"Jack?" Daniel's voice carries plainly from the direction of the kitchen but I'm too busy tugging off cold weather gear to waste my breath answering. Wouldn't you just know it? Christmas Eve and instead of 'Ho-ho-ho'ing, my chestnuts were getting roasted over another diplomatic crisis with the tokra. Jeez, sometimes I wish Jacob was the only tokra we had to deal with. Let me rephrase that. I always wish Jacob was the only tokra we had to deal with.
I finally manage to wiggle out of my boots and head immediately for the kitchen. Daniel came home early to prepare for our evening festivities and after a few hours of separation--and the tokra--I can't wait another minute. Just as I go to walk into the kitchen, Daniel appears at the door wielding a rolling pin. We both jerk back just in time to avoid a potentially nasty incident.
"Damn it, Daniel!"
"Damn it, Jack!" Daniel lowers the rolling pin slightly. "Why didn't you answer me? I thought there was an intruder!"
"And you were going to fight him off with a rolling pin?" I laugh. "How very hausfrau of you."
"Want a demonstration?" Daniel asks, raising the pin again, eyes narrowed.
"No," I say slowly. "But if you've got the urge to bludgeon me with a blunt weapon...." I grasp his crotch in a not particularly subtle invitation. Daniel just rolls his eyes and turns back into the kitchen. I follow right behind, sniffing at the wonderful odors in the air.
"You cooked?" I ask hopefully.
"Not exactly."
"You catered?" Daniel nods. "Good move."
"I can cook. I made the pie," Daniel argues as he goes to the counter to grab a bowl.
"I know you can cook. But I don't want my little hausfrau slaving over a hot stove on Christmas Eve," I say in an annoyingly chauvinistic tone. Daniel turns slowly toward me.
"Okay. 'Hausfrau' stops right here, right now," he demands, waving a white coated finger at me. I'm across the room in like milliseconds.
"Gimme."
"No," Daniel says peevishly, pulling the bowl away.
"Give me the whipped cream and no more 'hausfrau'," I promise.
"It's for the pie," Daniel insists. I grab the rim of the bowl and look in. Even to my greedy eye there's enough for three pies. Or one pie and one archaeologist. I manage to swipe a finger through the fluffy stuff and lick it off with smug satisfaction. I leave a little bit at the tip of my finger and offer it to Daniel. Not surprisingly he sucks my finger right in. Well, he is a slut after all.
"Why can't cum taste like this?" I ask, still savoring the sweetness.
"Excuse me?" Daniel mumbles around my finger.
"Come on, Daniel. As much fun as blow jobs are, you have to admit semen is not the best tasting substance on the planet." I make a move for more cream and Daniel defiantly sets the bowl out of reach. I move in to kiss him and lick off a smear of whipped cream at the corner of his mouth.
"Oh, yeah. Why can't semen be just like this?" I groan appreciatively.
"Because the sperm would get trapped in the little air bubbles?"
"What?" I admit--I have to take a step back on that one.
"Shoo," Daniel mutters as he returns to the stove. Oh, fine. Best to leave the galloping gay gourmet alone for now. I wander into the living room to find that Daniel has finished decorating the tree. We actually started decorating three days ago but we kept getting distracted. Could have something to do with the fact that I've discovered the joy of nude tree trimming.
I give the tree a once over. Daniel has an artist's eye and it shows. Colors and sizes and shapes are all carefully arranged to....
What the fuck is that?
"Daniel!" I bellow. I hear some very unconvincing mumbling from the kitchen. "Daniel, I know you're not cooking so get your ass out here this minute." Daniel finally appears at the kitchen door trying--and failing--to look innocent.
"Is there a problem?"
"There's a duck on the tree."
"A rubber ducky to be precise," Daniel says. No kidding. A rubber ducky as in a bright yellow, Ernie's (of Bert and Ernie fame) favorite bath time toy, squeaky rubber ducky. On my Christmas tree.
"Why?"
"I just thought it might have sentimental value for you." Daniel turns and waltzes back into the kitchen.
He is so going to pay for this.
