He Shoots, He Scoresby devra
"Daniel." I hiss his name through tightly clenched teeth, but he's not getting my inference that now isn't a good time for this conversation.
"I'm serious, Jack." He plops his ass down on the coffee table smack dab in front of me.
I wave him away impatiently. "This really isn't the time for this."
His head whips over his shoulder as if noticing the TV in the room for the first time. "Oh, it's a commercial."
I flip the recliner into the upright position. "You want me to tell you my *fantasies* in the span of sixty seconds?"
"They'll take longer than that?" The little shit bats his eyelashes, challenging me to answer his question. Making a quick calculation, I'm thinking five commercials, sixty seconds per, yeah, I can make a dent in the Colonel/Archaeologist fantasy list before the hockey game resumes.
"With or without the klaxons sounding?"
"Shush, Daniel, are these my fantasies or yours?"
Commercial number one is over, I haven't gotten anywhere yet, but thankfully they've moved onto something about the properties of cell phones in commercial number two.
"Yours, definitely yours," he answers, nodding emphatically.
"Never interrupt a man and his fantasies," I warn with a wag of my eyebrows.
Daniel makes an exaggerated impression of zipping up his lips and throwing away the key.
"Where was I...?"
"Gateroom," Daniel answers encouragingly.
"Shutting up now."
"Gateroom, *no* klaxons, no incoming wormhole...just me and you and no one else. You're standing on the ramp, gazing into the Stargate and I walk up behind you...I rip off your clothes, throw you down on the ramp and fuck you silly."
"That's not enough?"
"I was kinda hoping for a little bit of you know...foreplay."
"Yeah...wait until this hockey period is over, I'll talk foreplay then."
Commercial number five has just ended and the game picks up right where it...
"The ramp is cold and made up of metal grating...it's gonna leave heavy duty imprints. How the hell would we explain to Fraiser how the design of the ramp became imbedded on my ass?"
"Daniel! It's a friggin' fantasy!"
I sigh at the hurt, downtrodden look on his face. "Alright, alright," I concede, tossing up my hands in surrender. "I'll let you keep some of your clothes on."
"That's really nice of you," he answers sarcastically.
How the hell did I get to be the bad guy in all of this? I was minding my own business when outta nowhere an archaeologist appears, interrupts me on the first day off I've had in a while that just so happens to coincide with the local hockey team's televised game, and now *he's* mad at *me*?
I consider giving up a bit of the game against dealing with Daniel in this strange mood, and I finally opt for indulging Daniel. "It's late at night," I begin.
Daniel looks towards the window. "No, it's not..."
"Yes, it is! Quiet, I've moved onto fantasy number two."
"Pfffft. Let's hope *this* one shows a bit more imagination."
"Wasn't thrilled with the Gateroom-slash-ramp one?"
"Left a lot to be desired, Jack."
"We're in the briefing room."
"Long table, biiiig window?" Daniel leans forward in anticipation, I seem to be scoring points with this idea.
"Yup...it's you and me..." I jerk my finger upright, pointing it right at Daniel, effectively cutting off any word of protest he's going to throw my way. "It's a fantasy, there's no one else around, and I haven't a *clue* where anyone is."
Daniel throws up his hands to ward off my attack. "Hey, I didn't say anything, it's late, like you said, everyone went home, for all I care."
The SGC is open 24/7, Daniel and I both know that, but for the sake of fantasy, he's letting that small matter slide. "You're standing there in front of the window, looking at the empty Gateroom."
"No doubt wondering where everyone went," Daniel snorts.
He pats my knee in an annoyingly condescending manner. "I'm sorry, Jack, honest, I am."
"Hmpff." He's going to have to do better than that.
The pat on my knee turns into a soothing rubbing action motion. "What am I wearing?" Daniel asks innocently, totally unaware of what his touch is doing to me.
"Wearing?" Okay the outcome of every fantasy always manages to have me humping Daniel up against some wall, table, gurney, chair or ramp at the SGC, clothes never having played a part in my vivid imagination, only skin upon skin.
