The two people sitting across from me in my office, who complain louder than almost anyone here...are the main reasons I quiver at the month of annual physicals.

I feel like a school teacher, trying to gain the class' attention, as I tap on my desk and call their names. "Sorry, Janet," Daniel says. He at least has the decency to look ashamed at my reprimand. Colonel O'Neill just responds with a patented look and shrug of his shoulders.

I explain the results of the tests... both of their results show elevated cholesterol levels.

"Thought you were looking a little...pudgier, Daniel."

"Excuse me, Jack. Did you...."

"Well you are...."

"Gentlemen..." I sigh and feel the start of a headache settling itself behind my eyes. I'm thinking two aspirin and a large cup of commissary coffee when they leave here and a large drink of 100 percent something when I get home.

"For your information, Colonel, Daniel has lost weight..."

Daniel rewards his commanding officer with a knowing smile.

"Something that really doesn't thrill me, Dr. Jackson."

"Oh." The contents of his coffee mug seem to suddenly hold a great fascination for Daniel.

"Daniel's weight loss... should we... should he be concerned?"

"Thought you said I looked fat, Jack?"

"I never said fat, Daniel...I said..."

The glances that are passing between these two, the concern and their inability to stay focused on a single subject is going to have me banging my head on my desk in about two minutes.

I'm really trying...I grit my teeth and call their names, again. "Colonel O'Neill! Dr. Jackson...please focus over here." At this point, my esteem for General Hammond and the rest of SG1 has increased tenfold. The thought of being in a briefing with these two *professionals* for longer than 20 minutes notches my headache from a 6 to a 7. I rub my temples, wishing it were late afternoon as opposed to 1030.

"Compared to last year...your cholesterol levels have become elevated." I hold my finger to my lips to squash the Colonel's snide remark that is sitting on the tip of his tongue.

"Zip it, Jack."

I throw a small smile in Daniel's direction and continue. "While your levels are elevated at 198 and 199, I believe that a controlled diet and exercise for two weeks should work to bring it down."

"What's normal, Janet?"

"Below 200...and you two are truly borderline." I lean back in my chair...hoping that they realize that we are past the point of fun and games. "Two weeks medical downtime...I'm thinking that you two have been living on anything fast food you could lay your hands on...sitting around...not exercising..."

"We really couldn't get up and..."

Their last mission had left both Daniel and the Colonel with enough injuries to warrant 4 weeks medical stand down for healing and physical therapy. "No you couldn't get up and exercise...but watching what you were eating...and Daniel, if you ate at all...would make a big difference." I push two printed diets across my desk...they lean forward simultaneously to take them. "Two weeks...if after two weeks there hasn't been some drop..."

"Medication?" Jack asks with a pained expression painted on his face.

"Medication?" Daniel echoes.

"Medication and mandated medical stand down. This is not a laughing matter, and it's not my decision...it's Air Force regulations. Two weeks...you get two weeks. I would advise you to follow that diet strictly."

"Two weeks," the Colonel mouths in my direction.

I hold up two fingers, the Colonel first eyes Daniel, who is engrossed in the diet and then turns hardened eyes to me like the judge who just sent him up the river without a paddle.

* * *

Daniel follows me into the kitchen, curiosity pulling him away from his reading, looking over my shoulder as I begin to empty the grocery bags onto the counter.

"Umm...Jack. Not too sure this is what...I'm positive that this isn't what Janet had in mind when she told us to watch our diets." His eyes are warily watching the items now lining the countertop. "Ben & Jerry's?"

I smile as I watch Daniel lick his lips in anticipation of the banana flavored ice cream.

"Funny bones....you bought Funny bones." Daniel rips open the cardboard box and stuffs the chocolate peanut butter concoction into his mouth. "Milth." He attempts incoherently, sucking the stuck-on chocolate off his fingertips. I point to another bag and cringe as I watch Daniel drink the milk straight from the container.

I slap his hand before he can grab another package of Funny Bones. "Patience..." I declare in answer to his raised eyebrows. "We have the whole weekend...Sara taught me that for a diet to be successful it should never be started on weekends. Ever hear of the saying, 'Eat, drink and be merry...because tomorrow we may...."

"Die?"

I shake my head in exasperation. "Daniel...Diet...tomorrow we may diet."

