Road Trip 2/3

[teand]

part one

"Well, gentlemen…" Agent Burrows ran a beefy hand up through thinning hair and looked over the two Special Forces officers taking up what little room remained in his office. "…according to all reports you're both very, very good at what you do. This is going to be a little… different."

Harry glanced over at Jack whose lips curved up into his usual cocky, self-confident smile. "We're flexible."

"Let's hope so."

His tone had bordered on innuendo. Harry ran over everything he knew about what the Agency was doing in Europe, realized he didn't know squat and began paying attention again as Burrows added: "I can't stress enough the importance of you keeping Alexander Podoprigora at the location of the meet until his people come to pick him up. Use whatever means necessary short of force."

"Short of force?" He raised an eyebrow. "What are we supposed to use strong language?"

"Whatever means necessary."

The two officers exchanged a look that Burrows ignored. He passed over a single sheet of paper. "You're to go Brussels. This is the address."

"Pardon me for asking, sir," Jack asked, leaning back as Harry leaned forward to take the paper, "but why us? We're Air Force, not CIA."

"You're here. I don't have an agent in Europe who could do this job and I think you…" He cleared his throat. "…you two can."

"Le Petite Tenebraux. The Little Dark," Harry translated. "Is it a club?"

Burrows looked like he was attempting a reassuring smile. "Not exactly."

***

"The CIA sent you and Jack to whorehouse in Brussels?"

"It was owned by one of theirs."

"One of their what?" Daniel asked a little petulantly, unsure if he was more upset over Maybourne's misuse of the language or the thought of Jack in a European whorehouse.

Maybourne frowned thoughtfully. "Hard to say. Operative. Sympathizer. Employee."

"All right, fine." Actually, it wasn't that big a stretch to think of the CIA running a house of ill repute. "And you two were to do what? Bartend? Work security?"

"Well, that's what we thought…"

***

Dressed in a Chanel suit, Louisa VonHorne looked like she could be on the board of any number of European companies. Everything about her screamed old money, established power, and, right at the moment, extreme annoyance.

"So this is what Agent Burrows sends me." She circled them like a well-dressed shark. "American Air Force officers. He honestly thinks that one of you can do the job?"

"There's two of us, ma'am." Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and his lip curled. "And yes."

"Really?"

Harry could see annoyance becoming speculation as Madame VonHorne moved around to stand face to face with his partner and decided this was definitely one of those times when discretion was the better part of valor. He buttoned his lip and watched.

"Alexander Podoprigora is a very large man," she murmured.

Jack shrugged. "So?"

Her head titled to one side. "You're in good shape… perhaps with the right inducements it would be possible. How old are you?"

"What difference does that make?"

"Perhaps none. I am just wondering."

"Twenty-six."

"Hmmmm. Podoprigora is thirty-one so you are closer to him in age than I'd like. A shame your hair is so short but your hands are lovely, you have an American look and he will like that, and your attitude, yes, that will be like a red flag to a bull. This might work after all."

"What might work?"

She tapped a ruby fingernail against her lip and ignored him. "And you," she snapped turning to Harry. "What can you do?"

Glancing over at Jack who still had no clue, Harry smiled. "I can play the piano."

***

"You play the piano?"

"You sound surprised, Dr. Jackson. Why wouldn't I play the piano?"

"No reason, it's just…"

"It's my fingers isn't it? You think my fingers are too short for me to be a pianist."

"No. God, no!" Actually yes, but Maybourne sounded so hurt by the possibility Daniel couldn’t admit to it. "Classical?"

"Some. Mostly jazz these days."

"Because you pride yourself on your ability to improvise."

Grinning, Harry banged out a rim-shot against the steering wheel. "Well, done, Dr. Jackson. I also played keyboards in a garage band in high school. Tight ripped jeans, snarling attitude…"

"Aren't we getting somewhat off topic?"

"Not really, no."

***

Harry's own civvies were deemed suitable by Madam VonHorne so he played around on the baby grand in her office while Jack got changed. He'd just finished an awkward Maple Leaf Rag when he heard the door behind him open. Turning, he literally felt his jaw drop. "Jesus, Jack."

