This is probably my most 'they are IN LOVE' fic (and maybe my favorite Jack/Daniel that I've written?). They are inevitable, a mood that's quite popular in slash fiction but doesn't come naturally to me when I write for fun.
AND WHAT'S MORE FUN THAN JACK/DANIEL?????
Thanks for hosting.
AU where they're both women. _________________________
It was the kind of night when I would have opened a bottle of wine, put on some Coltrane, and drank the whole thing myself. But that wasn’t going to happen.
I had work spread out all over the kitchen table but I couldn’t concentrate. Every part of my body ached in some indefinable way. I shuffled over the refrigerator to pour myself another lemonade. I’d been drinking about a pitcher a day. My latest craving. So much for pickles and ice cream.
The house was so aggressively quiet I was considering turning on the TV Cam had left just to hear something like voices. It was so quiet the florescent shine on the linoleum floor seemed loud. I was losing it.
I told myself that was the only reason I was thinking about Jac. If I’d had any brains at all I would have left the work on the table, run a bath, and maybe channeled those thoughts into a session with my favorite pink vibrator. But clearly I hadn’t exactly been a paragon of sober decision making lately. So I called her.
Just let my fingers dial the number. It had been more than eighteen months, but hell if the number wasn’t still fixed in my head—firmly rooted as Greek declensions or Akkadian verb paradigms—or maybe it was still in my fingers. Muscle memory. When it came to Jac, that probably made more sense.
The full weight of what I’d done didn’t sink on the first ring, or the second, it didn’t sink in until I heard the ‘hello?’ on the other end of the line, tentative, a little tired, that deep voice that I hadn’t heard in so long.
Jaclyn. Jaclyn “Jac” O’Neill, two ls. Jesus.
She was polite, considering. Considering I was calling at 11:38 PM on a weeknight, a year and a half after I broke her heart and hooked up with her hand-picked replacement less than a month later.
I suppose that deserves some explanation.
Jac said she was never in love with anyone the way she was in love with me, and she doesn’t mess around when it comes that sort of thing. She was a POW. Special Forces. Not always one to use a lot of words, but the ones she uses she means.
Being with her was like falling off a cliff. We made love on every surface of her house, and every one in this dank little apartment. We fucked in a supply closet at the SGC. She fingered me in the bathroom at General Hammond’s retirement party, while I sat on the sink and leaned up against the mirror, and she covered my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.
Not being able to live together was a big deal for me. Not being able to be out. We had people we could trust, but not doing simple things like going to the grocery store together or to a movie without Teal’c or Sam in tow took their toll.
I knew Jac didn’t make the rules, and she constantly strove to “make it up to me”, to make what we could do together special and valuable, so I constantly strove to get past it. Understanding Jac meant understanding how important the Air Force was to her. But that didn’t excuse the way she took that job in Washington without even talking to me about it—without even telling me until she’d signed off on everything and it was set in stone. She’d had a wealth of explanations at the time, and apologies, but that’s not how you don’t treat someone you love. The military is no excuse.
But at this particular moment, it all seemed long ago and far away. And instead, everything I loved about Jac throbbed in my brain unbidden, like irritating but tenacious pop song.
It wasn’t till the doorbell rang that it occurred to me how I looked: green cotton nightshirt, sleeveless at least, and not long, but it was skin tight around my middle and I hadn’t run a comb through my hair since I was on base about ten hours ago. Jac had seen me looking a lot worse, but she hadn’t seen me like this. My excitement was stronger than my fear, though. I went to get the door.
Standing on the porch, lit by the full moon and an orangey street lamp, Jac looked as handsome as ever: tall and muscular, weathered face, short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair that was butch enough to turn the right kind of heads, but feminine enough fly under the don’t-ask-don’t-tell radar. She was in her signature off-duty faded jeans and a flannel shirt. She had the same effect on me as the first day I’d met her.
I didn’t have much time to reminisce before I caught her stunned expression. She looked like a cartoon where someone’s eyes come out of their head on stalks. In a very, very unfunny sort of way.
“Jesus, no one told you.” How could that be, on base that thrives on the most inane sort of gossip?
“Why—why would they tell me?” Jac sounded like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. I would have felt more sympathy for her if it weren’t how I felt about the whole thing half the time, but for me it wasn’t just an idle curiosity.
“Do you want to come in?” I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted this part to be over as soon as possible.
Jac looked like she was sleepwalking as she stepped into the living room. The lights weren’t on, but I could still see her look around, taking it in. It was strange to think she would probably be reminiscing too.
“Hey, you got a TV.” Under different circumstances, the non sequitur would have been funny.
“Uh, yeah.” I didn’t think Jac needed to hear that it had been Cam’s, or that he bought it so his access to college football game wouldn’t suffer because he was sleeping with me.
