The Eclipsed Series
Standing in the Shadows
Many thanks to Princessofg for her invaluable help in beta reading this story.
Next time around, I'm going to fall in love with a man who isn't in
danger five days out of seven, even when he's flying a desk, who isn't
forbidden, under pain of many unpleasant penalties, to fuck me into
incoherent, breathless bliss, and, top of the list, isn't so many
fucking light years away that even thinking about him has a seven year
I'm stuck on Dakara without Jack.
That's a really bad punch line to a really bad joke.
I'm not laughing.
For a man I had to call 'sir', scattering it with a lavish hand through
every conversation we had in public, until it was like a comma, a
breath taken, a space filled, he was astonishingly relaxed about
protocol when we were naked.
I still called him 'sir' a lot, though. Force of habit; got me off...
And, like the push along toy dog I once had, fur rubbed off in a dozen
places by my loving hands, the dog an uncle, guffawing into his beer,
had named 'Killer', calling Jack, 'sir' when I knew how his skin tasted
gave the word a whole new resonance.
Only with him, of course. I could snap out brisk, efficient 'sirs' from
dewy dawn to dusky night to the people I worked under at the Pentagon
and never notice that I was doing it.
But let me pick up the phone and hear Jack's drawled, "Major Davis?" in
my ear and my dick would be saluting as I murmured, "Yes, sir?" back at
him, fighting to keep every single emotion in check.
Luckily, I'd had practice.
And a sibilant 'sir' hissed softly against any one of a dozen places on
Jack O'Neill's body would always get me a shudder and a breathless
It had been weeks since I'd seen him. Three, and a handful of days, to
be precise. That wasn't that long for us, not really. Once, it was four
months, and my right wrist had ached.
I was always that. Facts and figures, projections and statistics,
tripping off my tongue.
Rather have Jack's come slicking it, dripping off it, splashing wet and
heavy onto his belly or throat, just for the pleasure of watching his
dark eyes narrow, his lips tighten in pretended annoyance. And I might
get his hand in my hair, forcing me down to lap it up, lick him clean,
or I might kneel back and see his fingers slide through the mess,
contemplative and serene smile on his face as he proved once again that
it was impossible to gross him out.
I really shouldn't have been thinking about him at work. Now I wanted
him, and the chances of having him weren't good. So I tried not to
think about him.
I'm good at that, too.
It might have worked if my desk hadn't had an in tray and an out tray,
both holding a discreet, well-managed heap of files with his name on
every other fucking page.
He was part of my work, after all, and I reached for another file,
praying that this one wouldn't have the torment of a black ink squiggle
that was his signature, because right then, dick heavy and full, that
would have meant that I'd be trapped behind this desk until my erection
subsided, and I'd got a meeting in fifteen minutes on the other side of
It had a memo inside it, brief and pointed, and I found out that he'd
been hurt, that SG-1 was recuperating, that for a week they'd be stood
I gripped the stiff card of the folder tight enough to crease it and I
let out a shaky breath, released it, and set the report down carefully
in front of me.
Injured. Not dead. Hurt. Not dead. Alive. Not dead.
I read the report three times and my eyes were blurring as I
persistently, stubbornly skipped over the part where his injuries got
centre stage, and then I closed it.
I wanted to fucking kill him.
And fuck him.
The two impulses went together too often for me to consider them
Way Back When
I'd been at the SGC for two days of a five-day stint stretching over a
weekend; paperwork, pen pushing, nothing at all exciting, although I
hoped to parlay my notes into an increase in their budget. Not quite my
department, but when it came to the SGC I was prepared to fight on the
beaches if needed. SG-1 had been on a mission and had come back tired
and dusty but all in one piece. There was a certain relaxation in the
control room as they stepped through the 'gate, whole and, as far as I
could see, not pursued by bears.
Hammond smiled to himself, giving a short, decisive nod of his head,
and turned to go down and greet them. As an afterthought he asked if
I'd like to sit in on the debriefing and so, an hour later, I took my
place at the long table and listened to the four of them recount a tale
that would end up on my desk in due course, squeezed dry of juice like
Doctor Jackson's rapid blinking as he complained in a low, intense
voice about the inhumanity Colonel O'Neill had displayed in dragging
him away from a fresco.
O'Neill's reports fascinated me even then and seeing their genesis in
his drawled, informal words added another layer to that fascination. He
was respectful, always, but clearly on good enough terms with Hammond
to get away with the odd humorous comment. Major Carter was far more by
the book in what she said and how she said it but it was easy to see
that all of them were just that little bit indulged. They'd earned
that, I supposed.
I found myself wondering how that indulgence translated to their
off-duty lives at about the same moment as Colonel O'Neill's hands
twirled a pen in a slow roll, fumbled the final twist, and sent it
catapulting across the table at me. I caught it without thinking, the
slim column of metal warm from his grip, and got a rueful, weary grin.
"Quite all right, sir."
I held it out, he took it from me, Teal'c spoke the four words that
were his sole contribution to the debriefing, and it ended.
Hammond stood, gathering up a sheaf of papers, and said, "Dismissed.
Enjoy your weekend, people. Your next mission is scheduled for 0900 on
"Weekend?" O'Neill asked, rising to his feet a fraction of a second
behind Hammond, beating Carter and myself by a head. "Daniel, care to
Hammond smiled. "I can't promise anything, Colonel, but I'll do my best
to let you all have some downtime. You deserve it."
He wasn't wrong there. They'd been sent through the 'gate, slammed
across the universe, over and over the last month, called from their
homes -- or in Teal'c's case that dark, cramped room of his -- in the
middle of the night at least twice. Stood last week where I'd stood
with Hammond, and heard Tollana die, a whole world lost to the Goa'uld.
So much to do, so little time to do it in, so few heroes to do it...
Hammond left and the focal point of the room shifted to O'Neill. It was
subtle, and it doesn't work if the commanding officer is a nonentity,
or not as well, but put different ranks in a room and the lower ranking
officers tend to always keep one weather eye on their superiors. That
had given Carter two people to watch; O'Neill one, and now, with
Hammond gone, he slumped slightly, hitching his ass onto the table and
scratching at his ear.
"So, people, what'cha got on?" He didn't wait for them to answer.
"Prize for anyone who can guess my plans for tonight."
Teal'c looked inscrutable, Carter did a head duck and smile, hands
clasped behind her back, and Doctor Jackson stared into space, probably
still brooding about his fresco. Why I spoke up, I don't know.
Oh, I lie. I do. I had the right answer, and they didn't, and I'm a
smart-ass. Plus, he was looking a little hurt that no one was playing
with him and even then I had enough quiet, respectful lust simmering
away that I wasn't going to let that happen.
Not that I wouldn't have given a week's vacation to be capable of
hurting him emotionally, to have that much power over him, but I didn't
-- and I'm really being honest now -- ever see that being a possibility.
