Tactus Violescent (sam/jack/daniel)
I was approved for Sam/Daniel/Jack on fanfic100. Thinking about one of the more difficult prompts (for me) today, I came up with this...
This is for katcorvi who had a bad day and wished for some OT3 to cheer her up. It's not dorkverse, but I hope it pleases you anyway. :)
Title: Tactus Violescent
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Samantha Carter/Daniel Jackson/Jonathon "Jack" O'Neill (Shut up, I have to write it exactly.)
Prompt: #16 Purple
Word Count: 999 (oh, yes!)
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Thanks to shutthef_up for the once over.
By Jennghis Kahn
**
Jack’s knee was purple. He could see each vivid, violescent mark where the hard-soled boot had hit.
Violescent. He liked that word. That word described his knee exactly.
“Oww, crap… I think I’m seeing double.” Sam’s voice was low and pissed-off from across the room.
Jack looked up. His new favorite word also described Carter’s eye. Half swollen shut and darkening rapidly, it was an ugly contrast to the pale hair and skin.
“Jesus, Carter, you look like shit.”
“I wish I could see to agree with you,” she retorted. She held the cold, wet piece of her jacket lining against the swollen orb and winced. There was blood in her ear. Jack stared at it. His knee throbbed, and blood trickled down his throat. He stuck the tip of his tongue against the hole in his bottom lip where he’d nearly bitten through it.
“Well, this mission officially sucks,” he declared.
He only got a groan of agreement from Carter.
The door to their rather primitive room opened and admitted Daniel carrying a wooden bucket of water, which leaked slowly from the seams and dripped onto his boots.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he apologized in a forced voice. He limped over to the lone table in the room and, with difficulty, poured the water into a ceramic water bowl. “Apparently there’s a big parade after… uh.” He looked around at both of them. “Well, after.”
Sam got up and hobbled over beside him, re-soaking her jacket lining in the fresh, cold water and then gingerly pressing it to her eye with a sigh. Jack frowned as he watched Daniel’s fingers skip across a long cut on his scalp, hair stiff with dried blood.
“Daniel, who’s the president of the United States?”
Daniel raised both brows and glanced at him. “Isn’t it Martin Sheen?”
Jack shot him a sardonic smile that came out as more of a grimace when his lip stretched too far and gave a nice little warning twinge. “Alright, so no concussion. What about sight?” He held up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” Daniel answered.
“Seven,” Sam said at the same time. Jack frowned.
“Carter, come over here.”
She balked. “Why?”
Jack waved at her impatiently. “Because I want to give you comfort, and I can’t walk. Now get your ass over here, pronto!”
When she’d limped her way over to him, he drew her carefully between his knees and pulled her chin down so he could get a good look at her mottled eye.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
He pulled her head down and pressed his lips gently to her eyebrow. “How about now?”
She studied him speculatively with her good eye. “That would be ‘yes’.”
He kissed her cheekbone. “Now?”
“Yes! When is it time for more pain meds?”
“We took them all already. There’s only aspirin left in the med kit.”
She gave a groan of despair and let her forehead fall onto his shoulder. “Unnnhh…”
“Stop pouting. We’re soldiers. We make do.”
He heard Daniel snort in amusement and directed a glare his way.
“Well, in that case…” Sam pulled herself up and gave a dry smile. “It feels much better. Your lips are like magic, sir.”
Jack gave her a visual ha-ha. Daniel snorted again, much louder, as he soaked a piece of SGC T-shirt in the cold water.
“Daniel, you’re feeling way too good for someone who just got the shit kicked out of us.”
Sam sank to the bed beside Jack and leaned wearily against him. He put an arm around her.
Daniel poked gingerly at his scalp and then limped towards him. “Oh, don’t even! I wasn’t the one being all ‘The Tau’ri love to PARTY!’” He scowled and did a passable imitation of Jack lifting his arms to the masses in glee.
