When it was over, and his heartbeat had slowed to normal, his dick shrunk back to a soft squash, the automatic urge to kiss and hold the man next to him changing to a need for space and -- God, yes -- a shower, the baffled resentment rose.
That was it? Years of wondering, waiting, wanting, and that was it? No better than that? He'd come harder, faster, better with his own hand all he had for company, that and, ironically, a head full of fantasies about the sprawled out man beside him.
Who would be Daniel.
Who was breathing in soft little pants, a strained grimace still twisting his face, come drying on his belly, leaked in drips from the head of his cock, still half-hard and irritatingly bigger than -- well.
He hadn't expected it to be perfect. He'd made it so in his head, sure he had. Why not? But if he'd ever had to give serious thought as to what the first time would be like, he'd have given shelf room to some awkwardness, a necessary adjustment of expectations to reality.
He'd just never considered -- never had to before, you didn't with a woman -- the cringingly awful conversation that had halted the momentum built up by the head of lust they'd both been riding.
Do you… I mean, I'd like it this way…but not if you don't want to… if you'd sooner I…? Daniel? Damn it, Daniel, I just … I want you to fuck me, okay? Is that okay? Is it?
And it had been. Daniel had nodded, determination squaring his jaw. Of course he had. When had Daniel ever turned down a challenge? And he'd loved doing it, Jack could tell. He'd fed on every murmur, every moan, gaining confidence.
A house built on fucking quicksand.
Every single sound he'd made had been deliberately produced once they'd really started. Oh, the moan when Daniel rammed it home had been genuine; shit, more like a strangled squeal, but it'd been fuelled by pain, not pleasure. Spit didn't do enough, not by a long way, and if Daniel thought it'd been romantic or sexy to have Jack lick the fingers Daniel proceeded to stuff up Jack's ass, well, hey, newsflash, no. He'd felt like a fucking idiot. He'd blushed.
But he'd come. Squeezed his eyes shut -- and, judging by Daniel's gasp, squeezed more than that -- and lost himself in a reliable, well-thumbed fantasy that'd worked for decades now, of him, two girls, and an imaginatively equipped gym, and come with a desolate, remote spurt of pleasure. And even then, Daniel had come close to fucking it up, easing off just at the moment when Jack had wanted the hand wrapped around his dick to be ruthlessly tight.
And the worst of it all was that he'd lost the dream he'd had these last few years, that maybe someday, down the line, he and Daniel would… could… oh, the hell with it.
Daniel rolled off the bed and padded towards Jack's bathroom without a backward glance, absently scratching his ass. The ass that in the past even a quick glimpse of had done things to Jack he didn't have words for. He'd drooled over that ass and it was walking away from him now and all he could think of was that Daniel had a zit on one cheek that looked painful.
The hiss of the shower sank him deeper into gloom. How many fucking times had he walked through the steam of his dreams to take a slithery wet Daniel into his arms and mouth and hands and ass? And now he was just thinking with an acid irritation that Daniel was bound to drain the hot water and leave the towels in a heap for him to pick up.
By the time Daniel came back he'd worked his way into a sulk that even he could see was epic.
Daniel lay beside him, a towel wrapped neatly around his waist. So, fine, Daniel hadn't left it on the floor, but he was getting the covers damp. Typical.
"Jack?" Soft voice, anxious, hesitant smile. Oh, fuck. "I… God, this is so… Was it? Was it okay? For you, I mean. Did you…?"
"Hey, I came, didn't I?"
Daniel put his glasses on, his gaze sharpening. "Yes. All over my hand, as it happens."
"Sorry." Belatedly, Jack realised that wasn't something you usually apologised for; sex was messy; it just was.
"It doesn't matter."
No, of course it didn't matter. His disillusioned heart was broken, three, four years -- Christ, just how long had he been in love with Daniel for anyway? -- had been wasted lusting after someone who should have had a flashing neon light over his head spelling out what a disaster in bed he was.
And tomorrow they had to sit through a briefing.
"Well, General, after we finished negotiating the treaty, we came back through the 'gate and Daniel and I just happened to feel the need for a beer. What? Relevant? Well, I'll let you be the judge of that, sir. And one thing led to another and we --what? No, sir, we weren't drunk. Just horny as hell and it seemed all the time I'd been staring at Daniel's ass, he'd had his eyes on mine. Yes, sir, I know that's anatomically impossible, but I guess we managed it. And we came back to my house and we...sir? General?"
