Title: His Voice

Wordsmith: mor_tru

Email: mor_tru@yahoo.com

Archive: HKH Area52. All others please ask.

Category: Slash/Hurt/Comfort/Humor/Adventure/Established Relationship

Pairings: Jack/Daniel

Spoilers: None

Season/Sequel: Any season

Rating: Adult (nothing graphic)

Content Warning: This story centers on the every day relationship between two male lovers and includes some implied sexual situations. Be aware of some strong language - these are *real* men after all.

Summary: Jack is hurt on a mission and Daniel takes him home - it all goes from there.

Status: Complete

Author’s Notes: Thank you to beta’s Irene and Katherine, always, always the best. Special thanks to Tru, my co-author, for keeping the story on alpha-track and adding that touch of reality that makes writing with him so wonderful.

Disclaimer: This story is a work of Fan Fiction. It is not intended to infringe upon the character copyrights of Showtime, MGM-UA, Gekko Film Corp. or any other affiliated partnerships. It is written solely for entertainment. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the authors and may not be reproduced without written permission from the authors.

Date: Originally published in 2002. Updated 04/03/2005

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~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

His Voice

mor_tru

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

His ‘voice’.

“Damnit Jack!” Daniel frowned. He was annoyed with himself because he was failing miserably with the pissed-off act he was trying hard to project. “You know you’re a real pain in the ass to take to the grocery store.” He scowled and hovered over his lover, one Colonel Jack O’Neill who was sprawled across the length of an excessively cushioned easy chair.

“Honest Daniel, I’ll be good.” Jack punctuated his pleas with a look that said it all. “I’m goin’ stir-crazy here.” There was no denying that O’Neill was playing up the beaten puppy act, which wasn’t really an act at all. His arm was in a sling, his knee was immobilized in a metal cage and there was a picturesque ding across his cheekbone, still bright red and angry. He looked pathetic, and the combination was undeniably pitiable because it said quite clearly to Daniel - you-can’t-deny-me-I’m-hurt.

“You hate shopping and you’re not going with.” Daniel tried to be strong but his words held absolutely no conviction. His resolve was fading fast in the face of Jack’s putto look - a sure guarantee to get the man he loved exactly what he wanted because he knew Jack knew he couldn’t resist him.

Shopping with Jack was just a hands-down nightmare. His string of never-ending sarcasm punctuated every excruciating push of the cart, and the end result inevitably left Daniel totally ticked off and swearing that he’d never, ever take Jack again. But somehow, the ‘never’ of it always faded and Jack would convince him that he really would be, this time out, on his honest-to-god, Eagle Scout’s best behavior.

“I’ll be good. I swear it,” Jack pleaded again. He wanted out of the house badly, even if it did mean going shopping. “Lips are zipped. See? Zipped.” He motioned with an exaggerated slash across his mouth, embossing the promise with a gaze that oozed vulnerability, knowing full well that his pathetic look would drive a stake through Daniel’s heart and tap into the compassion. Jack finally hit his home-run move with a look that said you-have-to-take-care-of-me-because-you’re-the-only-on-who-knows-I’m-not-superman. He knew Daniel would cave - the bruises and bandages tore him up every time. 

“Shit!” Daniel’s frown dissolved along with his resolve. “Not one word! I mean it. Not one god damn word!”  

“Zipped. Promise.” Jack’s triumph couldn’t be contained. The light sparked back into those dark brown eyes as he held out his good arm, faking the need for an assist, and giving his lover a final reason to believe.

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

It had been two weeks since Jack O’Neill had led the recon mission to PX7-463. His return from this last go-out had sent him to the infirmary, which was absolutely the last place he ever wanted to be. Frigging inconvenient was how Jack viewed injuries, and his tolerance level was limited to exactly the length of time it took him to come-to and realize where the hell he was. After that, he just made life excruciating for all those in attendance, where even the seemingly simple task of confining him to a bed was a lesson ripe with futility.

