Sid's Closet

 

Cam had stayed overnight on that first occasion, and that became a pattern, too. They hadn’t had sex on Sunday. Jackson had put what food he had on hand (the last of the pizza, and buttered toast) onto a tray with a pot of coffee and two mugs, and they’d sprawled naked on the rumpled bed, eating and reading the Sunday paper. Cam was gone before noon, it seeming clear that Jackson had no appetite for him that day.

 

Nowadays there were groceries in the apartment, because Jackson was better prepared, and whoever woke up first (Cam) cooked. If Jackson appeared before the food was ready, they ate in the kitchen, Cam in Jackson’s robe (until he finally brought his own), Jackson in worn sweatpants, sharing the newspaper. If Jackson was a slug-a-bed, Cam brought in the tray, lost the robe, and they did the naked sprawling bit.

 

The crossword was Jackson’s, and the Cryptoquiz he could do in his head (or standing on it). Cam laid claim to the Sudoku.

 

After five weeks of this never-arranged arrangement, Cam had decided to stay home one Saturday. Just to see what happened. His phone rang around 1500 hours. “Where are you?” He ran two red lights getting there, and Jackson jumped him the second he came through the door, pulling him to the floor and getting his pants down around his ankles with frantic tugs.  The cocksucking that followed was messy and fast and Cam might have glimpsed heaven as he erupted into Jackson’s mouth.  It marked the first time they’d strayed outside of the bedroom proper; and it was all very possibly meaningful in some way that Cam deliberately chose not to explore, because it probably didn’t mean what he thought (hoped) it meant.

 

Two weeks after that, Cam woke Jackson in the morning with a blow job, and the pattern of sexless Sundays was shattered forever. Jackson had fallen back asleep afterward, and Cam had cooked (twice as much food as usual) with a grin on his face that wouldn’t go away. After breakfast, Jackson had him for dessert, and the grin had lingered, only disappearing when Cam frowned and pursed his lips over the Sudoku puzzle.

 

Another two weeks had passed, and the condom (or its twin) that Cam had rejected during their very first tryst made a reappearance. Just sitting on the nightstand. Jackson hadn’t said a word. Neither had Cam a bit later, after some foreplay, as he’d picked it up and torn it open with his teeth. As he’d rolled it down over Jackson’s cock, he’d understood that Jackson had known what Cam’s answer was going to be, so what would have been the point of asking? Placing it there like that had been a pure statement of intent, and Cam’s thrill went clear down to his toenails. He’d been ready for a long time.

 

Penetrative sex was nothing to be rushed into, as far as Cam was concerned. If he was on top, he worried about the guy on the bottom; about doing enough prep, getting angles right, finding the prostate. Too fast, too slow, too…. First times totally sucked. And when he was on the bottom and the guy on top got it wrong, yeah, that really wasn’t a whole lot of fun. Sure, he’d climax in the end, but a decent hand job would have been a whole lot easier.

 

With the right partner, though, even if the sex itself wasn’t that great, sharing that kind of intimacy brought its own pleasures. And he’d known for the last month or more that Jackson could be (was) that partner for him. And that the reverse didn’t hold true. Someone else had already received (or rejected) Jackson’s heart. Cam wasn’t blind. He could tell that there was no thought of romance in Jackson’s mind. Still, by this time, he was invested and would take what he was offered and damn the risks; because it was much more than crumbs and he was a hungry man.

 

And (sweet Jesus) that had turned out to be a fuck well worth waiting for. Jackson had performed with skill and confidence, and without hesitation, and Cam hadn’t flown so high since Antarctica. Afterwards, Cam had planted a kiss behind Jackson’s ear and said something sloppy that made them both blush. But Jackson seemed uneasy at the intrusion of even a hint of sentiment, and Cam had made a joke so they could laugh it off. Hold your tongue, fool.

 

Less than a month later, Cam, heart in throat, had suggested that, unless there were other people on the near horizon, the fact that stringent SGC blood tests proved that they were both disease-free…. Jackson had agreed quite readily that they didn’t need to use condoms anymore, and Cam had kissed him, and he’d tasted of maple syrup and ham and coffee.

 

But Jackson had pulled away after just seconds, and the confusion on his face had quickly faded away, leaving pain in its wake. Cam had gotten up, dressed, and gone into the kitchen and started washing dishes, while silently cursing himself and whoever had made Jackson this way. Because a simple display of a little fucking affection between two men who were in a monogamous relationship shouldn’t make anyone look that sad. And if he ever met up with the son of a bitch who’d stomped all over Jackson’s heart, he was going to have a few pithy words to say to him. Or he might let his fists do his talking.

