J/D, explicit, Season 8 timing.
Summary: a little romance and observations.
Jack stood in the doorway of his bedroom leaning against the jamb. He wore only his new boxer briefs, bought on a whim – based solely on a certain someone’s risqué opinion. He had been surprised. Damn things were comfortable. Add them to a long list of things both surprising and comfortable that he’d done or acquired based solely on Daniel’s advice.
He partially crossed his arms and somehow managed to do so while holding a mug of coffee in one hand. He held the mug up against his nose and inhaled the rich aroma before sipping cautiously. Still too hot. But that fact, an instance of thought, was barely paid attention to. His focus was on watching the man asleep in his bed.
Daniel. Pillow bunched up against the headboard, forgotten, as he lay on his stomach, arms almost wrapped about his head, legs apart, one bent, breathing slowly, fully asleep. Younger men slept like that. Boneless, it was called. Although Daniel wasn’t all that young. Forty-two. Looked it too, but that wasn’t a bad thing. Jack looked his fifty-four, and maybe that wasn’t a bad thing either. He was comfortable with his age. Only his knees warned of problems to come.
Dismissing the dire warning as unimportant, he returned to thoughts of the man on the bed. Gorgeous came to mind. Beautiful. If Jack knew how to use a camera in the proper way, he’d capture this moment. By any measure, Daniel was a sleeping beauty, and you couldn’t capture that with a camera phone. Jack’s mouth curled slightly upward as he imagined telling Daniel that. His reaction would need to be captured on film as well. Not for art, but for posterity. The one and only time, Jack figured, where he’d catch him so off-guard, he would be rendered speechless.
How had he lucked out in the love department, twice in his case? Wasn’t it supposed to be once? You’d find your mate and if you fucked it up, too bad, right? He’d messed up with Sara, whom he still loved despite everything. Now he had Daniel, whom he also loved despite everything. Lucky, lucky, lucky.
Although with Daniel, that luck had taken nearly nine years to come to fruition. So, to speak. Eighteen months on Abydos. Five years as a member of SG-1. That horrible year where he’d been ascended—in effect, dead, but ghosting around. And now back for four months, alive and very well indeed, thank you very much.
Jack didn’t think his heart could take another round of that. Maybe it was his turn, he thought, then shuddered at the idea of being an ascended being. From all the evidence gathered up to this point in time, Jack’s cemented his opinion of the ascended: they were nothing but a bunch of snooty losers. Skaara excepted, of course.
Jack ditched the thoughts of death and tested another sip. Still too hot but bearable and he took a careful drink. Coffee. He hadn’t been that big of a fan of the stuff. It wasn’t like he’d ditched it or anything, but he’d have a cup in the morning and that would be that. He had such a high metabolism that caffeine barely made a dent in the WIRED department. Daniel, on the other hand, used it for focus.
And he’d actually labeled his intake. If they had a day on base, he’d have coffee all day long, but there were the Moments of special coffee. There was Wake Up Coffee. Mid-Morning Coffee. Lunch Time Coffee. Revival Coffee at three. Dinner Coffee. Dessert Coffee—which always involved Kahlua and cream, because of course it did.
What all that meant was that Daniel was a coffee aficionado. He knew everything, and one of the first appliances he’d bought with an SGC paycheck had been an espresso machine. Now it was a specialized version of a Keurig and his espresso upgrade because K-cups didn’t come in the types of coffee Daniel preferred. His favorite growing region was a plantation in Kauai. Kona Coffee. At least they made K-cups.
That was the kind Jack had made that morning. And right now, he figured the aroma had had time to permeate the house and now the bedroom, thanks to his standing in the doorway, looking at the work of art laying on the bed, sipping on damn fine coffee. Only a matter of time before . . .
Daniel’s breathing changed and Jack watched him take a deep breath before opening his eyes. He caught sight of Jack and smiled sleepily.
Jack grinned. “Afternoon,” he corrected.
“What?” Daniel asked, confused, rising enough to rest on his elbows. Jack watched him try to gather his memories of last night. It didn’t seem to work. As a genius, sometimes the man’s mind ran way too fast.
“That’s what happens when you want to play chess until 3 a.m.,” Jack teased. Before Daniel could conjure up a retort, Jack walked over and held out the mug. “Drinkable.” Daniel rolled onto his side and took the mug. He inhaled, as always, and sighed with a happy groan as he drank half the mug.
Jack grinned and leaned over, running his fingers through the man’s mussed up hair. “C’mon. I’m making breakfast. Already had my shower half an hour ago so the water’s hot again.”
Daniel groaned again, but with consternation as he sat up, downed the rest of the coffee, started to say something else but paused. He ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced. He handed Jack the mug before he slid out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
“What, no morning kiss?” Jack teased.
“Not with this nuclear breath,” Daniel said. “Coffee can’t fix that.”
“S’pose,” Jack said, watching the man’s ass as he headed for the bathroom. He actually had fine, tawny hair over those two perfect gluteus maxims. He’d never tell him that he found it adorable. “So, waffles or pancakes?”
Daniel grunted, closing the bathroom door. “Surprise me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Pick one,” he said, rapping a knuckle on the door.
