New SG-1 Story - Less Than Madonna
Title - Less Than Madonna
Author - Berty
Rated - NC-17
Season - 4 with spoilers up to then
Warnings - Slash (Jack/Daniel). Language.
Summary - Diplomatic relations, but not as we know them.
Author's notes - Believe me, no one is more surprised than me at this little fic. Title from Four Weddings And A Funeral.
Less Than Madonna by Berty
He's not going to make it, Jack knows. He's been in some pretty intense situations in his time, but this one has him licked. There's just no wiggle room that he can find, he's locked down and frustratingly helpless.
The guy at the lectern drones on and on in a monotone, sapping what little life Jack still has left in him. He's found himself looking forward to the guy's breaths, just for variety. Jack cranes his neck as far as he can without drawing attention to himself, straining his peripheral vision for a glance at his team mate and fellow victim, but he can't even get a glimpse of the charcoal of Daniel's jacket, let alone make eye contact to express his misery.
He's going to have to have a serious talk with George when this is over. If it's ever over. Ever since the Asgard zipped him across the entire goddamned cosmos and zapped his brain back into non-Ancient mode, everyone's got him pinned as this kind of intergalactic ambassador. It's all bullshit of course. This is much more Daniel's kind of thing. Besides the manners that his momma drilled into him as a boy and some "please don't shoot me" noises he learned on the job, he's pretty much clueless when it comes to talking nice. It doesn't stop them from rolling him out every time there's a whiff of a diplomatic situation. Like the suck-fest he's currently enduring. It's all the Asgard's fault, making Hammond believe that he's some kind of saint. He's gonna kick Thor's spindly little grey ass next time he sees him; see how diplomatic he thinks that is.
There were too many delegates for the briefing room - apparently each ambassador from the twelve planet alliance they're entertaining has a retinue - so they are in the largest of the lecture theatres, crammed in cheek-by-jowl with the ridiculously over-decorated Druth
representatives in rows. Jack indulges in some dark thoughts about their genetic diversity; they're all tall, dark and slender with large, prominent noses and a love of garish colours. The SGC looks like it's been taken over by a flock of tasteless flamingos.
Jack tunes out the speaker and spends a few minutes tonguing the remains of his breakfast out of a back molar and deciding which of the over-the-top outfits around him he hates the most. The hot fuchsia turban guy in front of him is especially grating. He wonders what Carter and Teal'c are doing right now and considers how bad it would have to be before he'd not want to swap places with them. Root canal surgery maybe. Perhaps unblocking soil pipes. He calculates how many bathroom breaks he can take in a day without appearing as if he has a medical condition, and then breaks down and gives in.
He looks at his watch.
Forty two minutes.
He's only lasted forty two fucking minutes and he's ready to beat his head repeatedly on something hard out of utter boredom.
Jack sighs very quietly. He knows that politeness, etiquette and serenity are the keystones of this society's culture. He also knows that this little party is a big deal and to offend them would be a bad thing, as Daniel had stressed looking directly at Jack as he'd said it in the briefing.
Daniel can be a bit of a bitch sometimes.
Jack's eyes light on his tablet - the tablet Carter gave him with all the relevant information on it - the tablet that has a pen thing for him to write notes if he needs to - the tablet that is linked to Daniel's identical one on the other side of the room or wherever his friend ended up. The other delegates all have their own versions of a similar recording device - some of them are even taking notes.
Slowly, his eyes glued to the speaker all the time, Jack reaches out and detaches the stylus from his tablet with a tiny click. He nods sagely when everyone else in the room does the same at some particularly mind-numbing sentiment. Carefully he hooks the screen closer so it's partially hidden by his elbow propped on the desk. He opens a text window and chooses Daniel's ID from the drop down menu. Knock knock, he writes and taps on the send icon.
For a chilling second he wonders if the tablets have a chime like the annoying noise his cell makes whenever he gets a text message, but nothing interrupts the most boring man currently on the planet who's still going strong.
Who's there?
Me, Jack writes and nonchalantly looks across to his neighbours to see if they're scowling at him. They're not. Jack wonders if they can even read what he's writing. Sure, they can speak the same language somehow, but does that mean they use the same alphabet and stuff? Daniel would know.
That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Daniel replies, and Jack feels inexplicably better just for seeing his loopy handwriting. He has an ally in his darkest hour.
I'm so bored...
Too bad. Only 9 hours to go, Daniel sends back immediately.
...that even talking to you is preferable.
You're an ass, Daniel sends.
Amuse me, Jack demands, shifting the tablet to a more comfortable position.
Daniel sends back an image of a tic tac toe grid and a stupid smiley face with a label that reads "I have the concentration span of a sea cucumber". The smiley face has a cap on and an arm with a poorly drawn gun at the end.
Daniel is a bitch a lot of the time actually.
Jack sighs again and tries to make sense of what the speaker is driving at. The language of the Druth is so very convoluted, so unnecessarily long-winded that Jack gives up again after two minutes of brain twisting rhetoric. Seriously, any civilisation that needs that many 'honourable"s and "esteemed"s in a speech about... something, is doomed to failure in his opinion.
So, what are you wearing? Jack writes and rolls his lips into his mouth in an effort not to snort as he presses send.
There's a suspicious, high-pitched cough a second later off to his right and Jack knows he's scored a direct hit.
Just TRY to pretend that you're a grown-up can you?
Never! Jack responds and casts around for something to talk about. He settles on, What was your Mom's maiden name?
WHAT? After a second Daniel continues. Ballard - you met my grandfather two years ago. Remember?
Jack does remember. Nick. Jack hadn't exactly taken a shine to the guy who had let his own grandson grow up in foster care rather than give him a home.
Right. And what was the name of your first pet?
Jack, are you seriously trying to work out my porn star name during this incredibly important and culturally significant summit?
Mine's Rusty Gallagher.
That's... disturbing. Daniel sends, and Jack wonders if that's the end of that game before another message pops up on his tablet. No pets. Moved around too much.
Jack's chest does that odd clenching thing it sometimes does when Daniel lets slip some piece of his life before the SGC. He draws a crude picture of Daniel's fish tank and scrawls, What are these then?
A second later he gets a reply. They don't really have names. They're just fish.
Fish Ballard. You wouldn't get many bookings.
Oh dear God! Shut up!
