, reaching for a tea towel to drop over the puddle of beer on the floor. "It doesn't matter."
"You know, part of me wants to go along with that, especially as you're finally talking to me again, but I can't."
The bottle clinks as Daniel places it on the counter, an inch or two of beer left in it.
"I'm not talking to you. I'm yelling and swearing at you."
"I'll take that over you calling me Colonel any day of the week."
Daniel smiles, touching his fingertip to the bottle to catch a drop rolling slowly down the side. "I knew you'd hate that."
"Yeah, sure you did. You know me, end of story." Jack walks over to him, two steps, three, close enough to touch Daniel if he dares risk it. "You know me," he repeats. "Tell me anything I did on the planet that surprised you."
Daniel shakes his head. "Nothing."
"Yeah." Jack swallows. "Yesterday?"
Daniel turns, his arm brushing Jack's, and Jack sees the fleck of toothpaste caught in the crease of Daniel's lip and the place where Daniel's razor scratched his throat. Sees what he can have by reaching out and waits to be sure before he nods and lets Daniel kiss him.
Part Ten
Yes. Total mess :-)
Previous parts are here
Leaving Time
Part Nine
He could break the hold Daniel's got on him. Every instinct and trained response is screaming instructions on just how to leave Daniel a whimpering heap of agony on the floor but he's not listening. Not with the blood pounding thick and heavy in his ears, distancing him from the ache in his throat. Not with his cock filling and rising to the occasion, responding to the raw simplicity of Daniel's anger.
Daniel annoys him. Often. It's not arousing; it's a pain in the fucking ass. But Daniel angry with him, and finally doing something other than whine and nag, is shredding the barrier between what Jack wants and sanity like it's wet paper and mush.
Daniel could probably explain this to him, but Jack's fairly sure he's not going to ask him to.
And he's not going to let this carry on. They're at work, for fuck's sake, and they need to talk not fight.
He brings up his hand to push Daniel away, trusting, still, that that's all it will take, and the angry triumph in Daniel's eyes tells him he's making a mistake. Daniel wants that; more cake and beer for the pity-party he's throwing because Jack never lets Daniel sort out his own fuck-ups.
Fine. Let Daniel fix explaining away how he tripped and accidentally strangled Colonel Jack O'Neill USAF to death when he did it.
He turns passive with an effort of will, staring down into Daniel's flushed face, breathing easier than Daniel is, even though Jack's the one choking, spit drooling down his face, warm and wet. Daniel's breath is catching on the words he's stuttering out; words Jack can't hear, coming from a mouth he can't see, because the sparks and splashes of colour and dark in front of his eyes are hiding Daniel's face.
Then Daniel's hand relaxes and his thumb strokes across Jack's wet, open mouth and it's all sharp focus and clear again and Jack can breathe.
"Jack?" Daniel murmurs, his hand pinning Jack's shoulder to the wall, finding a nerve to grind against so Jack's mouth screws up tight, holding in a groan. Daniel's thumb pushes past the soft barrier of Jack's lips, breaking the split skin wider, taking the taste of blood deep inside Jack's mouth.
Jack turns his head away with a jerk and Daniel's thumb slips free and trails wetly across his cheek.
"Tell me to stop," Daniel says, making it sound a casual, reasonable request, although there's nothing reasonable about any of this that Jack can see. "Make me stop."
More of a challenge there.
His hand travels across Jack's throat, where the bruises are going to show soon, and then strokes a path down Jack's chest. His heart is slowing to normal until Daniel's fingers crook and scrape lower over Jack's stomach the damp T-shirt clinging to it doing nothing to diminish the rake and drag of Daniel's nails. "You really should, you know." Daniel's gaze flicks down, mapping out a path for his hand, and then goes back to Jack's face.
Jack can breathe now and it's enough to hold back the rush of white noise in his head, but not enough to silence the sound he makes as Daniel traces the shape of Jack's cock through his sweat pants.
"Why are you letting me do this?" Daniel asks, his voice low and strong. "Why are you letting me touch you now? Here? Like this?"
"'Now'? Daniel, what the hell does that --?" Jack knows that's what he meant to say but Daniel's other hand, the one that's hurting him, pushes harder, and he grunts instead, feeling the wall tilt and straighten as the pain rocks him. Daniel's fingers stroke and pet Jack's cock, before curling around it as best they can, jerking him off with an awkward determination.