“Can I get you—?” No beer. Damn it. “Uh. I have lemonade. And possibly some Diet Pepsi.” Also something Cam left. I wasn’t sure if Diet Pepsi expired, or if that was just something that happened with food.
“That’s okay.”
Jac followed me into the kitchen. We sat down at the table, still covered with file folders of half-finished translations. Despite the tension, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful she was here. I ran my fingers through my hair self-consciously So much like old times, so much not old times.
“So, I’m trying to get my bearings here.” A very Jac thing to say.
I nodded. “I really thought someone was going to tell you. You’ve been back on base for what—two weeks? It’s kind of a miracle we didn’t just run into each other.”
“Not entirely . . . miraculous.”
Oh. So that’s how it was. At least she had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Maybe I do want a—did you say lemonade?”
I got up, grateful for the pause. Of course the only clean cup was a lone NPR mug sitting in the dish dryer, and there was wasn’t even enough lemonade left to fill it up all the way.
Jac took a slow sip.
“So things are over with you and Cam.”
“Yeah.” I was surprised at her directness. But if we were going to get into it, I wanted to get it over with.
“We never talked about it, but I guess I just never—pictured you with a man. Not that it’s any of my business.”
I kept myself from rolling my eyes. I think of myself as a lesbian, but there are a few men in my checked past. Body parts have never been as important to me as sexual compatibility. A certain disposition. And Cam had that in spades, just like Jac did.
But I couldn’t tell her how he filled the void when she left, how I’d been angry and alone and just the fact that I could be seen in public holding his hand had been oddly thrilling. And I definitely wasn’t going to tell her that good sex covers a multitude of sins.
“It’s over,” I said, leaving it at that. I didn’t have to defend my dyke street cred to anyone, not even Jac.
“Yeah, but . . . I know I’m kind of being a dick here, but things—things don’t look over.”
I wanted to be offended, but I figured she had a right to know. And it felt surprisingly good to talk to someone who was going to just come right out with it. Everyone on base was being entirely too politically correct about the whole thing.
“Cam’s the father—the sperm donor—but he’s not in the picture. He said he wasn’t ‘ready’ for something like this. Not that I’m ready, but I didn’t have the choice to run away. He moved out and I’m off SG-1 because I obviously can’t handle field duty. We’re handling the financial stuff by e-mail.”
That seemed to knock the wind out her again. “So this is . . . this your choice?”
I could hear the other questions implicit in her words. Of course I’d thought about an abortion. But it was complicated. And this was where I was going to draw the line of ‘none of your business’ in this conversation.
“This is how it’s going to be,” I said simply.
We sat in silence awhile. I wished I had more lemonade. The linoleum was feeling loud again.
“I miss you,” I said suddenly, feeling impulsive. “I’m not going to apologize for breaking things off when you went to Washington. But I wish it hadn’t happened that way.”
Jac didn’t say anything. I was starting to worry that she wasn’t going to say anything when she leaned over and kissed me. It was a reach over my belly. Her chair scraped across the floor. I was surprised at her intensity. I put my arms around her. She squeezed me back. Her grip seemed to say ‘I’ll take care of you.’
“I miss your tits,” I went on. She smelled good, her familiar smell and some new cologne that was working on me like truth serum. “I miss your dick—”
“You don’t have to,” she smirked. “It’s in my bag.”
I’d seen the bag come in. But since seeing the shocked look on her face when she realized my current condition I hadn’t dared to hope. It occurred to me that I didn’t think Jac had ever come over without things going this way, even the first time, when I’d had the team over and she’d been the last to leave.
Jac’s lips felt good. I could feel her muscled back through her shirt and her soft breasts against mine. I wanted to lick my way between them, to take her nipple in my mouth and circle it with my tongue. I tugged at the top couple buttons on the flannel shirt.
“Can we go lie down?” I asked. I was already a bit breathless.
She looked proud of herself. “Lead the way.”
I didn’t turn the lights on in the bedroom. We used to make love with the lights on—sunlight, candlelight, everything else. But I felt too self-conscious. I didn’t know how Jac was going to react to my body.
Thinking about jumping in a cold swimming pool, I took the nightshirt straight off. The bed wasn’t made anyway. I gave Jac a few minutes to get her clothes off and her strap-on together.
In the corner of the room, where the moonlight didn’t quite reach, she was just an outline, but some of her best attributes still showed: broad shoulders, slim hips, small but nicely shaped breasts. And of course now her erection, long and thick, bobbing a little as she walked over to the bed. As she settled herself over me, straddling my hips, I took it in my hands and stroked it a bit. I was already wet and my mind was racing, but I was going to have to reconcile my fantasies with what my body was actually capable of right now.
