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Oral Fixation

Summary: In answer to Joy's 'oral fixation' challenge for June... a fic with the same title. Who said I had an imagination? Anyway, tis short, tis unbetaed, so read at your own risk *g*

I don't know when it started, but recently I noticed that I've developed some sort of obsession for Daniel's mouth - and what he does with it. It seems that whatever he does, wherever he goes, I can't take my eyes off those lovely, luscious lips of his. Damn, there I go again.

Don't know what this is. I've never been fixated on a guy - or any part of one - before. Sure, I've done the dirty with them; that happens sometimes in the military, especially on male-only teams sent out to places where the last time a woman was seen, she was still hairy and hadn't long come down from the trees. But I'm only attracted to women. Now, they've got good lips. Red, round... the fullness of them just inviting you to kiss them - along with other round, full bits if you get my drift. Am I being invited to kiss Daniel's lips? Ew. I mean... guys... at least guys like me... we don't kiss guys. Ya know? Ya don't know? Well, take it from me. We don't. So why can't I take my eyes off them?

Take this morning. Here we are, we're on PXR-347 by the way. Wherever the hell that is. Anyway, we were talking to the local chief. Strike that, Daniel was talking to the local chief. Carter was asking Daniel to translate stuff for her (and there's a pair of lips I should fixate on kissing. Shouldn't I?), Teal'c was doing his silent thing but speaking volumes with his eyebrow, and I was helping out as usual. At least I was until Daniel said, "shut the fuck up and let me deal with this, please." Where was I? Oh yeah. Daniel was doing the 'we come in peace, please don't send us back in pieces' spiel and all I could do was stare at his mouth as it gymnastically dealt with the weird sounds of the local language. I was staring at it so intently that I missed Carter pointing something out to me. Which is a shame.

Anyhow, I'm sure that Daniel will be able to talk us out of this holding cell before long. At least he would if they'd come and talk to us.

Carter gave me one of her looks as we were being thrown in here. You know the one. It's the one that says, "I damned well told you so. Sir," where the 'sir' is spat in my face. Can't say I blame her, really. It's cold and dark in here. At least I don't get to see Daniel's mouth - it's too dark to see any details.

Who's that? Someone's coming close.


Great. Just what I need. It's Daniel and he's getting close so he can speak in a whisper.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"I managed to keep my radio."


"Hush! Now, shouldn't Hammond call us soon?"

Did he just say something? What little light there is seems to be focussed on his lips.

"Jack? Did you hear me?"

"Uh. No. Say that again."

"Isn't Hammond due to call?"

"Uh. Yeah. Soon. Better switch it on."

"Gee Jack, I'd never have thought of that."

Fact. Daniel is the only person I know of that can exude dripping sarcasm in a whisper.

Which kind of brings me onto the other little obsession I've seemed to develop. His voice. Doesn't matter what language he's speaking, I can't get enough of it. It's not a special voice. I mean, you listen to that guy on Star Trek. The bald one on the ship. Now, he's supposed to have a 'sexy voice', at least according to the Doc. Daniel's isn't like that at all. But when I hear him talk, it's... well... it's calming. Soothing. Kind of like the 'bedtime story' voice my dad used to do when he was willing me to fall asleep. You know it. Calm, gentle... with a hint of 'please go to sleep' desperation in it.

Hammond called up, we got rescued, checked out, debriefed, and now Teal'c has disappeared to his room with a distinct air of being totally pissed off with me, and Carter... well, the less said about what she thinks of me at the moment, the better.

"Jack? Coming to the commissary?"

Yeah, why not. I'm kinda thirsty.

"Sure, Daniel. Why not?"

At least he's talking to me. That's kind of typical Daniel. The others know that our little spell of incarceration was my fault, and they're letting me know it. But if Daniel noticed, he's not saying.

Actually, he's not saying anything as we walk to the commissary. He is looking at me out of the corner of his eye, though. I won't call him on it. Somehow, I'm not sure I want to find out what he's thinking.

I think he's sickening for something. He didn't get a coffee. Instead, he's got a bottle of coke. Not the diet stuff, either. Whether he prefers the taste or not, Daniel doesn't exactly have to watch his waistline. Not when I can watch it for him.

He's tipping his head back, the bottle top in his mouth (that's the glass bit, not the metal bit, but you knew that, didn't you?), and he's drinking. I'm watching his lips as they caress the glass - and that's the only word for it. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he pours the liquid down his throat in a hypnotic way. It goes down really easily, like he's had a lot of practise at... No! Don't go there, O'Neill. Especially not in the commissary.

"You okay, Jack?" he asks as he puts his bottle down. Empty. If he doesn't belch loudly soon, I think he'll explode.

"Uh, yeah. Why?"

"You squeaked."

"I did?" I squeak.

"You did. Why?"

"I have no idea." Of course I have an idea. I'm just not telling him, that's all.