“Well, how was I supposed to know this is a planet of masochists?”
“The celebration was called the Tactus Ritus, Jack. Tactus is Latin for ‘touch’.”
“And somehow that was supposed to tell me the whole town was one big fight club?”
“Well, you could have asked first before telling them we’d take part in their ceremony.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you stop me, Daniel? What the hell do you think I cart you around for?”
“I thought it was because he’s so pretty,” Sam dabbed at her ear now.
Daniel eased himself down to his knees in front of Jack and narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Shouldn’t there have been at least one ‘Sir, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ remark?”
“Yes, because that always works so well.” Sam tried to glare at him with one eye.
Daniel smirked and laid the cold cloth over Jack’s knee. Jack winced and sighed. “Where’s Teal’c when we need him?”
“Safe and warm in a big bed of Jaffa love?” Daniel asked. He slid a finger along Jack’s broken lip. Jack closed his eyes.
“The lucky bastard,” Jack muttered. He licked along the battered length of his lip, feeling the soft pad of Daniel’s finger along with it.
Daniel exhaled slowly, and Sam’s fingers parted his hair softly, finding the slice in his scalp and then stroking down over his sideburn and his jaw.
“Daniel, how’re your ribs?” Her voice was worried.
He reluctantly withdrew his finger from Jack’s mouth and stood, peeling his shirt up with a wince. “How does it look?”
“Ouch,” Sam said.
“Violescent,” Jack said.
“Huh?” Daniel asked. Sam grabbed him by the belt and brought him closer. She pressed her lips lightly to the dark-smudged bruises. He winced and then shivered, sliding his fingers into her hair at the back of her head. Jack’s warm arm slid around his waist.
“No more pain meds. We’ll have to make do,” Jack murmured again, his mouth joining Sam’s on Daniel’s ribs.
Daniel’s breath caught in his lungs, his eyes closing against the gridelin dusk outside the window. “Well, if we have to make do, we have to make do.”
~end~
And we're off...
omg, I need more ot3 icons now...
This is for katcorvi who had a bad day and wished for some OT3 to cheer her up. It's not dorkverse, but I hope it pleases you anyway. :)
Title: Tactus Violescent
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Samantha Carter/Daniel Jackson/Jonathon "Jack" O'Neill (Shut up, I have to write it exactly.)
Prompt: #16 Purple
Word Count: 999 (oh, yes!)
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: Thanks to shutthef_up for the once over.
By Jennghis Kahn
**
Jack’s knee was purple. He could see each vivid, violescent mark where the hard-soled boot had hit.
Violescent. He liked that word. That word described his knee exactly.
“Oww, crap… I think I’m seeing double.” Sam’s voice was low and pissed-off from across the room.
Jack looked up. His new favorite word also described Carter’s eye. Half swollen shut and darkening rapidly, it was an ugly contrast to the pale hair and skin.
“Jesus, Carter, you look like shit.”
“I wish I could see to agree with you,” she retorted. She held the cold, wet piece of her jacket lining against the swollen orb and winced. There was blood in her ear. Jack stared at it. His knee throbbed, and blood trickled down his throat. He stuck the tip of his tongue against the hole in his bottom lip where he’d nearly bitten through it.
“Well, this mission officially sucks,” he declared.
He only got a groan of agreement from Carter.
The door to their rather primitive room opened and admitted Daniel carrying a wooden bucket of water, which leaked slowly from the seams and dripped onto his boots.
“Sorry it took me so long,” he apologized in a forced voice. He limped over to the lone table in the room and, with difficulty, poured the water into a ceramic water bowl. “Apparently there’s a big parade after… uh.” He looked around at both of them. “Well, after.”
Sam got up and hobbled over beside him, re-soaking her jacket lining in the fresh, cold water and then gingerly pressing it to her eye with a sigh. Jack frowned as he watched Daniel’s fingers skip across a long cut on his scalp, hair stiff with dried blood.