"I'm still thinking die, Jack." Daniel's eyes cascade over the counters filled with ice cream and cake, Cookies and chocolate candy...beautiful red meat...potato chips...tortilla chips...salsa...beer...frozen fries... He eyes me with menacing iced blue eyes. "I'm thinking vomitorium, Tums...Rolaids..."

Unable to stop himself, he opens a bag of M & M's popping a handful into his mouth. Using his tongue to catch any remaining candy pieces, he eyes me under lowered lashes. "Melts in your mouth..." Pausing midchew, Daniel raises his eyebrows in confusion, surprised at the unabashed look of hunger on my face. He swallows audibly, a slow smile spreading over his face--growing until it matches the lecherous grin on my features. "What'cha thinking, Jack?"

I pull him towards me, my hands holding his ass. "I'm thinking a minimum amount of clothing on my favorite archeologist and laying in bed doing wonderful things with the ice cream."

Daniel's kisses already taste of chocolate and he moans in anticipation. "We need a way to work off all these calories...wanna know the type of exercise I have in mind?"

* * * * * *

I pull back the covers and get into bed cautiously. Daniel's complexion had taken on an unmistakably greenish hue when he excused himself to go to bed. I had stayed up to clean up the house from our day-long feeding frenzy. My archeologist had surprised me with his ability to eat me under the table. There wasn't a junk food item left in the kitchen that didn't bear the fingerprints of one Dr. Daniel Jackson.

He groans and pulls his knees up towards his stomach when he feels the weight of my body hit the mattress.

Daniel truly is suffering and I reach a hand over to touch his sweaty forehead. "Tums, Rolaids, Alka Seltzer...?"

I pull my hand back as he threatens me through clenched teeth, "Touch me and you die, Jack."

With deliberate slowness, I ease myself down onto the bed and turn to face his back. He is uncomfortable and I feel partially responsible. I mumble a heartfelt apology as I watch Daniel curl up tighter against his stomach ache. I knew Daniel was a slut for caffeine, and he had warned me early in the day about his *thing* for chocolate. He allows me to rub his back at arm's length...and I continue until my arm is numb and he has fallen asleep.

* * * * *

I wake up alone in bed and, based on instinct, I am quite aware of where I will find Daniel; sitting on the bathroom's cold porcelain tiled floor, his knees drawn up to his chest, his chin resting on his knees, his blue eyes red rimmed...a true indication of how miserable he really feels.

"Daniel?" I tilt my head toward the direction of the toilet.

"I wish I could...I think I would feel better."

I catch him swallowing convulsively, and I'm positive his desire is just moments away.

"Why don't you stick your finger down your throat...or..." I volunteer with a shrug of my shoulders.

"Or stick what down my throat, Jack? Hmm..." His eyes narrow dangerously and his attempt to get angry dies as he issues a moan of discomfort.

"Want me to call Fraiser?"

"And tell her what...that I..."

"Ate anything chocolate that wasn't nailed down..." I take a breath and begin a litany of the food items that passed Daniel's lips today. By the time I got to the chocolate cake covered in whipped cream Daniel's dry heaves have become a little more productive as he flings himself at the toilet. Thirty minutes later, finds him looking slightly better, his head resting on his bent arms on the rim of the toilet bowl.

I use a wash cloth to clean his face, his eyes open in response to my ministration. He draws a shuddering breath and I ask him softly, "Feel better?"

Daniel nods yes and answers, "I'm gonna kill you...you do know that."

I don't have the desire at this time to inquire why Daniel believes his overindulgence is my fault, so I remain silent and instead help him up and stand by while he brushes his teeth, spits and rinses with mouthwash. I hand him a glass of water, which he refuses with a shake of his head. I force the issue and he takes the glass and drinks it in two gulps. I place the glass on the sink and pray that the water stays down. Pray that Daniel stays down and sleeps the remainder of the night.

This time in bed, we face each other. Ensconced in a self hug, Daniel now allows me to pull him close, his arms wrapped protectively around his own middle, my arms wrapped protectively around him. Daniel burrows his head into my chest...he still doesn't feel great and he is seeking comfort. And warmth, I realize as he shivers. My free hand grips the blanket and pulls it up around his shoulders, tucking it behind him. "Feel better now?" I ask again.

I feel his body relax slightly against me, answering my question.