He’d taken a hit when an innocent had run into his line of fire. The little one had suddenly appeared out of nowhere - an unexpected in a volatile situation. He’d gut-reacted but had paid the price for that moment of slight hesitation when the energy bolt from the staff weapon had burned into his shoulder. There was no denying the sear of pain as he dove, scooping the child up within his grasp and using his body to shield her. They’d rolled away into the shadow of security where he deposited her into the waiting arms of a native woman. Her alien eyes had spilled over with pure gratitude, and her strange words were a spoken thank you he intuitively understood through the look they exchanged. Then he’d slumped hard against the wall, the fire that was consuming his shoulder suddenly spiraling down into his chest in a mass of burning confusion. Shit! He mouthed in a flash of anger, because there wasn’t time to react to the burn. He just needed to shut down the pain, because suck-it-up was the only Band-Aid available between here and the tender mercies of old Doc Fraiser.

So he’d pressed his back into the cold hard stone, holding onto it as a temporary anchor while his thoughts focused on the nearby danger and his next move. He never saw the alien scurry away with her fur-covered child clinging precariously to her back as she bound out of sight, disappearing down a burrow that had beckoned her with a yawn. Because in O’Neill’s mind, that small life was safe, and all he needed to do was move on and concentrate on what had to happen next. The strategy of their escape was based on his calculations, backed up by a shitload of training and an uncanny intuition that had saved his ass on more than one occasion. He saw his moves before the team were actually moving, always three steps ahead, and his guard never let down.

“O’Neill!” Teal’c was kneeling off to one side and his voice boomed at O’Neill for attention.

Jack snapped towards the sound, his instincts fully primed as he swallowed down the pain and kicked his body into autopilot. Evacuating the team was now his only priority as he implemented a tactical lets-get-the-fuck-outta-here withdrawal maneuver. He slammed home a full cartridge and signaled with a directional wave of his P90 for Teal’c and the team to circle and exit using the cover of the ruins. Not that they had much in the way of a choice, he thought, as the closing line of hostile Jaffa made the decision for them. O’Neill checked his compass, and indicated with an upright sweep of his hand that they were heading true north.

Jack held his position and mentally checked-off the team’s movements, watching his units navigate through and around the strange buildings. Figures dressed in green fatigues who contrasted darkly against the whiteness of the buildings around them. They were shadows in the daylight - a smear of silhouettes whispering across the remnants of an alien architecture that had once spoken of soft curves. The legacy of strength left behind by a race of people who had valued function as well as beauty. Where the quiet structures seemed to listen wistfully to the team’s presence as each member faded on by, their shadows now joining the sigh of echoes that swirled through a city long since deserted by a race succumbed beneath an evil. It had been a culture of magnificence wiped forever from the universe in the wake of a rampage.

But for O’Neill there was no time to stop and see the beauty of the ruins. He had no time for the distractions. Not time to appreciate the aesthetics of his surroundings because the city’s deserted streets of sadness had to be intentionally ignored. His mind needed to focus on how to navigate away from the fast closing danger. Where who-gives-a rat’s-ass pretty much summed up his feelings and it wasn’t because he didn’t care. How well these buildings could withstand a staff impact and keep his team safe was all he needed or wanted to know at that moment in time.

Because simply put - Colonel Jack O’Neill was an investment of the system, trained to deliver, which he always did, which he always had, and where get-your-sorry-ass-home-in-one-piece was his basic rule of engagement.

Jack dragged himself to his feet, his shoulder numbed by adrenalin and the burn punted into ignore mode. He and Teal’c brought up the rear as the team retreated to the Stargate in a controlled exit. They took out the advancing opposition with each fallback move, while the silent structures provided a safe barrier in which to chess their withdrawal. The only testimony to the teams’ passage through these remnants of the alien city was a series of pockmarks stitching across the bright stone. An eternal stain that marked the blur of their visit.

