Long time reader, first time slasher
Though I've only managed to complete one fanfic in ten years, I have found myself with some (ahem) free time thanks to the downturn in the economy. And thanks to the diligent efforts of the pornhostess at comment_fic , I have now perpetrated porn of several varieties. Witness:
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by fyere : Stargate SG-1, anyone/anyone, wing!fic, the wings are not glorious and angelic and otherworldly, but really awkward and stupid-looking and they don't even make (character) fly, so what's the point?
Warnings: crack!fic, wing!fic
Winged Victory
“It looks like someone in your family tree fucked a pigeon.”
“You said you would help. That’s not helping.” Daniel craned his head around to try to get a better look.
“Or maybe your grandfather got busy with Quetzalcoatl down there in Mexico. You can’t get the full effect in the mirror; here, let me take a picture.”
“Reach for your camera and you’re a dead man.” Daniel was bare-chested, flushed, and a hair (or perhaps a feather) away from being genuinely angry, but it would have taken a stronger man than Jack not to take a final shot.
“You know what they say about that look: business in the front, poultry in the back.”
“God damn it!” Oops, Jack thought. “It’s bad enough that the Grand…High Priest…of…Whatever isn’t going to be back for three days to fix this, but I thought I might have gotten a little support from you.”
“Daniel, I’m sorry, it’s just that…”
“This isn’t a fucking costume. I have to walk around like this. I have to sleep like this. I have to go to diplomatic meetings like this. But don’t let any of that get in the way of your one-man Comedy Central Roast.”
“Okay, okay.” He held out his hands placatingly. “I get it: not funny.” Daniel had wrapped his arms around himself and looked sulky, a bedraggled, bespectacled Michelangelo angel. “Seriously, they’re not that bad. We’ll put a cloak around them, no one will even notice.”
“They rustle,” Daniel said, almost inaudibly.
“Yeaaaah,” Jack said with a faint shudder, “I can see where that might be disturbing.” Daniel was right; this wasn’t helping. “There’s gotta be an upside to this. Can you do anything with them?”
“I can’t even move them. My brain isn’t wired for that, let alone my body.” Nonetheless, Jack could swear they drooped.
“Hey, now, don’t give up.” Jack believed, with fierce conviction, that there was always an upside to any situation, especially where a half-naked and essentially housebound Daniel was concerned. “Got it! Get in bed.”
“What?”
“Get in bed. I’m gonna give you a reason to be glad about those things.”
Twenty minutes later, Jack rode Daniel like Hercules atop Pegaus. What it lost to a sort of quilly awkwardness, it more than made up in novelty, especially since Daniel’s back and shoulders were apparently sensitive to the little tugs and pulls.
It wasn’t possible afterward for Jack to collapse, as custom dictated, on Daniel’s back, so he rolled to his side and laid his head a few inches from Daniel’s.
“So, better?”
Daniel half-raised his lids and gave Jack a drowsy, contented smile. “Much better.”
“One last joke then? I promise it’s a good one.”
“If you insist.” Daniel’s voice was vanishing into sleep.
“That’s what I call earning your wings the hard way.”
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by
maab_connor : SG-1, Jack/Daniel, coffee on an alien planet
Café con Lechery
“Do you think this whole fucking planet is like Seattle in November?”
Jack glared out the window at the bleak, drenched landscape. For three straight days the sky had been pelting rain. The slightly higher-than-earth gravity made the drops explode on the wooden roof of the guesthouse like mini canonballs, and conspired with the depressing weather to make Jack feel achy and leaden.
“Jack, would you stop pacing like a caged gorilla?” Nose deep in legal texts of a particularly boring variety, Daniel didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Lion. I pace like a caged lion.” He leaned on the side of the heavy desk and into Daniel’s personal space, to no avail. Daniel was in the terminal stages of impatience and caffeine withdrawal. The crease between his eyebrows was threatening to become permanent, his shoulders were hunched, and his long fingers beat a neurotic tattoo on the desk. In the lamplight, his eyes seemed like the only patch of color in the room. In the loft above stood a large and reasonably comfortable bed, sadly underused.
“I’m going out,” Jack announced, slapping the desk. He peeled away and headed out the door before Daniel could say anything pissy that might make him change his mind, and before grabbing a coat, which would have been laughably superfluous.
Three hours later, Jack shoved through the heavy door in a gunfire of pelting rain. He was soaked to the skin, maybe to the bone; but he was bearing a prize.
Daniel had abandoned the legal texts and folded his long body into one of the hard-backed chairs and was hunched over a paperback. He leaped to his feet when Jack entered.