 

He hadn’t turned when Jackson padded across the floor five minutes later. And he hadn’t been sure what the message was when arms wrapped around him, reaching for the snap of his jeans. (Apology?) A slick finger had breached him. (Absolution?) Then a hard cock, and a hard fuck up against the hard sink. (Acceptance? Surely that, at any rate. It hadn’t felt like goodbye.)

 

(And it wasn’t.)

 

~~~~

 

Cam had the ability (was allowed) to give Jackson pleasure. Sharing meals, watching flicks, giving and receiving toe-twitching, sheet-clenching orgasms.

 

Some laughs, some sighs. Basic companionship.

 

Maybe some needed level of understanding, although Cam didn’t think he understood a damn thing, except maybe when to keep his trap shut. Most of the personal questions he’d asked early on had gone unanswered, or the answer had been, “I’d rather not talk about it.” Cam got it. Jackson’s past was a closed book, and his inner thoughts were private. Fine. Swell.

 

So they didn’t want or need the same things emotionally. He’d deal. Who knew what the hell it was that Jackson needed anyway? Sometimes Cam thought that the only thing they had in common was the hours they worked. Pillow talk, if any, was work talk.  It wasn’t that Cam wanted or expected hearts and flowers….

 

In his moments of deepest honesty with himself, Cam admitted that maybe sometimes he wanted to give hearts and flowers.

 

Instead, he gave what he could and knew it was appreciated. And that went both ways, because Jackson was giving what he could, too; so Cam basked, and soaked in all the good things, of which there were many, and thought that he’d gotten it pretty nearly right when he’d (laughingly, thoughtlessly) dubbed Jackson ‘Sunshine’ a few years back.

 

At one time he’d thought that this relationship might go somewhere. Now he let himself (made himself) be content with where it was.

 

But just once, for five minutes even, he wished he could see Jackson truly happy. 

 

~~~~

 

It was dawn when they left Cheyenne Mountain on an October Saturday, after a supposed three-day mission that had stretched into a wearying five. “Don’t fall asleep on your way home,” Cam called to Sam as she headed towards her car. “Same goes for you, Jackson.”

 

Jackson stretched and yawned and showed a dimple. “I’ve got to stay awake long enough to do a little housework, a little bit of laundry. I’ll crash after that.”

 

“Think the doorbell might wake you up?”

 

“We’ll find out.”

 

Cam smiled. “Later.” He waved a hand casually as he climbed into his Mustang and fired up the engine.

 

He got home at 0735, checked his voice messages, thumbed through his mail, undressed, and fell into bed. He spent at least thirty seconds imagining a warm, drowsy and sleep-ruffled Jackson before he drifted off. The next thing he knew it was 1652, and his bladder was winning the argument with his stomach over which one needed attention first.

 

After throwing on a pair of sweats and visiting the bathroom, Cam searched his freezer for something to nuke, settling on some leftover spaghetti and some lima beans. He’d never much cared what he ate for breakfast, so the weird hours he sometimes kept didn’t faze him. Food was food. But his brain was wanting coffee, whatever the clock said. And his tastebuds wanted Jackson’s brew. Well, the two of them would be up, or awake anyway, most of the night, so he’d undoubtedly get the chance to drink his fill.

 

He finished his meal, tidied up the kitchen, and went off to brush his teeth and shower. He sat down at the computer in his underwear and checked emails. Then he got dressed and fixed a fingernail that was wanting to snag on everything. He turned on the Weather Channel while he brushed his hair, and grabbed his leather jacket before he headed out the door in pursuit of good coffee and other good things.

 

It was 1831 when he got to Jackson’s building, and the sunset was just about to get underway. And Jackson’s bedroom window had a spectacular view. Cam parked a cautious block away and hurried back.

 

It took three rings for Jackson to answer the door, and he was as sleep-ruffled as Cam could ever have wished for. As he let Cam into the tiny entryway, his blearily blinking eyes said, “Who are you?” but his half smile said, “Here you are.”

 

Cam turned Jackson around and gave him a little shove. “Sun’s setting.” Jackson shuffled away, nodding, and Cam locked the door behind himself and hung his jacket in the coat closet before following.

 

In the bedroom, Jackson was standing there yawning and scratching his belly above the sweatpants he wore. Cam gave him an amused look and moved to the window to throw the curtains wide. Then he just stood still, looking out at the show that Nature was putting on for them this evening.