Daniel’s muffled reply was, “Waffles. But if you’re set on pancakes, I’m okay with that. Cook’s choice, Jack.”
Jack cracked a grin. That was Daniel’s answer whenever Jack was cooking and indecisive. “That’s annoying, you know?”
Daniel’s voice was now muffled and echoey. “Then stop asking!”
Jack smiled broadly and headed to the kitchen.
Daniel stopped in the doorway to the bedroom, coffee mug in hand. He was in a plush white hotel robe that, for once, stood in beautiful stark contrast to his newly tanned skin. His hair was a mess, but he couldn’t have cared less. He leaned against the door jamb and brought the mug to his nose, inhaling with satisfaction. Sometimes hotel coffee was crap. This wasn’t. But what else would one expect from a Four Seasons hotel along the Côte d’Azur?
He sighed and sipped at the coffee as he watched Jack sleep in the uber king-sized bed. Some people called the size Alaskan King. It had room to spare. Even the bedding had covered them both all night. Jack lay partially on his stomach, one arm around his pillow and one leg crooked. His tan was much darker than his own and it only added to the man’s eroticism.
Daniel thought back to that horrible day in the auditorium in New York. He’d lost everything. And three weeks later, he was on another planet. Jack had been a hard man to get to know and it had taken nearly ten years to get his heart to thaw. But it had happened. Their first time had been one of the most emotional nights Daniel had ever known. Jack had initiated it, which was a complete surprise to both of them. Daniel had always figured that he would be the one to start things in that direction. But instead . . .
They’d been in Jack’s kitchen, and Daniel was finishing up the dishes after dinner. He’d been trying to figure out how to raise the subject of their feelings when Jack had abruptly put his arms around him from behind.
“It’s long past time, Daniel.”
Daniel had turned in place, hands wet, eyes wide, telling himself to say, “But . . . but . . . wait, don’t you think that—” And then that kiss came. That wonderfully hot kiss. Barely touching at first, then his lips parted, and Daniel could do nothing but follow. When their tongues met, that was all she wrote. Daniel was gone. If Jack had suggested they have al fresco sex on the astronomy deck, he’d have gone up, along with everything else.
He remembered sighing deeply as their first kiss deepened, as if he had just realized it was real and Jack wasn’t kidding. Jack’s tongue had been sweet, and then sweeter still when he’d used it to bring him to orgasm. Just that fact had made the climax all the more intense. He’d come twice in less than five minutes—but embarrassingly so because the second orgasm had happened the moment Jack had moved inside him. Just pumping three times, moving fast not slow. Jack had come with him, then again ten minutes later in the shower when Daniel dropped down and tasted him for the first time.
Just imagining it made his cock pay attention and react and he placed his free left hand over his crotch and pressed down, telling his body that now was not the time. Then he had to remove it because in his mood, any sort of pressure, friction or no friction, was not going to get him flaccid. He lifted his hand, fingers splayed, and waited to see if it would work. If not, well . . . at least Jack’s morning breath wasn’t godawful nuclear.
Then something glittered and his eyes refocused to stare at the ring on his left hand. On his left ring finger, that is. Its presence was the answer to why they were at the Grand Hôtel Du Cap-Ferrat. The honeymoon. It had been a surprise from Jack. Daniel should’ve remembered that the man was a hopeless romantic. Even if Jack didn’t know the language, Daniel certainly did. And like Gomez to Morticia, whenever he spoke French, Jack grew hard. Might have been the scenery more than the language.
Then Jack stirred, bringing Daniel back to the here and now, finding Jack watching him. “Hello Mister Jackson O’Neill,” he said to the sexiest man alive, laying prone like a centerfold with the sheet strategically placed.
“Hello there,” Jack said with a sly grin. “Is that for me?” Daniel looked at his coffee mug, opened his mouth to answer, but Jack added, “I’m not talking about the coffee.”
Daniel half-smiled and looked down. The little guy had ignored his half-assed attempt to deflate. He grinned more fully. “Why, I do believe it is.”
“Then get over here, Mister Jackson O’Neill.”
“Hmm,” Daniel said, walking over and pausing to put his mug on the nightstand.
“Give me that,” Jack said.
He complied, and as Jack drained the mug, Daniel adjusted his shoulders and untied the belt, letting the robe fall to the floor. Jack handed him the mug and Daniel set it aside. “Now, what have you got for me?”
“Whatever’s behind door number one,” Jack said, sliding the sheet away from his crotch.
Daniel smiled. “Look at that. Something tasty.”
Jack shook his head, however, but there was mischief in his eyes. “Not until I’ve showered. But we can definitely do something else.”
“Really?” Daniel asked, sliding in next to him. “Shall I pretend I have no idea what you’re talking about?”
“Nope. We can play later. Right now, it’s all real.”
Daniel half-laughed. “It most certainly is my husband.”
“Now, where were we before we dropped off to sleep?”
Daniel took hold of his cock and stroked a few times while Jack sought out the tube of lubrication. The honeymoon phase equaled more orgasms, more seduction, and almost the best food. For now. Because it was France, not Philly, which is where they were headed next. It was the Stanley Cup after all and for once, both men were fans of the same thing. Besides each other, that is.