"This is the perfect Christmas Eve," I announce contentedly. "Snow's falling outside, fire's burning inside, and it's just you and me."
"And the duck," Daniel adds, patting the obnoxious quacker on the head. Yes, the ducky is still with us. He went from 'gracing' the tree to being the centerpiece at supper and now he's sitting snugly between us on the couch.
"Fuck the duck," I growl.
"I really don't think he's ready for that kind of commitment," Daniel comments. That's it. I lunge for the duck and Daniel tries to protect it. He ends up pushed half against the back of the couch, curled around the duck. So naturally I take advantage of the situation. And Daniel. I wrap myself around him and stick my hands in his pockets. And here's a surprise--Mr. 'No Visible Panty Line' is going commando again.
Daniel's breath catches as I massage him through the thin pocket lining. He rubs his ass back against me as I pull one hand out of his pocket with, "Lube? Have something in mind, Daniel?"
"I always have something in mind, Jack. You should know that by now." Daniel releases the duck with one hand and uses that hand to encourage my hand in a vigorous game of pocket pool. And I think we're just about ready for that corner shot now.
Daniel suddenly twists beneath me. He stretches out along the couch and sends the duck flying somewhere behind us. I tuck the lube down the back of the cushion and sprawl comfortably all over him. Daniel grabs my head and makes it undeniably clear that he's up for some serious oral foreplay.
I kiss him like tomorrow won't ever come. Which, given what we know about the state of the universe at large, is entirely possible. So I give it even more gas. I'm aware that I'm a little too old--hell, we're both a little too old--to be making out like this. I have a nice comfy bed where we should be having nice comfy sex and not rocking the status quo by necking on the couch like teenagers. But it feels so damn good.
"This is the perfect Christmas Eve," I mutter into his neck. I lift my head to see Daniel smiling.
"Gotcha," he whispers smugly.
"Oh, fine. I'm a sappy old goat," I admit. Daniel's smile widens and he kisses me like I'm the best thing since sliced bread. Or the Rosetta Stone. Then he emphatically wraps a leg around my ass and rocks his hips into mine. I'm just getting the idea it might be time to dig the lube back out when there's a knock at the front door.
"Forget it," I snarl as I run my hands under Daniel's shirt and across his chest.
"Jack," Daniel hisses. "You have to answer the door."
"No, I don't."
"What if it's kids caroling?"
"Fine," I grumble, climbing off of him. "But--so help me--if I open the door and there's a couple of Mormons standing there wanting to help me find God, I'm giving them an express ticket to find theirs."
"Heathen," Daniel retorts. I stumble over to the door, wrench it open, and listen to my jaw hit the floor.
"General!"
"Very funny, Jack," Daniel grumbles from behind me.
"Merry Christmas to you, too, Dr. Jackson." Daniel's head appears comically over the arm of the sofa, his mouth hanging open. He scrambles around, fumbling with something on the couch, before finally joining me at the door.
"Uh, Merry Christmas, sir," Daniel stammers, offering his hand. I'm still gaping at the general. His outfit is...really very remarkable.
"Well, this explains why we didn't find you at home, Doctor," Hammond comments.
"We?" Even as I ask, Tessa and Kayla come flying through the door and jump on me. Either they're getting too big or I'm getting too old for this, too. They squeal in my ear about making snow angels and helping Santa make deliveries. I'm thinking there's a serious sugar rush going on here.
"Girls," Hammond says firmly. They reluctantly drop off, sneaking in a quick hug for Daniel. "Why don't you set these in the kitchen for Colonel Jack?" he adds, handing Tessa a plate of gingerbread cookies. He shakes his head fondly as they tear off for the kitchen. "They're a little excited."
"General...George...sir, you look...um...." I turn helplessly to Daniel.
"Very festive, General," Daniel says. Well, that's one way of putting it.
"Festive," George snorts as he follows us into the living room. "I look like a discount biker Santa." He does. There's a lot of very red, very shiny vinyl happening here. The "fur"--well, it's seen better days. Not even going to ask about the chains. "Unfortunately, by the time Tessa and Kayla talked me into this there weren't any decent Santa outfits left to rent."