So I opened my mouth for O'Neill for the first time, if not the last,
and said in the diffident tones protocol required, with the merest hint
of a throat-clearing to get their attention as I'm not sure I was
registering on anyone's optic nerve, "Do they involve a telescope and a
Heads turned, frowns gathered, but the man gave me a blinding smile and
nodded enthusiastically. "And Major Davis gets the kewpie doll!"
"Jack?" Doctor Jackson emerged from his pensive study of the table and
raised his eyebrows. "Something happening in the night sky? Or did you
get a new female neighbour under forty?"
Carter stared very hard at the floor and Teal'c's shoulders shifted in
a way that told me Jackson had just gone a little too far in front of,
well, me, but O'Neill seemed completely at ease.
And why not? He was O'Neill.
"No, Daniel, I haven't, but thanks for asking. I'll be sure to invite
you over when I do." He turned to me and waved his hand graciously. "Go
on, Major. Enlighten them."
Reminding myself that I might not have saved the planet but I held the
same rank as Carter and Civilians Didn't Count, I gave him a small
smile. "Tonight is the --"
"Total lunar eclipse," Carter interrupted me, nodding and looking
eager. "Of course."
I closed my mouth and decided to leave before I breathed in some air
I made it as far as the stairs, my murmured excuse unheard as Carter
was explaining to Teal'c what caused the eclipse and Jackson was
nipping in whenever she took a breath with a terminally dull story
about one he'd seen in Egypt at the age of three. Years, I assumed. I
was about to leave when the Colonel stopped me, sauntering over as he
called my name. "Davis. Your prize."
I turned, polite smile in place. "Thank you, sir, but I'll pass on the
doll, with all due respect."
"Good, because I don't have one." He patted his pockets. "Nope. No
doll. So you either take a rain check or pick something else."
I was lost. He was carrying the joke on too far and I didn't know him
well enough to feel safe unleashing my own stunted version of humour.
I didn't know him at all back then.
This close, with his back to the others, he was shielding me. His face
was bland and blank but there was something there that hooked out a
wish and gave it words.
"The eclipse. I've never seen a total one through a telescope. I don't
suppose you'd allow me to join you --"
I paused. I'd just invited myself to a Colonel's house. No. Oh, fuck,
Jackson and Teal'c didn't react at first, and when they did it was in
response to Carter's stiffening back, I think, taking their cue from
her. I shook my head, cheeks burning. "Sir, I'm sorry, I didn't --"
"Relax, Davis." His hand came up to clasp my shoulder, a brief,
impersonal reassurance. "Be glad of the company." He turned his head
which gave me the opportunity to suck in a swift, much-needed breath,
my arm tingling where he'd touched it. Two layers of material and I
could feel each finger. They'd be writing fairytales about me next.
"Let's make it a party. You kids up for some beer and pizza by the
rapidly disappearing light of the moon?"
The atmosphere lightened and dissolved as they made their excuses and
by the time he turned back to me, I'd regained my calm.
"Looks like it's just us, then. See you around eight, Major; it'll be
light enough for you to get a look at my equipment before the fun and
And I had enough self-control to fail to respond to that in any way,
which was just what he wanted me to do, and if I hadn't I think he'd
have found some way to cancel.
He wanted a lot from me back then. Still does. Has it gotten easier to
give it? I don't know.
But I managed it then.
I arrived at his house at 8.30, deliberately late for several good
reasons. I didn't want to seem eager for a start -- and I wasn't, not
entirely. This was taking a chance on ruining every fantasy I had about
the man, like film exposed to daylight. I wasn't sure I wanted to
gamble my well-worn dreams against the slim odds of getting more fuel
for the fire.
I did want to push this a little out of the realm of having been given
an order, though, into something that was a little more just the two of
us meeting up socially -- it didn't have to be more than that -- and I
indulged myself in the wistful hope that Jack O'Neill would be sitting
there waiting for me, wondering if I was going to stand him up.
My capacity for self-delusion was, and is, infinite.
I knocked, smoothing my hand nervously over the crisp white cotton
shirt I'd put over the only casual pants I'd packed; faded green
chinos, too hot for the humid night. Somehow, off duty or not, I
couldn't quite see myself turning up in shorts.
Doctor Jackson opened the door.
There had to have been an instant where my face gave me away because
his eyes widened with interest and speculation before he smiled.
"Hey. You found it then. Jack was wondering if you'd got lost."
I grabbed at disappointment, and a completely inappropriate anger, and
buried them deep. "Good evening, Doctor Jackson. No; no trouble getting
here, thank you."
I liked the man, with some small reservations. I wouldn't have assigned
him to SG-1 initially if it'd been up to me, but having seen what he
contributed I was never in the camp sneering at the idea of including a
bespectacled civilian scientist in an elite military team. He belonged
with them, and that was that.
Now, seeing him here, totally at his ease, hair still damp from a
recent shower, feet bare, I wondered if he belonged to Colonel O'Neill
in a more personal way.
I surrendered the dream at that moment, relaxed, gave him a natural,
even happy, smile and stepped past him into the open room. I decided to
stay for a while, manufacture a believable excuse -- child's play, that
last -- and leave them to fuck each other's brains out the way they'd
probably wanted to all the time they were off-world. I didn't
grudge it to either of them. They deserved it.
Yes, I'd leave, and then I'd go back to the best hotel this place had
to offer -- a Washington per diem went a long way out here -- the one I
always stayed at because I loathed sleeping at the Mountain, trapped
under the weight of it, and I'd get drunk and laugh at myself and jerk
off, assuming I was still capable, to any one of a number of scenarios
that didn't involve anyone in uniform and that would be that.
Because, although he didn't do much for me, I knew enough to know that
Jackson was O'Neill's best friend, and if that had tilted and tipped
into something even friendlier, they'd be solid, not a crack between
them, and if there was an opening to exploit I respected them both too
much to take it.
I was wrong about that, as it turned out, because the two of them were
heading for problems, but it was true enough in most ways. I couldn't
even find it in me to hate Jackson for having what I wanted; he'd
earned it; I hadn't.
He walked past me and scooped up a pair of socks and his shoes from the
floor, one at a time, yanking them on fast, still standing, balancing
and wobbling but getting the job done. "Jack's out in the yard, I
think, setting everything up; want to go and join him?"
I nodded, still clutching my contribution to the night under one arm; a
bag holding an assortment of imported beer I'd picked up, choosing
names I remembered from long ago postings in Europe.
"Tell him if he wants a ride in on Monday to let me know."
I gave Jackson a puzzled smile and he laughed. "Sorry; Jack's truck
died on him. He was furious. It's stuck out at the Mountain, waiting
for a tow, so I gave him a ride home." He held out hands that still
looked a little grubby from motor oil. "Can you believe he had me
poking around inside the engine? Sam, yes; she'd have had it up and
running in no time; me, not a chance."
