Summary: Discretion is the better part of velour
Daniel juggled the handles of the plastic shopping bags he was carrying and shifted the six-pack of beer, wedging it tightly between his elbow and waist. His right hand now free of all encumbrances, he reached out to ring Jack's doorbell. Knowing that his friend was probably pretty annoyed with him right about now, Daniel had decided to make amends in the time honored tradition: an offering of victuals and libations, or, in the Jack O'Neill variant greasy, fat laden junk food and fermented beverages. Taking a deep breath, Daniel pushed the doorbell, hearing it ring through the heavy wooden door, as he waited for Jack to answer.
Thinking back on the rapidly escalating prank war and its rather dramatic conclusion, he knew that Jack had been less than pleased that Daniel had managed to outfox the wily Colonel. Daniel 'harrumphed' inwardly. Now that was an understatement if ever there was one. Jack had been thoroughly pissed. Though he had many fine character traits that Daniel genuinely admired, being a gracious loser was not one of them. Jack played to win and if he didn't--a rarity, in Daniel's experience--well, the results weren't pretty.
Initially, Daniel had been so elated at having kicked Jack's ass and at his own game no less, that he hadn't really considered the repercussions. As he had pointed out to Jack, his timing on that last prank really had sucked and he really had no one to blame but himself when it blew up in his face in a big way. And yes, Daniel had gotten a kick out of seeing the General chastise Jack for picking on 'poor, innocent Daniel' and then watching Jack's expression as it flickered from embarrassment to disbelief to outrage as he realized that Daniel was getting off scot-free. Jack had been careless; he'd left a paper trail, a rather glaring one, which, combined with his reputation for outrageousness and inappropriate humor, had been all the evidence that the General had needed to hoist Jack up by his own petard.
Since the point of this entire exercise, at least originally, had been to teach the rambunctious Colonel a lesson regarding the dangers of pulling pranks, Daniel considered it a success. Jack got chastened, Daniel got payback, all's well that end's well. It was so rare that Daniel got one up on his incorrigible team leader that he had basked in his triumph all night long, from the moment he swept out of the locker room leaving a befuddled and speechless Jack O'Neill floundering in his wake, until he awoke this morning. It was then, as he sat at his kitchen table sipping his second mug of coffee that the doubts began to creep in.
Maybe, just maybe, it had all gotten a little out of hand. Daniel had gotten so swept up in the thrill of the prank war, the wicked glee of carefully plotting his adversary's downfall, the wonderful feeling of victory when he went down, that he lost sight of the fact that it was all, well, rather childish. As a rule, he tried to avoid sinking to Jack's level, firmly believing that one would-be juvenile delinquent on SG-1 was more than enough and that he, Daniel Jackson, would maintain the high road, despite all Jack's efforts to drag him down into the mire. Despite his better impulses, this time Daniel dove into the mire of his own volition, and for that he had no one to blame but himself.
Now, however, he was a little worried about the fallout. Not so much any official repercussions--he was already off the hook and Daniel was fairly confidant he could talk the General around should he decide Jack's actions required additional censure--but rather the potential impact on his personal relationship with Jack. He wanted Jack to know that he held no ill will towards his friend and that as far as Daniel was concerned it was all water under the bridge.
Hence Daniel's decision to show up on Jack's doorstep bearing a peace offering in the form of spicy chicken wings and Tater skins from 'Buffalo Bob's,' a large tub of homemade Rocky Road ice cream from Thomas Sweet and a six-pack of 'Beck's,' Jack's current beer of choice. He had decided not to call Jack in advance, opting instead for an ambush which seemed to be Jack's own preferred strategy for dealing with Daniel any time he believed an apology of some sort was warranted. He had been relieved to see Jack's truck parked in his driveway, half fearing that Jack might be out and that he might lose his nerve.
He shifted the six-pack of beer, using his hip to balance it better as Daniel rang the doorbell again and waited. When this second summons elicited no response, Daniel rapped his knuckled loudly against the door. No answer. Thinking Jack might be out back and hadn't heard the doorbell, Daniel walked around to the back of the house. No sign of the man himself, but Daniel noticed that the back door was open, a sure sign that the security conscious Colonel was at home. Once again juggling bags and beer, Daniel wrestled the screen door open and walked inside to dump the bags on the kitchen table, before depositing the beer in the fridge and the ice cream in the freezer.
