Sticky Sweet

"What are you doing?" Jack lifted his face clear of the pillow and shivered reflexively as another splash of wine landed on his back. "Daniel?"

"I should have thought it was perfectly obvious," Daniel said solemnly, slurring a little. Oh, yeah, he was drunk. He formed his next words more carefully. "I'm using what's left of this cheeky little Shiraz --"


"-- to decorate your body with the symbols a Mayan tribe once used to honour their finest warriors."

Jack frowned. "Were they alive at the time?"

"Not exactly."

"Nice, Daniel. And they used red wine?"

"Again, not exactly, but let's go with what we've got that's red."

Daniel stared at what he'd drawn and added some smoke coming out of the chimney.

"What was that squiggle?" Jack asked suspiciously.

"It's a symbol wishing you many fat babies in the afterlife," Daniel said, distracted by a beaded droplet of wine that was just... nearly... almost... about to spill and trickle down the curve of Jack's spine. He let it and then, when it had coalesced into a smaller droplet in the hollow above Jack's ass, he dived down and licked it up.

Jack wriggled. "Tickles!"

Daniel's tongue went lower and Jack yelped and shuddered, knocking the wineglass out of Daniel's hand so that the puddle of liquid it held splashed out across sheets redolent of sex, soaking in and staining.

Jack propped himself up on an elbow and stared at the sodden sheet and then at Daniel. He got off the bed, padded over to the mirror and studied the finger painting of a house on his back and nodded slowly.

"Mayan warriors, my ass."

"I was just getting to that," Daniel pointed out.

Jack pounced on him, all long arms and legs, all muscle, all warrior. "Oh, I bet you were, Daniel."

Daniel struggled just enough to be convincing, and let Jack position him, after a final flurry of feet and fists, face down on the bed, knees under him, ass in the air.

He stopped pleading, breathless gasps of giggles cutting off sharply, when Jack's hand stroked slowly, lightly down his inner thigh. It didn't matter why they were doing this; if it spun out of a tussle, or was something one of them had asked for in the morning so that the whole day was spent waiting for the moment when it began. Didn't matter at all.

First touch and Daniel stopped talking, always, senses curving inward, concentrating on where Jack was touching, where Jack would touch, where Jack's hand had been.

Jack didn't say much either. His hands, long, rough-tipped fingers gentle and firm, put Daniel just how he wanted him, tapping the inside of Daniel's knees until they'd slid apart enough to tighten the skin on his ass, expose him, leave him vulnerable.

Jack made him wait for long, endless minutes, until Daniel's throat ached from holding back the sounds he would make, saving them up, hoarding them for later. He wished he could see Jack's expression, but turning to look would break the position he was in and he didn't want to see it that badly.

Just wanted this. This. Hard and flat and crack, heat and sting and simmering skin.

Jack never held back, never hesitated, never flinched. So good at this, even though Daniel had had to show him how. Sometimes Daniel wondered if Jack had been just waiting to be taught.

It was getting to the point where he wasn't consciously making any of the sounds pouring out of him. He just had to stop trying to hold back -- and all it would take for that was Jack's voice, pitched to a growl, saying his name.

It hurt. Jack wouldn't do it unless it did, the same way he wouldn't fire a weapon just to hear the bang. It had to hurt to work; it had to be real when Daniel found the words to ask Jack to stop.

Always one more after that, the one that bit deepest even though it was just Jack patting scarlet skin gently, approvingly.

Daniel let Jack roll him over and ground his backside against the sheets, harsh, stuttered pants clawing their way out of his mouth because he wasn't sure how long he could wait to come. His cock was flushed red, ready to jolt and jerk and twitch empty.

One touch, one lick, one look...

Jack smiled at him, eyes fierce and bright, and wrapped his hand around Daniel's cock, heat and hurt soaking into it.

One touch.
Afterwards, Daniel lay beside him, pressing close, waiting for the moment when it started to hurt without anything to distract him, the moment when Jack always kissed him, cupping his face with a hot, stiff hand.

Safe hands.

Daniel licked wet stripes across Jack's palm, blew air on them through pursed lips, kissed hot skin cool.


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