The t-shirt was a heavy white cotton and at least one size too small. Muscles were defined under the soft fabric, clinging to broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist. The jeans were old, faded, and so tight they looked like they'd been painted on. Jack had tucked left and was obviously wearing nothing under them. Harry licked his lips and forced himself to continue his inspection. A line of tanned leg was just barely visible through a tear above one knee. Two thin black belts, one threaded through the belt loops the second, silver rivets gleaming, draped lower around his hips. Black cowboy boots, scuffed and worn, completed the look. Simple. Very Jack. And very, very hot.

"Take a freakin' picture why don't you," Jack muttered, one hand behind him trying to tug the jeans out of the crack of his ass. "I'm not… OW!" He cradled his hand against his stomach and rubbed it with the other as Madam VonHorne circled him slowly.

"Yes," she murmured. "As I said, very American. And the sullen expression will work also." She reached out and tousled Jack's hair. He raised a hand to smooth it but she glared it down. "Yes, I think you'll do."

"Do what, for crying out loud?!"

"Alexander Podoprigora."

Harry couldn't help himself. He roared with laughter as Jack didn't so much catch the clue bus as have it back over him. A couple of times.

If looks could kill, he'd have been leaving in a waterproof container.

Arms folded, sullen became out-and-out mutinous. "No."

"Yes. It is why you are here. It is your mission. It is the mission you accepted."

"Things may be different in the CIA but I'm Air Force, lady, and I don't do that sort of thing."

"Lie to someone who isn't in the business, Lieutenant O'Neill, but stop wasting my time."

Harry raised both hands as Jack shot another glare in his direction. "I didn't say anything!"

"He didn't need to. I am a very good judge of sexuality and you, you look very much to be what we call enthusiastically non-discriminating." Her heels beating out a muffled rhythm against the Oriental rug, Madame VonHorne crossed to an enormous wingback chair and sat down. "First of all, you will do as you have been ordered to do and secondly, you will very likely enjoy it. Alexander Podoprigora comes here often. He is a considerate lover with amazing stamina and creative tastes. He is also incredibly paranoid, very strong and faster than would seem likely given his size. He will need to be very distracted indeed if he is not to suspect that something is going on. He must have no opportunity to fight or to run."

"Yeah. Okay. Fine." Still a little off balance by Madame VonHorne's initial observation, Jack spread both hands in what was, to Harry's experienced eye, not quite a gesture of surrender. "But you don't need me. Why doesn't one of your… people do it?"

"The moment the KGB break into the room it is entirely likely Alexander Podoprigora will try to use whoever is with him as a shield or weapon. You have a chance of surviving that... my people do not. Lieutenant Maybourne will be your back-up."

"Hey! I thought I was playing the piano."

"Did you?" She glanced over at the instrument in question and sighed. "No. The room has a private viewing area. You will remain there throughout, emerging only if you are needed during the capture."

"Let me see if I've got this. I'm to distract…"

Harry had to give Jack credit for recovering his attitude and sketching the most sarcastic set of air quotes he'd ever seen.

"…Alexander Podoprigora while Harry watches?"

"Yes." Madame VonHorne leaned forward and fixed Jack with a gaze almost overpowering in its sincerity. "You are necessary to remove him and the damage he is doing to peace in Eastern Europe and you are necessary so that one of my people does not get hurt."

Jack sighed. "Yeah. All right. Fine."

***

"What? That was it?"

"What was it?"

"That was all it took?" Daniel shook his head. "Not only do I not believe that Jack would be convinced by such a lame argument, I don't believe Jack would agree to do such a thing in the first place."

"Why not? Jack's killed to protect what he believes in, why is it so hard for you to accept that he'd fuck for the same reason? You know, you're just like all those people who complain about sex on television but violence, that's fine. I thought better of you, Dr. Jackson."

"That's not… I mean it's…"

"You just can't cope with me watching? Is that it?"

