SWEAT
"Daniel?" Sam paused at the edge of the mat and stared down at her teammate. "What are you doing out here?"
"Crunches."
"I can see that -- but aren't you usually in the weight room with Teal'c?"
Daniel paused and lay back on the mat, chest rising and falling under his loose tank. "Our fearless leader has..."
Sam raised an eyebrow as he paused, his lips pressed together into a thin line. "The general said," she prodded before he could begin to dwell on whatever it was and refuse to talk about it.
One long fingered hand patted the slight swell of flesh above the edge of his dark shorts. "Jack said the word..." Daniel's lip curled. "...belly."
"In what context? Sorry," she raised a hand in apology as he turned to glare. "Not relevant." Lying flat on his back Daniel had nothing she'd call a belly but then, gravity was helpful that way. There was, she had to admit, a certain softness to his middle section that was a little discordant given the hard muscular curves of his arms, shoulders and thighs and if she could see that with him lying down... "So you thought you'd do a little ab work?"
He somehow managed a horizontal shrug. "Well, apparently what works on Teal'c doesn't work on me so I thought I'd get back to basics but I've been doing these for a week now and I'm not seeing a difference."
Sam spared a moment's thought for Teal'c's six-pack then forced her mind back on track and dropped to one knee by the edge of the mat. "Let me see what you've got. Crunches," she amended as an expressive eyebrow rose. "Let me see your crunches. Maybe I can help."
Under the circumstances, his narrow-eyed stare at her mid-section was justified. She rapped her knuckles against it. "Hard as rock."
"Not a belly," Daniel admitted grudgingly and locked his hands back behind his head.
His crunches looked fine but maybe she was missing something. "Take your shirt off and keep going." Still looked okay. A little fold of flesh at his middle perhaps but that could just be the way he was rising and folding. Rising and folding. Rising and... Maybe okay wasn't exactly the right word. "Bring your knees up to meet your elbows." All that golden skin, barely covered by a pair of small gym shorts had begun to pick up a sheen. He was breathing a little harder too. "Try a few obliques." The muscles in his back rolled under his skin, sweat began to dribble down his sides as the long muscles there contracted and released. He was beginning to breathe in short rhythmic grunts. The hair on the back of his head had started to lift into damp spikes.
The air around him, the air between them, was definitely growing warmer.
He smelled like soap.
And sweat.
Sam matched her breathing to his, almost unconsciously inhaling and exhaling to the same rhythm.
Muscle. Movement. Skin. Sweat.
Heart pounding.
Blood racing.
"Sam..."
"Daniel..."
"Can I... quit now?"
Wha...? Oh. Right. "Yeah. Sure." She cleared her throat and got hurriedly to her feet as he collapsed back, eyes closed, chest still rhythmically rising and falling. "I'm... uh... heading for the showers..."
His head turned just enough for his eyes to lock onto her face. "You haven't... done anything yet... but watch me."
"Yeah, well, you know. Time flies and all that... stuff."
"Sorry." His breathing was almost back to normal. Sam wished she could say the same. "Did I mess up your workout?"
"No, it's fine. Really. Fine. I've just got to, you know, shower." Conscious of the dribble of sweat running between her breasts, she turned and headed for the door. Paused and glanced back. "Honestly, Daniel, I don't think you have to worry about that belly thing."
As she wrapped a damp palm around the door handle, she heard him sigh and murmur, "Yeah, that's what Teal'c said."
LEATHER
As Daniel stared at the mess in his spare room, he had no idea how he'd managed to acquire so much junk in the short time he'd been back. Granted some of it was junk he'd had before he'd left - left being the current euphemism for died, ascended, and just generally departed to play glowing white ultimately ineffectual silly bugger - but even that didn't account for the scope of the problem. Still, since his copy of La Premiere Domination perse en Egypte was nowhere to be found in the rest of the house, it had to be in there, somewhere, and there was nothing to do but wade in and hope for the best.
An hour and three quarters later, still short the specific book he needed but richer by half a dozen other volumes he'd thought gone forever, he opened the last of the boxes in Sam's pile. Unlike the others, the cardboard didn't bear his name and a list of the contents in Sam's nearly illegible handwriting. It was definitely one of Sam's boxes though -- same shape, same size and not to mention piled up with the rest of what she'd kept. He spent a moment wondering just how Sam and Jack had decided who'd store what - there seemed to be neither rhyme nor reason to explain the contents of the boxes although Jack had taken charge of the lion's share - and then ripped off the strip of packing tape.