* * * * *

The smell of coffee awakens me and I sniff the air appreciatively. But there is an overlaying of something else...and that something else is making my still sensitive stomach churn convulsively. I turn over, extending my arm to Jack's side of the bed. The temperature of the sheets is indicative of my Colonel's anal need to rise early even on downtime. I pull his pillow towards me...hoping that the smell of Jack on the pillowcase will erase the odor of whatever is being served in the kitchen.

Jack calling my name pulls me from sleep. I move to a sitting position and blindly reach for the coffee cup he is waving under my nose. "Mmmm," I moan in appreciation as the liquid caffeine enters my system.

Jack massages my shoulder and, between the coffee and his touch, my mind is beginning to imagine a number of lascivious scenarios. Vivid scenarios that go up in smoke at Jack's next off-hand comment.

"Excuse me... could you repeat that?" I say, leaning over slowly and putting the half filled mug on the night stand.

"Kinda lost control yesterday...didn't you?"

I pull away as he moves his hand to rub my stomach. "Jack?"

"Control...all that chocolate...junk food...didn't know how to pace yourself. You don't remember last night." I view Jack through narrowed eyes as he motions sticking his finger down his throat.

"Oh, I remember, all right, Jack."

Jack is totally oblivious to my increasing anger as he rubs my blanket covered leg and offers me an invitation to a breakfast that he has kept warm for me. "Eggs, bacon, sausage, biscuits..."

I raise a hand halting further conversation with regard to food, as the coffee threatens to make a come-back performance. "Aren't you supposed to be...aren't *we* supposed to be dieting...following a diet. Does Janet's conversation ring a bell at all?"

He stands stretching..."Daniel...Daniel...Daniel...Monday...remember, no dieting over the weekend...and I don't need to follow a diet because..."

I'm so hoping the words that I'm positive he is going to say, don't come from his lips.

"... *I* have great self control."

"You?" I repeat.

"Yes, me, Daniel. I have great self control."

"Oh..." is the only word I can manage.

"Breakfast...want the breakfast?"

"No...my stomach is still a little...um...queasy."

Jack smugly pats his stomach. "Self-control...that's what it comes down to... self-control."

I nod my head in agreement, breaking into a full smile when Jack departs the bedroom humming to himself. I get out of bed...wondering just how long Jack's self-control is going to hold out in the wake of one horny, pissy archeologist.

* * * *

I'm not sure what Jack's breaking point was ...was it my washing the Thunderbird barefoot, in *those* jeans with a tight tee shirt? The tee shirt that became very wet as I leaned my body across the hood to get to that little, miniscule dirt spot in the corner? Jack, who had been laughing at my endeavor while sipping a beer, had disappeared into the house after that. Maybe it was my ability to thwart his every move or touch that had him so on edge.

Or was it the slow way I licked the melting ice cream off the spoon after my stomach felt well enough to handle something? Could it have been the visual Jack imagined with the banana I peeled and devoured ever so slowly. I'm thinking I heard him whine and whimper with that. Or it could have been when I was lying on the couch reading...honestly that's all I was doing...just reading... with these little moaning... sounds from deep within my throat. I fell asleep on the couch...an unplanned turn-on obviously, because I awoke to Jack staring at me with a look of hunger and longing that took my breath away.

"Shower...need shower," I mumbled, pushing past Jack. I shucked my jeans, shirt...boxers onto the floor and stepped into the running warm water of the shower, the look on Jack's face and in Jack's eyes making me reach subconsciously for my own cock.

Before my hand even has a chance to make contact, my body is gently shoved against the tile wall of the shower... a low growl in my ear alerting me that Jack *had* reached his breaking point. I let my arms rest above my head, leaning on the shower wall as Jack leans into me. He kisses the area between my shoulder blades, callused fingers tweaking my already hardened nipples...slowly traveling down the plane of my stomach. "Pudgy..." I gasp as Jack's teeth nip a trail down my neck. I bend my head to the left, giving Jack's tongue and the flowing warm shower water better access.

"Perfect," he answers softly in my ear. "Misunderstood, Daniel...I said perfect."

