In Your Dreams

Daniel glanced out of the coffee shop window as a motorbike pulled up to the curb, engine howling and shuddering to a halt. Sounded rough. He wasn't too surprised when the guy riding it got off quickly, taking a step back to give it a long, hard stare.

He was surprised when the dusty black helmet slid up and off to reveal Jack, grey hair wild, face exasperated. He knew Jack owned a bike; he'd just never been interested enough to ask to see it, any more than he'd asked to see Jack's collection of Simpsons videos.

It was... well, it was black like the helmet. Big. Oily. Noisy. That was about as far as Daniel was prepared to go in describing it.

Jack was dressed in leathers. Not a leather jacket; he had a few of them, casual, beat-up and comfortable. They smelled nice, and Daniel had once given an appreciative snuff at one when Jack had slung it over his shoulders, using Daniel as a coat rack while he juggled beer, a takeaway, and his house keys. Jack had given him a speculative look, but Daniel had shrugged and done it again, quite blatantly, and Jack's expression had softened to tolerant amusement.

It hadn't been the leather that had made that second sniff irresistible, and brought Daniel's hands to his cock three minutes later in Jack's bathroom, silently, desperately dealing with a response that wasn't going away. No, it'd been the warmth of the heavy jacket; the silk lining smooth against the back of Daniel's bare arms, and the solid jolt of Jack's smell. Pure catnip, if Daniel had been a cat, which he wasn't, thank God, or he'd have been buzzing and head-butting Jack's knees, and climbing up his leg to rub his face against --

These worn, once-black trousers and jacket weren't anything like that, though. They were old enough to be tight in some places, baggy in others. Not all that flattering, even, as they were definitely sagging around Jack's ass. Tight on his thighs, though... Jack had put on weight, a little, but most of that was muscle. They walked a lot. Those dozen steps up the ramp were usually the prelude to one hell of a lot of slogging through forests, clambering over rocks, and, far too often, some running away from the nice people shooting at them.

Daniel's window seat gave him the perfect view, and he gave into the temptation to stare shamelessly, frowning when a passer-by blocked his line of sight. Jack was kneeling down, long fingers twisting and tweaking at... spark plugs, maybe? Daniel didn't care. Jack kneeling in leather, sure hands all over something he loved, coaxing and commanding it to obey, behave...

Daniel realised that the strangled choked breath echoing in his ears had come from him, and took a quick, calming sip of coffee.

He supposed that he should feel somewhat, slightly, guilty. He was objectifying a friend. Lusting over, fantasising about, and mentally stripping a colleague. A second sip of coffee brought him the reassuring realisation that Jack wouldn't mind. Would understand. They were men. Lust was very manly, and it wasn't as if Jack would ever know that all Daniel's self-gratification these days was performed to a montage of images culled from years of, initially accidental, glimpses of him naked. Or striding over to tackle aliens, sunglasses shoved on with an impatient thrust of his hand. Or lounging back in a briefing room chair, fiddling with anything he could get his hands on -- hey, Jack! Over here! Yes, it's me, Daniel. Got lots of bits that appreciate being toyed with, really I have...

Jack stood in a rustle and creak of leather Daniel was easily able to convince himself that he'd heard through glass, and bent over the seat of the bike, legs apart for balance, reaching over and down to do something on the other side.

Daniel spat a mouthful of coffee out because it was quicker than swallowing and he had to moan right then. Leather. Stretching tautly. Moulding to Jack's ass like wet, black paint. Sprayed on paint. Brushed on paint. Delicately dabbed on, smeared on, rubbed in, licked, that didn't work.

Better make it whipped cream. Whipped... oh, God.

The jacket rode up, taking Jack's T-shirt with it, exposing a strip of bare back. Daniel had an instant, startled flash of empathy for a Victorian man's emotions upon seeing an inch of ankle. He'd showered beside Jack and managed to keep it friendly, but that snatched glimpse of supposedly hidden skin had broken him. This had to end. He had to confess, be shriven for his sins...

