SG1 ficlet: Eyefuck
For hilarytamar: Daniel/Paul Davis, not explicit.
He hadn't expected Jackson here.
Shouldn't be a huge surprise; a slightly out-of-the-way coffee place more or less between Daniel's current apartment and the Mountain in the late afternoon of Daniel's day off (a day off enforced by General Hammond, this time, who had all but ordered all of SG1 off the base after the close of the last fiasco).
It was a reasonable place to find Daniel, but Paul still found himself brought up abruptly short at the sight of him leaning over the high counter behind the espresso machine. He was standing hipshot, one foot flat and one foot on toes, elbow on the counter and head tilted. From behind, every line of him was like a still life of flirtation, even though the barista could presumably see only his face.
His eyes would be disconcertingly intense and somehow bluer than normal. There were probably dimples showing. He was probably licking his lips. Paul knew that look all too well, and had yet to determine whether Jackson was criminally obtuse or coldly Machiavellian in his deployment of it.
Well, whatever gets a guy good service at his regular coffee joint. Those jeans worked wonders on his ass.
Paul stepped up to the register just as Daniel moved off with his coffee, and the mystery figure came from behind the espresso machine to take Paul's order. The barista... wasn't. He was short and compact, wearing a tight tshirt that showed every curve of muscle in his chest and shoulders, and sporting a silver earring and the most startlingly sensual pair of lips Paul had seen since-- well, since the debrief with SG1 yesterday.
Paul gave his order blandly and simply, and thanked God not for the first time for his poker face.
At the sound of his voice, Jackson started slightly in his peripheral vision. Jackson sat at a table against the wall, a paper hurricane littering the table in front of him and a denim jacket slung over the chair back. The jacket was small and short. Paul hadn't seen it before, and he was seized by a momentary insanity, by the desire to see it on him, the almost purely decorative concession to fashion, the way the slim cut of it would accentuate the narrowness of his hips and stop well short of covering his ass.
Shit. Caught. Utterly and without plausible distraction. Jackson shot him a single sharp, calculating glance, you saw and I saw that you saw and you looked and I saw that you looked; now what? Paul turned deliberately, bracing himself for the professional or the friendly or the awkward, however this might go, but the sharpness in Jackson's gaze lasted only a moment and then shifted into something else entirely.
Jackson -- Daniel, fuck it, Daniel -- lifted his coffee cup to his lips and sipped, slowly and deliberately, and then leaned back in his chair. His knees fell farther apart and one long leg rested out in the aisle between tables, lazy and careless. No; there was absolutely nothing careless in that calculated pose.
The cup shielded Daniel's face for a long time- a taunt, a tease, an infuriating interval that riveted Paul, rendered him unable to look away for fear of missing the moment the cup fell and that mouth was revealed again.
Daniel started to lower the cup and then stopped. His eyes over the rim crinkled a little with a hidden smile, a slightly sly got-you-now glitter in them, and Paul tried to figure out if he had visually gulped at the slight movement.
His order came up. He fumbled for it just to have something in his hands and then leaned back against the counter, a 180-mirror of Daniel's pose that he knew was neither as flirty or as suave but might at least enter the territory of nonchalant.
Daniel quirked an amused eyebrow at him as he settled. He lowered his coffee cup and licked his lips once, slowly, without letting his eye contact waver.
The guy behind the counter laughed, sounding wry but more entertained than bitter, and Paul was so startled by the unexpected intrusion of the rest of the world that he almost missed it as Daniel flicked his eyes to the side-door to the place with his Jeep visible through the window. Then Daniel collected his papers into a few folders with quick, businesslike hands, slung on his jacket, and disappeared out that door.
Paul took three deep breaths. Not so obtuse then.
He followed.
He hadn't expected Jackson here.
Shouldn't be a huge surprise; a slightly out-of-the-way coffee place more or less between Daniel's current apartment and the Mountain in the late afternoon of Daniel's day off (a day off enforced by General Hammond, this time, who had all but ordered all of SG1 off the base after the close of the last fiasco).
It was a reasonable place to find Daniel, but Paul still found himself brought up abruptly short at the sight of him leaning over the high counter behind the espresso machine. He was standing hipshot, one foot flat and one foot on toes, elbow on the counter and head tilted. From behind, every line of him was like a still life of flirtation, even though the barista could presumably see only his face.
His eyes would be disconcertingly intense and somehow bluer than normal. There were probably dimples showing. He was probably licking his lips. Paul knew that look all too well, and had yet to determine whether Jackson was criminally obtuse or coldly Machiavellian in his deployment of it.
Well, whatever gets a guy good service at his regular coffee joint. Those jeans worked wonders on his ass.
Paul stepped up to the register just as Daniel moved off with his coffee, and the mystery figure came from behind the espresso machine to take Paul's order. The barista... wasn't. He was short and compact, wearing a tight tshirt that showed every curve of muscle in his chest and shoulders, and sporting a silver earring and the most startlingly sensual pair of lips Paul had seen since-- well, since the debrief with SG1 yesterday.
Paul gave his order blandly and simply, and thanked God not for the first time for his poker face.
At the sound of his voice, Jackson started slightly in his peripheral vision. Jackson sat at a table against the wall, a paper hurricane littering the table in front of him and a denim jacket slung over the chair back. The jacket was small and short. Paul hadn't seen it before, and he was seized by a momentary insanity, by the desire to see it on him, the almost purely decorative concession to fashion, the way the slim cut of it would accentuate the narrowness of his hips and stop well short of covering his ass.
Shit. Caught. Utterly and without plausible distraction. Jackson shot him a single sharp, calculating glance, you saw and I saw that you saw and you looked and I saw that you looked; now what? Paul turned deliberately, bracing himself for the professional or the friendly or the awkward, however this might go, but the sharpness in Jackson's gaze lasted only a moment and then shifted into something else entirely.
Jackson -- Daniel, fuck it, Daniel -- lifted his coffee cup to his lips and sipped, slowly and deliberately, and then leaned back in his chair. His knees fell farther apart and one long leg rested out in the aisle between tables, lazy and careless. No; there was absolutely nothing careless in that calculated pose.
The cup shielded Daniel's face for a long time- a taunt, a tease, an infuriating interval that riveted Paul, rendered him unable to look away for fear of missing the moment the cup fell and that mouth was revealed again.
Daniel started to lower the cup and then stopped. His eyes over the rim crinkled a little with a hidden smile, a slightly sly got-you-now glitter in them, and Paul tried to figure out if he had visually gulped at the slight movement.
His order came up. He fumbled for it just to have something in his hands and then leaned back against the counter, a 180-mirror of Daniel's pose that he knew was neither as flirty or as suave but might at least enter the territory of nonchalant.
Daniel quirked an amused eyebrow at him as he settled. He lowered his coffee cup and licked his lips once, slowly, without letting his eye contact waver.
The guy behind the counter laughed, sounding wry but more entertained than bitter, and Paul was so startled by the unexpected intrusion of the rest of the world that he almost missed it as Daniel flicked his eyes to the side-door to the place with his Jeep visible through the window. Then Daniel collected his papers into a few folders with quick, businesslike hands, slung on his jacket, and disappeared out that door.
Paul took three deep breaths. Not so obtuse then.
He followed.