Jack spends the next hour thinking up as many fishy puns as he can and Daniel's responses range from outraged to long-suffering via sarcastic and some impressive and inventive cussing that Jack hadn't known Daniel was gifted with. There's a five minute recess while everyone's drinks are refilled and Jack really does need to use the can, so he has no chance to insult Daniel in person before they're all being herded back to their seats, although he does get a quick glimpse of him interacting solemnly with some guy in a bright jade bath robe.
A new man stands up as silence once again descends upon the room. Jack leans back in his chair and settles in, his tablet pushed firmly to one side of the table. He's been having too much fun messaging to Daniel and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't let that happen often. Daniel's much too easy to engage and Jack's way too fascinated by him for this game to be completely innocent. This is something he realised early on in their friendship and he's always watched himself around Daniel ever since.
New guy begins to speak, and Jack is so shocked that all his good intentions go out of the window. He grabs his tablet back and starts to scribble.
Seriously? he writes.
The new man's intonation and cadence are exactly the same as the last guy's and Jack is despondent knowing how hard it was to remain still and quiet for the last one. There are twelve of these clowns! He's doomed!
It's part of the negotiations. They train for years to be able to speak like this. It's a privilege that we're allowed to be here to listen.
Privilege. Right, Jack scrawls, hoping his inner sarcasm is translating into his pixelated handwriting.
So, he's got two hours at least until the next feeding and watering break, The tablet things don't come loaded with MarioKart he's pretty sure, and even if they did, he'd never get away with it. Without Daniel's input all he has to amuse himself is a stylus thing, his fingers and his imagination.
Fuck it.
Pepsi or Coke? he sends.
It takes a couple of seconds for Daniel to return Pepsi. Less bubbles.
Jack starts to ponder his next question when his tablet asks Ice Cream. Vanilla or Chocolate?
Pistachio.
Cheat.
Bite me. McDonalds or Burger King?
McDonalds fries and BK burgers. And Dairy Queen Shakes.
Oh, and I'M the cheat????
Okay, pepperoni or ham.
Sub?
Pizza.
Pepperoni. Dogs or cats?
Fish! Trainers or shoes?
Trainers. Football or baseball?
Baseball. Beach or mountain?
Mountain. Star Wars or Star Trek?
Star Wars.
And so it goes on, and it's only when Jack is startled by the sound of sixty palms slapping the desk that he realises that he's missed the entire speech and that he ought to be nodding along with the rest of the room to indicate his approval. A new guy takes the floor and things quiet down again.
Jack could have guessed most of Daniel's responses, knowing him as well as he does, but it's been a fun way to while away.. Jack looks at his watch...an hour and a half. He figures he better wind the game up now, as the categories have been getting a little juvenile even for him. He thinks for a minute and works out the best way to win this little game.
He picks up his stylus again and with a quirked smile he writes Hugs or kisses?
Depends Daniel sends. Boxers or briefs?
Jack flicks his stylus across the desk to land in his neighbour's lap. He schools his face to look contrite and solemn as the item is returned with a gracious nod.
Jack is stunned. Daniel snatched his coup de grace from him and that cannot be allowed. He sits quietly for a moment until he's certain that the old guy next to him is engrossed once more in the interminable speech then sends Boxers. Boys or girls?
Daniel takes so long to respond that Jack begins to feel slightly sick. Seconds slide by at a glacial pace and force Jack's heartbeat to their heavy beat. Fuck his competitive streak. Now he's had time to consider, this question is the wrong one on several levels. It's too personal. It's opening a can of worms that Jack shouldn't have gone near for the sake of one upmanship. And Jack's breathing has gone uneven just thinking about what Daniel's answer might be. He's way more invested in the response than he can ignore this time.
He's wondered a few times. Daniel is such an intensely private person, he makes Teal'c look like a social butterfly. So he's not the kind of guy who's upfront with juicy tales about his weekend or stories from his school days. Jack's rarely heard Daniel talk about anyone outside of his work colleagues and he's pretty sure that before Sha'uri died Daniel was faithful to the vows he'd made to the wife he was gifted with. But just occasionally Jack's noticed Daniel noticing people. Like noticing them. And not all those people were female.
And on a couple of occasions, Jack's wondered if one of those non-female people might be him.
Jack fiddles with his stylus, desperately trying to think of something to write that can undo what he's just asked. He's just landed on a smiley face with a winking eye when Daniel replies.
Both?
Jack lets out a long slow breath as quietly as he can. He leans right back in his chair and looks about him as carefully as he can over to where he last saw his friend. If he could just get a look at Daniel's face he'd know how to proceed here. Is it more banter or is this a confession under the guise of a bit of fun? Or is Daniel biting his lip in that distracting way he sometimes does?
Is that a problem?
Is it? Jack isn't sure because now he knows definitively that Daniel isn't completely straight then it invites possibilities that Jack has firmly put from his mind up to now. Things he shouldn't be thinking about a member of his team. Things he shouldn't be thinking about a guy. He fumbles with the stylus again in his rush to reassure.
Not for me, Jack sends.
Good, Daniel replies after a moment.
Jack knows he should find something to say so as not to let the silence turn awkward, but what do you say to that? Daniel's bi. It shouldn't be a big deal, and in a lot of ways it's not. But in other ways its the biggest thing Jack's heard since he first stepped through the Stargate to lead a team across the universe to meet aliens.
Since when? he writes. He knows he's not going to be able to leave it alone now he knows for sure.
Since always.
Which came first? Jack realises he's pushing his luck, but it's somehow easier to ask such personal questions from the anonymity of an electronic device. He would still like a good look at Daniel's face, just to gauge his mood, but not having to voice all the questions in his head is kind of liberating.
Boys - literally. I was 15.
Jack swallows hard and tries to push away the image his mind's eye has so helpfully provided of Daniel as a skinny teen with his hair longer and lighter than now, locked in an awkward, desperate embrace with another boy. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat as quietly as he can. Boys plural?
Yes, followed quickly by, Not hundreds or anything.
Less than Madonna, more than Princess Di?
Jack hears another strained cough and grins with relief.
Something like that.
And girls?
Not until Sarah. Then Sha'uri.
Huh! So Daniel seems to prefer men, but is open minded enough to appreciate women too. That... does something to Jack's world view that it probably shouldn't. Of course he's wondered about Daniel's sex life, a bit more than he was strictly comfortable with, but to have it so plainly spelled out for him by Daniel - his quiet, private, 'let's talk about something else" Daniel - is like lighting the fuse on a string of firecrackers. There's a kind of momentum to this, an inevitability even now that prickles under his skin and makes his mouth dry.
