SG1 slash fic...
Jack sheds his tac vest and his weapons in the gate room, handing them to an SF and leading Martin away from the gate and right to the VIP room. Hammond doesn’t even try to stop him; he can probably see as well as Jack can that the poor guy looks like he’s about to shatter into pieces. Nobody tries to follow and he dismisses the security standing by the door.
Martin hasn’t said a word yet; he just looks stunned, distressed, and his breath is starting to quicken as if he’s beginning to panic. It’s shock; Jack knows, he’s seen it enough times, he’s felt it enough times.
Jack closes the door firmly behind him and Martin spins around. His fists are clenching and unclenching by his sides, but it’s not aggression, it’s more like a nervous twitch.
“I... my whole planet...” he starts, but his words are choked off, and he struggles to find words to express just what he wants to say.
Jack steps closer, absolutely sure that Martin isn’t about to flip out. “Marty...” he starts, but he’s not sure what to say either. What do you say to an alien who’s just found his whole planet destroyed, wiped from existence? He’s never known, and he has a feeling that distraction in the form of puppies and ice-cream isn’t going to work with this particular alien.
Martin hangs his head, takes his glasses off and rubs his fingers across his eyes. He must be exhausted and Jack wonders if he’s still feeling the withdrawal from the drugs. He reaches a hand out and grasps Martin cautiously on the shoulder. A shudder racks through Martin and Jack almost pulls his hand back, but then suddenly Martin launches himself forward, burying his face in Jack’s shirt, his hands fisting the material at Jack’s sides.
Too stunned to do anything else, Jack’s arms slowly wrap around his back. He’s not crying, Jack’s pretty sure of that; he just needs this, the comfort of someone else, the literal support of another person. Jack wonders just how long the poor guy has been alone, how long it’s been since he even had a friendly hug from anyone.
Jack can feel him trembling and lays a hand on the back of his neck, hoping it’ll go some way to soothing the distraught man. He hears a whimper from below his chin, and then is absolutely stunned when Martin lifts his head and plants his lips firmly on Jack’s.
It’s only a brief kiss and Jack doesn’t quite make it to kissing back before Martin pulls away. His eyes are suddenly bright, alive, fixed on Jack’s eyes, and then on his lips. Martin’s hands move and Jack grabs his wrist when he starts to unbuckle Jack’s belt.
“Don’t,” he hisses, immensely thankful to the snippy Gou’ld who demanded no cameras in the VIP rooms. They’ve never put them back in.
“Please,” Martin implores, “I need...it’ll make me feel better...” His free hand is stroking over Jack’s fly, and despite his brain screaming that this is wrong, that he’s taking advantage of a vulnerable alien, Jack can feel himself hardening. And he hasn’t moved away.
“Not here,” he says, his voice sounding rough and strangled. He grabs Martin’s other hand and pulls them both far away from his crotch. “I’m not saying no, Marty, but this really can’t happen here.”
Martin tries to pull away then, tries to regain some of his composure, but Jack still has hold of his wrists. His thumbs rub soothingly over the pulse points, and his face softens.
“Get some rest,” Jack says gently, and leans forward, dropping a kiss on Martin’s crinkled forehead, “I’ll bust you out of here as soon as I can, OK?”
***
It’s almost 24 hours later before Jack has debriefed, managed to convince General Hammond that Martin is better off away from the base, and got him medically cleared by Frasier. She’d expressed a concern about the long term effects of Marty being doped up for so long, and his emotional state following the last few days, but she’d eventually agreed with Jack that time away from Cheyenne Mountain might be good for him. The wheels were already in motion for more long-term rehabilitation.
Jack debates taking him back to his house, but decides against it. Driving him back to Montana was out of the question, it was just too far away; Jack’s not sure either of them can wait that long. He settles on a cheap, quiet motel an hour out of town. It’s still risky, but he doesn’t quite trust that the NID or someone similar aren’t still keeping tabs on his place. He’s already making excuses in his head for when he gets caught out taking an alien to a motel.
When they enter the room Martin’s eyes roam over the space, taking in the crappy decoration that seemed to be standard in these places, the ancient looking TV in the corner, and the twin double beds.
Jack’s checking for something else entirely; a second route out of the place, scanning the parking lot for the fourth time for anything suspicious before closing the curtains, making sure he feels comfortable doing this here before they actually go ahead with it.
“No quarters for those ones,” Martin quips as he stares at the beds, then turning to Jack and smiling softly.
“Marty, we don’t have to...” he starts nervously, wracked with guilt, “I mean...if you don’t want...”
He’s cut off by Martin once again fumbling for his belt buckle and this time, Jack doesn’t pull him away. Jack has to bend his knees to find Martin’s eye-level while his head is bent forward, and he nudges Martin’s nose with his, coaxing his head up and stopping his lips just millimetres away from Martin’s. Martin closes the distance between them, and this time, Jack does kiss back; a slow, lingering tease of lips and tongues and teeth, hands wandering underneath Martin’s shirt. He gasps when Martin gets his fly undone and slips his hand inside Jack’s boxers, grasping him firmly.
He ends up sprawled on his back on one of the beds, pants around his knees, shirt pushed up out of the way, and Martin’s mouth wrapped tight around his cock. He’s breathing too fast and clawing at the duvet; it’s been a while since he’s been given head with such enthusiasm.