"Um..." I never really notice Daniel in clothes, he's more a presence in my life. All emotions, pouts, chuckles, pissiness, deep welled blue eyes, body heat and glances. Though I will admit, I have a tendency to notice him a lot more when he's in boxers and tight tees, or when he's nude, but after my ramp fantasy fiasco, I don't think buck ass naked is the way to go.
"BDU's. You're wearing BDU's."
His eyebrows shoot skywards. "BDU's?" Daniel's voice bumps up a notch with this one.
I make a quick save. "Not just any BDUs, Daniel. Tighter than usual, so snug that I see the outline of your ass, and you have on a black tee shirt that's been through the wash and dry cycle one time too many."
I so love when I bring Daniel's linguistic capabilities down to the monosyllabic level. "I stealthily approach you-"
"Sure," I agree. Daniel's Jack radar is so finely tuned I haven't been able to sneak up on him in years, but what the hell. "I step up really closely, so close that the heat of your body warms the chill of the mountain right outta me."
"Yup... *that* close." I press my two palms together to illustrate my point. What can I say, sometimes even the bookworm enjoys visual aids. "I tug your shirt out of your pants..." I'm distracted by the sound of cheers coming from the TV. Crap the Avalanches scored on a power play! Jesus, how the hell did I miss so much of the...
"Well, I sure know where I rate." And making a second appearance of the evening, the downcast eyes, this time accompanied by the ever famous pout and self hug.
"No...no...It's just...I just." How does he do that to me? Making me feel guilty when this whole idea *isn't* my fault. Okay, they're into a commercial, so without skipping a beat, I pick up right where I left off. "I stick my hands under your shirt. Beginning at your waist, I run my palms over your back...you're so warm, your skin is so soft..."
"I don't have soft skin," Daniel comments with a hint of indignation.
"Believe me, Daniel, ya got soft skin, honest. I wouldn't lie about that. Now stop interrupting me."
Daniel shifts his ass on the coffee table, I'm not sure if it's the fantasies that are making him uncomfortable or the hardness of the table that's annoying. "So my hands are traveling up the length of your body, skimming over your waist, massaging your shoulder blades and I stop for a moment to knead your tight shoulder muscles. My lips are kissing that really sensitive spot behind your ear...first your left and then your right." I illustrate my point using my own body, a little finger point here, one there and *hel-lo*, was that a tremor or an involuntary muscle spasm causing Daniel to jump like that? I stretch a moment, hands high over my head, sticking my chest out to distract Daniel while my glance wanders over his shoulder to the TV. Damn, was that the buzzer indicating the end of the first period?
"You're kissing me?"
"Yup, kissing you, licking you, I even manage a little bit of grinding action."
"What do you mean, and you?"
"What am I doing? I'm not just *standing* there, am I?"
"No...no of course not. You're moaning. A lot."
"Moaning and...and doing a little ass wiggle thing as I grind into you."
"Ass wiggle? Jack, has anyone ever told you what a way you have with words?"
"Okay, you're backing up slowly, wanting to share my personal space. Arching into me. I work your shirt from the front of your pants and you lift your arms over your head, giving me permission to take it off."
"My glasses....watch my glasses," Daniel warns, breathless, his eyes wide and unblinking behind his lenses.
"Very careful of your glasses, I stretch the opening of the shirt wide, so your glasses stay where they are. And I fling the shirt away, not caring where it lands. My hands continue stroking your back, smoothing out too tight muscles. ...and you can feel how hard I'm getting when I press up against you...through my pants..."
"...and mine...the tight ones."
"Ohhhh yeah. Both of us...painfully hard erections. Forcefully, I grip you by the shoulders and spin you around, pinning your back against the glass window. So now our two hard ons are..."
"What's cold, Daniel?"
I swear, sometimes I need a set of directions to follow his line of thinking.
"The window...it's cold on my naked back."
I can't help the sigh of exasperation that flies from my lips. "Patience...in a few moments you won't remember the glass is cold."
"Promise?" he asks breathlessly.