Jack shifts again as he thinks about Daniel going through his college years interested in guys. He feels his cheeks heat up as he hardens in his pants wondering what Daniel had been like back then. Idealistic and naive, shy and nervous, academically brilliant but socially awkward - all the things he still is today but without the veneer of sarcasm and cynicism that maturity has brought him.
And of course that brings Jack to the Daniel he knows now. Who never seems to leave the mountain, let alone date. Jack can't help but wonder if Daniel has a... what? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? An arrangement with someone? He doesn't exactly look like a one night kind of guy, but the truth is that Jack just doesn't know. And that's a problem suddenly.
All the things that Jack's been carefully ignoring are suddenly awakened in his mind. Jack's been in love with Daniel for years in a purely platonic way, that's not news. He thinks even Daniel might know that too. There's something about the guy that just kicks every protective instinct Jack has into action. He's never met anyone quite like Daniel before and in a lot of ways they are the other's complete opposite. By rights they should be at each other's throats a lot of the time, but they're not. They click in this weird, unlikely, indefinable way that Jack has been determined not to examine too closely.
I can hear you thinking from here, Daniel sends.
Jack wonders if Daniel has any idea about what he's thinking, because Daniel being bi isn't the same thing as Daniel being interested in forty-something military men with greying hair.
More often than he's happy to admit, Jack has had to force himself to ignore the things about Daniel that he's noticed. Characteristic things. (Smart. Funny. Sarcastic.) Professional things. (Brave. Dedicated. Competent.) Physical things. (Eyes. Smile. Shoulders!) And damn it, Jack's been good at ignoring those thoughts and stuffing them away behind their friendship. But now it's all laid out there for him. Daniel's all those things and more.
Daniel's HOT. In a geeky, baggy, awkward, shy way.
And now his stupid brain won't shut up about that.
Jack? You okay?
Blinking, Jack realises that he's zoned out there for a moment.
Of course, he writes quickly.
You look a little weird.
Where are you?
Two rows back on your right.
Jack leans back in his seat and casually cranes his neck around, but he still can't spot Daniel in the tiered seating behind him.
Sorry. I probably shouldn't have replied to the boy/girl question, Daniel has sent when Jack gives up and returns to face front.
Why?
I don't want to freak you out.
No one's freaking out. We've always been honest with each other.
Like he's in high school passing notes, Jack feels a bit of a fool. Do you think Daniel's hot? Check Y or N.
Okay, so if I asked the same question?????
Jack's heart lurches in his chest and blood thunders in his ears, drowning out the speaker, the room, everything but Daniel's stupid curly question marks. Which question? he writes, stalling for time. His pen slips in his fingers, making his handwriting jagged and unfamiliar.
Boys? Or girls?
Jack's pretty certain that he shouldn't be able to feel his heart beating in his throat like that, but it's the only thing that's holding back the jumbled mass of explanations, denials and revelations that threaten to spill out of him. He can picture Daniel waiting for a response, his normal reserve pushed aside for once to allow these truths to surface. He can see Daniel's bravery draining away the longer he takes to reply, see his nervous habits return, the bitten lip, the lack of eye contact. He hates himself more with every second that passes, but he cannot find a way to make twenty plus years of hiding and guilt and repressing his instincts fit into a word or two. Three minutes pass, five, ten, and Jack is frozen, staring down at his tablet. The back of his neck crawls, knowing that Daniel's eyes are on him. Waiting. Hoping.
Everyone is suddenly moving, the swirling colours of the delegates' robes as they rise from their seats adding to Jack's feeling of nausea. He stands quickly, his gaze going immediately to where Daniel should be. Two rows back. On his right. An entire friendship away.
He's not there.
Jack scans the exits, his eyes drawn to a figure in dark grey, his back disappearing through the doors ahead of the crowd.
Without a clue what to say once he finds him, Jack knows that he has to do so regardless. He pushes his way past men and women, murmuring apologies, twisting and diving for gaps through the crowd, emerging into the quiet corridor only a few seconds after Daniel.
His head down, moving fast, Daniel is just turning the corner when Jack catches sight of him. He doesn't quite run, but it's a close thing as Jack closes the gap between them. He takes Daniel's elbow tightly and matches his pace, steering the shorter man away from the main corridor and into another smaller lecture room.
"My tablet ran out of power thanks to your stupid games," Daniel begins as Jack closes the door behind them. He's got his arms crossed and his gaze is determinedly directed at Jack's left elbow. "I don't know why I have to behave like an infant whenever you're around." He trails off into an awkward silence.
Even in the dimness Jack can see the patches of colour on Daniel's cheeks. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Miserable. He did that to Daniel.
They stand facing each other, Jack searching for words, Daniel searching for an escape. The noise of the delegates filters through the heavy door, distant and distorted. Again, Jack feels time slow and stretch out, measured in minutes and hours rather than seconds, and in all the things they have not said. He listens to Daniel's breath, choppy and fast before he sighs and rubs a hand over his cheek, unsettling his glasses.
"I'm sorry," Daniel whispers. "I didn't mean to... I made a mistake."
"Don't," Jack grates, hating the way Daniel's voice hitches. He runs the hand through his hair, knuckles his forehead. But Daniel doesn't stop.
"Forget I ever said anything, okay? It was..." he sighs again. Swallows. "I misunderstood. I thought that maybe you... It was stupid and I apologise. Can we just...?"
"Don't!" Jack insists. He puts a hand to Daniel's shoulder and pushes hard enough to make him stumble, his back hitting the wall. Jack snatches his hand away, knows they're standing too close. "Just... just don't."
Daniel nods quickly, placatingly. He lifts his head for the first time, tipping his chin up and watching Jack from the corner of his eye. The green glow of the EXIT signs reflects in the lenses of his glasses. He licks his bottom lip carefully, catching it between his teeth, waiting for Jack.
He's so brave, Jack thinks incongruously. The composure with which he waits for Jack's words to fall, the way he accepts Jack's silence, the way his shoulders straighten even now as he expects the worst. And he can't let Daniel down now. What he's been doing is flirting, today and every other time he's smiled too slow or watched too long or let his hand linger. Daniel may or may not have been noticing Jack, but Jack's been noticing Daniel all along.