 

Jackson moved up behind him, sliding an arm around his waist and putting his chin on Cam’s shoulder. “Don’t go back to sleep,” Cam teased.

 

“Funny,” Jackson answered, finishing up with a huge yawn right in Cam’s ear. His fingers scrabbled at Cam’s tee-shirt. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

 

“That a fact?”

 

“Yes, it is.” Jackson gripped the tee-shirt hem, front and back, and tugged upward. Cam lifted his arms and did the appropriate and necessary wriggling, and the shirt landed on the floor a few seconds later. Jackson slid back into place, his hand now splayed across Cam’s bare stomach, thumb rubbing slowly. They watched the sunset in silence for a few minutes. “Pretty,” Jackson commented, still sounding drowsy.

 

“Mmm,” Cam agreed. This was about as close to manly snuggling as the two of them ever got, and he relaxed and enjoyed the simple pleasure of skin on skin. Suddenly, Jackson’s tongue swept from his neck up to his ear, and Cam jerked in surprise. “Whoa! Hey!” He laughed, feeling his cock beginning to stir. “Give a guy some warning.”

 

“I’d rather just attack,” Jackson answered, tweaking Cam’s nipple.

 

Cam covered Jackson’s hand with his own. “Well, you’re in a mood tonight, huh?”

 

“Well,” Jackson drawled, “I might have had a dream about you.”

 

Cam’s cock jerked with interest. “Anything you’d care to share?”

 

“Don’t worry.” Jackson sounded amused. “I have every intention of sharing.”

 

Cam took a deep breath. “I really like that about you.”

 

Jackson chuckled and stepped away. Cam turned away from the window to face him. “It involved you wearing a lot less clothing,” Jackson said.

 

“Oh, well.” Cam moved and sat down on the edge of the bed. Jackson knelt in front of him and began removing his shoes and socks, one foot at a time, finishing with a lingering caress to each arch. Meanwhile, Cam unzipped his jeans, very slowly, drawing Jackson’s eyes repeatedly to his crotch. Finally Jackson made a face, brushed Cam’s hand aside, and made quick work of getting his cock out into the open. Jackson gave his cock a few squeezes, smiling up at him, and Cam lifted one of his newly bare feet and rubbed at the growing bulge in Jackson’s sweatpants.

 

Jackson quickly grabbed his foot and transferred it to his thigh. “No. No trying to distract me.”

 

“Would I do that?” Cam murmured, wriggling his toes against Jackson’s hand.

 

Jackson’s nostrils flared as he closed his hand tighter, holding the toes still. Cam grinned and Jackson grinned back. Then Jackson stood up and took Cam’s hands, placing them at his waist. Cam drew the sweatpants down slowly, pausing to say a sultry “Hello” to the semi-erect cock that was revealed. Jackson kicked his sweats away and pulled Cam off the bed, and together they worked his jeans and underwear off.

 

Cam stepped in close enough to let their cocks brush, and said, “Yeah, so, about this dream of yours?”

 

Jackson leaned sideways to open the nightstand drawer and grab a bottle of lube. He handed it to Cam. “Take that into the living room and draw the curtains.”

 

The look on his face made Cam’s breath catch. “Done.” He went out into the living room and pulled the curtains tightly closed. The residual radiance from the sunset managed to permeate the fabric, but just barely. He turned on the lamp by the chair to fight back the dimness, just as Jackson entered the room, towel in hand, and turned on the lamp at the end of the couch. There were still too many shadows, and Cam liked to see what he was doing (what was being done to him), so he snicked on the lamp at the other end of the couch. The room was filled with light now, that would turn warm and golden as the sky outside faded to black.

 

Jackson was bent over the coffee table now, stacking books and magazines, sliding them to one end before moving them to the floor. The usual clutter of dirty dishes and crumpled napkins must have already fallen victim to the ‘little housework’ he’d done when he got home that morning. He straightened up and moved back to the other end of the table, beckoning Cam closer. “Lube.” Cam handed it to him. “Lie down.”

 

His tone of voice made Cam shiver with anticipation. He sat on the end of the table and slowly lowered himself backwards. “Further?” he asked.

 

“No, you’re good,” Jackson answered. “Lift up.” He prodded one of Cam’s butt cheeks, and Cam braced his legs and arched up. Jackson slid the towel underneath him. “Okay.” Cam lowered himself back down. 

 

Jackson stood there between Cam’s parted thighs for a minute, looking down at him with satisfied approval.