"Jesus, Maybourne, it's not always about you! Why are we pulling off the highway?"

"At the risk of making it all about me, I have to piss. And I need to get some gas. And, I'm hungry." He guided the Honda down the ramp, negotiated the turn at the bottom, and headed into the outskirts of Richfield. "If you're smart, and we both know you are, you'll join me. I don't want to stop again until after we get past Salt Lake City."

"Let me guess," Daniel muttered as they pulled into Walter and Irene's 3G Truck Stop. "Your prints are on file with the local police?"

"Smart and funny. Jack's a lucky man."

Daniel stared across the front seat at Maybourne's profile. That hadn't sounded sarcastic. It had sounded, God help him, sincere. Unless he's just screwing with my head so I don't notice that he didn't actually deny that his prints were on file. He figured that had to be it, and found himself reassured by the realization. The thought of Harry Maybourne giving his blessing to his and Jack's relationship… Daniel shuddered as Harry turned off the car by the pumps.

"You want to pump gas or check the fluids?" Maybourne asked already half out of the car.
Daniel popped his seatbelt and followed. "Since the amount I know about fluids could be written on a grape with room left over for The Book of the Dead, I'll pump the gas."

"Pity." Grinning broadly, Harry reached back inside for the hood release. "I was looking forward to having your hand on my dipstick."

"Bite me."

"Tempting, but we're in a hurry."

The gas tank filled, Daniel followed Maybourne into the truck stop. He'd have to get word to Sam soon but, for the moment, food and a bathroom sounded like a plan.

"Be fastest if we order before we piss. What do you want?"

He scanned the menu, decided he'd be safest with the ubiquitous burger and fries, and headed through the diner towards the men's room as Maybourne paid up front. A pair of truckers sitting in one of the booths tracked him as he walked past and he was suddenly very conscious of just how snug Jack's jeans and t-shirt fit. Maybe I should have wasted that extra minute and grabbed my jacket out of the car.

He actually felt the bathroom door cut off the weight of their regard and breathed a sigh of relief as he unbuttoned at the urinal. That kind of trouble he just didn't…

The door opened and the two truckers sauntered in.

Crap.

They took up positions on either side of him, unzipped in unison, and let fly. The whole synchronized urinating thing was a little disturbing but Daniel did his best to ignore them. He'd finish and get the hell out of there before anything…

"So. You want it one at a time or both of us together?"

"I beg your pardon?" His best professorial voice, the one Jack had complained made him feel like his assignment was late, his shoes were untied, and he might just as well go back to bed because he was going to fail the course anyway.

Trucker to the left glanced down at his shoes. Trucker to the right only laughed. "Don't you be getting so high and mighty with me. I know prime ass when I see it."

Which Daniel supposed was essentially a compliment or would have been had the trucker not then decided to acquire what he'd seen. It was as if the man had seen a watch he liked in the window of a jewelry store and decided to throw a brick through the window to get it. Which in essence meant the trucker thought he was property that could be taken at will and therefore the whole prime ass thing wasn't a compliment at all as all he saw was the ass and not the...

Daniel's train of thought was abruptly derailed as a large hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around so that his ass was pressed hard against the obvious interest at the trucker's crotch. If he'd had any doubts about where the two men wanted to take this, well, he didn't anymore.

One thing about the last five years with the SGC; it made standing at a urinal facing down a pair of over-sexed gorillas no big deal. Sighing, he wrapped both hands around the thick arm now across his throat. "You're making a big mistake," he said calmly. Even though it seemed a non-violent solution was unlikely, he had to make the attempt.

"Maybe, but I'm betting you'll make it worth my while."

"Gary, I don't know…" The second trucker was clearly having second thoughts. "He sounds educated." His voice trailed off as Gary pulled the tube of lube from Daniel's front pocket. "Never mind."

"Kiwi flavored?"

"It was a free sample," Daniel snapped. The guy was attempting to assault him in a men's room; he had no right to get critical about flavored lube. "And I don't have time for this. You've got until the count of three to start acting like civilized…"

"Problem, Dr. Jackson?"