He steps into what little space there is between them and places a hand on the wall behind Daniel's head. Jack can feel Daniel's breaths quicken, uneven and short against his face, but Daniel doesn't flinch or even lean away.
Suddenly Jack knows what to say.
"Both," he murmurs and presses a kiss to Daniel's mouth, too hard and too quick, but he thinks he's made his point pretty clearly.
Daniel's eyes widen as Jack pulls away. His lips feel like static and his tongue automatically slips out to find traces of Daniel's taste. Jack's little problem from earlier is back in force and his belly aches, low and sweet as his cock swells.
Then Daniel's hands are on his face, pulling him in and angling his head just right so he can bring their mouths together perfectly. Daniel's tongue pushes in, confident and hot. Jack curls his arm around Daniel's shoulders and pulls him closer still, something Daniel obviously approves of as he snakes his hand beneath Jack's jacket and tightens his arm about his waist, lining them up and leaving no gap between their bodies. Jack can feel the heat of Daniel's erection hard against his hip and he rocks into him experimentally. His spine turns molten as Daniel groans his approval into his mouth, biting softly at Jack's bottom lip.
This is insane. Even though Jack knows they're in a surveillance blind spot, they're hardly well hidden in here. Any minute they'll be called back to take their places. And they're on base, for chrissakes! Insane doesn't even cover it. But Daniel is rubbing up against him just right, and making these breathy moans against his jaw.
Jack reaches for the fly of Daniel's suit pants, yanking it down impatiently and shoving his hand beneath the material of Daniel's briefs. His cock is sticky at the tip and the shaft is so smooth in his palm. He wants it all. He want to touch the crisp hair at the base, wants to roll his balls in the cup of his hand. He wants to taste Daniel's flavour so badly his mouth is watering. But there's no time.
Daniel's hand is pulling his cock out and the coolness of the air makes Jack gasp. Daniel's palm is warm and wide and wraps around him so tight, Jack thinks he might be done already. There's no nicety to the way Daniel's jerking him, it's hard and fast and too rough and unlike anything else in Jack's experience. It's so far from the smooth, small, tentative grasp of a woman's hand, it's shocking. It's perfect.
"C'mon, Jack," Daniel mutters against his cheek and Jack can feel the smile there. It carries him over, pulsing into Daniel's cupped hand, slow now, easing him through the shocks, a solid presence grounding him and bringing him back.
With shaky but deliberate coordination Jack begins to stroke Daniel, because he might not have any experience of another man's dick in his hand, but he knows that leaving a guy hanging is unforgivable. His hand is at a difficult angle, his forearm is aching and Daniel's pants are still in the way, but from the way that Daniel is hissing in his ear, whispered pleading, Jack reckons it's not going to take too much. He can smell him own release mixed with Daniel's precome, and he scrapes a thumbnail curiously through the wet mess at the slit.
Daniel jerks hard and comes with a grunt. Jack squeezes as Daniel's cock pulses over and over. Like Daniel, he catches as much as he can in the palm of his hand. He can't resist smearing some of the mess back over the head of Daniel's cock, making him groan and gasp.
Jack's ears are ringing a little as he steps back slightly, letting Daniel slip from his grasp. He stares at his friend, follows the line of his throat where his head is tipped back against the wall. Daniel's eyes blink open, unfocused until they catch Jack's gaze. He looks wary again, and utterly debauched. His breath still labours to settle, his lips are parted and reddened, his shirt hem hangs unevenly out from his pants and his cock pokes, obscene and shiny from the open vee of his fly.
He knows he must look similarly wrecked, but to see Daniel so undone, so wanton and sated makes Jack speechless. His own cock twitches the the sight, and Jack knows with an overwhelming certainty that he wants to see this again. And again. His head reels with it. His blood still thrums in response to Daniel's nearness. He can't quite take in that something he didn't even know was a possibility two hours ago has become something he craves. This Daniel who is slowly tucking himself away and offering him a clean handkerchief from his pocket is obviously and demonstrably the same guy - the handkerchief being something so characteristically Daniel. And yet this is a Daniel whose stubble he can still feel prickling his tongue, whose come is slick and cooling on his fingers.This Daniel is someone Jack has never noticed before. Maybe he was there all along, maybe Jack has been deluding himself with the idea that Daniel was only a friend with nothing more to see than the geeky, smart, mouthy guy he works with. He feels like kicking himself because he's been missing out on a whole lot of Jackson hiding behind that friend label.
And now his eyes are opened, Jack can't fail to see the question in that wary gaze. There's something knowing, assured, something almost amused in the way that Daniel waits him out, watching as Jack tidies himself up with clumsy hands. Since when was Daniel the smooth one?
"So," Daniel says into the quiet. He takes the sticky, damp handkerchief back from Jack's awkward, unresisting hands. "Since when?"
Jack licks his lips and wonders how to respond. Both of his answers are true. "Twenty years or twenty minutes, depends on how you look at it," he replies, pleased to hear his voice is level even if his blood pressure is not.
Daniel just nods and turns toward the door, glancing back over his shoulder to see make sure Jack is ready before he opens it onto the quiet corridor. They walk in silence back to the theatre where the gaudy delegates are already retaking their places. Daniel brushes against his shoulder and quirks him a half smile before he goes back to his place, leaving Jack to shuffle back to his seat, hoping that no one will notice that he smells a little funky. And probably looks a little wild around the eyes.
The room flutters to stillness as the latest speaker takes the podium and begins thanking the last most esteemed and revered colleague. Jack tries to find a way to still his mind from his random, scattered thoughts and recalling exactly how Daniel's lips had opened so softly when he'd come. He knows that things have changed irreversibly between them, and in a few hours he's going to have a freak out of epic proportions, but he's pretty sure that Daniel will be expecting it, and he'll have good reasons for this thing that Jack wouldn't have thought up in a million years. He's also sure that even left to his own devices he'd figure that having Daniel is worth reevaluating some bits of his life that he'd been ignoring. For now he's just going to dwell on where to put his hands so he doesn't keep getting the scent of Daniel because it's overwhelmingly distracting. And hot. And kind of dirty. He shifts in his seat and tries to get comfortable, earning him a brittle smile from his neighbour which he returns sheepishly.
His tablet screen lights up and Jack drags it toward him quickly.
So, left or right?
Jack fights a smirk and feels a little of his impending freak out trickle away.
Handed? Jack responds, frowning.
Side of the bed.
Right, he scribbles. Your place or mine?