"Jack?" Daniel called out, poking his head into the living room, looking for some sign of his missing friend.
"Down here." A muffled voice responded
Daniel walked back into the kitchen, realizing the voice had come from the basement. Pushing the basement door open and trotting down the stairs into the cellar, Daniel found himself face to face with a sight that was as novel as it was mundane: Colonel Jack 'Hard Ass' O'Neill doing laundry. It was, at least to Daniel's mind, a strange sight indeed. Given recent events, he would have thought Jack would have given a wide berth to anything remotely related to laundry in any way, shape or form.
Jack was standing in front of his washer pulling a load of sopping wet clothing from the machine's interior, hugging it close to his chest before transferring it to the nearby dryer. He carried out the task with his usual efficiency, tossing a sheet of fabric softener into the dryer before shutting the door, setting the timer and temperature controls and then hitting the 'ON' button, setting the machine to rumbling and chugging as it went about its work.
As Jack began to put a new load of clothing into the washing machine, Daniel's eyes swept across the space, taking in not only not only the washer and dryer, but the wooden table placed next to them on which Jack had a neatly arrayed selection of detergents and cleaning supplies. Daniel was mildly amused to note that Jack had fabric softener in both sheet and liquid form; clearly this was a man who took the softness of his fabrics very seriously. Unfortunately, Daniel's perusal also provided him with an up close and personal view of Jack's ass as the other man leaned over the top of the washer, depositing his clothing before bending over even further to add detergent. Daniel's mouth suddenly went dry at the provocative sight, his pulse beating faster as he took in the way the seat of the tan chinos seemed to cling so smoothly to the flesh beneath.
'Get a hold of yourself, Daniel,' he admonished himself sternly. 'You're here to make sure everything is OK between you and Jack, not to leer over his admittedly very attractive body.'
Daniel was snapped out of his reverie by the clanging sound of the lid of the washer being closed and the washer filling with water.
"Daniel?" Jack queried in that neutral drawl which could denote anything from wry amusement to genuine curiosity. "Whatcha doin' here?"
"Oh. I...well I...I felt kinda bad about what happened yesterday, you know with Hammond..." Daniel cursed inwardly for letting himself get so flustered. 'Not my fault. If Jack wouldn't go waving that ass of his around so much...'
"Oh, you mean when Hammond busted my chops for playing dirty tricks on sweet, innocent Danny Jackson and then offered you his deepest apologies for my shameless behavior?" Jack's tone was honey sweet, but there was a sharpness underneath that grated on Daniel's nerves.
'Oh yeah, Jack was still pissed.' "Yes, that's exactly what I'm referring to."
"Well, it's nice to see you feeling a little bit guilty about how things went down, seein' as how I'm the one that got called down on the carpet."
Daniel took another breath, trying to hold onto his calm in the face of Jack's irritation. It never ceased to amaze him how he could go from zero to cross-eyed with annoyance after about sixty seconds in the other man's presence. Reminding himself he'd come to bury the hatchet--and not in Jack's head, tempting though that might be--he took a breath and continued.
"Look, Jack," he began, keeping his voice even, "I came here to try and smooth things over. I even brought a peace offering: chicken wings, ice cream, beer..."
Daniel gave Jack his best smile and most earnest expression.
"You do that a lot, don't you?"
"Use the sweet n'innocent act to wheedle your way outta stuff." Jack explained, his tone cool and even. "You've got Hammond wrapped around your little finger, and we won't even talk about the nursing staff or staff in the mess hall. You probably bat your eyelashes to get out of traffic tickets too, dontcha?"
Daniel was speechless with indignation. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He felt like he was doing a fine impression of a guppy before he finally got his vocal chords and his lip muscles working in sync again.
"What?! Are you calling me a flirt?" he blurted
"Hey! If the shoe fits Cinderella!"
"Well you're one to talk!" Daniel shot back, his outrage rising. "I've seen the way you sweet talk Janet when your tirades don't get you out of the infirmary fast enough. And I've noticed how Lieutenant Winthrop in tech services always seems to be available to fix your computer 24/7. Oh, and then there's Sergeant Miller in accounting; she manages to get you reimbursements with something akin to the speed of light. The list goes on. Shall I continue?"