Like Jack, Harry Maybourne could move cat quiet when he had to. Daniel nodded toward trucker number two, and decided to skip the count. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

The fight was over remarkably quickly. Both truckers were large heavily muscled men but they hadn't had the benefit of five years hand to hand training with an ex-special ops colonel, the previous first prime of Apophis, and Major Doctor Samantha Carter. Who fought dirty.

"There are no rules in this kind of thing, Daniel. There's only the person standing and the person flat on his back." She paused and looked down at the Marine who'd foolishly volunteered to help her make her point. "Are you all right, Sergeant?"

He managed something that sounded like an affirmative grunt.

"You might want to put some ice on that."

And Maybourne… He might look like a particularly skeezy stuffed toy, but, Daniel reminded himself, he'd had the same training as Jack. And apparently the same attitude about fighting as Sam. While Maybourne stepped over the moaning trucker and up to the urinal to relieve himself, Daniel leaned down and murmured, "You might want to put some ice on that."

"You know," Maybourne said conversationally a few moments later as they headed back toward the front of the restaurant, "Jack's right. You're a trouble magnet. I can't leave you alone for two minutes."

Daniel turned to stare at him in disbelief. "In what universe was that my fault?"

"How about the one where you're carrying kiwi flavoured lube in your pocket?"

"What does that have to do with anything? I picked it up back at the house because I thought Jack was in the kitchen and… why the hell am I explaining myself to you?"

"Beats me." Just before they reached the counter, he smirked and added, "Lucky Jack."

In what universe did he get teased by Harry Maybourne? Apparently the one where Jack O'Neill went undercover in a Belgium whorehouse run the by the CIA. Daniel leaned against the wall while Maybourne argued with the owner -- Irene not Walter -- about the contents of the huge paper bag waiting for them on the counter. He needed to get back in the car. He needed to get back on the road. He needed to find Jack.

Crap.

He needed to call Sam. They were about to turn onto a new highway, and she needed to know which way they were going. He glanced at his watch. It would be another hour at least before he could pretend to be calling from the cabin. He had to call her now.

The truck stop's phone was sitting beside the cash register. While Harry continued to insist that a burger without onions meant a burger without onions, he leaned forward and knocked the phone slightly off its cradle, quickly punching in Sam's number. With any luck the increasing volume of the argument would cover the faint electronic beeps. As Harry turned toward him, Daniel jerked back and smiled past him at Irene who was reaching to hang up the phone.

The name on the license posted behind the counter said Wojtowicz. Polish.

His Polish was a little rusty but it wasn't that different from Russian and lord knew he'd been using that often enough lately. "He's gets a little pushy between meals."

Maybe it was the smile -- Jack seemed to think his smile could inspire people to leap tall buildings in a single bound but Jack was, admittedly, besotted -- maybe it was the Polish but Irene paused a moment to smile back before she pushed the phone onto it's cradle. Daniel could only hope that the moment had been long enough and the call had gone through.

"I understood that!" Harry muttered, clutching the bag close and heading for the door.

"You'd think we weren't going to eat again until we get to Reno."

"What makes you think we're going to Reno?"

"It's on the way." Then they were out in the parking lot and Daniel had done all he could.

***

"Walter and Irene's 3G Truck Stop?" Sam stared down at the small screen on her phone. "It has to be a message from Daniel."

"It could also be a wrong number," Teal'c reminded her.

"No. It's Daniel." She put the phone down and spread the map over her knees. "We're almost out of highway. Seventy ends at fifteen and we need to know which direction to go."

With no other traffic on the road, Teal'c glanced down at the map. "It would make sense for them to turn north to Salt Lake City and then continue west on highway 80."

"Yeah, except that'll mean whoever has the colonel will be driving between Hill Air Force Range…" One finger tapped the paper first north and then south of 80. "…and Wendover Range and that area's crawling with military vehicles pretty much 24/7."

"It is also the fastest route to the coast."

"But the most dangerous with a kidnapped colonel in the back seat."