Teal’c stayed by his side as the firefight pursued them through the city until they finally reached the clearing that had once been a park. They could see the Stargate in the distance, its circle surrounded by gentle monuments that stood on block-pedestals. The spindly super-structures twirled in the light breeze, and their axial spin blurring into ethereal shapes that perhaps resembled the lost inhabitants of this world. The Stargate loomed with promise, and sent out its embrace, beckoning between the gauntlet of stately skeletal figurines. The statues danced alone in the sunlight, their only joy to provide a final cover for these alien shadows that scurried amongst them on their way to somewhere else.

O’Neill ducked down behind a wall and tapped at his communicator, the bleep connecting him to Lieutenant Marcos who was crouched by the DHD. “Marcos!” The close blast of a staff weapon drowned out Jack’s words and knocked him and Teal’c to the ground. O’Neill’s knee buckled as cartilage compacted against bone and he rolled away, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

“Marcos, get the team outta there!” he yelled over the buzz ringing in his ears and punctuated the command with another spit that left a bright blotch of red on the ground. “We’re right behind you!” O’Neill picked himself up and pushed on. The gate was in view and his knee was yelling for attention, both out doing the pain in his shoulder, which was prickling with renewed heat. He could taste metal as his mouth filled from the bleeder that ran ragged along the inside of his cheek. He spat again.

They were within fifty feet from the Stargate. O’Neill could see the heels of the last members of the team disappearing through the shimmer when suddenly the concussion from a final blast took him down. One too many pains to deal with and he rolled, as if in slow motion, beneath the spinning shadows of the alien artwork, their asymmetrical shapes turning in surreal circles above his head as he tried to make sense of their senseless pattern.

Then the world that he was in began to close beneath a blanket of cold that dropped away the pain, and things got hazy as he felt a pressure that was Teal’c pulling him to his feet and tossing him across his wide shoulder. That sensation felt like flying, and he felt dizzy as he looked down at the ground and watched it blur on by. All sounds around him faded into distant echoes as his mind slowly slipped away. But not before he acknowledged somewhere in his deep subconscious that the team was safe and it was okay for him to finally let go. Then the slurping sound, given off by the event horizon as they stepped through, was the final cognitive memory he had before their sudden appearance at the top of the SGC ramp signaled an instant summons for medical help. In the fog he heard the words ‘Close the Iris!’ and felt the vibration of scraping of metal, his head desperately trying to make sense of the spiral pattern which was blending into a confusion of noise. The blare of the sirens and the urgent strobe of the emergency lights broke across the walls.

O’Neill was out of it.

His return had been a blur of vague images, not knowing why the world had suddenly turned upside down. He fought nausea and an overwhelming feeling of disorientation as he hung slumped over Teal’c’s shoulder. Senses swamped in nebulous pain, his body finally submitted to the shock. He was unable to distinguish the distant pressure of the shoulder that supported him from the overall hurt. Where he was, was no longer clear.

The medical orderlies pulled him onto the gurney, warily stepping into the radius of his swing as he tried to fight his way out of the fog that was just his confusion because he thought they were someone else. Dr, Janet Frasier hung back, watching them pin her patient down, their force necessary to secure him, the leather restraints barely keeping him still.

“Colonel O’Neill.” Janet’s voice nudged at his confusion and she placed a hand on his chest, his body remaining tight with a need to fight beneath her touch.

Jack floated unanchored, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t. He drifted somewhere above the commotion, the gateroom sounding hollow. It had turned into a chamber of dark echoes where the voices of Dr. Fraiser and her team had become just more noise that fractured into pieces, like shattered glass, suspended in the void above him. O’Neill could see their lips move, but the words were disassociated from those who were speaking. The clamor hitting his brain had turned their meaning into shards, and like a puzzle in his mind, he couldn’t reassemble them. All coherency had been lost to the mass.

“Colonel?” Janet leaned over him. But he was beyond the point where she could reach him but she gave him the words anyway, trying to provide him with a frame of reference to hang onto. “You’re going to be fine, sir.”

But O’Neill couldn’t make her sounds make sense. He swam around in all the shards – bleeding - running into pieces of her reassuring words and the fragments of their sound. Comprehending anything at that point was way beyond him, because as far as he could tell that sentence was just too damn long for him to piece it all together.