Okay, he was fairly certain that the pair of high-heeled black leather boots weren't his. Nor the blue satin pumps that screamed matched to a bridesmaid's dress, nor the strappy red sandals that suggested a side of Lt. Colonel Carter that the SGC didn't get to see. Someone had obviously grabbed a box of Sam's old shoes when they were clearing his stuff out of her basement.
About to toss the shoes back in the box, Daniel's attention was caught by a roll of black leather. And laces. Frowning, he pulled it out and unrolled...
A black leather corset? That was definitely a side of Lt. Colonel Carter the SGC didn't get to see. He grinned as he studied it. Metal frogging held it closed at the front and it had been threaded so that the laces ended in the middle of the back. After a moment, he realized that had to be so the wearer - without the lady's maid that made corset wearing less complicated - could tighten the laces herself.
Or... himself?
Corset in hand, he rocked back up off his knees, picked his way through the boxes to the mirrored closet, and stared at his reflection. Turned and stared at his profile. Particularly the profile of his waist. His belly, as Jack called it. That Jack seemed ridiculously fond of the protuberance in question wasn't the point. Daniel had worked damned hard to get into the kind of shape that rippled and the refusal of his stomach to develop the requisite six pack was driving him nuts.
How nuts?
Apparently nuts enough, he thought as he pulled his sweater over his head. He had to loosen the laces to get the corset around his waist and as he settled the leather against his skin, he realized he'd need to remove his jeans. Holding the front closed with one hand, he reached under the lower edge, unbuttoned, unzipped and let them drop.
Right. Laundry day. No underwear.
As his cock and balls swung free of the falling denim, he almost had second thoughts but the soft curve of flesh just above his pubic hair - obvious now without the masking cloth - made him just angry enough to keep going. Quickly hooking the front closed, he reached behind for the laces and tugged, snugging the leather in close. Twisting around and peering over his shoulder, he saw there was still a fair bit of his back visible under the laces. So he pulled a little harder. His waist began to cinch in, pressure pushing up against his ribs and down...
Interesting sensation.
He pulled a little harder, putting all those muscles he'd acquired to work. Slowly, the gap closed and, pressure pushed to the edge of pain, he brought the ends of the laces around in front and tied them off. The leather had begun to warm and it was hard to tell where he started and it began. It gripped him like a lover, cutting off his breathing and pushing sensation down into his crotch.
When he finally looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn't stop himself from moaning softly. Above the rich black leather, his shoulders looked enormous. His waist had been cinched in to where Jack could probably span it with his hands. The flare of the corset gave a curve to the angle of his hips and below it... below it his balls hung heavy and obvious, his cock dark and already more than half hard.
"Fuck..."
A little light-headed, Daniel was beginning to see the attraction in auto-erotic asphyxiation as he reached down and took himself gently in hand. Stroked. The parts of his body not confined by the corset were aching for the same intimate grip.
Worked for him.
Panting, lungs straining, he closed his fingers around his cock and squeezed, sinking to his knees as his legs threatened to give out. Bracing himself against the mirror, he pumped his fist harder. Faster. No finesse, just a need to release the building pressure.
His vision exploded in starbursts - orange against black - and he may have fainted for a moment or two. When cognitive thought returned, he was leaning against the mirror the glass cool against heated skin, his breathing shallow and rapid. The pressure of the corset's grip could almost be mistaken for Jack's weight sprawled across him.
No mistaking the mess though.
Daniel released the knot and sighed deeply as the heated leather fell away from his skin. He dragged up his jeans as he stood and tucked himself carefully away, noting the marks that had been pressed into the curve of soft flesh. Like primitive tribal markings.
Then he frowned. He'd totally forgotten to check his profile. Forgotten to check if the corset had smoothed out his hated belly. Tightening his grip on the leather, he wondered if Sam had even noticed the box was missing. Because if she hadn't - and since it had been over a year it certainly seemed that she hadn't - then there was no real hurry to return it.