“Marty,” he grinds out, before he’s too close to stop, and grabs Martin’s shoulders, pulling him away.
“No good?” Martin asks as he sits up. He’s lost his jacket and his glasses somewhere between the door and the bed, and his small eyes blink at Jack through the fading light filtering through the thin curtains.
“Too good,” Jack corrects, feeling a flutter in his stomach at the shy little smile Martin shows him before dropping his gaze.
He’s not Jack’s type at all, as much as he hates to admit he has a type, he usually goes for much more athletic types; strong men, and women, who give off a vibe that they can take absolutely anything he can give them, anything he can demand from them.
Martin seems so much more fragile.
“I’m supposed to be making you feel better,” Jack explains, his voice hoarse with arousal. He sits up and starts to unbutton Martin’s shirt. “What do you want, Marty?” he asks.
Martin stares at him as he pops open every single button of his shirt and then slides it off his shoulders. He tries to suck in his belly, but Jack shakes his head. “Don’t do that,” he mumbles softly and leans forward, working his lips over Martin’s soft pecs, nuzzling his nose into his chest hair. He’s a little soft, but he’s not overweight at all, he’s just severely lacking confidence.
Or so Jack thought.
Martin gets off the bed and pulls his jacket up off the floor. He digs around in the pockets and produces a small tube of KY jelly and condoms, and tosses them to Jack.
“Where’d you get these?” Jack asks suspiciously, but he thinks he already knows the answer. Martin’s only been on the base and his homeworld in the last day, and Jack doubts he was carrying those around with him all along.
“The infirmary,” Martin answers. Jack nods, and refrains from saying the words that are on the tip of his tongue; he should’ve planned this better, taken care of that part himself, far away from the base and its security cameras. “Don’t worry,” Martin says, “Nobody saw me take them.”
Jack doubts this is true, and once again his mind fills with possible explanations for when he’s facing a court martial. He shakes the thoughts away, they’re not helping and he’s losing his erection rapidly.
Martin strips the rest of his clothes off. “Do you do this?” he asks, “With guys I mean?”
Jack nods as he watched Martin step out of his pants and underwear, leaving them in a heap on the floor. “Sometimes,” he answers, not willing to elaborate further. Martin shrugs his shoulders then climbs back onto the bed, lying on his side next to Jack, completely nude.
He looks so vulnerable, it would be so easy for Jack to order him around; he’s pretty sure Martin would do anything Jack wanted him to at the moment, but that’s not what this is about. Not this time.
Jack kicks off his shoes and socks, his pants and boxers, and yanks his shirt off over his head, only unbuttoning two buttons. Now he’s just as naked and he rolls onto his side too, facing Martin and letting his hand slip between them, gently fondling Martin’s hardness, watching as his eyes close in bliss and his breath stutters.
“What do you want, Marty?” he asks again, giving a little tug and a squeeze.
Martin’s breath hitches and he fumbles around, looking for the lube and the condom. When he finally finds them, he pushes them firmly into Jack’s hand. “I want you to fuck me,” Martin says and the word doesn’t sound right coming from his lips. It shocks Jack, but also sends a jolt of adrenaline right through him and his cock springs back up to full hardness in seconds.
“Done this before?” he asks, his heart pounding behind his ribcage. He always asks, even if it’s blatantly obvious that the guy is no virgin.
“Yes,” Martin says, but then his voice drops a little, “Been a while though.”
Jack feels that same twinge of sympathy for him, as he had yesterday. He’s starved of physical contact, desperate for connection, and hasn’t he been crying out for attention since that first rambling message he’d left Jack?
Jack takes his time, works up to it slowly, lavishing Martin with kisses, strokes of his hands over every inch of skin he can reach, soft words mumbled in his ears; until Martin is practically begging, his body on the precipice of betraying him before they’ve got going.
It’s better than Jack imagined it would be; when he pushes in, aided by a generous coating of KY and a very eager Martin propped on all fours, he groans deeply. It’s a feral itch that hasn’t been scratched in far too long, apparently for both of them. He starts off slow, but Martin keeps pushing back onto him, driving Jack wild and begging him for more. He’s hesitant, but when he does as Martin asks, he’s rewarded with a keening cry as Martin’s back arches and a fierce orgasm rips through him. Jack follows in seconds.
After he’s cleaned up in the bathroom and disposed carefully of the rubber, he finds Martin already under the covers, still naked, and curled up into himself. Jack walks round the bed and sees he’s almost drifting off to sleep.
“Marty?” he says quietly, and a pair of eyes blink at him in the growing darkness. “You want me to get in, or...?” he trails off, more than willing to give Martin space if he needs it.
Martin doesn’t answer, just flips back the covers in invitation. Jack slides in, but still keeps a space between them; Martin’s body language is clearly giving him a signal to stay away, at least for now.
“You OK?” Jack asks.
Martin sighs, and it’s deep and heartfelt. He’s not OK, that’s why they’re here, but he says yes anyway. Jack watches him nod off; they can’t stay here all night, but Jack can let him sleep a while.
“Nobody calls me Marty,” Jack hears him say; his words muffled by the way he seems determined to smother himself in his pillow. Jack smiles, but before he can reply, he hears a soft snore. He shifts a little bit closer and worms his hand onto Martin’s hip. He doesn’t stir, so Jack leaves it there, and just watches him sleep, knowing he won’t be sleeping himself tonight.
Sequel: Reaching Out