Then ‘that voice’ came through the fog - saying just one word.

“Jack?”

Just a familiar sound to pull it all together and penetrate the descent of blackness.

“Jack?”

It was ‘His voice’ - a welcome shadow there to comfort the pain. He had come to keep Jack from drowning for one more moment of time and provide him with an anchor. Because Daniel, and the touch of his hand grazing Jack’s chest, left a line of love that gave him something to hold onto while he sank beneath the waves.

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

It had been less than one week, but Janet could have sworn that at least a year had passed since she’d wheeled Colonel Jack O’Neill into the infirmary. She loomed over him, her manner stern with bottled exasperation and leaned into her words. “There will be no arguments Colonel,” she commanded, tough because he left her no choice. “You’re barely ambulatory and one ten-minute plod around the infirmary does not translate into driving a car and going home. This is not an option you have at this time,” she finished with a scowl.

She wished her words could be different. She wanted nothing more than to release him but the physician side ruled and she self-acquiesced. She fought that part of her that would have quite gladly strangled him - Hippocratic Oath be damned. Because she knew that Colonel Jack O’Neill had absolutely no patience to be a patient and a fully conscious and undeniably bored O’Neill was just a pain in the ass to keep contained.

“Fer cryin’ out loud Doc!” Jack slumped dejectedly against the pillow, swallowing a grimace as his shoulder took the soft impact. “I’m fine. Trust me. You’ve clamped all the bleeders. Just lemme go home willya. I’m goin’ outta my friggin’ mind!”

“No!” Janet let the word hang in the air, daring the Colonel to pluck at it and give it another meaning. Her patience was now exhausted. Only her own inherent stubbornness remained to combat her reluctant patient as her steadfast resolve dictated he would stay right where he was.

Jack knew the look, and unwillingly surrendered beneath her scowl, watching her walk away, and knowing that there was no point in tossing out a final challenge. He’d already lost this argument twice today and couldn’t stomach the thought of yet another shutdown. So resigned to brood, he closed his eyes beneath a forearm and forced up a block to hide from the boredom. Christ but he wanted out bad. Those first few days had been a morphine-induced blur but now he was coming out of it and he wanted nothing more than to just go home.

He was bored and frustrated, mad and lonely. ‘For Chrissake, stop looking after me and just lemme go’.

“Hey.”

That ‘voice’.

“Daniel.” Jack couldn’t contain the smile that spilled out. It was a gift for the figure suddenly standing at the foot of his bed. “Hey back atcha.” He grinned through any discomfort, because all pain suddenly faded in Daniel’s presence.

“How’re you feeling?” Daniel combined his question with a tug at the nearest of Jack’s toes. He held onto it through the blanket, and squeezed it gently with a touch full of meaning.

“Like I need bail money,” Jack quipped. His plea for a release forced a smile from Daniel that flowed out from his lover like a soothing massage that touched Jack’s aches away.

Daniel eased himself onto the end of the bed, the toe still in his grasp. “What’s it worth to you?” He held up a quarter. “Think I can bail you with this?” The coin flipped into the air.

“I’ll owe ya!” Jack grinned broadly.

“You know it.”

“Fuckin’ A. You got it!”

Then the captured toe received a firm squeeze. “I’ll negotiate the terms and interest later.” Daniel wrapped-up his deal around another smile and ran his hand lightly along the bandaged limb, the trace of it containing a power that would always absorb Jack’s pain.

Jack felt the ease go through him and he knew Daniel would take him home.

He knew Daniel would make everything okay.

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

“I repeat. Not one god damn word!” Daniel was adamant. He knew that the last four days had taken their toll on Jack and his need to get out of the house had slowly escalated to a DEFCON-1-obsession. But his lover in lemme-out-mode was beginning to burn a hole in his patience, not to mention his gut.

They’d survived the first few days on remnants found in the kitchen and Daniel’s subsequent sortie into town to restock supplies. It had been a much-desired trip Jack missed out on. O’Neill had been dozing on the porch, safely tucked beneath a blanket and very much appearing to be the invalid. But it was a situation where Jack could only blame himself for - definitely a product of his own design, but not the one of his choosing.