“Where have you been? Are you completely insane, going out in that?” He felt up and down Jack’s soaked BDUs. Now they were getting somewhere.
“For you, I would go to the ends of the earth. Well, maybe not this earth, because it’s a fucking big planet.” He hoisted the fat enameled pot by its long handle. “I have ventured forth and brought back a liquid that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike coffee, but does in fact contain caffeine.”
Daniel gave Jack a quizzical look before lifting the lid and sniffing. “How do you know?”
“Because after I had a long talk with the cook. He sent me to a druggist, who sent me to a chemist, who drew the molecule for me. It tastes like charcoal barfed by a goat, but definitely contains methyltheobromine.”
Daniel looked as moved as anyone could by organic chemistry. “You did all that just so I could have coffee-or, ‘coffee’? That’s-“ his fingers searched the air for words-“romantic? Nuts?”
“Same thing.” He let Daniel put the little pot aside and finish stripping him, almost a reward in itself, as he worked his way through sodden buttonholes to get to Jack’s bare, goosepimply skin and began rubbing, more gentle than brisk.
“Skin’s like ice…wish there was a fire,” he muttered, sliding warm hands down Jack’s flanks.
“Well, we could always get into bed,” Jack said helpfully. He grudging let Daniel towel his hair off first.
In the loft, the rain was even louder. It was freeing, since it let Jack groan as loud as he wanted while Daniel massaged feeling back into his body. By the time he got to Jack’s cock, Jack would have sworn he was warm, except Daniel’s mouth was like a tropic night, the only really warm thing on this whole miserable planet. Daniel brought him to the peak and let him slide back so often that it went beyond Thank you, maybe beyond Yes and I love you, too. Daniel was only ever selfish in trivial ways.
When Jack came, it was like a long, rolling wave, the landing gentle, on white and yielding sand. Daniel pulled himself up beside him and smiled against his cheek.
“Go to sleep,” Daniel whispered. “We’ve got nothing but time.”
“Don’t want to,” Jack muttered fuzzily. “Want to stay awake and enjoy this.”
“Well, then,” Daniel said, rubbing himself against Jack’s thigh, “how about a cup of coffee?”
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by
amara_m : SG-1, Jack/Daniel, Offworld vacation
Postcard
“Jack? Jack. C’mon, don’t.” In the space of a few minutes, the heat of Jack’s body had progressed to the weight of his hand on Daniel’s hip, the warmth of his breath against the nape of Daniel’s neck, and, finally, an insinuation of lips and tongue behind his ear.
Jack stopped the incipient kiss but didn’t move his hand. Above them, three of Comorra’s moons, in different phases, framed the familiar starlit road of the Milky Way. The whole brilliant spectacle was reflected in the calm waters of the broad crescent beach, picturesque as Hanalei Bay in alien-negative, black sand and emerald water. It was aggressively, almost annoyingly romantic.
A few more minutes and Jack’s second hand joined the first, cupping his hipbones, framing rather than pulling. It was torture. Between the postcard scene before them, the gentle warmth of Jack’s body, and the knowledge that the Comorrans were all attending one of their interminable convocations a kilometer away, Daniel’s brain was mounting a losing defense against what every fiber of his body clearly wanted to do. He gently but firmly disengaged Jack’s hands.
“No teasing. We’re on the clock.”
He felt Jack’s head shake, his lips still so close to Daniel’s skin. “Relax. We’re on vacation.”
“Tell that to Hammond when we come back with moonburn instead of a signed treaty.”
Jack shrugged, lightly massaging Daniel’s hips with his thumbs. “We go to the palace, we request an audience, the lieutenant-whosits turns us away-rinse, repeat, for seven days, and on the eighth he sees us. In the meantime, we’re not only excused from the boring proceedings, we’re forbidden to attend. Which means this is the very best kind of vacation-the kind someone else is paying for.”
It was hard (for a change) to fault Jack’s logic, and he was Daniel’s supervisor as well as his CO, so he knew how many vacation days Daniel had accrued. Furthermore, he had reached around to slowly unzip Daniel’s pants and lift his uniform shirt so that his belly and groin were exposed to the soft alien breezes. Jack urges his wait back so he can slide them both down to the ground, Daniel resting between Jack’s legs, supported against his chest, and blissfully vulnerable to his hands.
Jack’s lips resumed their work against the back of Daniel’s neck, little sucking kisses above his collar, more insistent nips of teeth and tongue against the back of his neck. With his right hand he pulled Daniel free of his trousers, using his left to keep Daniel’s shirt raised. “It looks beautiful in the moonlight,” he whispered.