Fin
Author - Berty
Rated - NC-17
Season - 4 with spoilers up to then
Warnings - Slash (Jack/Daniel). Language.
Summary - Diplomatic relations, but not as we know them.
Author's notes - Believe me, no one is more surprised than me at this little fic. Title from Four Weddings And A Funeral.
Less Than Madonna by Berty
He's not going to make it, Jack knows. He's been in some pretty intense situations in his time, but this one has him licked. There's just no wiggle room that he can find, he's locked down and frustratingly helpless.
The guy at the lectern drones on and on in a monotone, sapping what little life Jack still has left in him. He's found himself looking forward to the guy's breaths, just for variety. Jack cranes his neck as far as he can without drawing attention to himself, straining his peripheral vision for a glance at his team mate and fellow victim, but he can't even get a glimpse of the charcoal of Daniel's jacket, let alone make eye contact to express his misery.
He's going to have to have a serious talk with George when this is over. If it's ever over. Ever since the Asgard zipped him across the entire goddamned cosmos and zapped his brain back into non-Ancient mode, everyone's got him pinned as this kind of intergalactic ambassador. It's all bullshit of course. This is much more Daniel's kind of thing. Besides the manners that his momma drilled into him as a boy and some "please don't shoot me" noises he learned on the job, he's pretty much clueless when it comes to talking nice. It doesn't stop them from rolling him out every time there's a whiff of a diplomatic situation. Like the suck-fest he's currently enduring. It's all the Asgard's fault, making Hammond believe that he's some kind of saint. He's gonna kick Thor's spindly little grey ass next time he sees him; see how diplomatic he thinks that is.
There were too many delegates for the briefing room - apparently each ambassador from the twelve planet alliance they're entertaining has a retinue - so they are in the largest of the lecture theatres, crammed in cheek-by-jowl with the ridiculously over-decorated Druth
representatives in rows. Jack indulges in some dark thoughts about their genetic diversity; they're all tall, dark and slender with large, prominent noses and a love of garish colours. The SGC looks like it's been taken over by a flock of tasteless flamingos.
Jack tunes out the speaker and spends a few minutes tonguing the remains of his breakfast out of a back molar and deciding which of the over-the-top outfits around him he hates the most. The hot fuchsia turban guy in front of him is especially grating. He wonders what Carter and Teal'c are doing right now and considers how bad it would have to be before he'd not want to swap places with them. Root canal surgery maybe. Perhaps unblocking soil pipes. He calculates how many bathroom breaks he can take in a day without appearing as if he has a medical condition, and then breaks down and gives in.
He looks at his watch.
Forty two minutes.
He's only lasted forty two fucking minutes and he's ready to beat his head repeatedly on something hard out of utter boredom.
Jack sighs very quietly. He knows that politeness, etiquette and serenity are the keystones of this society's culture. He also knows that this little party is a big deal and to offend them would be a bad thing, as Daniel had stressed looking directly at Jack as he'd said it in the briefing.
Daniel can be a bit of a bitch sometimes.
Jack's eyes light on his tablet - the tablet Carter gave him with all the relevant information on it - the tablet that has a pen thing for him to write notes if he needs to - the tablet that is linked to Daniel's identical one on the other side of the room or wherever his friend ended up. The other delegates all have their own versions of a similar recording device - some of them are even taking notes.
Slowly, his eyes glued to the speaker all the time, Jack reaches out and detaches the stylus from his tablet with a tiny click. He nods sagely when everyone else in the room does the same at some particularly mind-numbing sentiment. Carefully he hooks the screen closer so it's partially hidden by his elbow propped on the desk. He opens a text window and chooses Daniel's ID from the drop down menu. Knock knock, he writes and taps on the send icon.
For a chilling second he wonders if the tablets have a chime like the annoying noise his cell makes whenever he gets a text message, but nothing interrupts the most boring man currently on the planet who's still going strong.
Who's there?
Me, Jack writes and nonchalantly looks across to his neighbours to see if they're scowling at him. They're not. Jack wonders if they can even read what he's writing. Sure, they can speak the same language somehow, but does that mean they use the same alphabet and stuff? Daniel would know.
That's the worst joke I've ever heard, Daniel replies, and Jack feels inexplicably better just for seeing his loopy handwriting. He has an ally in his darkest hour.
I'm so bored...
Too bad. Only 9 hours to go, Daniel sends back immediately.
...that even talking to you is preferable.
You're an ass, Daniel sends.
Amuse me, Jack demands, shifting the tablet to a more comfortable position.
Daniel sends back an image of a tic tac toe grid and a stupid smiley face with a label that reads "I have the concentration span of a sea cucumber". The smiley face has a cap on and an arm with a poorly drawn gun at the end.
Daniel is a bitch a lot of the time actually.
Jack sighs again and tries to make sense of what the speaker is driving at. The language of the Druth is so very convoluted, so unnecessarily long-winded that Jack gives up again after two minutes of brain twisting rhetoric. Seriously, any civilisation that needs that many 'honourable"s and "esteemed"s in a speech about... something, is doomed to failure in his opinion.
So, what are you wearing? Jack writes and rolls his lips into his mouth in an effort not to snort as he presses send.
There's a suspicious, high-pitched cough a second later off to his right and Jack knows he's scored a direct hit.
Just TRY to pretend that you're a grown-up can you?
Never! Jack responds and casts around for something to talk about. He settles on, What was your Mom's maiden name?
WHAT? After a second Daniel continues. Ballard - you met my grandfather two years ago. Remember?
Jack does remember. Nick. Jack hadn't exactly taken a shine to the guy who had let his own grandson grow up in foster care rather than give him a home.
Right. And what was the name of your first pet?
Jack, are you seriously trying to work out my porn star name during this incredibly important and culturally significant summit?
Mine's Rusty Gallagher.
That's... disturbing. Daniel sends, and Jack wonders if that's the end of that game before another message pops up on his tablet. No pets. Moved around too much.
Jack's chest does that odd clenching thing it sometimes does when Daniel lets slip some piece of his life before the SGC. He draws a crude picture of Daniel's fish tank and scrawls, What are these then?
A second later he gets a reply. They don't really have names. They're just fish.
Fish Ballard. You wouldn't get many bookings.
Oh dear God! Shut up!