"We do not know he is in the back seat, but I agree. It is equally possible they will take the longer route in order to avoid the military. It appears that we must find Walter and Irene's 3G truck stop."

"Richfield's the next town. They won't have gone far off the highway so if we just cruise down the off ramp we should be able to spot the truck stop if it's there." Refolding the map carefully along its original creases, she slid it back into the glove compartment. "Once this is over, I'm asking Janet to implant some kind of GPS transmitter in those two."

She sounded so serious that Teal'c took a moment to study her profile. By the time he had to turn his attention again to the road, he had concluded that she was kidding. It was, however, an excellent idea. He would mention it to General Hammond.

***

"I am glad to see you have not lost your appetite, my Jack. Watching you eat…" Dark eyes half-hooded, Sascha's expression could only be called predatory. "…has stimulated my appetites as well."

"I'll bet," Jack muttered around a mouthful of onion rings. He'd gotten double onions on the burger as well; maybe a little bad breath would slow the big Russian down. Probably not, but his options were limited.

I could offer him a blow job and hold his dick hostage once I've got it between my teeth. And then what? If he actually bit down, he somehow doubted he'd survive Sascha's reaction. He swallowed and nodded toward the beer. "I could use a drink."

"Of course, my Jack."

With the edge of the can against his lower lip, he tilted his head back and a let a stream of the cool liquid pour down his throat. And over his jaw and down his neck.

"You know," he said, as the can was removed, "this would be a lot easier if you'd untie me."

His attempted escape had resulted in his wrists and ankles now tied together; in front of him, fortunately, so he could sit up, but that was about all he could do. Sascha was finger feeding him his meal -- which was embarrassing enough but clean up, that definitely crossed the humane treatment line.

Jack braced himself as Sascha leaned forward. He closed his eyes as a wet tongue caught the dribble of beer just at the neck of his t-shirt and licked a warm path up to the corner of his mouth. And then a repeat on the other side.

"Oh dear. It seems you have spilled some beer on your shirt as well."

He jerked as a hot mouth closed over the fabric covering his left nipple and sucked. Hard. "Hey! The spill is higher!"

Sascha pulled back leaving a circle of wet fabric surrounding a hard, protruding nub. "So it is."

The right nipple got the same treatment.

Yep. Should've seen that coming. Jack tried not to squirm as a touch of teeth upped the stakes.

"Still so very sensitive, my Jack." Looking pleased with himself, the big Russian sat back and admired his handiwork.

"Don't flatter yourself," Jack growled. "It's just a reaction to wet fabric and cool temperatures."

"Of course it is." Pulling another onion ring from the package, he held it out. "Perhaps you should be careful not to drop anything in your lap."

***

Harry dropped a french fry in his lap, contemplated asking Dr. Jackson to retrieve it, and decided that as much fun as it would be to yank the good doctor's chain, he was rather enjoying the tentative camaraderie they'd been basking in for the last few miles. Ah yes, there was nothing like a little shared violence to facilitate male bonding.

An observation he was also going to keep to himself given that Dr. Jackson's opinion of that kind of thing was on record. A number of times. Polysyllabically.

About to retrieve the fry himself, he glanced over in time to see the quick flick of a tongue deal with a dribble of mayonnaise from the corner of a generous mouth. His reaction was visceral and immediate.

No way he was going after that fry now. No way he was putting his hand anywhere near his crotch. Jerking off while driving with a man who at best was only tolerating your company - not smart.

Still, the temptation… I know the sounds you make when Jack fucks you. The little whimper when he breeches you with one finger. The breathy moan with two. I know the almost incredulous gasp you always make when you bury yourself in Jack's ass. The way your breathing changes when you're ready to stop fooling around and pound him into the mattress.

Do you always sound like that I wonder?

What sounds would you make for another man's cock? In another man's ass?

"Hello? Earth to Maybourne. Is there a reason we're straddling the center line?"

Fuck! He brought the car back into the right lane. After this was over, he was going to find a willing partner and spend three solid days in the sack. He was way too horny to be stuck in a small car with the man voted, 'most likely to be probed by aliens' four years in a row. Besides, if he tried anything, Jack would kill him.

