Kylie Lee | Slash fan fiction

Jonas Quinn stood by the picnic table full of food. It had gotten dark. The lights in Sam Carter's house were on, spilling brightness onto the patio. It didn't quite reach the picnic table, so Jonas stood in the dark. The party was winding down, so nobody was manning the grill, and the plastic-wrapped packages of hamburger and hot dog buns were nearly empty. Laughing, talking people had formed cliques. He liked to eat, a fact that had become a source of amusement, and his presence by the picnic table would go unremarked. He pulled a handful of chips out of a bag and stuck them on his plate. As he munched, he watched.

There was Jack O'Neill, who had switched from his long-necked brown bottles of beer to cans of Coca-Cola a few hours earlier because he had to drive. There was Janet Fraiser, who had done her hair differently for the occasion, putting it up in some kind of complex twist. Sam Carter, the host, whisked in and out of the house, banging the screen door behind her, shouting out answers to questions like "where's the bathroom?" and "do you have any more ice?" A bunch of the medical staff were in evidence, as well as some of the scientists Carter worked with. Even General Hammond had showed up, but he hadn't stayed very long—just long enough to eat—and everyone seemed freer once he left. People came and went, spreading good cheer. Teal'c hadn't come. Apparently he didn't go out.

Everyone wore street clothes, and it made them all seem strangely different: O'Neill in jeans, Fraiser in a pretty dress and strappy shoes, Carter in black trousers and a skimpy pink top and, most surprising to Jonas's eyes, dangly earrings. He didn't know what to make of these people. Even though he'd watched soap operas and prime-time TV, he didn't know what the clothing represented. He had learned that symbolic colors were not used in western culture except in specific contexts like funerals or weddings—one layer of interpretation he didn't need to worry about. He'd learned that picnics were informal events, so he'd dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of the ubiquitous military-issue green pants. And he'd blended right in, talking to people he knew, introducing himself to people he didn't, only during it all, there'd been that invisible wall between them, the us-versus-them wall. He'd had to get permission from General Hammond to come to the picnic, because, although he wasn't quite a prisoner, he wasn't allowed to leave unescorted. Although he'd been off base a few times, he hadn't actually seen much of the local surroundings. Trips to Antarctica really didn't count. Jonas found it ironic: he left the planet about once a week, but he wasn't allowed to tour Earth unless it was related to a mission.

"There you are," Jack O'Neill said, and Jonas turned. Colonel O'Neill lifted his Coke can, as if in salute. He stood with his back to the patio light, so Jonas saw him only in silhouette. "It's getting late. You ready to go?"

Jonas knew he was supposed to say yes, so he did. Colonel O'Neill was his ride back to the base, back to his high-security home.

"Weren't you wearing a jacket or something? Do you need to get it?" The colonel started for the house, and Jonas followed.

"Um, yeah. It's on the bed." Jonas stuck his empty plate into an overfull trash bag by the patio door.

The colonel inclined his head. "Let's go get it." His hand brushed Jonas's back as Jonas stepped through the patio door, as if shepherding him. "Carter," he called as they entered the kitchen. Jonas could see Carter lifting something out of the refrigerator. "Gotta go. I've got to run Jonas back to the base."

Jonas pointed. "I'll just get my—"

"Yeah." The colonel shifted his attention to Carter as she shut the refrigerator door with her hip. Jonas heard her say something about it being early yet as he escaped the kitchen into the hall.

His jacket was right where he'd left it, in Carter's bedroom, lying on the bed underneath a few others. He shrugged it on and spent a few minutes looking at her books. He figured that Carter wanted the colonel to herself for a little while, even though he was pretty sure that the colonel would come back after he dropped Jonas off. Sure enough, when he entered the kitchen again, Carter, leaning against the counter, sipping a beer, was deep in conversation with the colonel. Even when they were off duty, she called him "sir." Jonas supposed she looked pretty, with her bright top and the earrings that swung when she moved her head, but he liked her better in BDUs, hair messy, face smudged. She looked unfamiliar now, like she was in costume or something, dressing up as someone else. But then he realized that really, it was the other way around: she dressed like this in her real life, and her BDUs were for work.

"Ready, Colonel," Jonas said, and the colonel and Carter both fell silent and turned to look at him. "Thanks for inviting me, Major Carter," he said into the new quiet. The words sounded oddly formal. "It was a lot of fun. It's great seeing everyone outside of work."