Jack spends the next hour thinking up as many fishy puns as he can and Daniel's responses range from outraged to long-suffering via sarcastic and some impressive and inventive cussing that Jack hadn't known Daniel was gifted with. There's a five minute recess while everyone's drinks are refilled and Jack really does need to use the can, so he has no chance to insult Daniel in person before they're all being herded back to their seats, although he does get a quick glimpse of him interacting solemnly with some guy in a bright jade bath robe.
A new man stands up as silence once again descends upon the room. Jack leans back in his chair and settles in, his tablet pushed firmly to one side of the table. He's been having too much fun messaging to Daniel and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't let that happen often. Daniel's much too easy to engage and Jack's way too fascinated by him for this game to be completely innocent. This is something he realised early on in their friendship and he's always watched himself around Daniel ever since.
New guy begins to speak, and Jack is so shocked that all his good intentions go out of the window. He grabs his tablet back and starts to scribble.
Seriously? he writes.
The new man's intonation and cadence are exactly the same as the last guy's and Jack is despondent knowing how hard it was to remain still and quiet for the last one. There are twelve of these clowns! He's doomed!
It's part of the negotiations. They train for years to be able to speak like this. It's a privilege that we're allowed to be here to listen.
Privilege. Right, Jack scrawls, hoping his inner sarcasm is translating into his pixelated handwriting.
So, he's got two hours at least until the next feeding and watering break, The tablet things don't come loaded with MarioKart he's pretty sure, and even if they did, he'd never get away with it. Without Daniel's input all he has to amuse himself is a stylus thing, his fingers and his imagination.
Fuck it.
Pepsi or Coke? he sends.
It takes a couple of seconds for Daniel to return Pepsi. Less bubbles.
Jack starts to ponder his next question when his tablet asks Ice Cream. Vanilla or Chocolate?
Pistachio.
Cheat.
Bite me. McDonalds or Burger King?
McDonalds fries and BK burgers. And Dairy Queen Shakes.
Oh, and I'M the cheat????
Okay, pepperoni or ham.
Sub?
Pizza.
Pepperoni. Dogs or cats?
Fish! Trainers or shoes?
Trainers. Football or baseball?
Baseball. Beach or mountain?
Mountain. Star Wars or Star Trek?
Star Wars.
And so it goes on, and it's only when Jack is startled by the sound of sixty palms slapping the desk that he realises that he's missed the entire speech and that he ought to be nodding along with the rest of the room to indicate his approval. A new guy takes the floor and things quiet down again.
Jack could have guessed most of Daniel's responses, knowing him as well as he does, but it's been a fun way to while away.. Jack looks at his watch...an hour and a half. He figures he better wind the game up now, as the categories have been getting a little juvenile even for him. He thinks for a minute and works out the best way to win this little game.
He picks up his stylus again and with a quirked smile he writes Hugs or kisses?
Depends Daniel sends. Boxers or briefs?
Jack flicks his stylus across the desk to land in his neighbour's lap. He schools his face to look contrite and solemn as the item is returned with a gracious nod.
Jack is stunned. Daniel snatched his coup de grace from him and that cannot be allowed. He sits quietly for a moment until he's certain that the old guy next to him is engrossed once more in the interminable speech then sends Boxers. Boys or girls?
Daniel takes so long to respond that Jack begins to feel slightly sick. Seconds slide by at a glacial pace and force Jack's heartbeat to their heavy beat. Fuck his competitive streak. Now he's had time to consider, this question is the wrong one on several levels. It's too personal. It's opening a can of worms that Jack shouldn't have gone near for the sake of one upmanship. And Jack's breathing has gone uneven just thinking about what Daniel's answer might be. He's way more invested in the response than he can ignore this time.
He's wondered a few times. Daniel is such an intensely private person, he makes Teal'c look like a social butterfly. So he's not the kind of guy who's upfront with juicy tales about his weekend or stories from his school days. Jack's rarely heard Daniel talk about anyone outside of his work colleagues and he's pretty sure that before Sha'uri died Daniel was faithful to the vows he'd made to the wife he was gifted with. But just occasionally Jack's noticed Daniel noticing people. Like noticing them. And not all those people were female.
And on a couple of occasions, Jack's wondered if one of those non-female people might be him.
Jack fiddles with his stylus, desperately trying to think of something to write that can undo what he's just asked. He's just landed on a smiley face with a winking eye when Daniel replies.
Both?
Jack lets out a long slow breath as quietly as he can. He leans right back in his chair and looks about him as carefully as he can over to where he last saw his friend. If he could just get a look at Daniel's face he'd know how to proceed here. Is it more banter or is this a confession under the guise of a bit of fun? Or is Daniel biting his lip in that distracting way he sometimes does?
Is that a problem?
Is it? Jack isn't sure because now he knows definitively that Daniel isn't completely straight then it invites possibilities that Jack has firmly put from his mind up to now. Things he shouldn't be thinking about a member of his team. Things he shouldn't be thinking about a guy. He fumbles with the stylus again in his rush to reassure.
Not for me, Jack sends.
Good, Daniel replies after a moment.
Jack knows he should find something to say so as not to let the silence turn awkward, but what do you say to that? Daniel's bi. It shouldn't be a big deal, and in a lot of ways it's not. But in other ways its the biggest thing Jack's heard since he first stepped through the Stargate to lead a team across the universe to meet aliens.
Since when? he writes. He knows he's not going to be able to leave it alone now he knows for sure.
Since always.
Which came first? Jack realises he's pushing his luck, but it's somehow easier to ask such personal questions from the anonymity of an electronic device. He would still like a good look at Daniel's face, just to gauge his mood, but not having to voice all the questions in his head is kind of liberating.
Boys - literally. I was 15.
Jack swallows hard and tries to push away the image his mind's eye has so helpfully provided of Daniel as a skinny teen with his hair longer and lighter than now, locked in an awkward, desperate embrace with another boy. He shifts in his seat and clears his throat as quietly as he can. Boys plural?
Yes, followed quickly by, Not hundreds or anything.
Less than Madonna, more than Princess Di?
Jack hears another strained cough and grins with relief.
Something like that.
And girls?
Not until Sarah. Then Sha'uri.
Huh! So Daniel seems to prefer men, but is open minded enough to appreciate women too. That... does something to Jack's world view that it probably shouldn't. Of course he's wondered about Daniel's sex life, a bit more than he was strictly comfortable with, but to have it so plainly spelled out for him by Daniel - his quiet, private, 'let's talk about something else" Daniel - is like lighting the fuse on a string of firecrackers. There's a kind of momentum to this, an inevitability even now that prickles under his skin and makes his mouth dry.
