Daniel leans forward on hands and knees, head tilted so that he can squint up, oblivious to the danger of being under precariously poised stone slabs, tipped over by a vandal hand or a seismic shrug.

"I can see something..."

Jack can, too.

Jack can strip dust-smeared fabric, standard-issue underwear, and -- no, the bandanna can stay, he can use that, oh, yeah, he can do things with that strip of cotton that'll have Daniel howling for more -- and see Daniel, just him. The sweat can stay, too, limning each subdued, subtle muscle on Daniel's sprawled, spread legs, darkening and flattening the hair curled between his legs, on his belly.

And when he's looked his fill and Daniel's arms are trembling from the effort of holding still, just as Jack's positioned him, he'll turn his head and ask to be fucked, voice urgent and low.

Jack tosses Daniel the notebook he's been asked for twice, Daniel's voice rising, impatient on the repetition; follows it with a pencil, twirling end-over end, watches Daniel's fingers grip and curl around the slim cylinder, and shudders with a lust he's whipped up out of nothing, a blown bubble of want and need waiting to be popped by the stab of his own shame and derisive amusement.

Because he's pathetic. Truly, madly, deeply.

"Jack?" Daniel rolls to his back, oh, God, legs kicking out as he wriggles deeper under the stone, T-shirt riding up, hips arching and humping and the shadow swallowing him up, so that Jack has to imagine how his face looks as his body pleads for a touch Jack's only too willing to give him, a hundred of them if he wants.

Daniel doesn't want.

"Take a look at this."

Jack clears his throat, stares hard at the sandy floor of the cavern. "Not sure there's room on my schedule for pancake impersonations."

"What?" Daniel belatedly takes in his position and shrugs. "Oh, it's safe enough. And this is fascinating..."

"My knees..." Jack offers, desperate enough to reveal a weakness.

"You won't be kneeling," Daniel says crossly. "Jack..."

No. He'll be lying. Lying next to Daniel, bodies crushed close in the shimmering heat of a desert planet, his mouth dry, his skin burning.

"Describe it to me."

He leans back against rough, hard wall as Daniel lectures him aridly, grinding his shoulders into it savagely, slowly, punishing himself, a flagellation, a scourging of skin, his thin T-shirt dampening with what his fevered mind tags as blood, sticky and warm.

Probably just sweat though.

It's hot in here.

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