Heh heh heh. There's the belch. He tries to cover it up, but fails, getting himself a filthy look from Lieutenant MacAllister. She's got a crush on him. I've heard tell she thinks he's not like other guys, that he's some kind of saint. Give it up, Lieutenant, he's as much of a guy as I am. Just because he's polite most of the time, doesn't mean he doesn't belch, fart or scratch himself. I should know, I've shared many a tent with him.

I think he's just lost an admirer.

"Pardon me," he says, blushing a little. He's not embarrassed at all, but he saw the look MacAllister gave him.

I snigger. "Your halo's slipped," I say under my breath.

He kicks me under the table, trying not to laugh.

"Is there a game on tonight?" he asks innocently, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah. Why? You want to come over?"

"Got nothing better to do. Have you got any decent beer in or should I bring some?"

"You bring it. I've definitely got decent beer in but I'm not wasting it on you."

I stop breathing as he pokes his tongue out at me, then holds the tip of it between his teeth. It's taking all my self-control to not dive across the table and stick my tongue between those teeth. Can someone tell me why I agreed to him coming over?

"Okay. You supply the food," he says with a grin, then he goes before I can say, "Wwwha?"

He's here. The game's afoot. And I'm not talking about the hockey, either. Sure, that's on, but I can't say I'm watching it exactly.

I'm watching him - again. He's eating pizza. Now, I've seen Daniel eat pizza on numerous occasions. Not once has it ever forced me to put a cushion on my lap to cover up the effect it's having on me.

His head is tipped back. Further than when he was drinking his coke. He's bitten the slice and he's pulling it away from his mouth, the cheese stretching and stretching as his hand gets further and further away. Now his tongue's poking out and he's twisting it around the cheese, pulling it into his mouth and... there. He's bitten it. Strands of cheese fall down the sides of his mouth and over his chin. His spare hand raises and he uses his index finger to wipe it up, sticking his finger in his mouth and... hnng... sucking on it to clean it up.

There's a noise on the TV and the next thing I know, Daniel's looking at me.

"Who scored?" he asks.

My eyes quickly flick to the screen and I see the score, figure that he doesn't know either and say, "We did."

He knows. Don't tell me how, but he knows. And I'm not talking about the scoreline here.

"We did, eh?" he chuckles. "Who's we? This is between the Rangers and the Leafs."

"Uh... Pick one."

I'm done for. Totally and utterly done for.

He's letting me off the hook for the moment, 'cause he's laughing his head off. I make the most of it and stuff some pizza into my own face, figuring I can't speak to him with my mouth full. Daniel will at least wait until my mouth's empty. Then he'll put me on the spot.

He waited until the food was finished and I'd had a couple of beers. Softening me up, I guess. Then he stood up as if he was going somewhere. Which he was.

"Uh, Daniel? You going somewhere?" I asked him.

"Yeah. Home," he said quietly.

That was a few moments ago. I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out. I did, however, notice that he was watching it. My mouth, that is.

"Don't go," I finally get out.

"The game's over, Jack," he says quietly.

"It's not. It's not over."

He looks a little confused and waits for me to elaborate. I'm just not really sure what to say. I'm staring at his mouth again. Damn, it's so tempting. What would he do if I...?

HUH? Wwwha? Um, okay. Now I know what he would do. Mainly because he's lost patience with me and he's kissing me. Boy, is he kissing me. Remember what I said about not kissing guys? Forget it. It's great. Incredible! Amazing! Oh, shut the hell up O'Neill and kiss him back.

He's pulling me backwards and we're stumbling onto the couch. He's broken the kiss. WHY?


"I need to breathe, Jack," he answers with a grin, shifting himself around and making himself comfortable.

"Who needs air?" I growl and duck down for round two.

I was born to kiss this guy. Like everything else he uses his mouth for, he's a fucking expert at this. What's he doing NOW? Uh... oh! I think we're starting to shed some clothing.

Make that most of our clothing.

Shirts are open and off, T-shirts are over our heads... strike that. Mine's over my head, Daniel's just got ripped off. Jeans are undone and pulled down. I'm thinking we're going the friction route here. Which is cool, but I must admit to having had other plans.

"Jack," he gasps. "Hold on."


"Just a minute, please," he pants, obviously trying to hold off from coming.

"Is something wrong?" Well, I suppose I'd better ask.

"No. Not wrong. Just..."

"Daniel? Tell me." I shift a bit until his chest is cleared enough for him to breathe and see his eyes fixed on my lips. I think I know what he wants, 'cause so do I. "It's okay, Daniel. I think I get it," I answer for him, shifting until I'm off the sofa and on my knees. He can massage me tomorrow.

Before he gets the chance to say anything, I pull his legs around, rip his jeans off him (not literally, I mean, they're still in one piece) and settle myself in-between his legs and indulge his oral fixation. Hopefully he'll get the message and return the favour later.

I had no idea that Jack's mouth was so talented. I should have guessed, I suppose. After all, he's always quick with the smart remarks. Though when he tied the cherry stalk with his tongue just before we went to bed I knew I was in for a good night. It would seem that he has an oral fixation to match mine.