[ficpost] "Downhill From Here" Jack/Daniel
Title: "Downhill From Here"
Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Marital infidelity
Spoilers/Timeline: After S8. Ish.
Notes: For prehistoric_sea in the Catchallathon.
Summary: But he makes hungry where most he satisfies -- Shakespeare, alt.
Wordcount: ~1000
Downhill From Here
When they were younger.
Well.
Daniel was younger.
Jack's hair was brown.
When they were younger, before Jack's knees gave out for good.
When they were younger, before Daniel cut his hair. Before Daniel was widowed, way before Daniel ascended and descended and before they started over, when they were younger, they didn't have sex. They had orgies.
Two-person orgies. Failed orgies. Small orgies. But still orgies. Between the two of them, there were so many limbs, so much movement, so much sweat, so many muscles, so much grappling, so much feeling, hope, frenzy, fear, that it seemed there were a dozen men in their bed. A dozen men who were really good at fucking men, who had all of Daniel's first-time enthusiasm and all of Jack's long-time experience, who all felt the same new, breathtaking emotion of their fucking, Daniel's wide-eyed wonder that there existed a person in the world who could do these things, who wanted these things, Jack's crooked smile and disbelief. They were both, then, certain that they would end some day, that one of them would die, that Sha're would be recovered and they would... change. There would come a day when a frustrating mission sent them both to their private places and not to the back of Jack's truck, tongues to tongues and hands to asses, cocks out and hard, rough frottage in the brief moments before they were due other places, had other jobs to do.
The first time, Daniel came so quickly that Jack's never stopped teasing him about it, three-second Jackson and trigger-happy Daniel and Jesus Jack, shut up. I'd never fucked a man before.
Daniel hadn't fucked a man then, either. Wanted to, but hadn't gotten near enough to Jack's ass before he'd exploded with excitement.
When they were younger, of course. When they were so young that they were practically adolescent.
When they were older, when Daniel became a widow and Jack became roundly middle-aged, they fucked less often.
When they were older, it seemed less necessary. Certain things had fallen into place between them, and they'd made certain agreements, reserved certain amenities for each other. Bottom right drawer in Daniels' dresser, an eighth of Jack's closet, a slot in the toothbrush holder, every second on-world Sunday. They fucked people who were easier to fuck than each other. There was a time when they stopped talking, and there was a time when Daniel disappeared, and a moment when Daniel saved Jack's life and they didn't think, either of them, that this was because they were in love.
Now.
Now they are older, and Jack is old. Now Daniel's fucked men who aren't Jack, and found them adequate but lacking something vital that's gone in Jack, too, the deadly hunger and the dark humor that were equally present in Jack's eyes, when they were younger, when Jack was, almost, young. When the whole universe was in front of them, and they had a lifetime of adventure to push each other into, when they wrestled and roughhoused and shoved, and a shove became an embrace and the embrace became a kiss and Jack held Daniel's face in his hands and stared at him, shook his head, and kissed him harder. When they were younger, it always surprised them that they'd fallen into sex, again.
Now that they're old, they schedule dates. Jack takes a vacation from his sinecure and hides away in the Minnesota cabin, and Daniel visits him, driving too fast, bringing too much beer, reciting Latin declinations to remind himself of who he is. When he sees Jack, it all flies out of his head, and he's angry and happy and scared, all at once, and they don't say a word except, "Hey."
"Hey."
They want to fuck all night, Jack pinned against the wall and Daniel bearing down on him, reminding him that he's a person and a body, that he has mass and weight and nerve-endings. Daniel wants to fuck off-world into Jack, wants to kiss him with adventure and suck him off with Gate-travel.
But Jack is older, now, and all night's not an option. Daniel sits on a cot, naked, legs spread, grips himself and jerks off, eyes on Jack's, and Jack watches with a smirk and gets half-hard, observing. Daniel wipes off his come and Jack offers him a beer, and they go to bed early, in separate cots. They've lived by themselves so long, and have been forced into such close proximity with each other and their teammates on so many missions, that there's no comfort in cuddling. Instead they sleep in the nude, and in the morning, they have sex that's more tender than loving. There is passion between them, but it's buried so deep and burns so slowly that they hardly feel it, until hours have passed since orgasm and Jack is fishing and Daniel is translating and suddenly a smile breaks on both their faces.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Jack wants to ask What took you so long? Do you know how many years I've been fishing here alone? But he doesn't.
Daniel wouldn't know the answer.
"Wanna fish?"
"No," Daniel says. "I don't fish."
"Why'd you come if you aren't going to fish?"
"I think you're fishing."
"It won't ruin your macho cred if you tell me you love me. Promise."
"You think I'm here for love? Really?"
"You were pretty loving this morning."
"I've loved you a lot longer than since this morning."
"Yeah?"
"Yep."
Jack looks at him for a second, then shrugs. Okay.
"Look, Jack, we're too old to do this. Anyone over the age of twenty is too old for this."
"For love?"
"For... boyfriends. For do you like me or do you like me?"
"When you're as old as I am --"
"Oh, this'll be good."
"There's a point when you don't need to be mature anymore."
"You've never been mature, Jack."
"So I reached the point early. I'm precocious."
"Right."
"So I can tell you without being embarrassed. Or immature. Or unnecessarily sarcastic."
"Really? You can?"
Jack takes a drink of beer, Daniel crosses his arms over his chest, and they stare at each other, wonderingly. After all these years, you.
"No, you're right. I can't."
"Thought so."
"Back inside?"
"Yeah. You sufficiently recovered for more?"
"I guess we'll find out."