That simple a solution to why he was here? I didn't think so, but I
wasn't inclined to argue.
"You were probably as much use as I would have been."
He grinned and headed towards the door. "I doubt it. You look the
practical type. Enjoy the eclipse."
"I'm looking forward to it."
He nodded. "Jack is, too." He rolled his eyes. "Really looking forward
to it. Doesn't it do this quite a lot?"
"Noooo, don't tell me!" He held up his hands and backed away. I
couldn't help smiling at him and then the front door slammed and I was
left alone in Jack O'Neill's house. I took a single long, slow breath
and headed directly for the yard without looking at anything not in a
direct line between me and the back door. I had principles. Sneaking
and snooping around would have been tacky. Tempting, but tacky. And I'd
given them thirty minutes extra to get rid of any evidence; for someone
like O'Neill that was plenty.
"Good evening, sir."
He didn't even turn around from his sad contemplation of a small patch
of limp, sun-bleached grass. It had been a long, dry summer.
"He, ah, he just left, yes. He told me that you were out here -- oh,
and that he'd take you to work on Monday if you still needed a ride."
He swung around and smiled at me. "Told you about my fucking truck, did
I nodded and held out the beer, mute with lust in the face of a truly
bizarre shirt and jeans so pale with washing that they looked
paper-thin. It struck me that I'd never seen him in casual civilian
clothing before. He looked... normal. Apart from the shirt. It was
disconcerting. Both the shirt and the lack of heroic aura.
"You're all dressed-up," he commented. "What's this? Flowers and
I don't know how he gets away with saying things like that. There was
no trace of innuendo, no leer -- and an equal lack of expectation that
anyone would take him seriously, or concern that they'd mind him saying
He peered inside the brown paper bag and started to pull the bottles
out one by one, placing them on a wooden picnic table. "Hey, nice...
Hobgoblin? Drank that once in England. Gave me a hell of a hangover."
"Their beer can do that to you."
"No kidding..." He finished unpacking, studied the half dozen bottles
in silence and then gave me a nod of thanks. "Want one of these? Or a
cold one from the fridge?"
"Cold sounds good," I admitted, plucking at the wilting collar of my
"Yeah, it's warm tonight. Daniel was sweating by the time I'd finished
Oh, now, come on...
"Would you believe the man doesn't know what a spark plug looks like?"
he went on.
He pouted, stopped in his tracks. He'd picked that trick up from
"I think Doctor Jackson has many other talents."
I made sure there wasn't an ounce of sarcasm in that because I meant
it. He did. He was a walking library and, from what I'd read, was handy
enough with a gun, and spit in your eye brave, too.
Getting all of that from an untrained civilian, and expecting them to
fix your car as well, verged on the greedy.
I got an approving look. He clearly liked people being nice about
Jackson. "He does, yes."
We stood there in silence for a moment and it was a little awkward but
pleasant, too. The evening air was heavy and drowsy, sprinkled thickly
with the summer scents of fresh-cut grass, barbecue and citronella
hovering over a thousand backyards just like this one. It was Friday
night and the sleeve of O'Neill's blue and white patterned shirt
brushed my arm as he went by me to get us a beer and that was all it
took to make me decide to stay as long as he wanted me to.
When we made it to the roof I lost a lot of my awareness of his rank
because he was so eager to show off his toys that he became endearingly
boyish. The line I couldn't cross was still there, but it had been
redrawn much closer to him. As we bent over the telescope I could fool
myself that he was a friend and batted him away impatiently as he
leaned over me and tried to fiddle with a knob that I'd just got set to
where I wanted it.
He gave a huff of near-silent laughter at that, beer-spiced breath warm
on my neck. "Sorry. Wasn't expecting you to really know what you were
"I said I'd never seen a complete eclipse through one," I said
absently, staring up at the white shimmer of the full moon, its surface
pocked and battered into familiar patterns. I never saw the face
without effort, but I could pick out many craters by name. "Not that I
haven't used one."
"You got one of your own?"
"In Washington?" I shook my head. "Not worth it with the smog."
"You're going to make me drag it out of you slowly, aren't you?" he
asked, drawing out 'slowly' until I felt his voice reverberate through
me, plangent and pervasive.
He sighed. "If I said 'Call me Jack', you wouldn't, would you?"
I hesitated, wondering what he wanted me to say to that. "No, sir."
"And making it an order would be pointless."
"Sir." The yes was silent.
"So tell me instead, Major Davis, when did you get bitten by the
I leaned back in the chair and reached for the beer I'd abandoned on a
small, round table. It was light enough with the moon high and full to
be able to see his face and he looked expectant.
"I used to hang backwards out of my bedroom window when I was a kid," I
confided, tipsy enough to show him, tilting my head and arching my back
until the chair creaked and dug into my shoulder blades. I heard the
scrape of his shoe on the wooden deck, sharp and sudden, as if I'd
startled him, but he didn't say anything. "Holding on by my
fingertips and staring up..."
I cocked my head to see his reaction. He winced, which wasn't what I
expected until I remembered his son. "Sounds dangerous."
"I think my centre of gravity kept me mostly inside the room."
He snorted. "Like you knew that at the time!"
I gave him an apologetic grimace. "I was eight. I knew about stuff like
that even then."
"Geek," he said, making it a question, not an insult, and grinning when
I nodded. "Thought so. You and Daniel..."
I wasn't letting him compare us. No fucking way.
"I don't think we're all that similar, sir."
Unless you counted the part where we both wanted to be naked with you
doing illegal, inappropriate, filthy deeds to us. Or lying back and
letting us get imaginative on your ass.
Either way worked for me. I just wanted -- just once -- to wake up with
the memory of his skin against my hand and the taste of him deep in my
Wanted to win the lottery, too, although God knows what I would've done
with it. It's not as if I'd have retired. This was all I wanted to do.
I'd have paid to have stayed a part of it.
"No, I guess not." He smacked me down, chalking the line again in a
wide sweep, his voice tart and acid, green apples and lemons. "Unless
you've saved the world when I wasn't looking?"
I pushed back my chair and stood, anger and disappointment in him
making my heart hammer jerkily in my chest. My voice wavered, just
enough to be noticeable, and I dug my nails into the palm of my hand,
hard, using the small pain to distract me from the necessary grovelling
I was going to have to do.
Fuck him. Both of them.
"No, sir, I don't believe I have. I assure you I intended no
disrespect. Doctor Jackson is a man I hold in high regard and --"
"He's a geek," O'Neill said, moving away from the railing he'd been
leaning against and taking the three steps needed to bring him close.