“Daniel, who’s the president of the United States?”
Daniel raised both brows and glanced at him. “Isn’t it Martin Sheen?”
Jack shot him a sardonic smile that came out as more of a grimace when his lip stretched too far and gave a nice little warning twinge. “Alright, so no concussion. What about sight?” He held up three fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” Daniel answered.
“Seven,” Sam said at the same time. Jack frowned.
“Carter, come over here.”
She balked. “Why?”
Jack waved at her impatiently. “Because I want to give you comfort, and I can’t walk. Now get your ass over here, pronto!”
When she’d limped her way over to him, he drew her carefully between his knees and pulled her chin down so he could get a good look at her mottled eye.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yes.”
He pulled her head down and pressed his lips gently to her eyebrow. “How about now?”
She studied him speculatively with her good eye. “That would be ‘yes’.”
He kissed her cheekbone. “Now?”
“Yes! When is it time for more pain meds?”
“We took them all already. There’s only aspirin left in the med kit.”
She gave a groan of despair and let her forehead fall onto his shoulder. “Unnnhh…”
“Stop pouting. We’re soldiers. We make do.”
He heard Daniel snort in amusement and directed a glare his way.
“Well, in that case…” Sam pulled herself up and gave a dry smile. “It feels much better. Your lips are like magic, sir.”
Jack gave her a visual ha-ha. Daniel snorted again, much louder, as he soaked a piece of SGC T-shirt in the cold water.
“Daniel, you’re feeling way too good for someone who just got the shit kicked out of us.”
Sam sank to the bed beside Jack and leaned wearily against him. He put an arm around her.
Daniel poked gingerly at his scalp and then limped towards him. “Oh, don’t even! I wasn’t the one being all ‘The Tau’ri love to PARTY!’” He scowled and did a passable imitation of Jack lifting his arms to the masses in glee.
“Well, how was I supposed to know this is a planet of masochists?”
“The celebration was called the Tactus Ritus, Jack. Tactus is Latin for ‘touch’.”
“And somehow that was supposed to tell me the whole town was one big fight club?”
“Well, you could have asked first before telling them we’d take part in their ceremony.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t you stop me, Daniel? What the hell do you think I cart you around for?”
“I thought it was because he’s so pretty,” Sam dabbed at her ear now.
Daniel eased himself down to his knees in front of Jack and narrowed his eyes at Sam. “Shouldn’t there have been at least one ‘Sir, are you sure you know what you’re doing?’ remark?”
“Yes, because that always works so well.” Sam tried to glare at him with one eye.
Daniel smirked and laid the cold cloth over Jack’s knee. Jack winced and sighed. “Where’s Teal’c when we need him?”
“Safe and warm in a big bed of Jaffa love?” Daniel asked. He slid a finger along Jack’s broken lip. Jack closed his eyes.
“The lucky bastard,” Jack muttered. He licked along the battered length of his lip, feeling the soft pad of Daniel’s finger along with it.
Daniel exhaled slowly, and Sam’s fingers parted his hair softly, finding the slice in his scalp and then stroking down over his sideburn and his jaw.
“Daniel, how’re your ribs?” Her voice was worried.
He reluctantly withdrew his finger from Jack’s mouth and stood, peeling his shirt up with a wince. “How does it look?”
“Ouch,” Sam said.
“Violescent,” Jack said.
“Huh?” Daniel asked. Sam grabbed him by the belt and brought him closer. She pressed her lips lightly to the dark-smudged bruises. He winced and then shivered, sliding his fingers into her hair at the back of her head. Jack’s warm arm slid around his waist.
“No more pain meds. We’ll have to make do,” Jack murmured again, his mouth joining Sam’s on Daniel’s ribs.
Daniel’s breath caught in his lungs, his eyes closing against the gridelin dusk outside the window. “Well, if we have to make do, we have to make do.”
~end~
And we're off...
omg, I need more ot3 icons now...