sid | It's the Jack/Daniel Three Little Words 'Thon!

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All right, everybody, let's get started! This 'thon is all about saying, "I love you." Or not being able to say it. Or showing it in a myriad of ways. It's about perfect pictures and lovely vids, quotes from fic (link us, please!) and brand new fic (we hope!)

Post in comments here, or post elsewhere and give us all a link.

Everyone is welcome to the party, so feel free to invite all your Jack/Daniel-loving friends!

The 'thon runs through the end of Monday, assuming

jdjunkie and I don't collapse earlier from the sheer weight of all the squee. :-)/:-)

Current Mood: giddy

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

paian

Daniel cast glances sideways, at Jack-not-in-Jack's-body, and thought of Jack as he'd first known him: the long, loose-limbed length of him, the rangy stride, the mussed hair, the dark, watchful eyes. He spent a minute fetishizing the girl version of that Jack: BDU pants with a gun belt slung low on her hips, black tee. Thigh holster, yeah. Daniel realized he'd been still for several minutes, caught googly-eyed and day-dreaming.

He refocused on the person in front of him. Jack banged his hip on the edge of the table as he turned, and plunked harder than usual as he sat down. Daniel realized abruptly that he'd been suppressing this all day. It took a genius, he thought, to hold two contradictory thoughts in the mind at once: Jack saw the humour in the situation, was milking it for all it was worth, enjoyed giving his colleagues a fright, but he was discombobulated, too, and, now that Daniel was looking, he could see that his muscles ached, that he was in fact locked in a body that did not move the way he had needed and expected it to move for more than fifty years. He looked tired and dismayed and awkward.

He suppressed an urge to scoot around the table and fold Jack up in an embrace, because he couldn't imagine how to do it without feeling foolish and affected.

Jack O'Neill, in certain settings, was all performance, but he wasn't all gender performance. He didn't perform that masculinity, or if he did, it was self-conscious and ironic, a parody of himself. Daniel's mind flashed on the gag reel from Emmett Bregman's documentary: "My favourite colour is peridot." After a decade's worth of silly conversations in cargo holds and on long hikes, Daniel knew damn well Jack didn't have a favourite color, but if he had to choose, it sure as hell wasn't BDU green. The snark packed into that solitary little word, on the military, on masculinity, the entire circumvented essay on Jack's commitment to the former and performance of the later, was dazzling. Daniel had a reputation as the Mountain's go-to word guy. Taciturn Jack O'Neill put him to shame.

Daniel thought about his own self-presentation, his own body-history, and how it had wobbled and shifted over the years, tilting him increasingly toward a military stereotype. Back in the early days of SGC, it had been part practical self-preservation, and partly about gaining acceptance, and fitting into a tight-knit, insular little community nearly as bizarre, to Daniel, as the cultures he studied on the far side of the Gate. By the time he'd noticed the profundity of the change, he'd participant-observered himself into a corner. It was stupid, the mass of norms he'd normalized—the postures, the convoluted assumptions about speech and silence; when he caught himself at it, he stopped. But even now, even in private, the impulse was there.

"It must be love," Daniel informed Jack out loud.

Jack blinked in surprise, because that was one of the words they didn't throw around a lot.

"I was just thinking about how hot you were when I first met you, and what you would have looked like, like this...and how much I don't want to go back."

Never in a million years would Jack say, "Really?" out loud. He'd never let himself ask for that kind of confirmation, but Daniel read suppression of disbelief all over his face anyway, and responded to the need, not the verbalization. "Really. I...like knowing your body's history. I like having been there. Knowing things about you—about where you came from, and what you react to—turns me on."

Jack looked down at the table, absorbing that. "That's mutual."

From Good Morning, Penthesilea by stultiloquentia

From:

sid

I remember I loved that story, but I can see I'll simply have to read it again!

That is definitely true love, when you appreciate what your lover's become over the course of the years and wouldn't have him any other way. Her. Him. Both. :-)

From:

paian

I love Stulti's realistic approach to the gender switch in that fic, but what I love even more is exactly what's in that excerpt -- how well they know each other -- and what I love most is the older-characters-in-love aspect. She handles that so well: not angsting over body image but also portraying awkwardness and discomfort straightforwardly, and demonstrating just what you're saying, that it's attraction and love and lust for the whole package of that aging person, no 'because he was hot once' excuses, no 'in spite of's. A million little hearts with exponents.

From:

jdjunkie

It's a great story. I wasn't sure it was my thing, going in the first time I read it, but it soon won me over, and how.

Really happy to see an excerpt here. Thanks!