Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

My eyes were shut. I wasn't asleep, but I was close, just on the edge of drifting off. I heard the door open and Jack's whispered voice. I expected him to say my name, but he didn't.

"Teal'c."

Teal'c sat up. "Jack O'Neill," he whispered back.

"You're up, big guy. Four-hour watch."

"Is Major Carter all right?" Teal'c said. Rustling noises indicated that he was putting his shoes on.

"I assume she's fine. She's still in the women's dormitory, or whatever you call it. Is Daniel—?"

"I'm awake," I said.

"Not very, by the sound of it," Jack said. "Everything's quiet. The inhabitants of this little hamlet seem boring. I like that."

Teal'c stood up. "I will alert you if anything seems amiss."

Jack unhooked his weapon and placed it on the ground. "You do that," he said. He unbuckled his vest. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud. "Usually, the shooting is the giveaway. Or, in your case, the staff weapon blast." He kicked off his shoes. "Four hours. Then come get me."

"Hey," I protested, but my heart wasn't in it. I didn't mind skipping watch.

"Get some sleep, Daniel. You have to wear your translating hat all day tomorrow. Teal'c and I get to wear our standing-around hats."

"Sleep well," Teal'c said. The door shut firmly behind him.

I yawned. "I hope Sam's okay."

"I kept my eye on that dorm and nobody came in or out. Major Carter can take care of herself. It gets her out of watch duty."

"Yeah, about that," I started.

"Shut up, Daniel, and go to sleep."

"Fine. Fine."

I turned onto my side and watched as Jack arranged himself on the pallet Teal'c had just vacated. Our hosts had provided us with what appeared to be an abandoned stable to sleep in, but it had mattresses—kind of—as well as pillows and warm blankets. The inhabitants of this planet spoke a dialect related to ancient Egyptian, and Jack was right: I'd be busy tomorrow as I explained why we'd come through the Stargate. I really needed the sleep. But instead, I was hyperaware of Jack as he restlessly tried to get comfortable. He finally settled himself and blew out a long breath.

"Night, Daniel," he said. "Bedbugs and all that."

"Good night," I said, absurdly disappointed. "Bedbugs to you too."

I shut my eyes listened to Jack breathe. His presence seemed to fill the room in a way that Teal'c's didn't, for all that Jack was much smaller. When Jack was in the room, I was aware of him in a way I was aware of no one else. Now, I tried to ignore him. I tried to catch the tail end of sleep, and it worked, because when I opened my eyes, Jack was there, propped up on one arm, leaning over me, his hand pressing lightly against my chest, and he hadn't been there before. I couldn't tell how much time had passed. In the faint moonlight coming through the window, I could see the flash of his eyes. He watched me wake up, but he didn't say a word. I didn't move for a few long seconds. Then I rolled over onto my back, kicking off the blanket. Jack's hand was still on my chest.

Jack pressed his body against me. He adjusted his top leg so it was atop both of mine. I could feel his erection against my hip. I didn't know how long he had been there before I woke up; it could have been a few minutes, or an hour. I imagined him watching me sleep, his hand rising and falling with my breath. I could feel the force of how much he wanted me. The intensity and Jack's heat fired me. My own penis grew hard. I lightly clasped his wrist. I could feel his pulse, beating fast. He moved his hand slowly, so he wouldn't dislodge me. He pulled my T-shirt up enough to put his hand on bare skin. I could feel his hand through my entire body, like his handprint seared through me and left an imprint on my back.

I turned my head to look into his eyes. I felt myself throb. The sexual electricity between us was arcing from his body to mine. Jack leaned down and brushed his nose against my cheek. I felt the warmth of his lips, his breath as he stroked me gently. It wasn't a kiss. It was touch. I could feel faint stubble when his cheek rubbed against mine. The gentleness of the touch was a revelation: it seemed out of character for Jack, but then it didn't, because he was telling me how he felt about me.

I guided his hand to my mouth. He caressed my face. His lips had parted and his breathing had become labored. His fingers pressed against my lips. I watched his eyes, and I saw them close briefly when I opened my mouth. His thumb traced my bottom lip; a second later, he touched my teeth. He exhaled hard when I pulled his thumb into my mouth. An explosion of salt made me salivate. Jack tasted like he smelled—clean and masculine and dusky. He didn't take his thumb out, so I closed my lips around his finger. I could feel his fingernail with my tongue, could taste his skin.

He pressed his erection against me. I traced his thumb with my tongue, and he rotated his groin into me, telling me how much he liked it. I lay on my back, excited beyond description, my penis throbbing. My T-shirt was pulled up to bare my stomach, but I was completely dressed otherwise. I sucked on Jack's thumb because I couldn't kiss him. I pulled that part of him into me because it was the part of him that he had given me. It didn't matter what I wanted. It mattered what he gave.

So I drew his finger into my mouth and felt him tighten against me. Occasionally he stroked his cheek against mine. I sucked on his thumb, sometimes soft and playful, sometimes hard, and listened to his breathing grow more and more erratic. His penis rubbed against my hipbone; his top leg moved against me as his thrusting became powerful instead of gentle as the intensity between us escalated. His movement dragged the fabric of my pants and underwear up and down. I felt huge and distended, impossibly erect. He wasn't touching my penis, but he controlled its stimulation. The glans brushed against my waistband, teasing me.

It couldn't last. It was too much. Jack broke against me. Through the layers of fabric, I felt his penis pulse strongly as his hips continued to move. His breathing became harsh and erratic, the only sign that he was coming. He let himself open up to me, let his body respond to me, and he let me see it. My ass pushed hard into the ground, stimulating my testicles. I had been driven to the breaking point. The electricity arcing between us set me on fire, and as I watched Jack come, I gave my body to him. The explosion of dark red pleasure—for him, all for him, all because of him—bloomed and carried me away.

It was its own kind of language, I thought, when I was done coming. I panted quietly as Jack slid his thumb out of my mouth, his body heavily inert against mine. I interlaced my fingers with his. I could feel my saliva on his hand, slick and rapidly cooling. He sighed and slid down to lie on his side. Every time we did this, he was telling me something that he couldn't say out loud. I understood him.

We had never kissed. We had never touched each other's bare penis. We had never spoken about what we did. We had never. And yet. And yet we made love every chance we got, our own kind of love—sweet, almost chaste touching that escalated into throbbing orgasm. We gave into the electricity that sparked between us. We let it build until it exploded. That electricity meant that Jack's lightest caress provided anguished pleasure all out of proportion to the touch. If Jack ever kissed me, if his nude body ever pressed against my nude body, if my mouth ever closed around his penis, if he ever slid a finger inside me—I thought those things might kill me, because it would be too much. The fire would become incandescent. It would leave nothing behind.

Jack stirred against me. His fingers tightened against mine for a second, and his nose brushed my cheek in that tender not-kiss. He let me go and rolled off the pallet. I pulled my T-shirt back down and found my blanket as Jack crawled into his own bed. I felt the stickiness of semen on my penis and abdomen, but I didn't want to clean up. It was a physical reminder of what we shared, something that would last past the glow of fulfillment I felt now.

Jack turned his head and looked at me in the gray light, and I looked at him.

We didn't speak. We never did, not about this. There was nothing to say that we didn't already know.