"I know it, he knows it. Hell, even the Goa'uld know it. He's just
my geek, that's all."
"I know." I was suffocating here, dismay and excitement and dread
rushing over me. He was close enough that I would have had to step back
to throw a punch. That close. "Believe me, I know."
"You know nothing," he said firmly. "Now sit the hell down, will you? I
didn't mean to --" He looked me over and a small smile quirked his
lips. "No, you're not ruffled, are you? Neat and tidy, spick and span."
Sweating and hard... wasn't he supposed to be observant?
"Sir, with all due --"
"We both know that's something you say when you're contemplating your
superior officer head down in a swamp, so save it."
"I think I should go."
"Why? Because I defended a member of my team? It's what I do. You know
"No." I couldn't step back because of the chair and he was blocking my
way to the stairs. "I shouldn't be here. I should never have invited
myself. It was --"
"Unorthodox," he agreed. "A little. But it's not as if we don't know
each other and you're on my favourite people at the Pentagon list, you
know. You're on our side, aren't you?"
An invitation to sit at the cool table, twenty years too late.
"The Stargate programme is something I'm honoured to be a part of,
sir." I left it at that. It was the simple truth.
"What I don't get is why you did it."
"Became the liaison?" I was floundering a little. "It was an incredible
"No." He waved at me to shut the hell up, looking impatient. "Not that.
"Sir?" Playing dumb with a superior officer came easy. I'd been doing
that for years.
"It's Friday night, you're young, free and single -- you are, aren't
Seven years and the thought of Claire still brought a metallic tang of
dislike to my mouth. I swallowed and O'Neill's lips twitched with
abashed regret. "Sorry. Me, too."
"I know." I couldn't keep the surprise out of my voice. I knew his
fucking shoe size; how could he think I was unaware of his marital
"Yeah, I bet you do. I bet you know a lot more about me than I do about
I met his gaze without flinching. "Probably. It's my job, sir."
"I guess. So it's only fair that you tell me something I don't know
about you." He was skating on ice as thin as the seat of his jeans,
damn him, and he had to have known it. "Like why you'd risk getting
embarrassed in the briefing room by me putting you in your place -- and
you know I could have -- just for the chance to look at something that
isn't all that out of the way special with a man who -- and I know you
know this, too -- can't do a damn thing to help your career."
I'd never had him say that much to me before. It was overwhelming.
He was overwhelming.
"I'm not interested in the night life this town has to offer and I
am interested in the eclipse, sir."
He stared at me and looked vaguely disappointed. What he expected me to
say, I don't know: 'Sir, I wanted to see if I could make it to
the end of the night, sir, without coming in my fucking pants, sir,
because, yes, sir, you're that big a fucking turn-on for me'? Hardly.
Stepping back, he indicated the telescope with a sweep of his arm. "So
sit. Watch it. Me, I'm going to get another beer."
He left me up there, the stars lost in the milky light of the moon, my
hands pressed together between my knees to stop them from shaking. Left
me for long enough that I was about to go in search of him, and then
appeared at the top of the stairs, two bottles clinking between his
"Sir, I'm driving; I think I'll pass on any more."
"Who said one was for you?"
The easy charm had vanished, replaced by the sourness I was coming to
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Oh, for crying out loud."
Hearing him say that; the phrase everyone used when they mimicked or
quoted him, brought an involuntary snicker from me. He swung around
from depositing the bottles on the table, his expression dark. "Excuse
"Nothing, sir. I'm sorry." I stood and edged past him. "I think perhaps
I should --"
"It's starting," he said, interrupting me. "Look."
I turned my head and saw the curved edge of the moon lose the
perfection of its arc, blackness sweeping over it, inexorable and
His hands found my shoulders, turned me and pushed me down. "You wanted
to watch, Major. Watch."
His hands remained on me for a long moment, in a loose, light grip. If
he felt me shiver he didn't comment. I put my eye to the telescope and
I watched the moon darken and redden with Colonel Jack O'Neill standing
right behind me, his leg close enough that when I raised my hand to
adjust the focus, my elbow nudged it.
I didn't apologise and he didn't move back.
Arousal fought suspicion. I doubted that this was a trap; not his
style, not his job, and if he had picked up on my feelings for him,
he'd been around for long enough to know how to deal with that if it
bothered him. Some straight men were flattered, or amused, by the
knowledge that they'd attracted a man. Not many, but some. Others would
lash out, overreacting in panic and fear. Neither reaction fitted the
picture I had of him. He wasn't the sort to let his emotions drive him
and he was pragmatic enough to appreciate the value of having someone
like me -- a wholehearted advocate of the Stargate programme -- at the
It didn't mean I could tell him anything openly, though. Regs were
regs, even for him, and you don't get to colonel without a healthy
respect for the framework that supports your rank.
And if what I was getting from him was an invitation, subtle enough to
leave us both safe if it didn't work out, well, I was still too raw
from his change of mood to be receptive -- and wondering if he'd argued
with Jackson and I was being set up as a revenge fuck.
His hand closed, warm and large, around the back of my neck and the
image I was watching jiggled and wavered as my head jerked.
I made a stifled, strangled sound, deep in my throat, and was lost.
He could have me. He could have anything he wanted. I gave up
pretending that there was any chance that I would ever walk away from
this man, because it just wasn't going to happen until I'd had him in
me or around me.
His thumb stroked up high behind my ear and I bit down on my lip.
He could have put the palm of his hand anywhere on my bare skin and I'd
have loved it, but there... perfect. A shiver ghosted down one side of
my body, from where his thumb was gently digging in, to my thigh,
hair-raising in every sense.
"Tell me what you see."
I couldn't tell what he was looking at; the disappearing, swallowed
moon or my bowed head.
He grunted, either in amusement or impatience. "Then look at what you
came here for, Major. Don't waste time."
I turned away from the moon, twisting out from his hand, managing it
easily because he wasn't holding on. Slowly, I looked up at him and
then down at the soft, hidden bulge of his cock, level with my mouth.
There was a pause, a beat, and then he nodded.
He didn't sound satisfied or smug. Thoughtful, maybe, as if I'd just
become a problem he had to handle.
I could remember some of his past solutions. High body count.
He could have swept me aside if he wanted to. He had pull; way more
than I did, for all my careful networking. I wasn't safe with him
knowing about me and I knew it.
"What are you going to do about it, sir?"
I didn't bother trying to dissemble or cover it all over any more. Too
late (how had it gotten to be too late? What the hell had I done that
made him touch me?) and he wouldn't have appreciated it anyway.
"I don't know, Davis." There was a bite back in his words. "What do you
suggest a colonel does with a major who's bucking for a dishonorable
That made me shiver, reminding me of the penalties; the fear of which,
for me, was rooted in the fact that the Stargate was the only life I
had. If I lost that I wasn't sure where I'd go next, knowing what I did.