Fandom: Stargate: SG-1
Pairing: Jack/Daniel
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Marital infidelity
Spoilers/Timeline: After S8. Ish.
Notes: For prehistoric_sea in the Catchallathon.
Summary: But he makes hungry where most he satisfies -- Shakespeare, alt.
Wordcount: ~1000
Downhill From Here
When they were younger.
Well.
Daniel was younger.
Jack's hair was brown.
When they were younger, before Jack's knees gave out for good.
When they were younger, before Daniel cut his hair. Before Daniel was widowed, way before Daniel ascended and descended and before they started over, when they were younger, they didn't have sex. They had orgies.
Two-person orgies. Failed orgies. Small orgies. But still orgies. Between the two of them, there were so many limbs, so much movement, so much sweat, so many muscles, so much grappling, so much feeling, hope, frenzy, fear, that it seemed there were a dozen men in their bed. A dozen men who were really good at fucking men, who had all of Daniel's first-time enthusiasm and all of Jack's long-time experience, who all felt the same new, breathtaking emotion of their fucking, Daniel's wide-eyed wonder that there existed a person in the world who could do these things, who wanted these things, Jack's crooked smile and disbelief. They were both, then, certain that they would end some day, that one of them would die, that Sha're would be recovered and they would... change. There would come a day when a frustrating mission sent them both to their private places and not to the back of Jack's truck, tongues to tongues and hands to asses, cocks out and hard, rough frottage in the brief moments before they were due other places, had other jobs to do.
The first time, Daniel came so quickly that Jack's never stopped teasing him about it, three-second Jackson and trigger-happy Daniel and Jesus Jack, shut up. I'd never fucked a man before.
Daniel hadn't fucked a man then, either. Wanted to, but hadn't gotten near enough to Jack's ass before he'd exploded with excitement.
When they were younger, of course. When they were so young that they were practically adolescent.
When they were older, when Daniel became a widow and Jack became roundly middle-aged, they fucked less often.
When they were older, it seemed less necessary. Certain things had fallen into place between them, and they'd made certain agreements, reserved certain amenities for each other. Bottom right drawer in Daniels' dresser, an eighth of Jack's closet, a slot in the toothbrush holder, every second on-world Sunday. They fucked people who were easier to fuck than each other. There was a time when they stopped talking, and there was a time when Daniel disappeared, and a moment when Daniel saved Jack's life and they didn't think, either of them, that this was because they were in love.
Now.
Now they are older, and Jack is old. Now Daniel's fucked men who aren't Jack, and found them adequate but lacking something vital that's gone in Jack, too, the deadly hunger and the dark humor that were equally present in Jack's eyes, when they were younger, when Jack was, almost, young. When the whole universe was in front of them, and they had a lifetime of adventure to push each other into, when they wrestled and roughhoused and shoved, and a shove became an embrace and the embrace became a kiss and Jack held Daniel's face in his hands and stared at him, shook his head, and kissed him harder. When they were younger, it always surprised them that they'd fallen into sex, again.
Now that they're old, they schedule dates. Jack takes a vacation from his sinecure and hides away in the Minnesota cabin, and Daniel visits him, driving too fast, bringing too much beer, reciting Latin declinations to remind himself of who he is. When he sees Jack, it all flies out of his head, and he's angry and happy and scared, all at once, and they don't say a word except, "Hey."
"Hey."
They want to fuck all night, Jack pinned against the wall and Daniel bearing down on him, reminding him that he's a person and a body, that he has mass and weight and nerve-endings. Daniel wants to fuck off-world into Jack, wants to kiss him with adventure and suck him off with Gate-travel.
But Jack is older, now, and all night's not an option. Daniel sits on a cot, naked, legs spread, grips himself and jerks off, eyes on Jack's, and Jack watches with a smirk and gets half-hard, observing. Daniel wipes off his come and Jack offers him a beer, and they go to bed early, in separate cots. They've lived by themselves so long, and have been forced into such close proximity with each other and their teammates on so many missions, that there's no comfort in cuddling. Instead they sleep in the nude, and in the morning, they have sex that's more tender than loving. There is passion between them, but it's buried so deep and burns so slowly that they hardly feel it, until hours have passed since orgasm and Jack is fishing and Daniel is translating and suddenly a smile breaks on both their faces.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Jack wants to ask What took you so long? Do you know how many years I've been fishing here alone? But he doesn't.
Daniel wouldn't know the answer.
"Wanna fish?"
"No," Daniel says. "I don't fish."
"Why'd you come if you aren't going to fish?"
"I think you're fishing."
"It won't ruin your macho cred if you tell me you love me. Promise."
"You think I'm here for love? Really?"
"You were pretty loving this morning."
"I've loved you a lot longer than since this morning."
"Yeah?"
"Yep."
Jack looks at him for a second, then shrugs. Okay.
"Look, Jack, we're too old to do this. Anyone over the age of twenty is too old for this."
"For love?"
"For... boyfriends. For do you like me or do you like me?"
"When you're as old as I am --"
"Oh, this'll be good."
"There's a point when you don't need to be mature anymore."
"You've never been mature, Jack."
"So I reached the point early. I'm precocious."
"Right."
"So I can tell you without being embarrassed. Or immature. Or unnecessarily sarcastic."
"Really? You can?"
Jack takes a drink of beer, Daniel crosses his arms over his chest, and they stare at each other, wonderingly. After all these years, you.
"No, you're right. I can't."
"Thought so."
"Back inside?"
"Yeah. You sufficiently recovered for more?"
"I guess we'll find out."