Daniel sighed, and moaned. It did look beautiful; it felt beautiful, everything felt beautiful. This was solitude and freedom in a way he no longer felt on Earth. Earth had grown small, too small for what they were.
Jack’s hand slid down his shaft, soundless, letting the night air help him in his work. Daniel arched back, feeling the soft rolling thunder of the surf up his spine. One muted crash of waves, and he came, an illuminated jetting arc, as Jack’s hand brought him up sure and firm and his arm wrapped warm and secure across Daniel’s belly.
Jack tightened the embrace and kissed his cheek. “Now we just have to figure out how to order room service.”.
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by discodiva76 : Stargate SG-1, Jack/Daniel, rainy days and Sundays
Floorboard
A half a can of WD-40 and the dining room floor was still creaking. His knees were creaking. Floorboards as metaphor for his life these days: some areas worn to the point of instability, others stiff from disuse, none of them content to function smoothly and quietly.
"--wait a few hours, if not, try a couple of finish nails..."
"Talking to yourself, Jack?"
Jack started, wanting to be annoyed that Daniel had somehow managed to come through the patio door unheard. He heard it now: the soaking rain that was giving new life to the early spring grass and probably seeping into the foundation. He looked up at Daniel, who was smiling, dripping, and carrying a large paper bag redolent of lemon grass and promise.
"Aren't you supposed to be in some other galaxy?" He made no move to get off the floor.
"Postponed. Major Vincent had a family emergency, no replacement available. So..." His gaze swept over the WD-40, the toolbox, the pajama bottoms Jack had somehow not gotten around to changing out of.
"Just so you know, I'm tired and cranky and I think my knees have permanently locked. Just so you won't be disappointed."
"No, no, that's just about what I expected." Daniel set the paper bag on the dining table and sat down beside Jack. He stroked a cool, damp hand across Jack's stubbly chin until his jaw relaxed, then leaned in to kiss him, his lips as lush as the awakening grass. His hand slipped into the waistband of Jack's pajamas, pressing against the spot just above the swell of his butt, sending life up his spine.
It didn't matter that Jack was now flattened against the hard floor, that a box of nails had spilled and would need to be resorted and that the can of WD-40 had rolled under the sideboard. All that mattered was the lean, heavy body above him, working him, loosening him, reviving him.
The rain continued to batter the deck. The takeout grew cold.
"Hey," Jack said, gripping Daniel's bare shoulder, "the floor stopped squeaking.".
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by fyere : Stargate SG-1, anyone/anyone, wing!fic, the wings are not glorious and angelic and otherworldly, but really awkward and stupid-looking and they don't even make (character) fly, so what's the point?
Warnings: crack!fic, wing!fic
Winged Victory
“It looks like someone in your family tree fucked a pigeon.”
“You said you would help. That’s not helping.” Daniel craned his head around to try to get a better look.
“Or maybe your grandfather got busy with Quetzalcoatl down there in Mexico. You can’t get the full effect in the mirror; here, let me take a picture.”
“Reach for your camera and you’re a dead man.” Daniel was bare-chested, flushed, and a hair (or perhaps a feather) away from being genuinely angry, but it would have taken a stronger man than Jack not to take a final shot.
“You know what they say about that look: business in the front, poultry in the back.”
“God damn it!” Oops, Jack thought. “It’s bad enough that the Grand…High Priest…of…Whatever isn’t going to be back for three days to fix this, but I thought I might have gotten a little support from you.”
“Daniel, I’m sorry, it’s just that…”
“This isn’t a fucking costume. I have to walk around like this. I have to sleep like this. I have to go to diplomatic meetings like this. But don’t let any of that get in the way of your one-man Comedy Central Roast.”
“Okay, okay.” He held out his hands placatingly. “I get it: not funny.” Daniel had wrapped his arms around himself and looked sulky, a bedraggled, bespectacled Michelangelo angel. “Seriously, they’re not that bad. We’ll put a cloak around them, no one will even notice.”
“They rustle,” Daniel said, almost inaudibly.
“Yeaaaah,” Jack said with a faint shudder, “I can see where that might be disturbing.” Daniel was right; this wasn’t helping. “There’s gotta be an upside to this. Can you do anything with them?”
“I can’t even move them. My brain isn’t wired for that, let alone my body.” Nonetheless, Jack could swear they drooped.
“Hey, now, don’t give up.” Jack believed, with fierce conviction, that there was always an upside to any situation, especially where a half-naked and essentially housebound Daniel was concerned. “Got it! Get in bed.”
“What?”
“Get in bed. I’m gonna give you a reason to be glad about those things.”