 

“You dreamed this?” Cam asked, his chest beginning to rise and fall more quickly.

 

“No, not this part.” Jackson grinned. “This part just seemed like a good idea.”

 

“I’m with you so far.”

 

Jackson lowered himself to his knees on the carpet. “Oh, I think you’ll be with me all the way.”

 

Cam looked straight up, where the merging pools of light from the lamps painted fuzzy-edged circles on the ceiling. He heard the distinctive sound made by the cap of the lube bottle as it was flipped up. “Yeah, I think so, too.”

 

Jackson leaned forward so Cam could see him, and indicated the front of his shoulder. “Put your foot right here.” Cam tightened his stomach muscles and lifted his leg, and Jackson took hold of his ankle and guided his foot into place. “Get it comfortable.” Cam shifted infinitesimally until he felt secure. “Good?”

 

“Not yet,” Cam said, grinning, “but I’m thinking that you’re gonna…” A slick finger brushed across his anus. “Um-hmm, gonna take care of that right quick.”

 

“No,” Jackson said. “Not quick. Slow.”

 

One finger slid a bare inch inside Cam’s rectum. “Slow, yeah. Slow works. You just…” Another inch. “Ahh, take your time.” A tongue licked at his ankle bone lazily. “Yeah, I’ve got all night,” Cam sighed. His interior ring of muscles relaxed just a bit, and the finger pushed all the way in and stopped there. Cam squeezed it, and when he unclenched, the tip of it quirked a few times. Then it slid slowly out, Cam’s flesh clinging to it. It came out all the way, and when it went back in a few seconds later, it had a new coating of lube and Cam opened to it like he’d heard the secret password.

 

“Are you humming?” Jackson asked as he slowly fucked Cam with his forefinger. 

 

Cam could hear the amusement in his voice. He smiled broadly. “Am I?”

 

“I distinctly heard humming.” Jackson withdrew his finger completely. “And I haven’t even really given you anything to hum about, yet.”

 

Cam knew what came next, and he was ready for the second finger, bracing his foot against Jackson’s shoulder and canting his hips up another inch. “Oh, yeah.” He felt full, but not stretched. Two fingers, going in this slowly, were nearly unbearable in ways that had nothing to do with pain or discomfort. “You could go a little faster,” he hinted.

 

“I don’t think so,” Jackson answered, leaning forward a couple of inches and bending Cam’s leg back towards his chest. With his free hand he patted Cam’s cock, which was arching down towards his stomach. His two fingers continued their torturous glide, in and out, sometimes with a twist of his wrist. 

 

Cam was starting to sweat. A cool drizzle landed unexpectedly on his balls, and he gasped. Jackson’s one hand was buried deep, twisting slowly, and now with the other he was massaging lube into Cam’s balls, coating them, rubbing with the lightest of touches. “Oh.” Cam’s hips writhed. “Oh.” Jackson resumed his slow fingerfuck, and after half a dozen thrusts he changed his angle and an electric sensation shot through Cam. His prostate was brushed again, and Cam felt pre-come drip onto his stomach.

 

Jackson removed his hands from Cam’s body, and Cam groaned in protest. He could feel the tug at the towel beneath him as Jackson wiped his hands on it. Then Jackson stood up, lowering Cam’s foot to the ground, stepped to the side of the table, and threw one leg over, straddling Cam.  His erection pointed straight out from his body. He was holding out the lube, and Cam took it in a shaking hand. As he coated his palm, Jackson leaned over, bracing one hand beside Cam’s head. Their gazes locked for a long breathless second, and then Jackson fixed his gaze on Cam’s chest and began to toy with his nipples.

 

Cam bit his lip and grunted, feeling for Jackson’s cock. He found it, got a grip on it, started stroking it. He saw Jackson’s eyes slide shut as his neck arched. Cam tightened his hold a little, but kept a slow pace. When he ran his thumb over the head, Jackson licked his lips and opened his eyes and stared down at him. Cam breathed out steadily through his nose, staring back.

 

Jackson began to thrust his hips, and Cam held his fist in place and listened to the sounds they were making. He angled his hand down, and the tip of Jackson’s cock stroked wetly against the underside of his own, and they both gasped. “Fuck me,” Cam begged.

 

Jackson nodded and Cam released him. Jackson stood up and took a few deep breaths before swinging his leg over the table. “Not this way. Hands and knees, bent over the table.” He reached down a hand and pulled Cam into a sitting position.