"Been takin' notes, Dannyboy?"
"Don't have to Jacko! Everybody on base is wise to your 'Smooth Colonel Act.'"
"'Smooth Colonel Act,' huh?! I don't think that even begins to hold a candle to your 'Little Archeologist Lost' bit. You know, the big blue eyes, pouting lips, sweet little boyish smiles. Ringin' any bells here?"
Actually, with a bit of a guilty start, he realized he knew exactly what Jack was talking about. What he said was, "I don't know what you're going on about, Jack."
"Sure ya don't, Dannyboy. You're as pure as the driven snow and all that, except I know better!"
By this point in the argument, they were quite literally toe to toe, their faces bare inches apart and Daniel could feel Jack's breath crossing the short distance between them to caress his lips. Daniel couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this angry. Or this aroused.
"Well fuck you, Jack!" he snarled at the older man, pushing him back with a shove to his chest.
"Don't go makin' promises you don't plan to keep, Dannyboy!"
Surely Jack hadn't just said what he thought he heard? Yet, looking at Jack's face, at the flush warming his cheeks, the glint in his eyes, suddenly dark and hazy as if with desire, Daniel could believe it. He wanted, needed to believe.
With a sudden, reckless movement he reached across the gap, wrapping his hand around the back of Jack's neck, pulling him into a searing kiss.
It was incredible, like a flash of electric current running through his veins sparking every nerve ending along its path. He molded his mouth to Jack's, pulling him in closer, feeling his body hard and warm pressed against his own.
'Oh God, no!'
It hit him, with the sobering force of a bucket of ice water. He was kissing Jack. His best friend Jack. His straight, military best friend Jack. It was sudden, brutal awakening from a wonderful erotic dream made flesh. Daniel pulled back, ready to apologize, to grovel, to go and crawl under the first rock he found and stay there for the next decade or three.
But even as he moved away, Jack's hand shot out with uncanny speed and fisted in his shirt dragging Daniel back towards him. Before Daniel could utter a word of apology or protest, Jack was kissing him with a fervor that matched, even surpassed that which Daniel had displayed only moments before. Jack's hand released his shirt almost immediately, his arm sliding around his shoulders, drawing him into closer contact while the other slid around his waist, locking their bodies in a full embrace.
Much, much later when he had the advantage of hindsight and personal experience, Daniel would realize he should have seen this coming. For a long time.
The signs had all been there: the odd glances, the gazes that lingered just a shade too long, the frankly appraising and admiring looks carried out when the object of scrutiny was apparently otherwise engaged. All those seemingly casual touches and the way he and Jack would 'accidentally' bump into one another in spaces that were certainly large enough to accommodate two full grown men. It all added up to one thing: intense mutual attraction of the hot and sweaty variety. The two of them had been smoldering at one another for months now, and he hadn't fully understood it until now.
For so long, Daniel had been living a tightly constructed charade, playing the role of best friend and comrade-in-arms in public, while going home each night to jerk off with the other man's face and body dancing seductively behind closed lids. He'd wanted Jack so badly, but he'd been unwilling to take the chance, to risk everything--the closeness, the friendship, the respect-until now. With one heedless act, one hungry, desperate kiss, he had crossed the line from stalwart friend to potential lover.
Like a spark to dry kindling, the passion flared within him. Hot and incandescent, it spread with dizzying speed, every nerve caught alight fueling the restless hunger. Daniel wanted Jack and now that he had him, had touched him, tasted him, he was damned if he would let him go.
Hands tangling tightly in the other man's hair, he deepened the kiss, grinding his mouth against Jack's, demanding, taking everything he could. Jack surrendered, allowing Daniel control, but it was a temporary reprieve. Soon Jack was launching a counter offensive of lips, tongue and teeth, and Daniel had no choice but to submit to the greedy wanton demands of the other man's mouth.
Daniel felt his body being pressed inexorably backward, step by step, and suddenly, unexpectedly, he was being lifted. As his body came to rest, he realized that Jack had deposited him atop the dryer. He could feel it rumbling beneath him, vibrating, sending small, trembling shocks along his ass and down along his thighs. He could spare only the briefest of thoughts for his new location as Jack leaned in further, deepening their kiss. Daniel spread his legs, allowing Jack to move closer, and closer still as Daniel wrapped his legs around the other man's hips.