Twenty minutes later, Jack rode Daniel like Hercules atop Pegaus. What it lost to a sort of quilly awkwardness, it more than made up in novelty, especially since Daniel’s back and shoulders were apparently sensitive to the little tugs and pulls.
It wasn’t possible afterward for Jack to collapse, as custom dictated, on Daniel’s back, so he rolled to his side and laid his head a few inches from Daniel’s.
“So, better?”
Daniel half-raised his lids and gave Jack a drowsy, contented smile. “Much better.”
“One last joke then? I promise it’s a good one.”
“If you insist.” Daniel’s voice was vanishing into sleep.
“That’s what I call earning your wings the hard way.”
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by
maab_connor : SG-1, Jack/Daniel, coffee on an alien planet
Café con Lechery
“Do you think this whole fucking planet is like Seattle in November?”
Jack glared out the window at the bleak, drenched landscape. For three straight days the sky had been pelting rain. The slightly higher-than-earth gravity made the drops explode on the wooden roof of the guesthouse like mini canonballs, and conspired with the depressing weather to make Jack feel achy and leaden.
“Jack, would you stop pacing like a caged gorilla?” Nose deep in legal texts of a particularly boring variety, Daniel didn’t even spare him a glance.
“Lion. I pace like a caged lion.” He leaned on the side of the heavy desk and into Daniel’s personal space, to no avail. Daniel was in the terminal stages of impatience and caffeine withdrawal. The crease between his eyebrows was threatening to become permanent, his shoulders were hunched, and his long fingers beat a neurotic tattoo on the desk. In the lamplight, his eyes seemed like the only patch of color in the room. In the loft above stood a large and reasonably comfortable bed, sadly underused.
“I’m going out,” Jack announced, slapping the desk. He peeled away and headed out the door before Daniel could say anything pissy that might make him change his mind, and before grabbing a coat, which would have been laughably superfluous.
Three hours later, Jack shoved through the heavy door in a gunfire of pelting rain. He was soaked to the skin, maybe to the bone; but he was bearing a prize.
Daniel had abandoned the legal texts and folded his long body into one of the hard-backed chairs and was hunched over a paperback. He leaped to his feet when Jack entered.
“Where have you been? Are you completely insane, going out in that?” He felt up and down Jack’s soaked BDUs. Now they were getting somewhere.
“For you, I would go to the ends of the earth. Well, maybe not this earth, because it’s a fucking big planet.” He hoisted the fat enameled pot by its long handle. “I have ventured forth and brought back a liquid that is almost, but not quite, entirely unlike coffee, but does in fact contain caffeine.”
Daniel gave Jack a quizzical look before lifting the lid and sniffing. “How do you know?”
“Because after I had a long talk with the cook. He sent me to a druggist, who sent me to a chemist, who drew the molecule for me. It tastes like charcoal barfed by a goat, but definitely contains methyltheobromine.”
Daniel looked as moved as anyone could by organic chemistry. “You did all that just so I could have coffee-or, ‘coffee’? That’s-“ his fingers searched the air for words-“romantic? Nuts?”
“Same thing.” He let Daniel put the little pot aside and finish stripping him, almost a reward in itself, as he worked his way through sodden buttonholes to get to Jack’s bare, goosepimply skin and began rubbing, more gentle than brisk.
“Skin’s like ice…wish there was a fire,” he muttered, sliding warm hands down Jack’s flanks.
“Well, we could always get into bed,” Jack said helpfully. He grudging let Daniel towel his hair off first.
In the loft, the rain was even louder. It was freeing, since it let Jack groan as loud as he wanted while Daniel massaged feeling back into his body. By the time he got to Jack’s cock, Jack would have sworn he was warm, except Daniel’s mouth was like a tropic night, the only really warm thing on this whole miserable planet. Daniel brought him to the peak and let him slide back so often that it went beyond Thank you, maybe beyond Yes and I love you, too. Daniel was only ever selfish in trivial ways.
When Jack came, it was like a long, rolling wave, the landing gentle, on white and yielding sand. Daniel pulled himself up beside him and smiled against his cheek.
“Go to sleep,” Daniel whispered. “We’ve got nothing but time.”
“Don’t want to,” Jack muttered fuzzily. “Want to stay awake and enjoy this.”
“Well, then,” Daniel said, rubbing himself against Jack’s thigh, “how about a cup of coffee?”
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by
amara_m : SG-1, Jack/Daniel, Offworld vacation
Postcard
“Jack? Jack. C’mon, don’t.” In the space of a few minutes, the heat of Jack’s body had progressed to the weight of his hand on Daniel’s hip, the warmth of his breath against the nape of Daniel’s neck, and, finally, an insinuation of lips and tongue behind his ear.