Unless… he could always leave Jack with Podoprigora and… no. Not only had Dr. Jackson proven he could take care of himself, but even without Jack in the picture he'd still have Major Carter and Teal'c to contend with. He'd just haul Jack's ass out of trouble, rack up another few points in the 'you owe me' column and get the hell out of Dodge. SG-1 took the whole 'I'll watch your back, you watch mine' thing to an incestuous level.

"Thinking deep thoughts, Maybourne?"

Harry resisted the urge to tell him exactly what he'd been thinking and, in a blatant show mind over matter, retrieved the fry. "I was just working out the best way to free Jack."

"Care to share?"

"Not yet. It'll depend on where Podoprigora stops for the night. Jack knows what Podoprigora's capable of and as long as he remembers that he's in no real physical danger. The problem is, if he's taken off American soil, we might never get him back."

"We?"

"You share him with the world, Dr. Jackson."

"So, not with you personally…"

"Oh dear; jealous?" The answering snort was so eloquently dismissive that Harry had to laugh. "No need to worry, the cranky s.o.b. is all yours. You're the only man I've ever met who's as unwilling to back down from a fight."

"So, Podoprigora…?"

"Was as besotted with Jack as Jack is with you."

***

Perched on a stool, his eye up against one in a series of peepholes inset into the plaster and lathe, Harry had to admit that, given the décor in the rest of the house, he'd been expecting a more opulent observation post. Granted, there was a man-sized box of tissues to hand but the rough walled cubby holed was a little primitive.

"It is supposed to be primitive," Madame VonHorne had sighed. "It is part of what the client is looking for -- a chance to spy on lovers who have no idea they are being watched. On the other hand, look through the other holes."

The other holes clearly involved sophisticated optics attached to top of the line surveillance equipment -- there wasn't a corner or an angle of the bedroom or bathroom that Harry couldn't see clearly. With the possible exception of the toilet, he could see the attraction but he could also see a problem. "What happens if the paying client half of the lovers being watched finds out?"

"Please, you don't think I would leave something like that to chance do you? Either the paying client has paid to be observed or both of them work for me. In the later instance, the client observing is told about this…" She reached out and tapped a fingernail against the wall. "A firm smack right here and this whole section will come free, allowing the observer to join in. You may use it to support Lieutenant O'Neill once the KGB is in the room. Not," she added emphatically, "before."

"Hey, do I look like a guy who'd want to join in?"

"Yes."

In contrast, the bedroom was opulent. Pretty much exactly the way he'd expected a bedroom in an old style European whorehouse to look. Huge four poster bed piled high with pillows, gold flocked wall paper, red velvet ropes tying back red velvet curtains with dark gold fringe, heavy mahogany furniture, beaded lamp shades, cut glass decanters of brandy, an archway into a bathroom dominated by a massive claw-footed tub and in the midst of all that over-the-top splendor, Jack O'Neill.

About to give his all for his country.

Get his all?

Be given Podoprigora's all?

At any rate, he didn't look happy.

And right on cue: "I'm not happy about this, Harry."

Even with the words ground out through clenched teeth, the acoustics were incredible.

Not much point in replying since Jack couldn't hear him anyway. There'd be no radio contact since Podoprigora's men would be scanning all frequencies. A double rap on the wall behind his head was his only cue that the Russian was in the building. He rapped in turn for Jack, who jerked, spun around, ran a hand up through his hair further disheveling it, and finally settled, arms folded, watching the door.

Harry held his breath as the door opened and barely stopped himself from releasing it in a long low whistle as Alexander Podoprigora stepped into the room. That was one big double agent.
***
"How big?"

Harry shrugged, changed lanes and matched the top speed of the traffic approaching Salt Lake City. "Big. Bigger than Teal'c, not as big as Hagrid. Anyway, he took one look at…"

"Wait a minute. Hagrid? You've read the Harry Potter books?"

"No, I've seen the movies."