It was, Daniel realized, one of the most intensely erotic experiences of his life. The smell, the taste, the weight of Jack as he pressed against Daniel while the dryer added its own noisy counterpoint. He was surrounded by heat and motion. It was everything, it wasn't enough. Not nearly enough. Daniel wanted, needed skin. He began to tug frantically at Jack's shirt, pulling it free from the other man's waist band. He moved his hands upwards in a restless dance, skimming the planes of Jack's back, tracing the knots of his spine, the shape and firmness of his shoulder blades.
Jack was anything but passive during these explorations. One hand remained tangled in his hair, shifting through the short strands as he held Daniel's head in place as the other roamed wantonly, from arm to rib to jeans encased thigh. Jack gave a small moan as Daniel's right hand ghosted across an unexpected erogenous zone just below Jack's ribs, gripping with sudden strength along the inside of Daniel's thigh. Jack was pushing against him with greater force now, his knees banging against the door to the dryer in time with his thrusts, adding a tinny rhythmic thudding like a primal back beat to the strange symphony of lust that was filling the laundry room.
Daniel was insensate with desire now. Only one thought emerged from the testosterone laden fog blanketing his brain:
Using the dryer as leverage, Daniel pushed himself off and down, and in a rapid move that would have been the envy of any Special Ops trained Colonel, Daniel twisted his body, pivoting around so that now Jack was pinned against the washing machine. The move was so sudden, the force behind it so violent, the machine actually rocked backwards slightly, the top of the control panel banging against the stone wall. Jack made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a chuckle as the two men pulled apart to draw breath. Both men were heaving with exertion and lack of oxygen, but the reprieve was brief, the need for oxygen currently overshadowed by the desperate need for one another. Daniel dove in for another kiss, crushing his mouth to Jack's, the tattoo of need pounding once more in his brain in sync with his heartbeat. More. More. More...
He and Jack were moving in unison now, their groins, hot and heavy, grinding against one another. Jack's hands had slipped to his ass, pressing him in closer, his fingers kneeding the muscles with such vigor Daniel thought he could feel the edges of Jack's blunt fingernails clear through the denim covering. Daniel, however, had a new target. His hands moved down, reaching for Jack's belt. Everything, every sensation, seemed heightened to preternatural intensity. He tugged at the leather, feeling the slightly frayed edges of the tongue, the smooth, cool metal of the buckle, the stitching along the top of the waistband of Jack's trousers. His fingers faltered, suddenly abnormally clumsy at this otherwise commonplace act. He muttered a curse at his ineptitude that was swallowed by Jack's mouth.
Finally after what seemed hours of struggling, Daniel opened Jack's belt and moved on to the button and fly of Jack's pants. They put up less of a struggle than the belt had, despite the rather pronounced bulge that was tenting the cotton fabric. Daniel took as much care as he could manage is his frantic state, easing the zipper down and then slipping his hand inside the cotton boxers beneath.
By this time, Jack had broken off the lung sucking, eye popping, brain melting, kiss and was moving his mouth across Daniel's cheeks, jaw and neck. Like a heat seeking missile, Jack seemed to target all of Daniel's erogenous zones with an uncanny accuracy. He flicked his tongue on that precise spot just below Daniel's right ear that always sent tremors coursing through his body. 'How had Jack found that so quickly?' He had moved so swiftly, so unerringly, almost as if he has expected Daniel to have a hot spot at that very place. Using lips, tongue and teeth like an erotic arsenal, he continued the assault, as one by one every drop of blood fled the field of battle to take up defensive positions in his groin. They knew the brain was a lost cause; indefensible, it had fallen in the first wave of the siege laid by Jack's body. There was no choice but to retreat to the second line of defense and pray that all would not end in a rut, um, rout. Daniel suddenly giggled, wondering when his groin had begun to take orders from General Patton and why the air had suddenly gotten so thin. The moment of levity vanished as Jack nipped his way along his collar bone, briefly but forcefully sinking his teeth into the juncture between neck and shoulder. Daniel arched upwards in response, a groan forced from his mouth. 'Oh God!'