"Like this?" Daniel whispers and it means something different now, just like 'here' had. Typical fucking Daniel, cheating, making easy words tricky and twisted and dangerous.
Jack's free hand moves again and Daniel stops everything he's doing and waits to see where it will go.
Daniel's hand is cool under Jack's, fingers spread wide. Jack's mouth hangs open on a gasp as he screws the heel of his hand into the back of Daniel's, just, oh, yeah, just there.
The agony ripples and races from his shoulder down to his dick and he lets Daniel see all of it, the lust and the hurt, only holding back the sounds he wants to make and can't, not here. Daniel's mouth compresses in a tight line but he doesn't look away.
It's all happened fast. Rush, slam, fingers and pain, wham-bam, thank you, Daniel, and what would someone watching see, Jack wonders. Daniel's standing well back, his hand on Jack's shoulder, his other hand lost in the shadow of his body. Sight wouldn't tell you much, unless you were close, and you'd have to be close to hear them because they're speaking like lovers after sex, disconnected, inaudible fragments of voiced thoughts.
"Daniel," Jack says, his voice a laboured gasp of nothing. "You've got to tell me."
"Why should I have to?"
"Because it's what you do!"
Still not going to tell him to stop and he's not begging him to. Won't do that, not even for Daniel. Not when it's Daniel he's begging, anyway.
"Not this time, Jack."
Daniel shrugs free and steps back, breathing heavily as he rubs his hands, busy, clever hands, over his arms, huddling in on himself. He's shaking, but Jack doesn't think it's because he's cold.
"Then I don't know what I can do." Jack eyes him warily and lifts his hand to massage some life back into his shoulder. His cock's throbbing worse, but this is fucked-up enough without him coming while Daniel watches. Daniel's left him so close that it wouldn't take much more than a couple more hard, fast pumps. Hell, the way he feels, walking across the room might do the trick.
"What's with the whole --" Jack gestures between them, trying not to make it graphic. Daniel's face closes off even more and Jack sighs. "Never mind. Something else you want me to work out for myself, right?"
He gives Daniel a hopeful smile and gets a stare slathered in cool hostility back that snaps his good intentions in half.
"Daniel? Remember I told you to get the hell away from me? Now would be a good time to work on that." Jack frowns. "What did you come in here for, anyway?"
"You wanted my report," Daniel reminds him.
"Yeah? So?"
"Are you going to read it?"
"Don't I always?" Jack counters.
"No."
"How do you know?"
"I included three paragraphs detailing the life-cycle of a guppy in one last year and you never noticed."
"Never commented, Daniel," Jack says with a smirk. "Not the same thing. It was fascinating."
He's trying to keep it going, nudge Daniel back in a track they've worn deep and wide over the years, but it's like juggling snow.
"You'll want to read this one," Daniel says heading towards the door. "Trust me."
Jack glances down at an erection that's thankfully subsided and then rotates his shoulder gingerly. "Yeah. I'll get back to you on that one."
***
When Daniel's report appears on his desk Jack's not ready to read it. He's in a foul mood, low on sleep, jittery with caffeine. He hasn't seen more than the back of Daniel's head since their encounter in the gym the day before and Carter's called in sick with a cold which means she's finally taken some notice of him pointing out that spreading germs through the closed environment of the SGC and the universe in general will make her no friends. He misses her being serious and chirpy around the place. He'd send her some flowers, but hell, it's just a cold.
Teal'c, he's avoiding.
The slim folder's not bulked out by anything notebook-shaped but it's thicker than normal.
Jack picks it up, studies the cover intently and pointlessly, and then riffles through it. Words. Lots of them. Usually Daniel throws in a sketch or two...
He's four paragraphs in when he realises what Daniel's done.
***
He can't read it like this, Daniel's words, all twenty-two pages of them, turned grey and neat, typed and printed and dead, a fillet of bones through the tough dry meat of the report.
If he's going to read it, it'll be the source material, the original text. Daniel's taught him the importance of that, at least, grinning happily as he recounted a story about a man who'd followed his grandmother's recipe for vegetable soup for twenty years before finding the book she'd copied it from and realising it was for soap.
It hadn't been all that funny, but Jack had chuckled anyway, getting a kick from Daniel's glee at the punchline. His geek, eyes watering because he was laughing so hard, forcing out the words between snorted giggles. Something about serving it up for Sunday lunch and cleanliness being next to -- oh, it hadn't been funny, and it hadn't ever happened, and he wants that damn notebook and he's going to get it back off Daniel if he has to pry it from his lifeless hands.