"You might want to think seriously about buying if this is going to be an annual event," I suggest helpfully. George just shoots me a wry look.
"It's the thought that counts," Daniel says pointedly, gesturing for Hammond to have a seat.
"Of course it is. I'm just saying." I walk over to tend the fire. Hammond sinks to the couch...and squeaks. Daniel's face freezes in horror as Hammond fishes around in the sofa cushions. Seconds later he holds up the rubber ducky. Well, at least now I know what it was Daniel was fumbling with.
"I can explain that," I offer tentatively. Hammond looks from me to Daniel and back to the duck.
"Perhaps it would be better if you didn't," Hammond says firmly, setting the duck on the coffee table.
We see George and the girls off as they head out to continue their rounds. Boy, I'd love to see the look on Fraiser's face when she gets a load of the Santa get-up.
"Jack." I turn to look at Daniel, shivering next to me on the porch. The snowflakes are swirling around us, dusting his hair and eyelashes. The general may not cut it as a Santa, but I've got to say--Daniel makes a hell of an angel. I lean forward and kiss him. Chilled lips on the outside but toasty warm on the inside. "Jack," he hisses, pulling away and looking around.
"There's no one out here, Daniel," I reassure him.
"The general knows," he says bluntly.
"Don't worry about it." I lean forward for another kiss but Daniel plants his hand in the middle of my chest.
"Jack!"
"Daniel!" I push his hand out of the way and pull him into a hug. "Stop your fretting. He didn't ask, and we didn't tell."
"Because the girls were here."
"George isn't good at hiding his feelings. If he wasn't a happy camper he would've let us know it. Maybe not in words, but we'd know."
"So what do we do?" Daniel asks as he starts to nuzzle into my neck.
"Same thing we always do," I say. "We play it cool at work. So lose the lipstick...." Daniel snorts and sucks at my collarbone. "No reading Ikea brochures, no humming Broadway show tunes." I run a hand up Daniel's shirt and he gasps as my cold fingers tease at his nipple. He snuggles in closer so maybe he doesn't mind the cold too much.
"And no ducks," he adds breathlessly. And just for that....
"Jack!!" Swear to god--Daniel's voice goes up two octaves when my other, equally cold, hand slips down inside the back of his slacks and a single finger probes him. Despite his verbal protest, he rubs hard against me and there's no doubt in my mind he's so hot he can't see straight. "Jack, that's...."
"Kinky?" I whisper into his ear.
"I'm not a pervert," he moans. Not yet...but we're working on it. Although even I have to admit that it's time to take this indoors before Daniel's moans get any louder. I don't really want to spend Christmas Eve in jail on an indecent exposure charge. Besides, snow does not make a good lubricant. I give one more wiggle of my finger, making Daniel's breath catch in his throat, before pulling free. "Jack?"
"I don't know about you but I'm ready for bed," I whisper suggestively. Daniel smiles happily and leads the way into the house. Just before we turn to go down the hall to the bedroom I stop.
"Go on. I'll be right there," I tell him. "Just have to get the whipped cream." Daniel shakes his head with an indulgent expression. As I bend down to rummage around in the fridge, I hear Daniel call out from the living room.
"I'll get Dexter."
Dexter? Who or what the…?!? Oh, he didn't.
"Tell you didn't name that thing!" I yell as I stumble out of the kitchen, bowl of whipped cream in hand. Daniel goes flying past me down the hall.
"Every duck needs a name," he chides gleefully as he hurries into the bedroom. I run after him but by the time I hit the doorway, Daniel's lying provocatively on the bed and Dexter the fucking duck is sitting on my pillow.
"Daniel," I drawl. He looks at me curiously. "I've only got enough whipped cream, not to mention enough 'oomph', for one of you. Who's it going to be?" Daniel's eyebrows knit together as he considers this predicament.
"Sorry, Dex," Daniel says as he tosses the duck over my head and out into the hall.
"Good call," I say as I slam the door closed behind me.
The End.