Summary: This is Babs' fault. Only hers. She made me do it. Mild bondage alert (very mild). Set after Team Night. Thanks to Joy - as ever - for the beta :-)
"You want me to wear what?"
Oh crap, he's getting annoyed.
"It's cold, Daniel, just put them on when we go to bed, will ya?"
"I should have known. That first night with you, you said something about loving me in jammies, Jack. I thought you were kidding. Tell me now, do you have any more perversions or kinks I should know about?"
"Well, seeing as you put it like that... no, no perversions, though I do like to play. You want some chocolate sauce on that pancake, Danny?"
"Uh huh, I know where you want to put that and I've only just had a shower. Later, maybe. But I prefer maple syrup."
I really shouldn't smirk, but I can't help it. Daniel's been malevolently eyeing this pair of flannel jammies that I got out for him ever since he came home from work. It's purely a coincidence that they're blue - honest. I'm buttering him up, giving him his favourite supper. Sweet pancakes with syrup and ice cream. In November. Each to his own, I guess. But ever since I hooked up with my hot and sizzling archaeologist I've been inclined to indulge him... if only to get him to indulge me. And he does, in his own hot and sizzling way.
He surprised the crap out of me that night, all that leather and all. Not to mention the fact that he's gayer than I am. Sheesh - who knew? I certainly hadn't got a clue, that was for sure. Now, I know I'm not as stupid as I make out, but he's one hell of an actor.
Like now. He's pretending to be pissed with me for asking him to wear the jammies to bed, but he's way more perverted than I have ever been. I had never in my life done what we did with rope, a bottle of beer and a tiramisu - in the back garden. Still, it was fun. I'm hoping he will indulge me tonight - I can't wait to see him in them. Then he'll get exactly whatever it is that he wants from me in return. And though I have no idea what that is, I don't care.
He's been waspish all day, shooting stinging remarks where they were needed - and where they weren't. I don't know what it was that Major Seymour did, but I'm sure that he didn't deserve to be called a 'mealy-mouthed, peanut-brained, noxious deposit of penguin snot'. Poor guy burst into tears. Guess that's what comes of two days without sex. Well, he was busy with those translations, and if I hadn't pissed him off at work the day before he might have palmed them off on someone, but it was so tempting to tease him about his trousers ripping when he bent down to pick up his dropped fork in the commissary...
So, I'm being nice to him. This usually puts his guard up - he still doesn't trust me further than he can throw me, but he's so driven by his rampant hormones that he lets me get away with more than I should - as long as he comes screaming the place down. Now, I know that I don't deserve his trust, not after what I did to him, but I'm working on it. I'll earn it. In the meantime, I've made it my mission in life to get him to scream himself hoarse. Haven't managed it yet, but we've only been together a couple of weeks.
Hence this face-off over the dining table. I'm trying to figure out what he wants from me, he's trying to work out just why I want him in the jammies and somehow we're aiming to work out a compromise. I have one in mind. He can wear the jammies to bed and I'll take them off him. Slowly.
"So, how was your day, dear?" I ask. Throwing endearments like that at him always annoys the crap out of him. He only ever calls me anything like that when he's in the throws of hot and sweaty sex. I know he loves me. We got blasted as soon as we came down off our post-coital high on that first night, so drunk that we ended up sleeping on the floor in the living room because neither of us could face risking the stairs. And it all came out - how he had been wanting me, how he had been in love with me - and how I felt the same about him. And we cried, a lot. It was cathartic. Since then, he only ever tells me he loves me when it's interspersed with 'fuck me harder you bastard' and 'oh Christ I'm coming.' I can live with that. Daniel never says a word he doesn't mean, no matter what state of mind he's in. Hence Carter's really bad mood when he was suffering from withdrawal from the sarcophagus. Ouch.
He's narrowing his eyes, trying to figure out what's on my mind.
"I've had worse," he says carefully. "It was filled with idiots, but then that's nothing unusual."
"Hey, I hope you're not getting personal, Daniel."
"No, not you. You know your dumb colonel routine has always annoyed the shit out of me because I know just how smart you are. Though you do do a damned good imitation of an amoeba on occasion. How was your day?"
That's another Danny thing. Insult you and then change the subject quickly. I ignore the insult - mainly because smart I may be, but there's no way I'm going to win a battle of wits with a pissy Danny.
"Fine. Boring really. Can't wait to get out on the mission in two days. All that being stuck on base has been too much. I'm glad Carter's better now. That alien virus she got was awful for her, wasn't it?"
Bastard snickers. Well, we did tell her not to eat the local food, the people weren't human after all. And after what she ate on Thor's ship you'd think she'd have learned her lesson. Uh huh, not Carter. She's currently trying to take over Daniel's role as the 'one most likely to get into deep shit by touching what she's not supposed to'- or OMLTGIDSBTWSNST in military-speak, but that's not so easy to say.
The purple hue she had has just about gone now. She just looks a little bruised, that's all. I must admit, I've never seen rainbow-coloured puke before.
"What do you have planned for tonight?" Daniel asks carefully, dragging his finger through the remains of his syrup and then sucking it off. Oh Christ, he wants me to think? NOW? He's going down on his fucking finger. Hnng.
"Oh no, Jack, we're not back to inarticulate sounds, are we?"