Daniel's office is dark and quiet. Jack checks his watch and stops being surprised. It's late and Daniel's gone home.
Fine. Makes it easier.
Suspicion stirs and he leaves the light off, finding his way through the dimness with light-blinded eyes to the shelf. It's empty. Well, it's got stuff on it, sure, but not what he needs. Jack shoves a statuette back and hears an ominous crack of stone hitting porcelain that he ignores.
By the time he turns away, his eyes can see more than shades of darkness and it doesn't matter because he knows where it is.
The lamp on Daniel's desk blinks on and illuminates a second copy of the report, presumably edited although Jack doesn't bother checking, with the notebook resting on top of it.
Jack scoops it up and slips it back in his pocket, angled away from the camera although he's not doing anything wrong.
Not yet.
Not until he takes classified material relating to an ongoing inquiry out of the mountain and home.
***
It's mildly annoying that he's this predictable and Daniel's this stubborn.
"Doesn't occur to him that I might have a good reason for not wanting to read it?" he says aloud, taking a right when he should've turned left. "Noooo, of course it doesn't. He gets something in his head and we all have to just play along or we get told you so'd to death when it turns out he's right."
The steering wheel jerks as he slams the heel of his hand against it but he's already compensating for it. Wouldn't want to get pulled over. Not tonight.
He finds somewhere to park that's far enough away to be innocent, close enough that he won't get too wet in the light rain that's falling.
Daniel opens the door on the third knock, barefoot and sleepy, his short hair sticking up in tufts.
Vulnerable, even sweet-looking, grey sweatpants and a regulation black T-shirt that's too big for him and torn at the collar.
"Jack? Fuck off until you've read it."
Yeah. Sweet as sugar candy.
Jack gets past him before Daniel can slam the door in his face, as he's clearly dying to do, and goes through to the kitchen to help himself to a beer.
It gets slapped out of his hand before he's had time to take more than a single, icy-sweet swallow. Waste of beer and one hell of a mess, but the bottle doesn't break, just spins lazily to a halt, the beer still in it dribbling out until what's left won't reach the lip.
"Get out."
Jack tugs the notebook out of his pocket and waves it at him. "Why? Got my invitation right here."
"You haven't read --"
"You know, the only reason I'm going to read it is to find out why you think you can know that just by looking at me."
"It's not that," Daniel begins.
Jack shakes his head. "Daniel, I'm going to read it."
"Not here." Daniel sounds panicked which isn't as much of an improvement over vicious for some reason.
"Yes, here," Jack shouts at him, needing the noise because he's sick of whispering and being so fucking careful all the time. "But not yet. Daniel, I don't care what's in it, I care about you. What you went through."
"All in there, Jack," Daniel whispers, pointing at the notebook.
"Yeah, I'm sure it is," Jack says, putting the book away again. "Does it explain why you tried to kill me with kindness yesterday?"
Daniel pushes his glasses up in a gesture so automatic he doesn't know he's doing it and so familiar it takes Jack a moment to realise he's missed seeing him doing it.
"In a way," Daniel says cautiously. "I'm not sure it altogether explains why you let me, though."
"Yeah, about that --"
Daniel turns away, reaching for a tea towel to drop over the puddle of beer on the floor. "It doesn't matter."
"You know, part of me wants to go along with that, especially as you're finally talking to me again, but I can't."
The bottle clinks as Daniel places it on the counter, an inch or two of beer left in it.
"I'm not talking to you. I'm yelling and swearing at you."
"I'll take that over you calling me Colonel any day of the week."
Daniel smiles, touching his fingertip to the bottle to catch a drop rolling slowly down the side. "I knew you'd hate that."
"Yeah, sure you did. You know me, end of story." Jack walks over to him, two steps, three, close enough to touch Daniel if he dares risk it. "You know me," he repeats. "Tell me anything I did on the planet that surprised you."
Daniel shakes his head. "Nothing."
"Yeah." Jack swallows. "Yesterday?"
Daniel turns, his arm brushing Jack's, and Jack sees the fleck of toothpaste caught in the crease of Daniel's lip and the place where Daniel's razor scratched his throat. Sees what he can have by reaching out and waits to be sure before he nods and lets Daniel kiss him.
Part Ten
Tags:
- fic,
- jack/daniel,
- sg-1,
- slash