"Sure." He drawled it out sarcastically. "Hypothetically."
"The colonel could consider that the major's behaviour had, up to a
certain point, been perfectly correct, sir. He could then give further
consideration to his own actions and possibly take some fucking
responsibility for them."
"Easy," he murmured as I shoved up from the chair, shaking with a
bright, hot anger now. "Had to see..."
"See what? You knew." I reached out and put my hand
on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart off to the right,
distant and soft as I pushed at him. "Don't tell me you didn't! Don't
tell me you and Jackson weren't having fun talking about it before I
got here --"
"Hey." He shook his head, grabbing at my hand and holding it an inch
away from his body so that my fingers curled and just managed to scrape
a hold on that fucking awful shirt. "That didn't happen and I don't
know where you got it from. Why the hell do you think I'd be discussing
you with Daniel?" He rolled his eyes. "He knows enough about me to work
stuff out but I don't -- we don't talk about it.
Christ." He sounded pained, as if the thought of it was enough to freak
I got a flash of Doctor Jackson looking earnest, liberal, and very
understanding, and couldn't help the snuffle of laughter that escaped
"Yeah. He'd be too okay with it, wouldn't he?" O'Neill's voice was
rueful but he was relaxing again, as if we'd gotten over a hurdle. For
my part, I thought we were still staring up at it and not seeing any
way past it. "Wouldn't see the problem. Some stuff Daniel doesn't get.
Intellectually, yes, but deep down, no. It's okay, though. He gets
everything else in the world I miss."
Jackson and O'Neill as jigsaw pieces, two interlocking pieces of
sky...I didn't need it rubbing in how necessary they each were to one
Behind us, overhead and ignored in the summer sky, planetary bodies and
stars were dancing for our amusement. It was getting darker now.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"For God's sake. Yes."
"Fine." I took a moment to rephrase it as if he was just anyone, just a
man I wanted, a man I knew wanted me. It was difficult. Maybe I needed
Jackson to help me translate. "Did you want this? Is it why you let me
come over? Because if it is, you can trust me. I'm the safest fuck
you'll ever have."
He let a long silence speak for him, processing what I'd said before
asking, "In what way?"
I made sure we were looking at each other. I needed to see his face for
this, and dark though it was, we were close enough for that. "I'm
clean. We'd still be using protection, that's not something I ever --
but I'm clean. I don't do this often and I don't do it twice with
anyone. The risks become too great. I don't -- ever -- talk. Not even
to you. We fuck tonight and you bring it up a week from now and I'll
give you the blankest stare I've got." I smiled at him, eager now that
we'd moved past uncertainty, the thrill of what was to come leaving my
cock stiff and ready, pressing up against the back of my zipper. "And
if you say no, sir, we'll just skip to the blank stare part right now."
His head tilted as he considered what I'd said. "Nice speech. Very...
Sarcastic fucker. "Yes, sir. I stand in front of my mirror every
morning polishing it up in case I get lucky."
"The scary part is, I can believe that." He shook his head. "Sorry,
Davis. I wanted more than that from you."
"More than what? Sir. In case I didn't make it
clear, you can have me. Mouth, ass, dick, however and wherever you want
Talking frankly was like drinking; the more I did it, the harder it was
And I was getting off on using language like this to him.
"I got that part."
I waited and got a sigh from him. "More would be the option of a second
chance, Major, assuming we both walked away happy from the first time.
More would be something just a little less cold than your list of
rules. I get to fuck someone... safe about as often as that happens,"
he jerked his head up at the eclipsing moon, "but if I wanted sex like
you're offering, I'd just pay for it. And I don't like doing that." I
noted the careful phrasing and wondered why he didn't lie to me. And
knew that I should look into who he'd paid for sex and wouldn't because
I trusted him to be discreet. "So thanks, but I'll pass. I'm good at
"You don't have to wait." I tried not to gape at him but I was losing
it, indignant and disbelieving.
"Why? Think I'm that desperate I'll put up with second-best? Late
forties, here. Not a horny kid. I can get by with my hand. Again."
"I'm not offering you that. Second best, I mean. This is it. It's all I
have. It's yours if you want it."
I sounded angry and hurt, because that's what I was, and he sighed,
pushing his hand back through his hair, leaving it sticking up and
wild. "Davis --"
"You want me," I insisted.
"I do. I did. Hell, yes." He looked me over with a casual heat and I
flushed, craving him with an intensity I thought I'd lost somewhere
along the way, over the years. My cock was signalling, urgently, that
it needed to come, very soon, thank you, and my nipples, usually a take
it or leave it zone when it came to being touched, were erect enough
that I was aware of them, an oddly distracting sensation I could've
I was tempted to force the issue by going to my knees, but we were
outside and I couldn't overcome training to that extent. Just the
thought of it, though --
"Did you just say something, Major?"
"Yes, sir. I said 'Fuck', sir."
"And why was that, Major?"
Oh, I could play that game all night...
"Because I think I've blown any chance of getting to --"
"Amongst other things, sir, yes."
"I know why I wanted you, but I'm still hazy on why
it's mutual. Given that you're too bright to think I'd let anything
that happened spill over into work."
'Wanted' faded the last of my happiness to grey. "I never gave that
consideration a moment's thought, sir. I'll ask that you take my word
for that, please."
He stared at me and nodded. "Sure. You're not the type. I know that. So
why? I've got to be, what, fifteen years older than you?"
"I'm not getting it."
"Neither am I, it seems."
The joke, pitiful as it is, had him chuckling softly. "Major, that
makes two of us. And it's been a while for me, if you want to know."
I met his eyes. "Then don't turn me down. Please."
"Shit, Davis, if you're that desperate I can point you at some places
in town --"
"Sir, tell me you haven't --"
"Relax. Not stupid." He rolled his shoulders, looking uncomfortable. I
guessed that maybe it had been a close call sometimes.
"Neither am I, sir. Safe; I told you. You are; that wouldn't be.
I made a soft sound of frustration, smacking my fist down on the top of
the railing. "Sir, you're hot as hell. You have to know that. I've been
-- you're -- God, this is difficult!"
"Relax, Major." He blinked. "You're kidding though, right?"
"I'm not saying it again, sir."
"Had your eye on me for a while, have you?"
"No, sir. This wasn't planned. I never even thought you were --"
"Uh-huh," he said, shaking his head. "Don't say it."
"No, sir. But as far as it goes, you could have had me a long time ago
if you'd wanted me."
He shrugged, starting to look as if he wished the conversation was
over. I stood to attention automatically, registering the difference
when I was doing it in civilian clothing; the incongruity of it in a
conversation like this. "I really do think I should leave now, sir."