Bastard tongue. It's doing it again. I can beat this. I can. IcanIcanIcan. Hnng.
Oh God, he's up and around the table, and coming close to me. EEK, he's grabbed my collar. Okay, already, I'm standing. And kissing. Yup, kissing's good. I can do this. Hmm - say what you like about my honey, he's fucking amazing at this.
"You really want me to put these on?" he says, his voice so husky as he picks the jammie trousers up off the arm of the sofa where I put them.
"If it will make you happy," he says with a grin.
Oh God, what have I just let myself in for? Ah, what the hell, I've gotten laid in more varied and wonderful positions in the last few weeks than I have done in the last ten years put together. And he hasn't done a damned thing I didn't like yet.
He crooks a finger and I follow him upstairs. I'll follow him anywhere, to tell the truth. He leads me by the gonads and he knows it.
We're in the bedroom - he tells me to stand and not move. Okay, I can do that. Especially as he's stripping for me - so slowly it hurts. One button at a time on his shirt till it's open. Now it drops off and he's just wearing his jeans and T - his shoes and socks never went back on after his shower. Such a shame, it means I have to look at those lovely feet of his. Oh the suffering.
Eep! The belt, the buttons on his jeans - oh crap he's gone commando. So good, Danny, you look so fucking good.
"Thank you, Jack, you look pretty hot yourself. Do you want to cool down?"
I'm nodding like one of those stupid dogs that gets hung up in the back of cars - you know, by those tacky people with less taste than a Goa'uld.
"Good. Shall I do it for you?"
Another nod. Well, he's in the jammie bottoms, he doesn't expect verbal coherence, does he? Those lovely long fingers are undoing my shirt, trailing down my chest... I'm gonna come in my pants if he doesn't let up. Think disgusting thoughts - think Maybourne and Simmons - think Apophis in drag - think Thor and Hammond... yep, that's working. Phew, it usually only takes one thought of Harry and Simmons naked to kill off my libido completely.
My pants are on the deck and I'm standing naked now. He's moving slowly around me, rubbing his hips against my bare skin as he gets to my back. He's as hard as I am (well, even those horrible thoughts didn't have the desired effect for long, just took the edge off if you know what I mean). Hmm, I can feel the flannel against me. It's good.
"Bed," he orders. And I'm one for following orders, aren't I?
"What do you want me to do, Danny?"
"Just lie there, Jack, and enjoy the ride."
He's laying on top of me, keeping his weight off me with those strong arms, just brushing against me. I push up to him and he backs off.
"I told you to lie there, didn't I?" he asks petulantly. He's good at petulant; it comes with practise and he gets plenty of it.
He's back, kissing me, nibbling my jaw line, not letting me do a damned thing. I love these nights, the ones when he takes command. Sometimes he lets me do that, insists on it even. He's got a real kink about being slung over my shoulder and carried to bed and then fucked hard. But not tonight.
He's got the lube out - he's going to fuck me in his jammies? Tonight gets better and better. Oh. He's not. He's taking them off. And TYING MY HANDS UP WITH THEM??????
"Shh, babe, you're going to have fun, I promise. I couldn't hurt you, you know that. Are you okay? Are you afraid?"
He doesn't sound patronising... concerned and loving, yes, patronising no. And all of a sudden I know that I need to do this, to trust him. Because if I can't trust him, how in God's name can he trust me?
"It's okay, Danny, I trust you. I know you'd never hurt me," I whisper.
"Then lie back and relax, hun, because I won't do anything you won't enjoy."
He's covering his fingers with the lube and... hot damn! He's preparing himself. Stroking himself, inside and out, working himself up to a frenzy for me to watch. He knows I love this - I walked in on him touching himself one morning, just working off the usual wake-up state when we didn't really have time to do a thing about it. And I so got off on it.
He's calling my name, more and more, louder and louder as his hands work faster and harder. He's coming and coming hard, staring into my eyes for a moment till it's too much for him and he throws his head back and yells.
He's still panting as he straddles me. I want to hold him but these damned jammies are holding me. Trust me to want him in them. Oh GOD he's just sat on my dick. Didn't even lube it. Probably just as well because if he'd touched me then I'd have gone off like a rocket. It's only the shock of what he's done that's helping me hold on.
He's leaning down to kiss me.
"Love you, O'Neill," he whispers against my mouth as he starts to move. No way in hell am I going to last. This is too fucking intense.
"Love you," I manage to pant out. His movements are sure and steady, he's rotating his hips as he pushes down. This is as good for him as it is for me. A few more... jerks... and... OHGODYES!
He's lying on my chest, panting hard, kissing whatever bit of me he can reach.
"Danny, untie me, please," I beg.
He reaches up and releases me from my flannel bonds so that I can finally hold him.
"You're fucking amazing," I tell him.
"I aim to please," he sniggers.
Oh, you do that Danny, you really do.
He's wriggled off me, shaken out the jammies and laid them on the bed. We head off to the bathroom to get cleaned up and ready for bed. Somehow I doubt we'll want to stay up now. As we get back into the room, he grabs them and sticks them back on. We get into bed and our favourite position; me on my back and him plastered to me. I love the feeling of flannel on my skin.
"You don't have any more material fetishes I should know about, do you?"
Perhaps I shouldn't tell him about the blue silk shirt I've seen that would really bring out his eyes...