"Thank god." The thought of Harry Maybourne tucked up with a copy of Rowling's latest was just more than Daniel could cope with. The whole concept slid right past unexpected into surreal. He could just manage to think of him seeing the movies… as long as it was in an empty theatre and a good square mile of the surrounding countryside had been cleared of children.

No… on second thought he couldn't handle that either. Harry Potter and the Traitorous Scum-sucking Weasel just didn't bear thinking about.

"Should I continue the story, Dr. Jackson? Or would you rather talk about Hogworts? I've got to admit, I wouldn't kick that Oliver Wood out of bed for eating crackers, if you know what I mean."

Daniel shuddered. "You pervert everything, Maybourne."

"I try," Harry agreed cheerfully. "So I assume you'd rather I talk about Jack? Podoprigora," he continued without waiting for an answer, "was definitely taken with him…"

***

It was lust at first sight. The big Russian was staring at Jack with his brain in his dick. Harry was familiar with the expression. He'd worn it a few times himself.

Jack was carefully giving nothing away but attitude. Behind the attitude, he'd be threat assessing.

The only threat's to your ass, Jackie-boy. If Podoprigora's proportional, you're in for the ride of your life. Harry stifled a sigh. The tall guys had all the fun.

"So, Madame Von Horne says you are new. And American." His English was fluent, his accent not so thick as to obscure the words, and his voice… his voice was a caress, stroking possessively over exposed skin.

The hair rose off the back of Harry's neck and Jack shifted a little in place. Hardly surprising; he was getting the full effect. The voice. The dark, heavily lidded eyes. The overwhelming physical presence.

"She says your name is Jack."

Jack's chin lifted. "Yeah. That's right."

The fewer lies the better.

"Those I am close with, they call me Sascha." He crossed to a small table, poured himself a shot of whiskey and tossed it back. "You and I, we are going to be very close." He poured a second shot and held it out to Jack who eyed it suspiciously then drank.

"I'd have thought you'd drink vodka."

"Because I am Russian? Be careful of stereotypes, my Jack."

"Not yours…"

"Actually, yes." The incredible voice deepened to a near growl. "Bought and paid for. In, I might add, American dollars."

Harry saw Jack swallow and figured that the full realization of what he was doing had suddenly hit him. Jack O'Neill, bought and paid for and, at least until the KGB showed up to collect their man, there to be used. Harry was half hard just thinking about it.

"All right then." Jack's hands closed around the bottom of his t-shirt. "Let's get on with it."

Madame VonHorne had been right; the big guy moved very fast for his size. Before Jack had exposed more than an inch of skin, he had a hand around both of his wrists and was pulling the shirt back down.

"No. I undress you."

"Fine."

Harry couldn't see Jack roll his eyes, but he could hear it in his voice.

"But not here, my Jack. In the bathroom. First we wash away a little of that defiance."

The bathroom peephole gave Harry a good view of Jack leaning against the wall, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans, projecting that defiance Podoprigora planned on washing away. The Russian had stripped off his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves. To Harry surprise, he didn't run any water, merely arranged a basket of supplies at the side of the tub and then turned to Jack and beckoned him close.

Jack slouched across the room and visibly fought the urge to move away as Podoprigora came around to stand behind him. Very, very close behind him.

"Raise your arms over your head."

Shifting his weight forward onto the balls of his feet -- a fighter's stance the Russian had to have noticed -- Jack did as he was told. Wrapping his arms around Jack's torso, Podoprigora grabbed the hem of the t-shirt and slowly dragged up and off. When Jack started to lower his arms, he purred, "Did I say you could? No. You do only as I say."

Massive hands cupped Jack's shoulders then ran up his bare arms, hooking his thumbs around Jack's wrists and pushing his arms back down to his sides. Still working from the back, Podoprigora unbuckled both belts, and opened the jeans. Leaving him like that, he dropped to his knees.

Given the expression on Jack's face, Harry was willing to bet the Russian's mouth had investigated Jack's back as he went to the floor.

"Lift your foot, my Jack."