I turn my head, squirming as his teeth and tongue methodically create a path, painstaking in their slowness to find my lips...to kiss me. We moan in unison as our lips and tongues make contact. Jack's tongue caressing mine...I am overwhelmed with varied sensations surrounding all of me...from the water dripping over our bodies, the heat of skin against skin, the coolness of the tiled wall. Jack's hands...rough in texture, gentle in tenderness... as he traces my appendix scar. Jack's mouth...harsh in words...tender in the whispers of love he says to me.

I step backwards, rubbing my ass against his enlarged cock. He prohibits my turning... halting my need to hold him. "Stay..." he pleads. I sense his arm reaching across...and soon my sense of smell is awakened...as the shower is filled with the earthen aroma of Jack's shower gel. I moan as the length of my body is pressed against the tiles...Jack's hands, soapy and smooth with gel, slide over my body. I am so caught up in the sensation of just feeling...that I have become silent...attuning myself to each individual sense that is heightened by Jack's nearness.

Jack's hands massage my ass and I stiffen and then immediately relax as Jack's fingers enter me. Fingers within me stroking, stretching...the other hand holding my body tightly to him.

My breathing has changed to gasping...pleading with Jack...letting him know I need him...all of him. One of his hands covers mine on the wall for support as his cock enters me. Though gentle, I still flinch...as I am reminded of my ability to be so completely trusting of this one person...who in the truest sense of the word knows me inside and out.

"Oh, Daniel." Jack cries as my tightness envelopes him, his left arm maintaining balance against the wall, his right hand beginning to stroke my painfully engorged penis. My right hand joins his and we stroke in rhythm to his thrusts. I rest my head against the water- slicked tiles to ground myself...as I feel myself becoming lost in sensations so intense that the world, the shower, the cascading water have begun to fade.

"Gotcha, gotcha, gotcha," Jack chants against my neck as my knees buckle when I am momentary blindsided as Jack's cock brushes against my prostate and our combined stroking brings me to orgasm. His chanting turns to moaning as he reaches orgasm buried deep within me. Jack rests his head on my shoulder, his warm breaths tickling my neck. Still within me...his body pressed against me, I am comforted as his post-orgasmic heartbeat thuds against my back.

* * * *

Jack is at the sink, preparing the steaks for the barbecue, concentrating on the job at hand. I walk up behind him and lean into him, pressing his body against the countertop, effectively trapping my Colonel. I rub my cheek against his still damp hair, inhaling his just-showered, sexually-satiated body. In my contentment, I tell him how much I love him and he answers with a low chuckle. I nip at his exposed earlobe and smile at the tremors my touch has evoked in Jack. The tray of steaks resting on their pan in the sink, he turns so we are inches from each other and admonishes me with words of self-control.

"People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones," I counter.

"Explain?" Jack raises his eyebrows in question... totally clueless with regard to what I'm making reference to.

"Would seem to me the great Jonathan O'Neill needs to show some self- control in the area of one PhD'd civilian."

"Oh..." Recognition dawns in his eyes. "Want me show self-control? And not do this?" He grabs me to him, his mouth finding mine and latching on, giving me a soul burning, cock-raising kiss. He releases me... and I am left breathless and gasping for air. "Or this, Daniel... want me to show self-control and not do this?" He grabs my ass and begins kneading my cheeks through my sweat pants...bringing our clothed groins into contact with each other...I groan in frustration when he removes his hands.

"Put your hands back," I warn Jack.

"Self-control..." Jack answers, his voice taking on a sing-song, teasing quality. * * * *

Steaks moved to the refrigerator to marinate for a few hours, Jack and I are lying in bed, dinner waylaid... we started with dessert instead. He is sitting propped with pillows against the headboard...I'm sitting between his spread legs, inclined against his bare chest. His dog tags are cold and uncomfortable against my unclothed back and I squirm to find a better position.

"Stop it, Daniel." Jack moans. "Your ass... my... Damn it, are you trying to kill me...stay in one position... please." His voice takes up a higher pitch at the end of the word as he grabs my shoulders to prevent further movement.

"Self-control, Jack. It's all an issue of self-control."

I hear the sigh of self-recrimination. "No, Daniel. We...you and I don't have any self control...Nyet, nada...none..." Jack grabs my earlobe with his teeth, tugging...whispering the word "None."

I move my ass closer to him, laughing. "No...no self-control," I agree. "Self-control is best started on Mondays. Do me a favor...pass me the M & M's, please."