"I think you're right," he said, stepping aside. The moon was covered
now, held in darkness. We both turned to look at it, one last time, and
his hand brushed mine. I couldn't help grabbing it, needing, just once
more, to have his skin on mine.
His hand slipped free and came up to cup my face, holding me in place
as effectively as a gun to the head. "You're really fucked up, you know
"I'm just careful."
"No. I'm careful; you're... closed-off. You're too
young for that."
"Military," I reminded him. "I made my choice and I don't regret it."
His hand dropped away. "Which choice? Enlisting, or scaring me off,
when if you'd kept your mouth shut you'd be naked and having one hell
of a good time right now?"
"I don't regret enlisting, sir."
"That it?" he asked when I didn't carry on.
"What do you want me to say?" I realised that we were having this
conversation in low, careful voices and choked on a laugh. "God, yes, I
regret being honest with you. Yes, I'm going to go back to my hotel
room and kick at the wall and curse myself and jerk off until I can't
stand to touch myself I'm so fucking raw. That what you want to hear,
"God, no. I hate to think of it." He shuddered theatrically. "You.
Doing that. Coming over me. Not literally, of course --"
"Very amusing, sir," I said tonelessly.
"Oh, come on, Davis! I'm flattered, of course I am." He didn't look it.
He looked... shocked, as if he couldn't believe what I'd said and the
fact that I'd said it at all.
That made two of us. I'd have liked to have blamed the full moon, but
that was just a little too easy, and, apparently, I didn't like making
things easy for myself or anyone close to me.
And O'Neill was still close to me.
"Are you --?" He waved his hand around indecisively but the dip of his
head made it clear enough what he meant.
"Erect?" I enunciated it carefully, hoping to make him flinch, but he
I gave him the thinnest of smiles. "Have been, off and on, since you
patted my arm in the briefing room, sir. May I go now? Or did you want
to watch me squirm a little longer?"
The white moonlight was starting to seep back, enough of it to make his
expression visible, although I was in the shadows from his perspective.
He looked sympathetic and I hated him just a little bit more. "You
know, I would. But not here. Want to take this inside?"
He smiled and patted my arm, exactly the way he'd patted it earlier.
"I'm offering you a pity-fuck, if you want it, Major. Out of the
kindness of my heart and some fellow feeling for a man in your
I didn't believe him, and I was tense enough to lash out. "Are you sure
you'll be able to get it up with someone as second-rate as me?"
He shrugged. "Won't matter if I don't. In case I didn't make it clear,
this is for your sake, Major so you'll be the one doing the heavy
"You want me to fuck you?"
This wasn't happening. Couldn't be.
"If you can get it up." He crooked his finger at me. "Come on. Before I
change my mind and kick your ass the hell out of here for being an
When he'd gone back into the house he'd turned on some lights, because
it was brighter than I remembered, but as we walked through the house
he flicked them off, so that by the time we reached his bedroom the
only light burning was the lamp beside his bed.
I took one look at the bed and wanted to find a wall to punch, a pillow
to scream into.
It was made. Carefully, freshly made. He'd been expecting it to be used
and he'd taken time, somehow, with Daniel hovering, or in the shower,
to strip away the sheets he'd slept on the night before and put on new
ones. I still wasn't completely certain he hadn't done it because he'd
fucked Daniel on them but I was getting more certain with every moment.
The resentment I'd been feeling broke away and crumbled as I pictured
him getting into it alone, the crisp, cool sheets too pristine for
comfort when he'd expected them to be rumpled, smelling of sex and
sweat. Smelling of us.
I'd reached my limit for self-deception; I wasn't walking away from
him, or this. Couldn't do it. Fuck my rules, fuck my scruples and his.
He reached for a button on his shirt and I started toward him, wanting
to be the one doing that for him, caught up in a sudden passionate
His hand warded me off. "No. This is the way you wanted it. You get to
fuck me and you get to come. That's it."
Speechless, I watched him strip, economical, casual movements designed
to get him naked, not to arouse me. When he was bare, his clothes
tossed in the direction of a wooden chair in the corner, he gave me a
sidelong look and then got onto the bed, face down. With a grunt, he
settled himself so that his cock, half-hard from the quick glance I'd
given it, was comfortable, and then rested his head on his folded arms.
His legs were spread, not much, just enough for me to see shadows, hair
and the wrinkled fullness of his balls. I wanted to do more than look
but I couldn't move, sure if I did I'd turn and run because this was
"You'll find what you need in the drawer beside me," he said after a
moment. "Help yourself."
I fumbled my way out of my clothes, got what I needed from the drawer,
mechanically checking expiry dates -- they were close -- and then
"I can't --" My dick was reflecting my panic and even the sight of
O'Neill's naked back, scarred just enough to be intriguing, and the
understated, practical strength in his arms and legs wasn't helping.
His ass was firm and lean. A muscle on one cheek jumped as if he could
feel my gaze like a tickle and he reached down and gave it a casual
scratch before returning to his previous position. If he was really as
nonchalant as he appeared I was going to have to hurt him, because it
was accelerating my meltdown.
I wasn't going to be able to do this cold. Not with him, in this house,
in his bed. God, there was a photograph of his wife on the nightstand
I'd taken the lube and condom from. I'd fucked strangers up
against walls and walked away in less than five minutes, buoyed up by
the seedy anonymity of it all, the thrill -- which was stupid and why I
had rules now, to stop myself from doing that -- but I wasn't sure I
could do this.
"Sure, you can. You've done it before, right? And if you haven't,
you're a bright kid; you can --"
"I've done it before." Just how old did he think I was?
"Of course you have."
I sat beside him and let my hand rest against his ass, just to see what
he would do. I could feel the muscles clench sharply but then he sighed
and relaxed, spreading his legs wider.
"Anything off-limits, sir?"
"What?" He sounded annoyed, as if I'd spoiled the mood, or something.
"Davis, what part of 'fuck me' are you having problems with?
Everything's off limits but your dick in my ass, and
I'm assuming you know enough not to just ram it in, so what the hell is
taking you so long?"
I watched my fingers curl into a tight, frustrated ball, fingernails
scoring his skin. He gave a yelp and twisted around to glare at me.
"And stop calling me fucking 'sir' when five minutes from now you're
going to be balls deep in my ass. Christ."
"What would you like me to call you, sir?"
He thought that over and came to the same conclusion I had; there was
nothing that worked.
"Don't see why you have to call me anything," he said finally, propping
his chin on his crossed wrists again and staring at the pillow. "Are we
going to do this?"
"You sound eager." I opened my hand and ran the tip of my finger along
the crease of his ass, lightly enough that it didn't part for me. Every
time I touched him I felt a quiver of amazement that he was letting me;
that my wrist wasn't hanging broken from my arm, that my fingers
uncrushed. "Are you going to admit that the favour thing is bullshit
and you want this as much as I do?"