Or its contents.
The leather warmed again in his hand.
So he could check for that belly thing later...
WHISKEY
While Jack professed to prefer a fifteen year old Laphroaig and had been know to hold forth at length -- mostly just before Christmas and his birthday -- on the smoky, slightly peppery taste of this very expensive, single malt Islay whiskey, he had, of late, been buying JackDaniels. Jack was, underneath the cynical old soldier façade, a romantic.
"What are smiling about?" Jack asked, turning away from the liquor cabinet and studying Daniel's expression suspiciously. "Did I sit in something?"
"No..."
"Teal'c tape a kick me, I'm the general sign on the back of my shirt?"
"No." Daniel frowned. "Is that likely to happen?"
"It could. He seems to have developed a somewhat juvenile sense of humour over the last few years."
"Gee. I wonder where he got that from." Daniel accepted his drink and swung his legs down off the couch.
Jack sat and lifted them back up onto his lap, ice chiming against the sides of his glass. "Hey, I never TP'd the gateroom."
"I was under an alien influence at the time."
"You were drunk."
"It was alien hooch."
"It was Canadian beer."
"I rest my case."
"Did you actually say gee?"
"Only as sardonic emphasis."
"Well, that's all right then."
When Jack picked up the remote, Daniel returned to his book, ignoring both the sounds of the game and Jack's intermittent commentary. This was his favourite way to spend a Sunday afternoon. Well fucked, well fed, and a hundred and twelve pages into The Road to Kades; A Historical Interpretation of the Battle Reliefs of King Sety I at Karnak, second edition.
On page two hundred and seven, sensations drew his attention off the text. "Jack, what are you doing?"
"To you?"
"Yes, to me." Jack's hand was up under the edge of his shirt, stroking and kneading the flesh just above the waistband of his jeans.
"Is this a trick question?"
Daniel reached down and grabbed Jack's wrist. "It's the belly thing again isn't it?"
"Belly thing?"
"Look, I've tried, okay. I doesn't matter what I do I can't get rid of it!"
"Who wants you to get rid of it?"
"I hate the damned thing!"
"I don't."
"No shit. You can't leave it alone."
"Do you want me to leave it alone? So I have a small obsession," Jack continued before Daniel could answer. "Can I help it if I think you've got an adorable little poochie?"
Uncertain of whether he was more insulted by adorable or poochie, Daniel hesitated just long enough for Jack to break his grip, shove his shirt up, and sink his teeth into the flesh in question. "OW!"
When he tried to sit, Jack's hand pushed him back. "I'll kiss it better."
"You're God-damned right you'll kiss it better! You'll... Holy fuCK!"
Jack had a piece of ice in his mouth. The cold of the ice surrounded by the heat of Jack's lips combined with the lingering pain of the bite piled sensation on sensation and Daniel arced up off the couch.
"Like that, do you..." Practiced fingers, flicked the buttons on Daniel's fly undone, easing the pressure on his rapidly hardening cock. Another clink of ice and Daniel braced himself for...
...cold liquid, filling his navel. Hot tongue lapping it out. And again. A cool line of liquid dribbled down his side, caught by Jack's mouth before it reached the furniture. And all the time Jack's hand was working the flesh, creating just enough movement to rub the sensitive head of his cock lightly against the rough denim.
"Jack..." He threaded fingers through the silver hair and tugged.
When Jack looked up, his eyes were smoldering. "My way or I stop."
"Fine. Whatever. Just..."
Oh gods. Ice again. And more teeth. And a bit of fingernails. The cool weight of whiskey. The chase after errant drops. And more tongue... Always more tongue. In. Out. Fucking his navel. Fast. Slow. Hot. Cold. Strong fingers gripping, kneading, pulling. Never anywhere but the damned belly but that was rapidly becoming moot.
He writhed as much as Jack would let him, chasing what friction he could as the pressure built. Finally, cool fingers wrapped around his cock, banding it with sensation and the cold/warm of Jack's mouth closed over the head sending him over the edge.
Later, when he was lying limp and spent, jeans open and low on his hips, stomach wet and red, Cubs losing six to four, Jack swatted him smugly on sensitized flesh.
"Don't," he said, lifting his empty glass in salute, "diss the belly."
--end--