He paid, fumbling out his money and abandoning his change; big mistake as he had to turn back and explain that no, she could keep it, just keep it, and made it to the sidewalk just in time to see the red flash of a brake light as Jack paused briefly at a stop sign and then roared away.

Daniel went to his car, leaned his head against the wheel, and tried to remember that men who help save the world don't get to cry in public.


When Jack opened the door he was in jeans and a loose shirt. Daniel felt pathetically grateful, as it let him speak without stammering. Just.



Deciding not to read too much into the knowing intonation Jack had slathered all over his name -- it was just Jack's way -- Daniel stepped inside, awkwardly shifting the box he held from under his arm to a safe resting place on the coffee table.

"What'cha got?" Jack didn't seem to consider his propensity for asking direct questions a character flaw if it got results. "Is it for me?"

"Not exactly." Daniel sat down uninvited on the couch and waited for Jack to join him. "I just... wanted you to do me a favour."


No hesitation. None. That was... nice, Daniel decided. He opened the box and paused, blinking down in horror at what it contained. "Uh, on second thought, forget it, I just... I made a mistake --"

Jack's voice turned mercilessly chiding. "Daniel... let me see."


"Want to see."

"Not going to let -- ow! That hurt, dammit!"

"Serves you right." Jack gave him an unrepentant smirk and peered inside the box. "Holy mother of God --"

"I know," Daniel said with a sigh. "It says 'black' on the box. Right there. In four different languages. Black. Schwarz. Noir. Nero."

"Looks lime-green to me," Jack said, hauling it out. "Daniel, it's got a frog on it. What the hell were you thinking?"

Daniel snatched the bike helmet from Jack's unresisting fingers and jammed it back in the box, upside down. "I wasn't thinking at all. I was acting on impulse."

"Never, ever, do that again."

"I won't. Don't worry." Daniel stood and yelped as Jack grabbed a fistful of his jeans and yanked him back down. "Hey!"

"If you seriously think you're turning up on my doorstep with this and walking away without explaining, well, I'll give you points for optimism, but that's about all you get. Spill, Daniel. Don't make me hurt you."


"Again." Jack let go of him, patted Daniel's thigh in what might have passed for an apology, and pinned an expectant look on his face.

Daniel surrendered to the immovable object. "I... saw you today. With your motorbike."

"Piece of junk." Jack's voice had the affection on top and the adulation poorly hidden. Daniel didn't make the mistake of agreeing with him.

"You looked... ah, it. It looked like fun. I thought maybe you could, someday, only if you wanted to, of course, take me... for a...ride."

The world hesitated, shrugged, and continued to spin as Daniel waited for Jack to answer. Jack had gone still, the stillness that Daniel would never mistake for his own, occasional, panicked freeze. This was a watchful waiting, a gathering storm, a pre-pounce pause.

Jack's stare was intense, and Daniel was in serious danger of needing another bathroom break because he was hard and getting harder. Jack cleared his throat and Daniel yelped softly.

"You want me to take you?"

The separation of the words had been involuntary on Daniel's part; he'd just needed to breathe a little more than normal right then. Jack's division seemed more deliberate and verged on cruelty to in lust archeologists everywhere.

"Take me?" Hard, here, now?

"Take you out?"

"Out. Yes."

"You behind me."

"I'm flexible -- oh. Yes. I suppose."

"On my bike."

That had to be the torment over. He could relax.

"Going somewhere fast with you clinging onto me and yelling in my ear?" Jack chanted softly.


"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Daniel bit out through gritted teeth, his face hot. Jack wasn't smiling, but this had to be one long drawn-out tease...

"Sure. Anytime." Jack leaned back, making it look like a challenge. "It's getting an overhaul right now, though. Blocked fuel line. Want to practice the riding... and clinging... and yelling?"

"You saw me," Daniel said flatly, ignoring the beckoning finger Jack was crooking.

Jack rolled his eyes. "Why do you think I stopped and wriggled my ass at you for ten solid minutes? Of course I saw you."

"I feel..." Daniel stopped and tried to work it out.