 

Cam waited out a momentary dizziness. “Your dream?” He slid stiffly onto his knees, and shuffled around to face the table. He wiped lube off the hand he’d used on Jackson, and Jackson folded the towel in half, clean side out, and draped it over the end of the table, padding the edge for Cam.

 

Then he was behind Cam, positioning him, bending him. And touching him, stroking along his spine, reaching between his legs, palming his buttocks. “Yeah. But even better.”

 

Jackson moved in closer, and Cam gripped the sides of the table. Hands parted his cheeks, and the head of Jackson’s cock rubbed along his crease, pressed up against his hole. Cam exhaled and Jackson pushed forward. With the earlier stretching and the amounts of lube they’d been using every step of the way, Cam was so slick and open that Jackson was in him balls-deep with one controlled thrust, leaving Cam slack-jawed, flesh throbbing around the welcome invader. He felt Jackson shift on his knees a bit before he pulled out and slowly slid back in.

 

Perfect angle. Smooth glide. Steady pace.  In and out and slippery and hot and silky steel driving up inside him, rocking his body, rocking his world. “Yeah, that’s good,” Cam mumbled. Each time Jackson entered him, Cam’s cock brushed against the draped towel, sending tingling sensations all along his nerve endings.

 

Jackson paused for a moment, halfway out, breathed heavily, and asked, “You like my dream?”

 

“Hell, yes,” Cam answered. Jackson pushed back inside. “Dream more often. I’m serious.” Cam lifted a hand from the table and waved it in the air.

 

Jackson laughed (triumphantly?). “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Seriously,” Cam reiterated. He waggled his hips. Jackson responded by gripping them harder and picking up the tempo. “Oh, fuck yeah!” Cam cried out. He started moving in counterpoint, and the sound of their bodies slapping against each other filled the room. His cock pulsed with pleasure, but he was a long way from coming yet. And Jackson would start angling towards Cam’s prostate when he grew closer to climax, so there was time yet to just enjoy the trip without over-anticipating reaching their destination.

 

After a few minutes, Jackson slid an arm around Cam’s chest and tugged. Cam rose up on his knees, back arching. His head laid back on Jackson’s shoulder, and Jackson’s warm breath gusted over his neck. Cam could barely move in this position, and he couldn’t hold it for long, but it felt good, really good.. In a minute he’d be back across the table, and they’d be heading into the final stretch, pumping furiously, but right now he strained back against Jackson, panting with effort, loving the sticky, sweaty heat of Jackson’s chest against his back….

 

There was a sound.

 

A lock opening. A door…

 

“Shit!” Jackson hissed as he pulled out of Cam abruptly, causing him to grunt with mingled pain and alarm. And then they were both crawling away from each other, and someone had entered the room.

 

General O’Neill. Looking like he’d been pole-axed.

 

Cam automatically got to his feet and snapped to attention at the sight of a three-star in dress uniform. Fuck! He stared over the general’s shoulder and desperately willed his ludicrously erect cock to subside. This isn’t happening, oh shit, oh please, God, not happening.

 

Jackson had somehow gotten himself off the floor and seated on the couch, and he and the general were staring at each other. The front door snicked shut, proving that only seconds had passed while Cam’s career had been flashing before his eyes.

 

“Sir,” Cam said, striving for parade-ground perfection. He was dead meat, and he knew it. O’Neill could ruin him.

 

“Colonel,” O’Neill answered, still staring at Jackson.

 

Cam couldn’t help flicking his eyes between the two of them. O’Neill’s expression reflected a surprisingly intense pain, too intense to be concealed. Not disgust, not anger. Hurt that went bone deep.  Jackson looked pale and shocked, but an equal pain was creeping into his eyes. Oh, Jesus, no! They’re friends, don’t…this can’t…don’t let this....

 

“Jack. If I’d known….”

 

What? Cam had heard from people around the SGC how Jackson and the general could carry on entire conversations saying only each other’s names, but he’d never quite believed it. Until now. Until he heard three words and knew that they carried the weight of years’ worth of shared memories and feelings, and conveyed something much, much deeper than the obvious ‘If only you’d called first.’

 

What were they saying to each other, with their gazes locked, with Jackson’s words hanging in the air? Their mutual pain didn’t seem to be lessening at all. Something was going on here that Cam couldn’t understand. He didn’t have the key that would let him decipher their code.

 

But, whatever apology or explanation Jackson was offering, surely O’Neill was going to accept it? They were best friends, or had been once. And if O’Neill accepted the apology, valued that friendship, maybe Cam would be safe; maybe, for Jackson’s sake, this could all go away as if had never happened. Please, God.