"Glad you could find a chauffeur." Carter smiled at him and extended her arms for a quick hug.

"I don't really need a chauffeur," Jonas said when she let him go. "I can find my way back. I'm sure if Colonel O'Neill just lent me his car keys—"

"Very funny," the colonel interrupted.

"It was worth a shot," Carter said. "Hey, do you want some strawberry shortcake? I was just taking the berries out of the fridge. I can make up a little thing for you to take back to the base."

"No thanks," Jonas said. "If you can believe it, I'm not hungry."

"You're right. I don't believe it."

"I found him by the picnic table," the colonel said. "I think he stood there and ate all night." He set his empty Coke can down on the counter and picked up a clean, empty dish. Jonas recognized it as one that had formerly held green-bean casserole, the colonel's offering for the picnic. He'd been taken by the crunchy onions on top. "We'd better get going, Jonas."

"Right. Thanks." Jonas gave Carter a smile and lifted a hand in farewell before following the colonel out. She'd always been really nice to him. She'd never lied. She'd told him things that were hard for her to say and for him to hear. But she'd never spoken of the one thing abundantly clear to Jonas—and, he assumed, the colonel and Teal'c: she was hopelessly in love with Jack O'Neill.

"'Night, Major," Colonel O'Neill called over his shoulder. "Thanks again."

It seemed a lot cooler out. They'd arrived too late to get a prime parking space right in front of Carter's house. Now gaps indicated where cars had been. The party had definitely thinned out. They walked in silence the block to the colonel's truck. The colonel deployed his key fob and the doors thunked open. "Here, let me stick this behind you," the colonel said, opening the door, leaning over, and setting the casserole dish on the floor behind the passenger seat. "What?" he asked when Jonas hesitated, hand on the door handle. "Do you want to go back for that strawberry shortcake? Because I have to be honest with you. I don't buy that you weren't hungry."

"I didn't want to make you wait."

"I got all kinds of time. Nothing but time. If you wanted strawberry shortcake, you should have said yes."

"No, that's fine. It's fine." Jonas snapped the door handle a few times. The colonel stood on the curb, leaning against the side of the truck bed, watching him. "Could we—"

"Could we what?"

"Could we just go for a walk? Around the block or whatever?"

"A walk?"

"I don't get out much," Jonas said. "Not on Earth, I mean." When O'Neill hesitated, he added hastily, "You've got someplace to be. Plans. I'm sorry. Never mind."

He hauled himself up the high step and into the passenger's seat, slammed the door shut, and waited for the colonel to get in and drive him back to the base. Instead, the colonel opened the passenger-side door.

"There's a park a few blocks from here," O'Neill said. "Come on."

After a second, Jonas slid out of the seat. "Thanks," he said as the colonel relocked the car. They fell into step with each other as they headed east. "I figured you'd drop me off and then come back to the party."

"No," the colonel said, sounding surprised.

"Where do you live?"

"Not really near here."

"Do you ever have picnics?"

"Sometimes." They walked in silence. "I like to grill out," the colonel added a minute later, as though they were still having the same conversation. "Bratwurst."

"Ah," Jonas said.

"But it's really more of a lake-cabin thing for me. The grilling out, I mean."

"Right."

The colonel gave Jonas a sideways look. "Do you know what bratwurst is?" he asked.

"Something you grill, so food," Jonas said promptly. "Probably meat. Maybe a vegetable. But probably meat." He thought it was meat because he knew Jack O'Neill.

"Do you always do that? Pretend to know what's going on?"

"I don't pretend," Jonas said. "I just don't want to ask too many questions. I can figure out most stuff through context. Like this, for example." He pointed. "Is this the park?"

"It is indeed the park." The colonel pointed at each item as he named it. "Swings. Jungle gym. Animal-shaped horse things for little kids to ride on. Fountain. Running path. Bike path. And all together, they comprise a park. This way? Okay. Bratwurst is like a tastier hot dog, made with a different kind of meat or something. It's good on a bun, with just mustard. Major Carter didn't have them at her picnic."

"Bun. Mustard. Check. Got it." Jonas glanced at the colonel as they passed under a light illuminating the running path they were on. The colonel looked impassive, as usual. Jonas had a lot of trouble reading him. Carter was easy, because her expressive eyes revealed everything. Teal'c was easy, because when he spoke, he said what he thought. But Jack O'Neill was different. His face didn't let things slip, and he didn't always say what he was thinking.

"So how do you figure out Earth context, anyway?" the colonel asked as they rounded a corner. The moon had risen. "TV?"