The days had passed like this and he was slowly going nuts.

His recuperation had taken on the guise of something right out of Pollyanna, which was due only to a minor fuckup in his planning; Jack had simply overplayed his part. That I’m-hurt bit had backfired completely and he had been rewarded quite nicely by Daniel donning the Florence Nightingale cap. This had turned into a huge monster of a role, ultimately manifesting itself in the form of a Daniel no longer in his usual fuck-off-I’m-not-your-damn-nurse-maid but a Daniel in let-me-take-care-of-you-because-you-obviously-can’t-do-anything-for-yourself mode.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, Daniel was force-feeding him endless cups of green tea because he knew it would help. Forgetting that having a couple of Doctorate degrees under no circumstances translates in any shape or form into practitioner of medicine where the administering of green tea by the gallon was ever sanctioned by the Medical Board as the cure-all for just about everything and anything that ails you.

‘Chrissake!’ Jack felt like he was floating. Even the need to pee had taken on a macabre life of its own. Every trip to the john had Daniel at his side with a put-your-arm-around-me-and-we’ll-walk-slowly insistence that was now driving O’Neill up and over the proverbial wall. He needed to regain some rights to his own mobility, to get back to normal, to be in charge of his own body. He desperately wanted to use his body for something else, desperately wanted to have his body used for something else. But Jack had created a monster out of Daniel, inadvertently turning his lover into his nursemaid and the result had produced an insanity - his.

So picking a fight seemed the obvious drugged-induced solution of the insane; Jack’s twisted rationale to get Daniel back to being normal. Because he wanted Daniel back badly with the welcome sound of fuck-you,-you-can-do-it-yourself but even better, the sound of fuck-me-because-I-want-your-body.

Jeesuz Christ! He just wanted Daniel to treat him like his lover and his companion again. He’d had enough of the nursemaid; he just wanted that ‘voice’ to get husky, like it did when they kissed, like it did when they fucked. But unfortunately the fight plan had backfired too. Nothing too dramatic, but the end result was Jack left on the porch moping while Daniel drove into town completely pissed off.

Oh yeah, Jack had managed to reinstate the fuck-you,-you-can-do-it-yourself model, but the other much more desirable one had driven off down the mountain and wasn’t likely to be back real soon.

So Jack moped. Missing that voice, that even in anger made him feel good. Because just the sound of Daniel touched Jack somewhere deep and he couldn’t begin to find words big enough to describe how he felt. All he could do was live in the tone, his heart securely wrapped in its timbre.

He hobbled into the kitchen and parked himself into the ease of the comfy corner chair, waiting patiently for Daniel’s return and resolved, above all else, to be, ‘I promise I’ll-shut-the-fuck-up good’.

It wasn’t an hour into his wait before Daniel returned, the sound of his footsteps across the wood floor sparking a jolt of energy through Jack’s body.

The ‘Damnit Jack..’ conversation had ensued from there but he had eventually won the right to his freedom and Daniel had reluctantly agreed to take him into town.

Jack swallowed the Yeesss!, beneath Daniel’s frown of warning, and then limped through the house, smugly proud that he’d gotten his way. He struggled defiantly down the steps while Daniel shot him a real cool you’re-on-your-own-pal expression that should’ve been a warning of things to come.

Jack hoisted himself into the SUV, showing off his newly found ability to take care of himself, and sporting a huge grin that was immediately checked by the look in those blue eyes that quite clearly reminded him of ‘that promise to be good’.

Jack smiled sheepishly, and as Daniel leaned in to snap the seatbelt, he took a chance, and allowed his hand to drift across Daniel’s tight back. Immediately he felt the release of the tension between them as his lover’s muscles arced willingly into his touch. Reassurance came when Daniel’s lips buzzed at his lightly as he pulled back out of the car. Then Daniel stopped and leaned back in through the door to take a harder and longer kiss that said they were okay.

“Not. One. Word.” Daniel enounced clearly and shot his final warning through the open window as the car door slammed shut, his blue eyes solid in their command.