Suddenly, Daniel felt himself spinning, turning, moving, as Jack once again reversed their positions. This time Daniel felt himself pressed up against the small wooden table where Jack kept his detergent and other assorted laundry and cleaning supplies. Jack leaned his body downwards, laying Daniel almost flat against the table top. As if from a distance, Daniel heard tinkling sounds, as if something-a measuring cup?-had fallen to the floor. It didn't matter, nothing mattered beyond the warmth and power of Jack's body, the hardness of their erections clashing, the trail of wetness from Jack's passionate kisses.
He felt Jack's hands moving across his body, fumbling with his belt buckle. Daniel wanted to help, perhaps offer words of encouragement, but he couldn't get his hands to release their hold from Jack's hips or make his mouth to form the words. And at this stage, there really wasn't any point in trying to get any of those blood cells back into his brain. They all seemed pretty darn content where they were, and, well, Daniel couldn't disagree with their plan in the slightest. Nope. Just put a vacancy sign up in his brain and let those babies buy a condo south of the equator. It's much warmer down there anyway.
Finally, Jack succeeded in opening Daniel's fly, reaching his hand in to grasp Daniel's insistent erection. He groaned, a low, deep sound from the back of his throat and he responded to that frontal attack the only possible way: he took Jack's cock in his fist and began to pump in time with the other man's motions.
Jack leaned over taking Daniel's mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue twisting and tangling with Daniel's own. 'Yes, God, yes.' He wanted this so much, more than he had even imagined. Jack was everywhere: on him, around him, within him. He could feel Jack's heat and urgent need, even as he could feel the table trembling and vibrating beneath him, almost like the dryer had.
The table was now shaking with terrible force, the edge banging loudly against the wall. And then suddenly there was another sound, a sound of cracking, splintering wood as the table collapsed, dumping the men, detergent and various cleaning supplies in an indiscriminant heap on the floor.
Fortunately, neither domestic calamity nor the force of gravity itself could halt what had begun. Jack and Daniel had landed in a tangled pile of limbs with Daniel sprawled on top of the older man. Daniel liked this arrangement just fine, and Jack didn't seem to have any complaints either. The heat was building now, reaching towards a breathtaking crescendo. Jack had spread his legs, allowing Daniel's body to nestle between as the two bodies pressed and thrust together, moving towards climax. Jack's hands were once again planted on Daniel's ass, kneeding the firm flesh, while Daniel placed his hands on either side of Jack's face and took his mouth in a searing, oxygen depriving kiss. Suddenly Daniel stiffened, as climax raced through his body. He shouted his pleasure into Jack's mouth even as the older man hit the peak and followed him down in the dizzying, wondrous descent back to earth.
Jack couldn't remember the last time he'd grayed out-he refused to think in terms of blacking out, or God forbid, fainting-from sex, but it had been a long time. A long time. Granted, it had also been awhile since Jack had actually engaged in anything beyond a little one handed relief, but he was fairly confident he'd never had an orgasm quite so intense in his entire life.
At the moment, he had neither the strength nor the will to do anything but lie there on the cold, hard floor and try to get his breathing and heartbeat back on an even keel. Daniel was still sprawled across him, his eyes closed and his head resting on Jack's chest. Daniel, as Jack had come to fully appreciate of late, had bulked up considerably and all that muscle was rather heavy. The weight of Daniel's body pressing down on him should have been uncomfortable. Instead, it was comforting. It felt right.
He stretched his arm out to the side, trying to work out a ache he'd gotten during the fall. It was then that he realized there was something wet and sticky against his back, presumably different from the wet and sticky covering his front. He reached out his hand to touch the viscous fluid then brought his fingertips to his nose and sniffed. Jack wrinkled his nose. 'Liquid fabric softener,' he thought. He craned his neck and turned his head as best he could with 178 pounds of delectable archeologist dead weight pressing against him and surveyed the scene.
Yep. Fabric softener. And detergent. And bleach. His laundry room looked like General Clean's last stand and Jack felt a sudden urge to call for a clean up in aisle seven. He closed his eyes and flung his hand across them and just breathed. He could still hear the rumble of the dryer as it tossed his clothes about with manic glee. The sound of the washing machine had changed, shifting from the chugging of the rinse cycle to the whirring of the spin cycle. But those sounds were distant and irrelevant compared to the sound of Daniel's heart beating against his chest and his breath huffing softly near his ear. Suddenly the toxic laundry spill was meaningless in the light of this other result. Hell, the bleach could eat right through the floor and start merrily corroding the foundation of his house for all he cared right now. He had Daniel, a half naked, sweaty, smelly and-- if that sweet smile curling his lips was any indication--fully satisfied Daniel in his arms.