"Some TV," Jonas said. He actually spent most of his time with the Weather Channel in the background as he worked on reports or research. "It's just like when you visit a new planet. You watch and wait and see and hope you don't do anything stupid." He stepped behind the colonel as a pair of late-night joggers ran past, stripes on their sleeves and pants reflecting the faint light. "You can learn a lot just by watching."

"Yeah?" The colonel sounded idle. He didn't look at Jonas as they talked. "Like what? What can you learn by watching us?"

"Oh, you know."

"No, Jonas, I don't know."

"Like Major Carter's in love with you." Jonas watched the colonel's face, but it remained unreadable. "Like everyone is still mourning Daniel Jackson and can't get past it. Like something happened to you that changed you after Ba'al tortured you. Like you don't trust me."

They walked in silence for a long time.

"Oh, that stuff," the colonel said at last. "Well, yeah. We don't talk about any of it."

"I noticed. It's just that Major Carter—" Jonas began, and the colonel interrupted when he heard her name with a rushed, "No, huh-uh, don't, don't, don't," arms waving as if to beat off Jonas's words. When Jonas fell silent, the colonel went on in his normal voice, "We really, really can't talk about that."

"But the other stuff?"

"The other stuff, I won't talk about."

"I don't mind not talking about the other stuff that doesn't have to do with me," Jonas said carefully. It wasn't really his business, after all, and he had to push away the thought that it would be his business if they trusted him, because he'd be a friend. "But the whole trust thing—"

"Are you mad about my not letting you come to the Alpha Site during that thing with the Tok'ra and the Jaffa?"

Jonas was taken aback. The rest of SG-1 had been at the Alpha Site when someone had started picking people off, one by one. The Jaffa accused the Tok'ra and vice versa, but what was clear was simply that the alliance was precarious, because they couldn't trust each other. Jonas had been on Earth when it happened, and although he'd offered to come, the colonel had told him in no uncertain terms to stay. Did the colonel really think he was so petty? People had died. Jonas had thought he could help. The colonel, who had his hands full, had disagreed.

"Mad? I wasn't mad. Well, maybe for a minute, but—over it."

"Yeah," the colonel said. He stopped and looked up at the sky. They were midway between two light poles, and suddenly it seemed very dark. The joggers were long gone. Jonas looked up too. The moon waxed overhead. "I'm over it too."

"Over what?" Jonas asked blankly, and then got it just as the colonel answered.

"Daniel's being gone. I was mad at you. But I'm over it."

"That's—good. That's good."

"Yeah, it is, actually. But I still can't trust you." The colonel's tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry about that," Jonas said sincerely. "But I trust you. Just so you know." He took a step forward and put a hand on the colonel's chest. He wished he could make O'Neill's sense of loss go away by pulling it out of his body and into his own, but of course that was impossible. He could offer something else, though, something they both needed, something Jonas wanted, and something, through context he supposed, he thought the colonel wanted too.

He was prepared for the rejection of his implicit offer. O'Neill's face didn't change, but he didn't pull away. "I guess I knew that," the colonel said. "And I guess I knew this too."

Jonas leaned forward so their lips almost brushed. O'Neill's body tensed even as his hands loosely clasped Jonas's arms. Jonas felt the faint puff of the colonel's breath against his lips. The colonel seemed very tall. His hand traveled up O'Neill's chest, and their noses brushed as he took O'Neill's head in his hands. O'Neill's jaw felt sharp, and he didn't close his eyes as Jonas leaned up that last little distance and kissed him once.

Jonas pulled back, and they looked at each other. The colonel's tense body relaxed, and his hands slid up Jonas's shoulders and around the back of his neck. Jonas felt the insistent pressure and let the colonel pull his head forward, and O'Neill closed his eyes and kissed him, not testing this time but really kissing, mouth open, tongue exploring, until Jonas had to shut his eyes too, because when the colonel pulled Jonas's body against his own, when his soft lips tugged at Jonas's and his teeth nibbled, the rush of heat was too much, and he had to lean against the colonel, press his weight against him, because otherwise, he would fall, boneless.

It had been a long time since he'd felt accepted, or wanted, or needed. This was another kind of acceptance, another kind of wanting and needing, and this time, Jonas wasn't alone in his feelings. They could share this thing. Jonas didn't care that it wouldn't change anything. Touching the colonel didn't mean he could touch him inside, but it was one way to both offer and receive solace. And touching the colonel like this, body against body, feeling the heat of the colonel's groin and its accompanying hardness, enjoying the tightening of his own testicles as he stiffened—it was freeing, because they couldn't talk about it, but it didn't matter because their bodies were doing the communicating.