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branchandroot
I Will Go Down With the Ship
Date: Mar. 4th, 2012 12:15 am (UTC)AND WHAT'S MORE FUN THAN JACK/DANIEL?????
Thanks for hosting.
AU where they're both women.
_________________________
It was the kind of night when I would have opened a bottle of wine, put on some Coltrane, and drank the whole thing myself. But that wasn’t going to happen.
I had work spread out all over the kitchen table but I couldn’t concentrate. Every part of my body ached in some indefinable way. I shuffled over the refrigerator to pour myself another lemonade. I’d been drinking about a pitcher a day. My latest craving. So much for pickles and ice cream.
The house was so aggressively quiet I was considering turning on the TV Cam had left just to hear something like voices. It was so quiet the florescent shine on the linoleum floor seemed loud. I was losing it.
I told myself that was the only reason I was thinking about Jac. If I’d had any brains at all I would have left the work on the table, run a bath, and maybe channeled those thoughts into a session with my favorite pink vibrator. But clearly I hadn’t exactly been a paragon of sober decision making lately. So I called her.
Just let my fingers dial the number. It had been more than eighteen months, but hell if the number wasn’t still fixed in my head—firmly rooted as Greek declensions or Akkadian verb paradigms—or maybe it was still in my fingers. Muscle memory. When it came to Jac, that probably made more sense.
The full weight of what I’d done didn’t sink on the first ring, or the second, it didn’t sink in until I heard the ‘hello?’ on the other end of the line, tentative, a little tired, that deep voice that I hadn’t heard in so long.
Jaclyn. Jaclyn “Jac” O’Neill, two ls. Jesus.
She was polite, considering. Considering I was calling at 11:38 PM on a weeknight, a year and a half after I broke her heart and hooked up with her hand-picked replacement less than a month later.
I suppose that deserves some explanation.
Jac said she was never in love with anyone the way she was in love with me, and she doesn’t mess around when it comes that sort of thing. She was a POW. Special Forces. Not always one to use a lot of words, but the ones she uses she means.
Being with her was like falling off a cliff. We made love on every surface of her house, and every one in this dank little apartment. We fucked in a supply closet at the SGC. She fingered me in the bathroom at General Hammond’s retirement party, while I sat on the sink and leaned up against the mirror, and she covered my mouth so I wouldn’t scream.
Not being able to live together was a big deal for me. Not being able to be out. We had people we could trust, but not doing simple things like going to the grocery store together or to a movie without Teal’c or Sam in tow took their toll.
I knew Jac didn’t make the rules, and she constantly strove to “make it up to me”, to make what we could do together special and valuable, so I constantly strove to get past it. Understanding Jac meant understanding how important the Air Force was to her. But that didn’t excuse the way she took that job in Washington without even talking to me about it—without even telling me until she’d signed off on everything and it was set in stone. She’d had a wealth of explanations at the time, and apologies, but that’s not how you don’t treat someone you love. The military is no excuse.
But at this particular moment, it all seemed long ago and far away. And instead, everything I loved about Jac throbbed in my brain unbidden, like irritating but tenacious pop song.
It wasn’t till the doorbell rang that it occurred to me how I looked: green cotton nightshirt, sleeveless at least, and not long, but it was skin tight around my middle and I hadn’t run a comb through my hair since I was on base about ten hours ago. Jac had seen me looking a lot worse, but she hadn’t seen me like this. My excitement was stronger than my fear, though. I went to get the door.
Standing on the porch, lit by the full moon and an orangey street lamp, Jac looked as handsome as ever: tall and muscular, weathered face, short-cropped salt-and-pepper hair that was butch enough to turn the right kind of heads, but feminine enough fly under the don’t-ask-don’t-tell radar. She was in her signature off-duty faded jeans and a flannel shirt. She had the same effect on me as the first day I’d met her.
I didn’t have much time to reminisce before I caught her stunned expression. She looked like a cartoon where someone’s eyes come out of their head on stalks. In a very, very unfunny sort of way.
“Jesus, no one told you.” How could that be, on base that thrives on the most inane sort of gossip?
“Why—why would they tell me?” Jac sounded like she’d had the wind knocked out of her. I would have felt more sympathy for her if it weren’t how I felt about the whole thing half the time, but for me it wasn’t just an idle curiosity.
“Do you want to come in?” I didn’t know what else to say. I wanted this part to be over as soon as possible.
Jac looked like she was sleepwalking as she stepped into the living room. The lights weren’t on, but I could still see her look around, taking it in. It was strange to think she would probably be reminiscing too.
“Hey, you got a TV.” Under different circumstances, the non sequitur would have been funny.
“Uh, yeah.” I didn’t think Jac needed to hear that it had been Cam’s, or that he bought it so his access to college football game wouldn’t suffer because he was sleeping with me.
