"...it's really proving to be quite a complicated problem, Sirs. We've been working on this night and day to try and find a solution, but within the constraints of any quantum theory that I understand..."
I've read somewhere, don't ask me where, it's difficult to keep track sometimes, that men on average think about sex every two minutes. I've been stuck in this briefing now for forty-five minutes and hand on heart, this is the first time that I've thought about it in that period, so I don't know just how accurate that statistic is. Or, for that matter, who's doing my share. However, I am thinking about it now. Maybe I should think about it twenty one times in a row, just to even the score. Actually, maybe not, the thought so often being father to the deed - that particular course of action wouldn't sit too well with the military mindset, as attractive as the thought of having Jack spread out underneath me on the briefing room table might be...
I don't know why, but I just had a sudden flashback to last night's activities: one of those weird out-of-body things where you're watching what's going on from a vantage point somewhere near the ceiling. A strange perspective, one that I've never actually seen. It's prompting thoughts of mirrors though - I'd like to watch Jack loving me some day for real, watching and feeling at the same time - how much of a turn on would that be? And I'd like Jack to see himself, see the look he gets on his face sometimes just before he comes, that hot, feral, greedy look that never fails to do it for me.
I'd watch Jack's hands, one wandering up and down my thigh while he held me down, the other heading purposefully between my legs, one slick finger ready and willing to find my asshole and finger me but good while my dick was sliding in and out of his mouth. It'd be good to watch: the contrast between Jack's skin and mine, dark against pale, the grey head moving carefully up and down, his hands, the calluses rasping against my skin, my hands clutching at his hair, trying to urge him on while he refused to be hurried. It'd be very good to watch.
I'd watch too, from this intriguing new angle, as I eventually stilled his head and he pulled back and looked enquiringly up at me. I'd see my lips move as I ordered him to fuck me - but I'd not hear myself say the words, even though I'd know what I was saying and I'd know what his reply would be. I'd be too far gone to actually listen to myself: I've been there, and recently, and remember all too well the roaring of the blood. And then, I'd switch my attention to his face for a while, watch the anticipation and want hardening in his eyes as he crawled up the bed towards me and settled down between my legs, stoking the fires that little bit higher.
I'd be interested in the way I looked when I asked: eyes narrowed perhaps, face flushed and needy, an almost-ugly expression. And I'd notice a thin film of sweat making my face and chest glisten in the lamplight. And I wonder to myself, as a small aside: 'Do I really look just like that when we're making love? Or is it just because Jack does, and I think I probably should as well?'
I'd have to be lying on my back when he nudged into me, of course - or else I'd miss the sight of his beautiful, creamy-coloured ass bunching and relaxing as he thrust home, deep, deeper, deepest, the play of muscles in his shoulders as his arms took some of the strain, the look of him covering me and the look of my legs hooked round his waist, light against dark this time.
And watching while we came, that would be the best of all, feeling the friction and watching the effort, watching as he bounced me up the bed with the force of his final few powerful thrusts, watching as I dug my fingers into his back, urging him deeper, harder, watching as my hips twisted and bucked under him to pull him inside me as far as I could. Watching, as he'd suddenly thrust hardest of all and freeze with his head thrown back and his eyes tight shut, his ass clenched tight and his elbows locked.
I don't think I'd be compos mentis enough to watch any more for a bit...
And damn, I'd better get back on track here. Shit, here's hoping this briefing lasts for another half hour and stays boring enough to help me out of my present, uh, predicament...
"... and the fact still remains that we don't have much of a clue why the 'gate works. I mean, theoretically speaking, and even allowing for the huge boost of power provided by the naquadah, there shouldn't be enough energy on an entire planet to power up the 'gate and sustain a wormhole of any dimensions. So I really don't think..."
Well, you struck lucky there, Jackson, Sam's obviously set for the long haul, she has that missionary gleam in her eyes - 'evangelical' gleam, I mean. I think you can count on at least twenty minutes. Should be just about long enough...