He reached up his hand, the one not dipped in fabric softener, and gently stroked Daniel's sweat dampened hair off his forehead. His fingers moved in a lazy, unconscious rhythm as Jack relaxed into it, enjoying the pleasure of simply touching almost as much as the sex. Whoa! And what sex! Who'd've thought Daniel was such a dynamo and so damned aggressive?
Jack stopped that thought right there. 'You're doing it again. Underestimating him. You know perfectly well that when Daniel sets his mind to do something he gives 110 percent. Actually, you should have seen this coming. All the passion, all the fire he brings to his work, to pleading whatever cause he's championed, butting heads-not that kind, gutter brain-with you, it was inevitable he would be as amazing a lover as he was a scholar, a diplomat and a friend.'
It was then that Jack became aware of eyes upon him. He looked down to see Daniel gazing up at him with that earnest, serious expression he knew so well, right down to the line that creased his brow and the slight pout of his full lower lip.
Suddenly nervous, Jack offered a smile he hoped indicated a confidence he wasn't feeling at the moment. "Hey."
'Oh yeah, welcome Jack O'Neill's top ten romantic lines, also known as the most incredibly lame things you could say to the friend you just had sex with.'
"Hey," Daniel responded in turn.
Jack sighed inwardly in relief. Looked like Daniel was as much at a loss as he was to come up with witty repartee-cum-declarations of affection. Jack felt a little more at ease.
"S o, how ya doin' down there?" he queried, trying to lighten the mood and ease his way into the conversation he knew was coming.
"OK, I guess. I mean...well...I...um..." Daniel stuttered, something he rarely did these days. Jack's confidence was increasing by the second. If he could regain his balance before Daniel did maybe he get control of the situation that had spiraled so quickly out of his control.
'Yeah, but it was a hell of a spiral. Woo hoo!'
'You and what army, flyboy? Or would that be squadron? snicker'
God, here we go again. Other people get a conscience, I get a snarky oversexed juvenile delinquent roaming around in my head.
"Jack?" Daniel queried, his voice so soft it barely registered over the washing machine that was clearly in the last whirls of the spin cycle.
"Sorry Daniel." he apologized looking down fondly at the younger man. He was glad he didn't have a mirror anywhere around because he had the suspicion that right about now he was wearing a big, dopey grin and a generally doting expression. At least if he couldn't see the evidence with his own eyes he could continue merrily on in the state of denial. Lord knows he spent enough time there he should be able to claim it as place of residency on his annual tax forms instead of Colorado.
"You were saying?" Jack prompted, trying to school his expression into something a little less leering and a little more supportive.
"Well," Daniel began again, clearly trying to regain control of himself, "This was just, well it was..."
'Amazing? Incredible? Mind blowing?'
"Oh." Jack tried for neutral but even he could hear the hurt and disappointment along the edges of his tone.
Daniel looked up sharply, registering the unhappiness in his voice. "Oh! No, no! It was...great. I mean really. On a scale of 1 to 10, a definite wow!"
"Definite wow," Daniel confirmed his face and voice suddenly becoming shy. He looked at Jack, apprehension becoming apparent. "Um, Jack? What about you? I mean..."
"Definite wow," He reassured the younger man. 'Absolutely posi- fucking-tively wow with a side order of astounding and a big helping of phenomenal for dessert.'
"Uh, Jack? Why do you have a sheet of fabric softener stuck to your head?
Jack reached up with the hand that was still covered in liquid fabric softener and patted around his head. On the second pat, his hand made contact with something. He pulled it down to look at it. 'Yep. Definitely a sheet of fabric softener.'
Daniel looked at Jack.
Jack looked at Daniel.
They both burst out laughing. God, that felt good! When was the last time he had laughed, really laughed out loud so hard his sides ached and his belly cramped? He thought about. 'Well, that would probably be when Danny's pants got ventilated.'
And before that?
'Well, that would be Danny in his pink undies.'
And before that?