"It'll still be true." Clinging onto that was helping me to regain my
"I wish your cock was as big as your ego." He turned his head enough to
give me a sarcastic grimace. "No, wait; I take it back, You'd probably
kill me if it was."
"I know how long it's been for you."
"No, you don't."
"I know names, places, times..."
"It's been longer for you than for me and I'm so fucking desperate
right now I can't think, but I'm not fucking you until you let me touch
"They kinda go together, Davis."
"You know what I mean." I palmed his ass, stroking it roughly, avidly,
over and over, pressing the heel of my hand into the solid weight of
muscle. "Want to kiss you, sir. Mouth on mouth. Want to suck you and
bite you and lick every place you've got that's going to leave my mouth
tasting of you. I want to have you and yes, for you I'll break my
rules. I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry. God, will you fucking
look at me you cold-hearted bastard?"
He rolled over, hooking one hand behind his head, drumming the other
against his thigh, drawing my gaze down to his cock. Still not all the
way hard. Needed touching. Needed the warm wetness of a tongue to make
it rise and fill. "I'm looking."
"Oh, do what you fucking want, Major. But next time I'm gagging you if
you keep running your mouth off like this."
"Sir, with all due respect, that would be a mistake." I straddled him
and made a grab for his wrists that he could easily have avoided and
didn't. When I'd pinned them high and wide I smiled down at him. "Let
me show you why?"
His eyes narrowed. "Major -- let go of me."
"And sit back so I can -- yeah." He sat up, with me in his lap, my
knees split wide. "Okay, let's just go over some stuff. You don't talk
like a fucking whore when you're in my bed, you don't make this all
your turn, my turn, or crap like that. I said you could fuck me, and
you can, but let me know if you want it the other way around because
that works for me, too. And right now I want to get off badly enough
that I'm ignoring the way you're really pissing me off, but I can
guarantee you once I've come, I'm going to be a lot less forgiving."
"No, you're not." I leaned in and bit at his lip feeling the heat of
his skin on mine as my hands slipped around his shoulders. "You're
going to be fucking purring, sir."
His hand slid around the back of my neck and I shuddered, letting him
see just how much I liked that.
"God, your nipples just went hard, do you know that?"
"I did notice, sir, yes." His thumb rubbed over one
and I moaned. "God, that doesn't -- I don't like that, sir...."
"Yes, you do."
He pinched, his fingers skidding off because there just wasn't much
there to grab and hissed crossly, his thumb moving restlessly across
the strip of skin under my ear.
"Involuntary, reflex action, sir, " I gasped. "Not an erogenous zone, I
swear. Want to make me beg, go lower."
"Belly button?" He actually spent a few seconds playing with it, poking
his finger inside the shallow dent and swirling it around.
"No, sir. God, please --"
"Oh, you mean your dick..."
Long fingers. Strong, long fingers, and all that I was getting was a
barely-there graze of his fingertips across the head of my cock,
flushed red and shining wetly, so that he brought his fingers away wet,
too, staring down at them curiously and rubbing them together.
I could hear the shallow, fast pants of my breath and feel a pulse
beating in my neck, smell myself, sweaty and aroused, heavy, rich,
intimate smells that were turning me on because they were mixed with
something unfamiliar and similar, all at once. I loved the smell and
taste of my fingers after I'd jerked off, curling up in bed and going
to sleep with my hand tucked under my chin, breathing in the acrid,
organic, indescribable tang of come.
I'd got my kinks, my dark, dirty little fantasies, shameful and secret
and precious, but if he gave me a chance I'd share one with him and
lick my come off him, absorbing it back into me from wherever it had
I squeezed my eyes closed against the dizzying pulse of lust that
thought gave me and opened them just as he kissed me, his hand finally
tightening around my cock.
He got my startled, open mouth to push his tongue into and he got the
jerk forward of my body as I tried to fuck the hot clutch of his palm,
too used to that kind of touch, self-conditioned into responding just
"Easy, Davis. In me, right? That's where you want to come."
The whisper worked its way through to what was left of my mind and I
nodded frantically, scraping my hands down his back, wanting to touch
as much of him as I could so I could look at him later, in uniform, and
know exactly how he felt and looked and smelled...
I saw him smile and went in for another kiss. He'd shaved as well as
made the bed, and his chin was smooth, with just a tiny patch of
where he'd missed on the second pass over with his razor. I went for
that roughness, mouthing at it and feeling the short, stiff hairs rasp
against my lip.
I still hadn't touched his cock, like a kid saving the best bite for
last, but when he let go of mine, probably realising how close I was to
coming, I let one hand drift around and down.
"Oh, God, oh, God --"
"Fuck, Davis --"
It wasn't enough, any of it. I couldn't score his back deeply enough
with my nails, couldn't bite and suck hard enough at his mouth, his
throat, his collarbone -- couldn't squeeze and pump and work his cock
fast enough. A strangled sob rose in my throat.
"Any time, Davis --"
I managed to focus and saw that his eyes were glazed with the inward
concentration of a man trying very hard not to come. I couldn't take
all the credit for his arousal, I supposed, given how long it had been
since he'd done this, but I couldn't help feeling inordinately pleased
that I was making him happy.
He pulled away from me abruptly, passing his hand over my chest,
fingers shaking as he tipped me off his lap, his hand never leaving me
so that I didn't feel rejected.
Without speaking, he glanced down at the lube beside us and then
turned, kneeling with his back to me. I didn't want to do it. It would
end when I did; the ostensible reason for my visit was over and we
weren't close enough friends for it to be reasonable that I would stay
and chat for long. We'd come, I'd dress, and I'd leave and that would
be that, because I was going to climax fast enough to leave nothing but
a scornful smile on his face.
He moved, leaning forward, hands and knees, for me, ass
there, knees spread and I hadn't -- I needed --
He grunted when my words tailed off, his fingers flexing uneasily in
the white sheet he was kneeling on, and I swallowed and tried again. "I
want -- I'll go, I will, I promise, but --"
"What do you want?" He sounded tired.
"Your cock. In my mouth. I want to taste you."
He shook his head, but in surprise rather than negation, because his
next words were mild enough. "I'll have come before you're finished.
"I don't care."
A shiver went through him and his voice went tight and strained. "Okay.
Whatever. Just --"
I rubbed my hand along his spine and reached for the condom. My hands
weren't steady either but the cool, slippery feel of it, and the
chemical reek of the lubricant, took the edge off a little.
Then I slicked myself, cock and fingers and touched him, going deep
quickly, making it fast. I was moaning, harsh sounds escaping a bitten
lip, and he was pushing, grinding himself onto the two fingers I was
giving him to fuck, silent and shaking and hot around my skin.