"Oh, god," the colonel whispered. His thumb stroked Jonas's cheek, and Jonas staggered a little when he pulled back. "Over here. Out of the path. Out of the light." He steered Jonas backward off the path until Jonas's back hit a tree. "If you're going to say no, say it now, while I can still stop."

"I'm not saying no," Jonas gasped. It was very dark. He felt and heard more than saw the colonel undoing his belt, and a second later, he heard a zipper.

"We can't get caught. It has to be fast."

"Fast is good."

The colonel's hands unbuttoned Jonas's pants and shoved them down past his hips. Jonas didn't notice the cold air on his ass because the colonel had taken his penis in his hands and had begun to stroke, and Jonas was suddenly incapable of coherent thought. His own hand curled around the colonel's penis, long and hard, and began to rub. It felt oddly tight and naked—the colonel was circumcised, which Jonas had known, but it was one thing to note this objectively and another to hold it in his hand and stroke. But touching the colonel was nothing compared with what the colonel was doing to him. Waves of pleasure cascaded over him as the colonel tugged and stroked, his movements purposeful rather than teasing.

Jonas brought one leg up as far as he was able with his pants down and pulled O'Neill closer with his heel. O'Neill's mouth found his again as he shoved Jonas firmly against the tree. His free hand squeezed Jonas's ass, and it was too fast, too much. Jonas moaned, aware only of the tightness in his belly, his need to drive into this man. He thrust blindly into O'Neill's tight fist, so hot he couldn't wait, so hot he had to push and push. O'Neill brushed his asshole, making it flutter, and Jonas said, "There," his hand working O'Neill's cock, now slick with precome, only it was as if he was jacking off, because touching O'Neill went right to the tight place behind his testicles, the place that made him need to thrust.

O'Neill knew just what he wanted, because his fingertip penetrated him—not far, but enough, caressing the tender, tight ring. O'Neill's finger hooked and he tugged, and Jonas felt O'Neill's cock jerk in his hand. Jonas's leg squeezed O'Neill tighter, because he needed to feel O'Neill's long, hard body against his, just as he needed O'Neill's finger to pull him open. He felt his asshole flutter, and all his need and longing exploded. Jonas came hard, gasping into the colonel's mouth, cock pumping and asshole throbbing. O'Neill's hips started to buck. Jonas was barely aware of O'Neill's penis in his hand until it began to jerk and hot semen coated his knuckles. O'Neill rhythmically knocked him into the tree, his groin pushing into Jonas's body as he came. Then he leaned against Jonas, a heavy weight, and his hands relaxed. He slid his finger out of Jonas's asshole and trailed it slowly up his crack. He cupped Jonas's ass in his hands and kneaded gently. Jonas, dazed, put his leg back down, and they kissed for a while, slow and lingering this time.

"Okay?" the colonel asked. He was still breathing hard.

"Okay," Jonas said.

"Okay." Colonel O'Neill pushed himself back, freeing Jonas.

"Do you have a Kleenex or something?" Jonas asked, leaning down to wipe his hand on the grass. He could feel wet come on his shirt.

"I think so, yes. Just a sec."

They cleaned up as best they could in the dark. When they emerged, the path was just as they had left it, but the moon was higher in the sky. The colonel turned in a small circle, trying to get his bearings. Jonas could read his expression in the insufficient light of the lamps. The colonel's face was still impassive, as if, just a few minutes before, they hadn't been grunting and sweating and coming. What had he looked like when he came? Jonas found he could imagine it all too well.

Jonas pointed. "The car's that way."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Lead the way."

They walked shoulder to shoulder, not touching. Jonas put his hands in his jacket pockets, and the colonel jingled his keys. He knew they would never talk about what they did, just as he knew they would do it again. Like Major Carter's feelings for Colonel O'Neill, it was something that they couldn't talk about it—couldn't, and wouldn't.

"Here we are."

The truck's door locks thunked open. The colonel slid in next to him as Jonas fastened his seat belt.

Colonel O'Neill started the ignition. "Sometimes, you need something so bad that it gets mixed up," he said. He put the truck into gear.

"I know," Jonas said. "Believe me, I know."

They didn't talk the rest of the trip back to the base.