Home Is The Hunter

The bed rocked and Daniel stirred from sleep.

"It's me."

"Hi, me."

"That was funny once."

Jack lay beside him, the heat from his body reaching Daniel through the covers, so close that his weight trapped Daniel in a cosy thick nest of quilt, one arm free, no more. Daniel struggled to free his other arm and gave up. Too much effort.

"Jack --"

The bed dipped again and Jack swung over him, a darker shape against the dim-filled room as he straddled Daniel's hips, and leaned forward, planting his hands on either side of Daniel's head. His knees pinned the quilt to the bed and Daniel breathed in, a shallow, unsatisfactory sip of air that was all he could manage. He felt light-headed, sleep winding Circe-seductive arms around him, binding him to her.

"Been a week, Daniel."

"Mmm?" Daniel jolted, unfaithful and repentant. "'come back..."


"Welcome..." Daniel's voice trailed off again and he yawned, feeling the edge of the stretched-taut quilt leave a line of pressure across his chest as it dug in. Reaching out blindly, his eyes closing, he patted vaguely at the air. "Get off."

"No way." Jack sounded firm. "A week. For all you know I grew another arm or something."

Daniel smiled, drowsy still but knowing where this was going now.

"Hold still and I'll check."

"Right." The word was breathed out, not spoken, and Jack fell silent, waiting, as Daniel's hand began to explore.

Knee. Bony and curved, scars from half a century of falling over and landing hard etched in and standing proud, silver scars on tanned skin. Daniel could feel the roughness of dry skin under his fingertips and he moved up, forward, on, stroking dreamily over Jack's thigh, ruffling the flat, dark hairs the wrong way and pausing to circle the bare, smooth patch high on the inside, the back of his hand nudging the heavy slackness of Jack's balls.


His hand slipped on, hip and belly, Jack hanging over him and --

"Stop that..." Daniel dug a knuckle mercilessly into tensed, hard muscle. "It's me." Jack's clenched stomach muscles relaxed and Daniel smiled, pinching at the small folds of skin, the slight sag.

His arm was starting to tire but he wasn't done yet.

Chest, damp, what was usually a cloud of hair plastered down against skin.



"Don't mind..."

"I do. Been smelling myself for the past two days."

Daniel's fingers found the soft dimple of a nipple and scrubbed it hard, flicked it red.



Arm. Ropy muscles and more scars, one, two, three, better not have four, Jack... Just one arm because he couldn't reach across-- fucking quilt, and he couldn't fucking breathe --

Daniel struggled and Jack leaned down, kissing him, nuzzling into his face in the dark. "Hurry up, Daniel."

Daniel's hand moved to Jack's face, a blind exploration of familiar terrain. Jack's eyes closed as his eyebrows were traced and his mouth opened as Daniel's thumb swept across it and pushed inside briefly.

Jack bit down. He always did. Daniel yanked his thumb clear, wincing at the feel of teeth scraping skin and pushed it back, flat, for a kiss better that became a long, languorous lick, melting into a snort of laughter.

Daniel remembered that he could move his head and reared up, snapping at Jack's skin and missing.


Daniel snuggled his head back into the pillows. "You shaved. Thank God. You took the skin off my chin last time."

His hand got grabbed and dragged down.


"My God."

Daniel opened his eyes, uselessly, futilely, his fingers scrabbling over smooth skin, prickled with emerging stubble.

"You shaved there? Why?"

Jack sighed. "P7N-446's version of lice. Janet swears I'm clean, but --"

Daniel heaved and Jack slid off him.


Hands free, finally, Daniel switched on the bedside lamp, screwing his protesting eyes up until they adjusted. Jack blinked at him, looking injured.

"Why only there?" Daniel asked finally, after he'd managed to quell the impulse to mention plucked chickens.

Jack raised an arm. "Wasn't just there." He shrugged. "They liked it warm and dark."

Daniel reached out and ran his finger over the exposed skin of Jack's armpit. "Soft..."

"Itches," Jack complained, reaching down and scratching at his balls. "The hair growing back, I mean. The lice are all gone. Really."

"I hate you," Daniel said, feeling his scalp crawl.


"Really, really hate you."

"Want me to sleep on the couch?"

"Want you to stop fucking scratching!"

"Can't," Jack whined. "It itches, Daniel."

"I'm going to look," Daniel told him. "If I see anything moving, you're out of here and back to Janet."

"Your mouth gets close to my dick after a week apart and I can guarantee it'll be moving."

"You know what I mean." Daniel examined Jack's crotch with more attention than it had ever received from him before. The skin was reddened and angry where Jack had been scratching, but otherwise all looked normal.

Just... bare.

"You hate it, don't you?" Jack said dolefully. "It'll grow back, you know."

"It'll itch even worse then," Daniel said without thinking.

"Oh, yeah? And just how do you know that?"

Daniel felt his cheeks heat. "Common knowledge."

"Crap. 'Fess up, Daniel."

Never going to happen.

Daniel lunged forward and applied some soothing spit to the affected area.

He was just enjoying himself... a week, a whole, long, lonely week... when Jack's fingers stopped running through his hair with increasing urgency and his moans cut off abruptly.

"What?" Daniel muttered thickly through a full mouth.

"Nothing. Just thought I saw... "


"Dandruff? Maybe?"

"I don't have -- oh God!"

Daniel scrambled back and away, wiping his mouth and reaching up to scratch at his head.

"Relax. Get back here." Jack glanced down, a smile tugging at his lips. "Won't take a minute..."

"I'm going to shower."

"In cold water? And I might have used the last dry towel. Come on... It wasn't, well, you know. That. Just a shadow. Or something." Jack yawned. "Too damn tired to focus."

"I hate you."

"Sure you do." Jack rolled onto his side. "I'm going to sleep if you're not going to -- you're not are you?"

"Not a chance in hell."

"Sweet," Jack said, the bitterness tempered by another yawn. "Whatever..."

Daniel gave Jack's back a disgusted glare and then froze. "Jack?"

"Fuck off."

"Your back..."

"Told you; dark places. Hairy. I do not have a hairy fucking back."

Daniel traced the gouged, torn skin running across one flat shoulder blade, healing, yes, but raw enough that Jack flinched.

And curled up close, one arm pulling Jack closer.

"Told you to be careful."

"Told you I'd be back."

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