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My 400th fic. Four hundred words.
No spoilers, no plot.
Can't Take the Heat
Daniel's staring up at me, his breath coming in short, high gasps, his face flushed and his eyes incredulous, furious and two shades darker. His fingers are fumbling with the buttons on his shirt but he's so busy glaring at me that he can't undo them.
I'll be lying when I tell him I'm sorry it happened.
His shirt has melted against his chest, clinging, soaked, saturated and drenched.
Ice-cold water, though. Can't feel good, even if it's giving me plenty to look at.
As I stare, the wet darkness spreads, racing outwards, and his left nipple hardens under the cool kiss, stiff with outrage.
I'm unrepentant, but I'm not laughing. Can't. Can't breathe.
The glass I'm still holding is warming up, sliding and squeaking as my fingers tighten around it.
The ice cube that's landed in the hollow of Daniel's throat disappears inside his shirt as he wrenches hard at a button and he chokes out a whimpered sound that wraps around my dick like a strong, hot hand.
My gaze tracks lower, following the trail left by one hell of a lot of ice water -- really thirsty, Jack, make it a big glass-- down to Daniel's lap. Most of the ice landed there, glistening, squared-off chunks, translucent around the edges, opaque towards the middle, and why do I care what they look like, because they're not hiding the curve and bump of Daniel's dick and the soft swell of his balls. Hell, his thin pants have gone transparent themselves, or as good as.
And there, centred perfectly on his zipper, is the half-moon of lemon I added to get an amused look from him, smiling up at me, sour and yellow.
I'd brought a napkin too, intending to bow low when I handed over the drink he'd demanded in an exhausted, hoarse whisper after collapsing onto my couch, yanking his chain by parodying the obsequious waiter we'd had when we went out to celebrate Carter's birthday.
Oh, yeah, I bowed. Caught my foot, tripped forward and half-drowned him, but I think there was a bow in there somewhere.
I fall to my knees and press the single, inadequate napkin against the ice and slice.
His hands freeze and his mouth opens on a moan. I reach up and slide my hand inside his shirt and find the ice lodged in the crease of his belly.
It's melting.
No spoilers, no plot.
Can't Take the Heat
Daniel's staring up at me, his breath coming in short, high gasps, his face flushed and his eyes incredulous, furious and two shades darker. His fingers are fumbling with the buttons on his shirt but he's so busy glaring at me that he can't undo them.
I'll be lying when I tell him I'm sorry it happened.
His shirt has melted against his chest, clinging, soaked, saturated and drenched.
Ice-cold water, though. Can't feel good, even if it's giving me plenty to look at.
As I stare, the wet darkness spreads, racing outwards, and his left nipple hardens under the cool kiss, stiff with outrage.
I'm unrepentant, but I'm not laughing. Can't. Can't breathe.
The glass I'm still holding is warming up, sliding and squeaking as my fingers tighten around it.
The ice cube that's landed in the hollow of Daniel's throat disappears inside his shirt as he wrenches hard at a button and he chokes out a whimpered sound that wraps around my dick like a strong, hot hand.
My gaze tracks lower, following the trail left by one hell of a lot of ice water -- really thirsty, Jack, make it a big glass-- down to Daniel's lap. Most of the ice landed there, glistening, squared-off chunks, translucent around the edges, opaque towards the middle, and why do I care what they look like, because they're not hiding the curve and bump of Daniel's dick and the soft swell of his balls. Hell, his thin pants have gone transparent themselves, or as good as.
And there, centred perfectly on his zipper, is the half-moon of lemon I added to get an amused look from him, smiling up at me, sour and yellow.
I'd brought a napkin too, intending to bow low when I handed over the drink he'd demanded in an exhausted, hoarse whisper after collapsing onto my couch, yanking his chain by parodying the obsequious waiter we'd had when we went out to celebrate Carter's birthday.
Oh, yeah, I bowed. Caught my foot, tripped forward and half-drowned him, but I think there was a bow in there somewhere.
I fall to my knees and press the single, inadequate napkin against the ice and slice.
His hands freeze and his mouth opens on a moan. I reach up and slide my hand inside his shirt and find the ice lodged in the crease of his belly.
It's melting.
Tags:
- fic,
- jack/daniel,
- sg-1,
- slash