“Can I get you—?” No beer. Damn it. “Uh. I have lemonade. And possibly some Diet Pepsi.” Also something Cam left. I wasn’t sure if Diet Pepsi expired, or if that was just something that happened with food.
“That’s okay.”
Jac followed me into the kitchen. We sat down at the table, still covered with file folders of half-finished translations. Despite the tension, I couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful she was here. I ran my fingers through my hair self-consciously So much like old times, so much not old times.
“So, I’m trying to get my bearings here.” A very Jac thing to say.
I nodded. “I really thought someone was going to tell you. You’ve been back on base for what—two weeks? It’s kind of a miracle we didn’t just run into each other.”
“Not entirely . . . miraculous.”
Oh. So that’s how it was. At least she had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Maybe I do want a—did you say lemonade?”
I got up, grateful for the pause. Of course the only clean cup was a lone NPR mug sitting in the dish dryer, and there was wasn’t even enough lemonade left to fill it up all the way.
Jac took a slow sip.
“So things are over with you and Cam.”
“Yeah.” I was surprised at her directness. But if we were going to get into it, I wanted to get it over with.
“We never talked about it, but I guess I just never—pictured you with a man. Not that it’s any of my business.”
I kept myself from rolling my eyes. I think of myself as a lesbian, but there are a few men in my checked past. Body parts have never been as important to me as sexual compatibility. A certain disposition. And Cam had that in spades, just like Jac did.
But I couldn’t tell her how he filled the void when she left, how I’d been angry and alone and just the fact that I could be seen in public holding his hand had been oddly thrilling. And I definitely wasn’t going to tell her that good sex covers a multitude of sins.
“It’s over,” I said, leaving it at that. I didn’t have to defend my dyke street cred to anyone, not even Jac.
“Yeah, but . . . I know I’m kind of being a dick here, but things—things don’t look over.”
I wanted to be offended, but I figured she had a right to know. And it felt surprisingly good to talk to someone who was going to just come right out with it. Everyone on base was being entirely too politically correct about the whole thing.
“Cam’s the father—the sperm donor—but he’s not in the picture. He said he wasn’t ‘ready’ for something like this. Not that I’m ready, but I didn’t have the choice to run away. He moved out and I’m off SG-1 because I obviously can’t handle field duty. We’re handling the financial stuff by e-mail.”
That seemed to knock the wind out her again. “So this is . . . this your choice?”
I could hear the other questions implicit in her words. Of course I’d thought about an abortion. But it was complicated. And this was where I was going to draw the line of ‘none of your business’ in this conversation.
“This is how it’s going to be,” I said simply.
We sat in silence awhile. I wished I had more lemonade. The linoleum was feeling loud again.
“I miss you,” I said suddenly, feeling impulsive. “I’m not going to apologize for breaking things off when you went to Washington. But I wish it hadn’t happened that way.”
Jac didn’t say anything. I was starting to worry that she wasn’t going to say anything when she leaned over and kissed me. It was a reach over my belly. Her chair scraped across the floor. I was surprised at her intensity. I put my arms around her. She squeezed me back. Her grip seemed to say ‘I’ll take care of you.’
“I miss your tits,” I went on. She smelled good, her familiar smell and some new cologne that was working on me like truth serum. “I miss your dick—”
“You don’t have to,” she smirked. “It’s in my bag.”
I’d seen the bag come in. But since seeing the shocked look on her face when she realized my current condition I hadn’t dared to hope. It occurred to me that I didn’t think Jac had ever come over without things going this way, even the first time, when I’d had the team over and she’d been the last to leave.
Jac’s lips felt good. I could feel her muscled back through her shirt and her soft breasts against mine. I wanted to lick my way between them, to take her nipple in my mouth and circle it with my tongue. I tugged at the top couple buttons on the flannel shirt.
“Can we go lie down?” I asked. I was already a bit breathless.
She looked proud of herself. “Lead the way.”
I didn’t turn the lights on in the bedroom. We used to make love with the lights on—sunlight, candlelight, everything else. But I felt too self-conscious. I didn’t know how Jac was going to react to my body.
Thinking about jumping in a cold swimming pool, I took the nightshirt straight off. The bed wasn’t made anyway. I gave Jac a few minutes to get her clothes off and her strap-on together.
In the corner of the room, where the moonlight didn’t quite reach, she was just an outline, but some of her best attributes still showed: broad shoulders, slim hips, small but nicely shaped breasts. And of course now her erection, long and thick, bobbing a little as she walked over to the bed. As she settled herself over me, straddling my hips, I took it in my hands and stroked it a bit. I was already wet and my mind was racing, but I was going to have to reconcile my fantasies with what my body was actually capable of right now.
“You’re going to have to go a little easy on me.”
She nodded.
(con'd below)