Jack stopped the incipient kiss but didn’t move his hand. Above them, three of Comorra’s moons, in different phases, framed the familiar starlit road of the Milky Way. The whole brilliant spectacle was reflected in the calm waters of the broad crescent beach, picturesque as Hanalei Bay in alien-negative, black sand and emerald water. It was aggressively, almost annoyingly romantic.
A few more minutes and Jack’s second hand joined the first, cupping his hipbones, framing rather than pulling. It was torture. Between the postcard scene before them, the gentle warmth of Jack’s body, and the knowledge that the Comorrans were all attending one of their interminable convocations a kilometer away, Daniel’s brain was mounting a losing defense against what every fiber of his body clearly wanted to do. He gently but firmly disengaged Jack’s hands.
“No teasing. We’re on the clock.”
He felt Jack’s head shake, his lips still so close to Daniel’s skin. “Relax. We’re on vacation.”
“Tell that to Hammond when we come back with moonburn instead of a signed treaty.”
Jack shrugged, lightly massaging Daniel’s hips with his thumbs. “We go to the palace, we request an audience, the lieutenant-whosits turns us away-rinse, repeat, for seven days, and on the eighth he sees us. In the meantime, we’re not only excused from the boring proceedings, we’re forbidden to attend. Which means this is the very best kind of vacation-the kind someone else is paying for.”
It was hard (for a change) to fault Jack’s logic, and he was Daniel’s supervisor as well as his CO, so he knew how many vacation days Daniel had accrued. Furthermore, he had reached around to slowly unzip Daniel’s pants and lift his uniform shirt so that his belly and groin were exposed to the soft alien breezes. Jack urges his wait back so he can slide them both down to the ground, Daniel resting between Jack’s legs, supported against his chest, and blissfully vulnerable to his hands.
Jack’s lips resumed their work against the back of Daniel’s neck, little sucking kisses above his collar, more insistent nips of teeth and tongue against the back of his neck. With his right hand he pulled Daniel free of his trousers, using his left to keep Daniel’s shirt raised. “It looks beautiful in the moonlight,” he whispered.
Daniel sighed, and moaned. It did look beautiful; it felt beautiful, everything felt beautiful. This was solitude and freedom in a way he no longer felt on Earth. Earth had grown small, too small for what they were.
Jack’s hand slid down his shaft, soundless, letting the night air help him in his work. Daniel arched back, feeling the soft rolling thunder of the surf up his spine. One muted crash of waves, and he came, an illuminated jetting arc, as Jack’s hand brought him up sure and firm and his arm wrapped warm and secure across Daniel’s belly.
Jack tightened the embrace and kissed his cheek. “Now we just have to figure out how to order room service.”.
SG-1, Jack/Daniel, adult
Prompt by discodiva76 : Stargate SG-1, Jack/Daniel, rainy days and Sundays
Floorboard
A half a can of WD-40 and the dining room floor was still creaking. His knees were creaking. Floorboards as metaphor for his life these days: some areas worn to the point of instability, others stiff from disuse, none of them content to function smoothly and quietly.
"--wait a few hours, if not, try a couple of finish nails..."
"Talking to yourself, Jack?"
Jack started, wanting to be annoyed that Daniel had somehow managed to come through the patio door unheard. He heard it now: the soaking rain that was giving new life to the early spring grass and probably seeping into the foundation. He looked up at Daniel, who was smiling, dripping, and carrying a large paper bag redolent of lemon grass and promise.
"Aren't you supposed to be in some other galaxy?" He made no move to get off the floor.
"Postponed. Major Vincent had a family emergency, no replacement available. So..." His gaze swept over the WD-40, the toolbox, the pajama bottoms Jack had somehow not gotten around to changing out of.
"Just so you know, I'm tired and cranky and I think my knees have permanently locked. Just so you won't be disappointed."
"No, no, that's just about what I expected." Daniel set the paper bag on the dining table and sat down beside Jack. He stroked a cool, damp hand across Jack's stubbly chin until his jaw relaxed, then leaned in to kiss him, his lips as lush as the awakening grass. His hand slipped into the waistband of Jack's pajamas, pressing against the spot just above the swell of his butt, sending life up his spine.
It didn't matter that Jack was now flattened against the hard floor, that a box of nails had spilled and would need to be resorted and that the can of WD-40 had rolled under the sideboard. All that mattered was the lean, heavy body above him, working him, loosening him, reviving him.
The rain continued to batter the deck. The takeout grew cold.
"Hey," Jack said, gripping Daniel's bare shoulder, "the floor stopped squeaking.".