"Pursued? Manipulated? Used?"

"Possibly." He eyed Jack suspiciously.

"Yeah, I've had those feelings recently, too." Jack didn't seem too bothered.

"I'm sorry."

"No need."

"There's need."

Jack looked interested. "There is?"

"Need to apologise," Daniel clarified, sweating lightly. "Jack -- I've been using you to get off."

"I didn't notice that. Was I asleep? Because you shouldn't let me nap on duty, you know."

"Will you take this seriously?" Daniel howled, losing his temper. "Thinking about you when I come. Fantasising about you when I should be working --"

"Not when it matters," Jack put in. "Or I'd have kissed your Walter Mittyesque ass back through the 'gate."



"You just said you'd have 'kissed my ass'. I think you meant kicked." Daniel narrowed his eyes. "Aha!"

"Daniel, so help me, if you start reading something into a slip of the tongue..."

"And just where would you like to slip it, Jack?" Daniel snarled triumphantly. "Down my throat? Around my dick?"

"Amongst other places, yeah." Jack gave him a defiant look. "What? You can't have thought it was just you."

"I did," Daniel said uncertainly. "Of course I did."

"Just as well I'm after you for your body, not your brains. Come here."

"Jack --"

Jack swore, lunged, and pinned Daniel down. His face was all that Daniel could see, all he wanted to see right then. Jack waited, breathing fast and hard, easing his grip on Daniel's arms, so that Daniel had to stay very still in case Jack thought he was trying to get free, and then his hands tightened and Jack kissed him, full on the mouth.

It was more and less than he'd expected. Wetter. He'd forgotten how sloppy kisses could be for the person underneath, getting a mouthful of gravity-assisted spit. Painful, too, because his neck was pressing against the hard arm of the couch.

Then Jack's arm slid behind his neck, cradling him, tilting him up, and it was slick and hot, biting, sucking, and Jack, yes, definitely Jack, was moaning something that sounded like, "God, Daniel, wanted this -- wanted you --" and it was real and infinitely terrifying and wonderful.

"How much?" he gasped out, fending off Jack's attempts to undo his shirt. "Wanted me how much?"


"Enough to wear those leather pants for me?"

"In bed?"


Jack considered it and shrugged. "Okay. Yes."

"Enough to fuck me over your bike when the engine's still hot?"

"Daniel?" Jack's voice lilted, shocked but not disapproving. "Sounds kinda kinky..."

"And I'd feel it through my T-shirt, and I'd push back, because it'd be too hot, be burning me..."

"And I'd be waiting for you," Jack murmured, stroking his fingers over Daniel's bare chest after dealing with the last of the buttons. "And you'd have to decide whether to lie there like a good Daniel and get fucked, or wriggle and squirm and get your ass as hot as this would be because I wouldn't let you get away with that..."

His fingers pinched at a nipple, biting into the scrap of skin, and Daniel arched up. "God, you have been doing it, too, haven't you?" he panted.

"What? Thinking of ways to make you give it up?" Jack licked something that felt very much like his initials onto Daniel's chest and blew the skin dry. "Every chance I get."

"Do you... would you...?"

"If you're going to ask if I'd wear the frog helmet..."

"I wasn't." Daniel blinked. "Would you?"

"Not even for you, Daniel." Jack ran his tongue down over Daniel's stomach and kept on going. "That a problem?"

"More of a relief," Daniel admitted.

"Don't take it back, though," Jack said, his voice muffled in the folds of Daniel's half pushed down jeans and shorts. "I think you'd look cute in it."

"Never going to --"

"Naked." Jack's voice became dreamy and his tongue slowed and lapped. "Lightly oiled... the odd nipple clamp..."

"Now you're just being silly," Daniel said severely.

Jack glanced up. "If we lose the helmet?"

Daniel's breath caught, already feeling Jack's hands stroking the oil into his skin, gently inquisitive fingers delving deep into his body, the harsh, bright bite of metal...

"Yes..." Jack murmured in satisfaction, without seeming to need an answer. "Thought so."

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