'That would have to be the whole Daniel Jackson belly button extravaganza.'
Hmm. Noticing a trend here, Jacko?
But even more amazing was watching Daniel laugh. He had a wonderful laugh, rich and throaty and utterly contagious. Jack suddenly realized how little Daniel actually laughed. Jack was willing to wager a month's pay plus extra hazard pay that Daniel had laughed more in the last two weeks than he had in the last two months. Hell, probably the last two years for that matter. And that really was a tragedy. But it was also one within Jack's power to rectify. He might've failed to deliver on his promise to give Daniel back Shar'e, he might've been unable to keep Daniel from getting his chest blown away on Klorel's ship or from being kidnapped by an adolescent Unas trying to impress the folks, but Jack made a solemn vow that henceforward Dr. Daniel Jackson would laugh. He would laugh regularly, and he would laugh loudly. Giggles, chuckles, guffaws, the whole nine yards. Jack would make sure of that.
Finally, both men were able to contain their post-orgasmic laundry- induced fit of mirth. Daniel was wiping his cheeks with his left sleeve, after having discovered that his right sleeve had been soaked in what appeared to be a mixture of fabric softener and bleach then lightly battered in a coating of detergent granules. Jack was lying back letting his stomach muscles ease up, even as he felt around making sure no other errant sheets of fabric softener had decided to attach themselves to his person.
Daniel gave a giant yawn. "Sorry," he apologized, then preceded to yawn a second time.
Actually Jack couldn't agree more. Now that all the sound and fury of the preceding lustfest had dissipated, Jack felt about as spent as an old dishrag. And given that he was currently lying in a potentially lethal puddle of cleaning supplies, that was probably a pretty apt analogy. He knew he should probably get up now, grab Daniel, and relocate to a softer and less toxic venue. One impromptu tumble onto a cold concrete floor was more than enough for these old bones and they had already succeeded in demolishing the only piece of furniture in their current locale worthy of the name.
A sudden imp of amusement darted into his brain; it had been a long time since he'd actually wrecked the furnishings in the throes of sex. He'd have to replace the table and he suspected Daniel might have caught a splinter or two, but Jack was of the belief the table had given itself in a selfless act of heroism. Maybe he could convince Daniel to have sex on the replacement when he got it, you know, kinda like a memorial service to honor the noble sacrifice of its predecessor? Maybe make it a weekly event even? After all, true heroism should never be forgotten.
OK, he knew he should get up off the floor. Problem was, he just couldn't find the strength, or the will to move. Daniel had collapsed back on top of him in a boneless sprawl, his cheek pressed against Jack's chest, his soft hair tickling his throat. Jack wrapped his left arm around the drowsing man, stroking slowly up and down his back.
Jack leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Daniel's forehead. The archeologist gave a contented sigh then cuddled in closer to Jack's warmth, a sweet, thoroughly contented smile tracing his lips.
'Daniel's a snuggler. Oh, yeah there's a shocker.' Jack thought and then smiled to himself as that idea sunk in and his gaze shifted to the box of fabric softener and the pink scented sheets scattered across the floor.
"Good night,'Snuggle,'" he told the younger man.
Already half asleep, Daniel frowned as he caught Jack's words. His eyes still closed, he huffed somewhat indignantly. "'Night 'Downy.'" His voice slurred by impending slumber he concluded, "Now shut up. 'M tryin' ta sleep here." And with that pronouncement, Daniel did just that.
Jack chuckled softly. 'Oh, yeah, life was about to get real interesting from here on out.'
As the smells of sweat and musk and chlorine bleach permeated his senses and the rhythmic chugging of the dryer carried on in the background, Jack reflected it simply didn't get much better than this. He suspected come Monday, Hammond might decide to impose a little punishment on Jack for his blatant exploitation of the SGC laundry facilities for his own personal benefit. Jack wasn't too worried, though. Hammond was a teddy bear at heart, and Jack had promised there would be no more laundry pranks at the SGC.
Jack's smile broadened. Of course, he'd never said anything about tech support pranks, now had he? Hmm. He wondered how Daniel would feel about a new screen saver entitled 'Belly Buttons on Parade'?
As he looked down at the archeologist lost in peaceful, oblivious slumber, Jack's smile took on a truly wicked gleam. 'Oh, yeah, This is gonna be good.'