Sliding into him, in a series of short, careful pushes, each one
leaving my cock sunk a little deeper in his ass, left me wrung-out and
dizzy. I realised at one point that I had my eyes closed, sparks and
swirls of colour painted onto the blackness, and forced them open. I
could stare at nothing anytime; I couldn't watch the bow of O'Neill's
back, the way his skin caught the light when it was sweat-damped, the
way it flushed darkly at the back of his neck, the neat, clipped line
of his hair precise above it.
I watched it then as I felt his body open and take me. Wished I could
see his face; wished I could make him say my name, my first name, and
knew he couldn't and wouldn't.
And I fucked him, hard and fast and over too soon, my climax pouring
through me and out into him, caught and kept safe by the damned condom.
Years since I'd fucked anyone bare, and I should have stopped missing
it by now.
I hung over him, panting softly, wondering if he minded that I hadn't
touched him. I'd been waiting to deal with the shift in position as he
reached down to jerk himself off but it hadn't happened. If he'd come,
I hadn't noticed. I pulled out of him, slowly, knowing how that felt,
the emptiness, the openness -- the vague sense of both relief and loss.
There was a box of Kleenex on the bedside table; I grabbed a handful
and dropped the shrouded condom onto the floor, rushing because he
hadn't spoken, just given a soft grunt as my cock slipped free.
I turned my head, remembering what I'd asked, and wondering if he would
He rolled to his back and stared up at me, cock still hard, lip
bleeding. He was still hard. He was still --
His hips tilted up and his hand came down, groping blindly, his eyes
distant as if he wasn't seeing me. I knocked it away and planted my
hands on his hips, holding him down as I ran my tongue over his cock in
one greedy, selfish swipe. He cried out, pushing up so that the tip of
his cock painted my cheek. I grabbed at the base of his cock and took
him into my mouth, giving him a place to come, the thick, sharp warmth
pulsing against my frantically lapping tongue.
I swallowed all he gave me, gentling the messy, sloppy sucks until his
cock, still hard, was pulled out and his hand came down to pat heavily
at my shoulder.
I stared at it as it lay against his belly, glistening and reddened,
and then glanced up at him as he cleared his throat.
I moved up the bed to lie beside him, not touching him because I wasn't
sure he wanted that from me. We lay on our sides, facing each other,
and he ran his thumb across my lips and pushed it inside my mouth. I
tasted spit and come and shuddered even as I licked reflexively at the
ball of his thumb, the ragged edge of his nail scraping across my
He withdrew his thumb and reached down to rub it over the head of my
cock, wet and slick, both of them.
"That all you've got to say?"
"Thank you." I studied his bitten, bloodied lip. "Sorry."
"You should be. You owe me one."
"I didn't think -- you didn't have to do that."
His shoulder lifted in a shrug. "Wanted to see what you'd do. And this
way the bed didn't get too messy; I've already changed it once tonight
and there's a limit to how much laundry I want to do."
Knowing he was going to sleep in a bed that we'd fucked on, between
sheets that smelled of me, had my cock stirring again but I didn't
allow myself to hope that we could go again.
"I have to go..."
"Yes, Major, you do," he murmured, looking over my shoulder to the
bedside clock. "And soon. Want to shower?"
I didn't elaborate and he didn't comment.
"Then you -- we'd -- better get dressed and I'll wave you goodbye like
a polite host should."
"You know, I don't bite at this point in the proceedings; why are you
all the way over there? Not the cuddling type?"
I eyed him. "I wasn't sure that you'd want that."
"Well, I fucking do, so get your ass over here, Davis."
I smiled at him. "Yes, sir."
He sighed as we finished settling into a comfortable tangle of arms and
legs, his hand coming down to rest against my ass as if that was where
it belonged. I stroked his back and then scratched at it, getting an
ecstatic moan. "Oh, yeah, up a bit --"
His hand moved up, following mine, so that for a minute or two we both
targeted the places on each other that itched on ourselves, clueing
into it eventually. At some point we started kissing, silly smooches
that never got serious, leaving me utterly relaxed and content.
"So is this where you turn around and tell me it was good but you're
still not interested in doing me again?" He sounded casual, as if my
answer didn't matter.
"You know it isn't. And I promise I won't be such a selfish sonofabitch
"Yes, you were, weren't you?" He pursed his lips. "Still, I did say
this was for you, so I'll let you off. This once."
"I know." He grabbed me and hauled me in for a final kiss, hard and
stinging and sweet. "You've got to go. So go."
"Until next time?" I hazarded.
"Works for me."
I watched him step through the 'gate on Monday morning, from high up
behind the glass. I'd slipped into the room at the last moment, earning
a few curious looks because there was no reason for me to be there.
Hammond gave me a welcoming smile and half his attention.
"Always amazing watching that thing work, isn't it, Major?"
"Incredible," I agreed. "I'm heading back to Washington now, sir."
He carried on watching the four of them walk up the ramp, but as soon
as the wormhole had blinked out he turned to me. "Always good to see
you, Major. Hope you got what you needed."
"Yes, sir. I think I did."
"Until next time, then."
I got back home, the journey strung-out by delays, closed the door,
poured a drink; vodka and tonic, bitter and tart and strong and began
to shake. As delayed reactions went, it was a good one. 48 hours since
his hand had slid around my neck...
The doorbell rang, piercing the empty silence of the room.
I opened the door, drink in hand, and stared at him. Brown eyes, brown
hair, taller than me... they all looked like that these days.
I stepped back to let him walk past me and locked the door.
"I've only just got back from the airport; I need to take a shower."
He smiled, easy and polite. "Want me to take a seat out here?"
The ice in my drink clinked sharply against the glass as I set it down.
"I'm not paying you to sit down."
He slid to his knees, elegant and graceful, kissing at where he thought
my cock was and getting nowhere close. "No point in having a shower if
you're not dirty."
I took a handful of his hair and tugged his head sideways until it was
on target. "Oh, I'm dirty. Trust me on that."
"You've been bad?" He sounded a little dubious. Not what he'd been told
to expect, but I could see when he decided to expand his horizons.
"Want me to punish you?"
"Oh, for crying out l--"
I cut myself off, took a step back, and then another. "Out. Yes, you'll
still get paid. Just get out, okay?"
He blinked up at me and then stood. "Did I say something wrong?"
"No." I forced a smile. "Jet lag."
"Oh, right. Yeah, that can be a bitch. I remember this one flight from
"Please. I'm feeling very tired."
He nodded. "Sure. Next time, I'll rock your world, okay?"
He'd do what?
"There won't be a next time."
The smile I got as he left was amused; there was always going to be a
next time, it said. For a man like you, always.
I supposed he was right.
It just wasn't going to be with him.
Blue eyes. I'd ask for blue eyes, straw-blond hair --
"You're really fucked up, you know that?"
Couldn't have agreed more. I just didn't know what to do about it.
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