“Zipped.” The promise was sealed. God! - Jack felt good. The taste of Daniel’s lips was still on his so he gifted his lover a genuine smile of appreciation as he watched Daniel slide in behind the wheel. Jack’s excitement escalated as he took in that body moving strongly beneath the sweatshirt and the faded blue jeans.

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

The trip down the mountain was fast and the breeze blew in through the open windows. It cleared Jack’s head with the smell of burning fall leaves.

So who was it said that revenge is a dish best eaten cold? Jack wished he could’ve remembered because the trip into town then took on a life of its own.

Their conversation on the drive down had centered mainly on how we’d explain the arm in a sling that was clearly damaged, the hobble from the stiff knee in the walking brace and the face that had obviously met with something hard. But a joint explanation was not what Daniel had in mind and Jack realized way too late that there was none of the we involved in that decision making process. It all turned out to be him.

Daniel in pure revenge mode; making up for all those previous trips into town that had been a constant trial on his patience. Making up for this past week of Jack in I’m-bored-as-hell-so-I’ll-bug-you mode. But making up especially for the Florence Nightingale barb that had laced their argument earlier that day.

“Roller-blading accident.” Daniel relished the explanation and shook his head slowly at the pharmacist as he signed the prescription form. The man standing behind the counter responded with an incredulous stare that took in all of Jack. A Jack who had promised to keep it zipped. Had promised for God’s sake! And Jack realized then with a sinking feeling that maybe he had made yet another tactical error.

“Roller-blading while drunk.” Daniel embroidered further for the checkout girl as Jack hobbled down the aisle into hearing range. Her disapproving glance stopping him short as she took in his knee and the arm before raising a single eyebrow that mimicked a certain Jaffa in its power to condescend.

“Roller-blading while drunk and at night.” This one offered to the gas station attendant. Daniel was obviously on a roll and enjoying himself way way too much. He shook his head knowingly as he listened with an attentive ear to the owner who was offering up missives about some people needing to act their age. All the while Jack slouched further down in the seat, trying desperately to duck out from under their scrutiny as the mechanic decided to walk over and throw his two cents into the conversation.

Somehow, this sortie wasn’t going quite as well as Jack had hoped.

“Roller-blading drunk at night, and almost killed a dachshund and an old man on the sidewalk.” Daniel’s voice was grave. The owner of the hardware store and his wife snapped a look that could have easily sunk Jack into the floorboards. He cringed under the tsk tsk they threw his way.

At that moment, Jack wanted nothing more than to get back to the SUV and head for the safety of home. Because by then, Jack, who was normally known for his ice-cold self-control, was feeling very much like the village idiot, quaking in abject fear, just knowing on a gut level that the next embellishment out of Daniel’s mouth could only be in spandex. What had started out in O’Neill’s mind as a pleasant prospect of wallowing in oh-you-poor-boy turned out to be a collective boy-did-you-ever-ask-for-it-ya-moron,-you’re-lucky-you’re-still-alive! Not one shred of compassion did he get, all that went to the imaginary dachshund and his owner. Daniel made quite sure of that. And Jack was absolutely positive that if there had been any more stops, by the end of the day both the old man and his dog would’ve had not only names, but a list of their injuries along with where condolences could be sent. As well as how to contribute to the scholarship fund being setup in the name of the friggin’ dog.

Contrite, Jack clambered awkwardly into the SUV. “You enjoyed that didn’t you?” But his question elicited nothing but a smile as Daniel cranked the ignition and reached over him to pull the seatbelt to where it needed to be. Then the archeologist smiled that cheerful and smug look just inches away from Jack’s face, and it made up instantly for being the village’s drunken roller-blading dachshund murderer.

It made up instantly for absolutely everything.

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

The SUV rolled to a stop in the driveway and Daniel slid out to the ring of his cell phone. He flipped open the cover as he walked around to the passenger side. “Hey Sam.” He said as he opened the door to lean in and unhitch Jack’s seatbelt.