 

"Excuse the interruption," O’Neill said. He was holding up his key, showing it to Jackson. "I won't take liberties with this again." Cam’s heart thudded in his chest as O’Neill turned to stare at him. "As far as you're concerned I was never here."

Instant relief. "Sir.” The standard, basic answer every military man had drilled into him. It was supposed to cover every situation, but Cam felt a wave of near-hysteria pass over him at the thought of the rulebooks anticipating anything like the unhappy farce that was playing out in this room right now.

 

He was going to be all right; O’Neill was letting it go. Putting friendship before duty to the Air Force and the stars he wore. Jackson must have gotten through to him after all. 

And then O’Neill turned away, without so much as another glance at Jackson, as though he’d ceased to exist (the hell?), and disappeared into the entryway. Cam looked at Jackson, shocked, saw the anguish on his face, and suddenly knew. Knew beyond a shadow of a doubt; understood what he’d just witnessed; saw what was happening now. The man Jackson loved was walking out the door. Cam knew too, now, what the pain on the general’s face had meant, had to have meant. "Have a good night, gentlemen," they heard.

 

The door closed and the deadbolt snicked into place, Jackson moaned, and Cam ran for the bedroom and his clothing. He had to do something; he had to help Jackson somehow. How do you fix a fucked up mess like this? O’Neill. Christ.  There had to be a way. He stepped into his briefs and jeans, and pulled them up.  Jackson hadn’t known.  O’Neill had been just as much in love with Jackson all along. He slung his tee-shirt over his shoulder and grabbed his shoes and socks and strode quickly back to the living room.

 

Jackson was still sitting on the couch, frozen, a look of utter devastation on his face that Cam felt like a blow to the heart. Cam dropped his shoes on the floor and his socks on a chair and pulled his shirt over his head, his mind racing. All this time, it’s been O’Neill. That stupid son of a bitch. Never saying a word about his own feelings; never seeing what Jackson had undoubtedly, yes, tried to hide from him, but still; leaving town. Leaving Jackson miserable and lonely. Yeah, okay, probably being just as miserable and lonely in D.C. More, even, having left behind not just Jackson but eight years of his life.

 

Okay, maybe not so much of a villain.

 

Working his arms into his sleeves, Cam managed to make himself say, “You should call him.” Jackson stared up at him blankly, his eyes glittering in the lights. Cam fastened his jeans and crossed to stand in front of Jackson. “You need to call him.” He could hear the tremor in his voice, and so could Jackson, whose expression changed, concern beginning to creep in as the sound registered.

 

“Fuck!” Cam said roughly. This wasn’t about him (had never been about him). He spotted Jackson’s cell phone on the end table and bent over to pick it up. He crouched down in front of Jackson, placing the phone into his hand and looking him in the eye. “I’ll be fine.” He smiled a little to show how fine he was, fighting the quiver in his lips at the thought of everything he was losing. “Call him.” He swallowed. “Don’t let him get away this time.” 

 

Jackson’s lips parted and he took a few shaky breaths, nodding his head. One tear spilled down his cheek. Cam patted him on the knee and stood. Jackson flipped the phone open and Cam turned away, tight-lipped, not wanting to watch, and went over to the chair. He stuffed his socks into his jeans pockets and bent to cram his feet into his shoes. 

 

"We need to talk."

 

For a split second, Cam thought those words were meant for him, but one glance proved that (of course) they weren’t.  It was over between them. It had never really started.  Cam straightened up and walked over to the entryway closet.

 

"Are you in the stairwell?" Jackson was on his feet and pacing, unmindful of the fact that he was still naked, still shiny with lube. Entirely focused on the man at the other end of the phone.

 

Cam shrugged into his jacket and tried to ignore the pit of ice forming in his stomach. He must have lost his mind to even be thinking about confronting a man as powerful as General Jack O’Neill. What the hell was he going to say?

 

"Don't drive away, Jack."

 

He won’t if I have anything to say about it. Fucker’s not going anywhere. Cam turned the doorknob with a shaking hand and stepped into the hallway. You want him, you’ve got him.

 

"I'll come meet you. Tell me where." 

 

Cam turned for one last look at the place that had become such a part of his life. Jackson paused at the other end of the entryway, cell phone pressed to his ear, his face conveying sorrow and fear and fading hope as their eyes met. Cam summoned a smile of encouragement, cold determination building in his chest. One of them deserved to have a happy ending. He raised his hand in salute and pulled the door firmly closed.