Jack shifts again as he thinks about Daniel going through his college years interested in guys. He feels his cheeks heat up as he hardens in his pants wondering what Daniel had been like back then. Idealistic and naive, shy and nervous, academically brilliant but socially awkward - all the things he still is today but without the veneer of sarcasm and cynicism that maturity has brought him.
And of course that brings Jack to the Daniel he knows now. Who never seems to leave the mountain, let alone date. Jack can't help but wonder if Daniel has a... what? Boyfriend? Friend with benefits? An arrangement with someone? He doesn't exactly look like a one night kind of guy, but the truth is that Jack just doesn't know. And that's a problem suddenly.
All the things that Jack's been carefully ignoring are suddenly awakened in his mind. Jack's been in love with Daniel for years in a purely platonic way, that's not news. He thinks even Daniel might know that too. There's something about the guy that just kicks every protective instinct Jack has into action. He's never met anyone quite like Daniel before and in a lot of ways they are the other's complete opposite. By rights they should be at each other's throats a lot of the time, but they're not. They click in this weird, unlikely, indefinable way that Jack has been determined not to examine too closely.
I can hear you thinking from here, Daniel sends.
Jack wonders if Daniel has any idea about what he's thinking, because Daniel being bi isn't the same thing as Daniel being interested in forty-something military men with greying hair.
More often than he's happy to admit, Jack has had to force himself to ignore the things about Daniel that he's noticed. Characteristic things. (Smart. Funny. Sarcastic.) Professional things. (Brave. Dedicated. Competent.) Physical things. (Eyes. Smile. Shoulders!) And damn it, Jack's been good at ignoring those thoughts and stuffing them away behind their friendship. But now it's all laid out there for him. Daniel's all those things and more.
Daniel's HOT. In a geeky, baggy, awkward, shy way.
And now his stupid brain won't shut up about that.
Jack? You okay?
Blinking, Jack realises that he's zoned out there for a moment.
Of course, he writes quickly.
You look a little weird.
Where are you?
Two rows back on your right.
Jack leans back in his seat and casually cranes his neck around, but he still can't spot Daniel in the tiered seating behind him.
Sorry. I probably shouldn't have replied to the boy/girl question, Daniel has sent when Jack gives up and returns to face front.
Why?
I don't want to freak you out.
No one's freaking out. We've always been honest with each other.
Like he's in high school passing notes, Jack feels a bit of a fool. Do you think Daniel's hot? Check Y or N.
Okay, so if I asked the same question?????
Jack's heart lurches in his chest and blood thunders in his ears, drowning out the speaker, the room, everything but Daniel's stupid curly question marks. Which question? he writes, stalling for time. His pen slips in his fingers, making his handwriting jagged and unfamiliar.
Boys? Or girls?
Jack's pretty certain that he shouldn't be able to feel his heart beating in his throat like that, but it's the only thing that's holding back the jumbled mass of explanations, denials and revelations that threaten to spill out of him. He can picture Daniel waiting for a response, his normal reserve pushed aside for once to allow these truths to surface. He can see Daniel's bravery draining away the longer he takes to reply, see his nervous habits return, the bitten lip, the lack of eye contact. He hates himself more with every second that passes, but he cannot find a way to make twenty plus years of hiding and guilt and repressing his instincts fit into a word or two. Three minutes pass, five, ten, and Jack is frozen, staring down at his tablet. The back of his neck crawls, knowing that Daniel's eyes are on him. Waiting. Hoping.
Everyone is suddenly moving, the swirling colours of the delegates' robes as they rise from their seats adding to Jack's feeling of nausea. He stands quickly, his gaze going immediately to where Daniel should be. Two rows back. On his right. An entire friendship away.
He's not there.
Jack scans the exits, his eyes drawn to a figure in dark grey, his back disappearing through the doors ahead of the crowd.
Without a clue what to say once he finds him, Jack knows that he has to do so regardless. He pushes his way past men and women, murmuring apologies, twisting and diving for gaps through the crowd, emerging into the quiet corridor only a few seconds after Daniel.
His head down, moving fast, Daniel is just turning the corner when Jack catches sight of him. He doesn't quite run, but it's a close thing as Jack closes the gap between them. He takes Daniel's elbow tightly and matches his pace, steering the shorter man away from the main corridor and into another smaller lecture room.
"My tablet ran out of power thanks to your stupid games," Daniel begins as Jack closes the door behind them. He's got his arms crossed and his gaze is determinedly directed at Jack's left elbow. "I don't know why I have to behave like an infant whenever you're around." He trails off into an awkward silence.
Even in the dimness Jack can see the patches of colour on Daniel's cheeks. Ashamed. Embarrassed. Miserable. He did that to Daniel.
They stand facing each other, Jack searching for words, Daniel searching for an escape. The noise of the delegates filters through the heavy door, distant and distorted. Again, Jack feels time slow and stretch out, measured in minutes and hours rather than seconds, and in all the things they have not said. He listens to Daniel's breath, choppy and fast before he sighs and rubs a hand over his cheek, unsettling his glasses.
"I'm sorry," Daniel whispers. "I didn't mean to... I made a mistake."
"Don't," Jack grates, hating the way Daniel's voice hitches. He runs the hand through his hair, knuckles his forehead. But Daniel doesn't stop.
"Forget I ever said anything, okay? It was..." he sighs again. Swallows. "I misunderstood. I thought that maybe you... It was stupid and I apologise. Can we just...?"
"Don't!" Jack insists. He puts a hand to Daniel's shoulder and pushes hard enough to make him stumble, his back hitting the wall. Jack snatches his hand away, knows they're standing too close. "Just... just don't."
Daniel nods quickly, placatingly. He lifts his head for the first time, tipping his chin up and watching Jack from the corner of his eye. The green glow of the EXIT signs reflects in the lenses of his glasses. He licks his bottom lip carefully, catching it between his teeth, waiting for Jack.
He's so brave, Jack thinks incongruously. The composure with which he waits for Jack's words to fall, the way he accepts Jack's silence, the way his shoulders straighten even now as he expects the worst. And he can't let Daniel down now. What he's been doing is flirting, today and every other time he's smiled too slow or watched too long or let his hand linger. Daniel may or may not have been noticing Jack, but Jack's been noticing Daniel all along.