//How’s the Colonel?//

“A pain in the ass.” He offered up, struggling with the clasp, his body lying across Jack’s lap, inadvertently trapping his passenger. Then he felt the warmth of Jack’s hand as it ran along his back, the sensation strangely mixed with the distraction of Sam’s laughter in his ear. And then he realized he wanted nothing more than to stay stretched out beneath that touch, a tenderness he had missed over the last two weeks.

//You want me to stop by, bring supplies?//

The seatbelt clasp snapped free and Daniel could barely hear Sam’s words. He was living within the diversion of Jack’s hand as it wandered down over his ribs. “Uhm…no…that’s okay… just got back from town.” He struggled desperately to hold his voice in check, not wanting her to hear the we-don’t-want-company tone that was choking in his throat with every caress. The heat of Jack’s hand swept through his body, an urgent reminder that Sam showing-up-unexpectedly was a strict no-no.

Home was always private - just them.

//Okay. Call if you need me?//

Sam’s voice echoed around the confined space as Daniel straightened and leaned against the door with Jack’s hand trailing down around his ribs to rest against the growing ache of need now in the pit of his stomach. Jack’s gentle massage forced Daniel to stand still as his body breathed into the warmth of it. He leaned into Jack to take the kiss that was being offered; the intensity from his lover’s lips generating a white light behind his eyes that made him feel suddenly out of it - like all blood was draining from his head. In the rush, Sam’s call was forgotten as Daniel’s body and mind tuned in only to Jack and the overwhelming want to reestablish their connection.

The cell phone fell to the seat discarded without thought as their need to focus elsewhere took over the moment.

//Call me. Okay?//

The detached voice continued to fill the air around them, but neither lover was listening to her distant words. The power of their kiss consumed all time from their space, and the world turned quiet around them.

//Daniel?//

Sam’s pitch increased and the sound of her drifted away into the background. Unable and unwilling to let go of the moment, Daniel’s mind and body were consumed by the touch of Jack as he slipped his wandering hand under the edge of his sweatshirt and dragged a tender trail across the bare skin of his belly. His abs crunch hard in their response and breathing to Daniel right then seemed almost impossible. He sheathed Jack’s hand and pressed it deep into his body as his lover’s energy passed through him and their mouths exchanged the taste of excitement. Jack could French kiss for an hour and not come up for air once. The only way Daniel could survive was to share his breath.

//Daniel? You still there?// Sam’s voice was turning urgent, and it scratched out from between the folds of the seat.

“Yeah.” Daniel swallowed hoarsely into the word, his breath forced out by the pressure of Jack’s attentive hand. He hurriedly dug for the phone until the cushion finally gave it up. “Sam?” He spoke her name into Jack’s mouth as their lips met again, their faces still only inches apart as he brought the intrusion of her presence up to his ear. “Sam?” He couldn’t keep the huskiness out of his tone. But the smile that wrapped her name was not meant for her, but for Jack, whose hand continued its welcome exploration up across his chest, circling around under his arm to trace fingertips down the muscles of his back.

“Gotta go.” Daniel swallowed hard as his body ramped. “I’ll call later in the week,” he rasped out, and snapped the cell phone shut, not waiting for her reply. Impatiently he tossed it and her onto the back seat.

“You okay?” He smiled and watched Jack deliberately remove his arm from the sling.

“Oh yeah.” Came the solid reply. “But you got payback comin’.”

And suddenly Jack’s voice was full of that sound that Daniel had missed too. Then he felt the tips of Jack’s fingers hook into the front of his jeans and his lover pulled him in close, searching fingers slipping down between the fabric and the hardness of his belly. Daniel could do nothing but willingly welcome Jack’s mouth with the heat of his tongue and they unified the touch of sound with the touch of their love.

They stayed within each other for a long while.

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

‘His’ voice?

It didn’t matter whose voice, because it was the sound of magic and just the hearing of each other turned everything okay.

His voice within his voice… simply impossible to differentiate

~~~~~~~oOo~~~~~~~

For Humpty, and a promise to write him as ‘real’.