It hadn't been bad, that part when they'd come here. Not bad at all. Kissing, frantic, fast, wet, biting kisses, hands busy, brain shorted out because God, the scrape of Daniel's stubble-rough chin against his mouth had torn away a layer of denial he thought had been shredded to ribbons the first time he'd jerked off thinking about Daniel. Daniel's mouth had defined edible. He'd wanted to lick it, lick along the delicate lines of the lips, inside the hollowed, teeth-edged softness of his mouth.
And he had, while Daniel whimpered and pressed and his hands were everywhere, touching and scratching and fuck, Daniel had bitten his shoulder, and at the time he'd loved it, his hand on the nape of Daniel's neck, holding his head down as Daniel's teeth ground his mark into Jack's skin.
God, just thinking about that sent a spike of pleasure arrowing through him, but it'd bruise, you betcha, and a bite bruised differently than a slam into a wall, if you even could get a bruise just there from a wall or a door. He didn't think so. So, no showers on base until it faded, and he hated putting street clothes on over sweaty skin.
"Do you, ah… want to do it again?"
He couldn't help it. He turned his head and gave Daniel a look of utter incredulity. "Right now? Jesus, Daniel, I'm not some wind-up toy."
"No. Of course, you're not. I didn't -- I was just asking. In case you did."
"Well, I don't."
He averted his face, aware that it was set in petulant stone, and almost missed Daniel's quiet, muttered, "Thank God."
"I said --" Daniel tugged at the towel; tightening it, not slackening it, and not backing down now it was out in the open. "I said 'Thank God'."
"I'm sorry, Jack. I don't know how to say this without hurting your feelings, but that was just…"
"A disaster?" He pulled the covers up over him and felt better. Relaxed enough to turn and give Daniel a half smile. "You, too, huh?"
Daniel nodded minutely. "It was good at the start."
"The kissing? Yeah, I liked that. Liked it a lot."
Daniel flushed. "Mmm. And you… when you…that was good. It's been a long time since anyone …"
"You should've let me finish you that way." Okay, he'd been freaking about the whole spit or swallow deal, but that… yeah, he'd liked that, feeling Daniel's dick swell and stiffen against his tongue, knowing without a doubt that he was doing it right because you could fake moans and 'oh, God, yesses' but an erection was convincing, and Daniel's had damn near put his eye out when he'd pulled off it to draw breath.
"I should?" Daniel sounded surprised. "Oh. I didn't know that. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" Jack snorted. "Daniel, there's no sorry involved. It's not a fucking test; you can't get it wrong."
"Except I did." Daniel gave him a sidelong, apologetic glance. "I knew you were hating it when I was… in you, but I couldn't stop. It would have been worse, and I… didn't want to. I wanted to come in you. I wanted that much at least."
Jesus, his dick had twitched. He'd been on his hands and knees, but he flashed on what Daniel's face might have looked like as he pounded into him and it wasn't -- Daniel coming in him -no, on him. On his face -- Oh, God, yes... Fuck, more than a twitch-- "Hating? No. Little bit sore, maybe. We needed something. You know. Stuff."
He wanted to say 'next time' but he couldn't. Did he want to? Did he? Did Daniel? Didn't sound like it, and he couldn't blame him. Years of honesty with each other, painful, hurtful honesty, and they got in bed and he'd lied to him, let him think he was doing it right when all it would've taken was a word, a gesture, and Daniel would've been grateful, dammit, would have learned fast…
"Yes. Sorry." Daniel smiled tentatively. "I'm sore, too," he offered. "Look."
He peeled the towel back and Jack, out of politeness, looked at Daniel's dick and saw a faint redness, little bit of chafing. He wrinkled his nose sympathetically. "Ouch. Looks tender."
Daniel poked it with his finger. "Little bit. It…oh."
"Why is it doing that?" He couldn't look away. God knows, he'd seen it happen to his own dick a thousand times, but this was Daniel's and it made a difference.
"Because you're staring at it?" Daniel said diffidently.
"Oh." Fascinated, he leaned closer, watching it uncurl, swell, not hard, nowhere near, but getting there.
And somehow his tongue was lapping gently along it, tasting water and soap and nothing else which, considering where it'd been, made him wonder if it wasn't this red because Daniel had scrubbed it raw in the shower.
Daniel sighed out a long, wondering breath and Jack settled down. "Next time, we use lube," he said.
"And you've got a pimple on your ass. I could squeeze it for you."
Daniel gave a soft snuffle of laughter. "Is that supposed to be romantic?"
"No. It'd be romantic if I told you you've got a nice ass. A perfect ass."
"Apart from the pimple."
"You can take care of it. After."
"After works for me," Jack agreed as Daniel's fingers stroked carefully through his hair and his dreams settled back down again, in a different pattern, a better fit.
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