He steps into what little space there is between them and places a hand on the wall behind Daniel's head. Jack can feel Daniel's breaths quicken, uneven and short against his face, but Daniel doesn't flinch or even lean away.
Suddenly Jack knows what to say.
"Both," he murmurs and presses a kiss to Daniel's mouth, too hard and too quick, but he thinks he's made his point pretty clearly.
Daniel's eyes widen as Jack pulls away. His lips feel like static and his tongue automatically slips out to find traces of Daniel's taste. Jack's little problem from earlier is back in force and his belly aches, low and sweet as his cock swells.
Then Daniel's hands are on his face, pulling him in and angling his head just right so he can bring their mouths together perfectly. Daniel's tongue pushes in, confident and hot. Jack curls his arm around Daniel's shoulders and pulls him closer still, something Daniel obviously approves of as he snakes his hand beneath Jack's jacket and tightens his arm about his waist, lining them up and leaving no gap between their bodies. Jack can feel the heat of Daniel's erection hard against his hip and he rocks into him experimentally. His spine turns molten as Daniel groans his approval into his mouth, biting softly at Jack's bottom lip.
This is insane. Even though Jack knows they're in a surveillance blind spot, they're hardly well hidden in here. Any minute they'll be called back to take their places. And they're on base, for chrissakes! Insane doesn't even cover it. But Daniel is rubbing up against him just right, and making these breathy moans against his jaw.
Jack reaches for the fly of Daniel's suit pants, yanking it down impatiently and shoving his hand beneath the material of Daniel's briefs. His cock is sticky at the tip and the shaft is so smooth in his palm. He wants it all. He want to touch the crisp hair at the base, wants to roll his balls in the cup of his hand. He wants to taste Daniel's flavour so badly his mouth is watering. But there's no time.
Daniel's hand is pulling his cock out and the coolness of the air makes Jack gasp. Daniel's palm is warm and wide and wraps around him so tight, Jack thinks he might be done already. There's no nicety to the way Daniel's jerking him, it's hard and fast and too rough and unlike anything else in Jack's experience. It's so far from the smooth, small, tentative grasp of a woman's hand, it's shocking. It's perfect.
"C'mon, Jack," Daniel mutters against his cheek and Jack can feel the smile there. It carries him over, pulsing into Daniel's cupped hand, slow now, easing him through the shocks, a solid presence grounding him and bringing him back.
With shaky but deliberate coordination Jack begins to stroke Daniel, because he might not have any experience of another man's dick in his hand, but he knows that leaving a guy hanging is unforgivable. His hand is at a difficult angle, his forearm is aching and Daniel's pants are still in the way, but from the way that Daniel is hissing in his ear, whispered pleading, Jack reckons it's not going to take too much. He can smell him own release mixed with Daniel's precome, and he scrapes a thumbnail curiously through the wet mess at the slit.
Daniel jerks hard and comes with a grunt. Jack squeezes as Daniel's cock pulses over and over. Like Daniel, he catches as much as he can in the palm of his hand. He can't resist smearing some of the mess back over the head of Daniel's cock, making him groan and gasp.
Jack's ears are ringing a little as he steps back slightly, letting Daniel slip from his grasp. He stares at his friend, follows the line of his throat where his head is tipped back against the wall. Daniel's eyes blink open, unfocused until they catch Jack's gaze. He looks wary again, and utterly debauched. His breath still labours to settle, his lips are parted and reddened, his shirt hem hangs unevenly out from his pants and his cock pokes, obscene and shiny from the open vee of his fly.
He knows he must look similarly wrecked, but to see Daniel so undone, so wanton and sated makes Jack speechless. His own cock twitches the the sight, and Jack knows with an overwhelming certainty that he wants to see this again. And again. His head reels with it. His blood still thrums in response to Daniel's nearness. He can't quite take in that something he didn't even know was a possibility two hours ago has become something he craves. This Daniel who is slowly tucking himself away and offering him a clean handkerchief from his pocket is obviously and demonstrably the same guy - the handkerchief being something so characteristically Daniel. And yet this is a Daniel whose stubble he can still feel prickling his tongue, whose come is slick and cooling on his fingers.This Daniel is someone Jack has never noticed before. Maybe he was there all along, maybe Jack has been deluding himself with the idea that Daniel was only a friend with nothing more to see than the geeky, smart, mouthy guy he works with. He feels like kicking himself because he's been missing out on a whole lot of Jackson hiding behind that friend label.
And now his eyes are opened, Jack can't fail to see the question in that wary gaze. There's something knowing, assured, something almost amused in the way that Daniel waits him out, watching as Jack tidies himself up with clumsy hands. Since when was Daniel the smooth one?
"So," Daniel says into the quiet. He takes the sticky, damp handkerchief back from Jack's awkward, unresisting hands. "Since when?"
Jack licks his lips and wonders how to respond. Both of his answers are true. "Twenty years or twenty minutes, depends on how you look at it," he replies, pleased to hear his voice is level even if his blood pressure is not.
Daniel just nods and turns toward the door, glancing back over his shoulder to see make sure Jack is ready before he opens it onto the quiet corridor. They walk in silence back to the theatre where the gaudy delegates are already retaking their places. Daniel brushes against his shoulder and quirks him a half smile before he goes back to his place, leaving Jack to shuffle back to his seat, hoping that no one will notice that he smells a little funky. And probably looks a little wild around the eyes.
The room flutters to stillness as the latest speaker takes the podium and begins thanking the last most esteemed and revered colleague. Jack tries to find a way to still his mind from his random, scattered thoughts and recalling exactly how Daniel's lips had opened so softly when he'd come. He knows that things have changed irreversibly between them, and in a few hours he's going to have a freak out of epic proportions, but he's pretty sure that Daniel will be expecting it, and he'll have good reasons for this thing that Jack wouldn't have thought up in a million years. He's also sure that even left to his own devices he'd figure that having Daniel is worth reevaluating some bits of his life that he'd been ignoring. For now he's just going to dwell on where to put his hands so he doesn't keep getting the scent of Daniel because it's overwhelmingly distracting. And hot. And kind of dirty. He shifts in his seat and tries to get comfortable, earning him a brittle smile from his neighbour which he returns sheepishly.
His tablet screen lights up and Jack drags it toward him quickly.
So, left or right?
Jack fights a smirk and feels a little of his impending freak out trickle away.
Handed? Jack responds, frowning.
Side of the bed.
Right, he scribbles. Your place or mine?
Fin