"I tweak your nipples."
"Ouch." Daniel crosses his hands over his chest.
"Okay...maybe tweak isn't the word I'm looking for...I fondle...lovingly fondle your nipples while kissing you. Kissing you with my tongue buried inside your mouth. Teasing, fighting with your tongue, slithering back and forth. I multi-task...while still kissing you, neither one of us capable of breaking contact to breath, my hands slither down to your pants...and I pause at the top button.
Enraptured, Daniel leans forward, his tongue circling his lips, like a cat trying to lap up every bit of cream. Damn, when did this chair get so uncomfortable? I skootch my ass backward, adjusting my pants. "You begin to unbutton my shirt...kissing your way down, a matching kiss for every button you release. Halfway through I start on your pants. One, two...your nimble fingers are impatient and you rip my shirt open so you can catch up with me. Seconds later, our hands are fumbling and tripping around each other as we attempt to unbutton each other's pants. I'm devouring your tongue in my mouth and you seem to be doing this moaning noise which is reverberating in my mouth, traveling down my throat, to my chest, stomach landing in my dick."
Two feet away, Daniel makes this strange sound deep in his throat, kinda like a kazoo and I swear my dick *does* jump to attention. "Our pants pool around our ankles and..."
"Commando...we're commando. And barefoot..."
"Sure," I agree. The BDU's and tee shirt were already too many clothes for me to fantasize around, so if Daniel wants to lose our boxers and shoes to make it easier, all the more power to him.
"I shove you against the glass, grabbing your ass, pulling you so close to me that a piece of paper couldn't slide between us."
Daniel's Adam's apple bobs up and down convulsively. "I push you right back, Jack....and you relent...allowing me to keep pushing, guiding you...my lips crushing yours. You fight for air and I give you a moment's reprieve before I capture your mouth again."
"How far?" How far do you push me?"
Wait a goddamn minute, whose fantasy is this?
"To the table...that big table, the shiny one that takes center stage in the room. The one where we have briefings, the one where I want to play footsies with you when Sam begins to rattle off some boring..."
"You shove me down on the table? "Footsies, footsies? Okay, at this point, I'm willing to share all of my fantasies with Daniel.
"Not shove, Jack...I guide you...guide the length of your body. Savoring every inch while I position...God you're gorgeous. All mine. Not sharing, never share. My cock is heavy with the need to be inside of you."
I've lost it. The fact that I'm sitting in my tattered, well worn Lazy Boy Recliner, on a day off and ignoring a hockey game that I've waited weeks to see, matters naught. What's important is Daniel sitting on that coffee table with his erection visible through his sweats and the heat of my own erection burning a hole right through me. All it takes from Daniel is a come hither crook of his finger and I pounce.
* * * *
Daniel *had* been commando *and* barefoot, and it was a table...okay, the coffee table in my living room that we ended up rolling off of in a tangle of arms and legs, but the elements of a fantasy were there in muted forms.
The rug on my wood floor is no match for a bed or even a couch. I'm naked, cold, incredibly uncomfortable, but too content with Daniel in my arms to even ask him to move.
The TV makes a loud noise, and I turn my head to see the final buzzer of the hockey game has just sounded. The Avalanches have won and I squeeze Daniel's ass in exuberance. "That's one for the home team," I whisper into his ear.
He chuckles and begins to take up his annoying habit of sniffing the length of my neck, the puffs of air driving me crazy. "Stop," I command, laughing as he hits an extremely sensitive spot.
"Nice fantasy." He hooks his leg over mine, drawing me so close, a breath of wind couldn't get between us. "Table, window...I enjoyed it."
"How about your fantasy? I showed you mine, come on," I whine. "Show me yours. Just a hint?" I beg. I jump as the exhalations of air become teasing touches of his tongue.
"My fantasy?" He licks my neck, which is strangely erotic. Daniel tugs at my earlobe and follows it up with a little tongue action. "My fantasy? A day off, being at home and finding a way to convince one certain Colonel that there are more enjoyable things to do with our time than watch a hockey game."
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