If asked, Harry would have insisted there was no sexy way to remove a pair of cowboy boots. The damned things were designed to stay on. Podoprigora managed. With Jack's feet bare, he rose slightly - still on his knees - and peeled the jeans down. This time he lifted Jack's feet himself, easily moving the other man into the positions required. He was, Harry realized, undressing Jack as though he were a doll… or a toy. A possession.

The implications finished filling out Harry's erection. He rubbed the heel of his hand over his crotch as Podoprigora stood and crossed to a selection of switches on the wall. A trapeze lowered from the ceiling over the tub.

As it stopped about six and a half feet from the floor, Harry's imagination came up short.

"Stand in the tub and take hold of the bar. It will help with your balance."

His balance?

Rolling his eyes, Jack did as he was told. A life in the military got a man used to being naked around other guys and Harry could only assume Jack was calling on that as he stood in the center of the tub and wrapped both hands around the bar, his dick still lying limp against his thigh.

His eyes never leaving Jack's body, Podoprigora ran the water, tested the temperature, and picked up the spray nozzle hooked on the front of the tub. When Jack had been thoroughly wet down, he pulled a sponge from the basket of bath supplies, loaded it with a generous amount of gel and began to rub it in small, slow circles all over Jack's skin.

It soon became obvious why Jack needed to hold onto the bar. The Russian was using the sponge to map out Jack's body, to find every hidden, unsuspected erogenous zones. Every reaction gained his immediate attention as he concentrated on that area, murmuring endearments and profanities in a mix of several languages. The right amount of pressure here, a soapy caress there… Jack had come to full attention and nothing particularly intimate had yet been touched.

Eyes closed, throat working to hold back moans, knuckles white on the bar, Jack all but writhed as he tried unsuccessfully to get some friction where he needed it most.
Henry had to fight the urge to break through the wall and come to his partner's aide. The man looked like he was suffering. Suffering beautifully, yeah, but suffering.

Working up two good handfuls of lather, Podoprigora walked around the tub and ran his fingers slowly up the outsides of Jack's thighs until he held his ass cupped in both hands.

Harry had long since surrendered any possibility of remaining a neutral observer and had his cock in his hand. Not too much pressure, just enough to keep him trembling on the same edge as Jack… He figured it was the least he could do.

The Russian's thumbs disappeared between Jack's cheeks and pulled them apart. Harry couldn't see what was actually happening but from the way Podoprigora's wrists were flexing, he had to be making slow soapy circles around the entrance to Jack's body. Then he changed his grip and a massive finger disappeared from sight.

"Jesusfuck!" Jack tried to jerk forward but he was easily held in place and all he could do was tremble, his cock so engorged the head was purple.

"So very responsive," Podoprigora purred as a second finger joined the first. Given the size of his hands, Harry found himself writhing at the thought of how Jack's ass was being worked. "What do you want, my Jack?"

"Let me…" His voice trailed off into whimpers.

"Yes?"

"Let me… move!"

"Ask me more nicely, my Jack."

Jack lifted his head and although he couldn't have known where the surveillance camera was, he seemed to be looking right into it. Looking right at Harry. Knowing that Harry was watching him. He stared for a long moment, his mouth working but no sound emerging then he closed his eyes and lowered his head. "Please… let me move."

"Of course, my Jack."

Harry jerked off to the rhythm of Jack fucking himself on the Russian's fingers. He came first but hell, he wasn't having to work so hard for it. As he groped for a tissue, resting his sweaty cheek against the plaster and lathe, he heard Jack cry out. By the time, he managed to find the right peephole again, Jack was on his knees in the tub, gasping for breath, being carefully rinsed clean.

***

"I'm sorry, Dr. Jackson; I missed that."

Right hand holding onto edge of the seat with enough force he could feel the steel frame under the compacted foam padding, left hand curled into a fist on his right thigh, Daniel swallowed. Hard. "I didn't say anything."

"Ah. My mistake."

Technically not a lie. He hadn't said anything; he just hadn't been able to prevent the groan from escaping. Memo to self; next time, change into your own pants. More than snug under normal circumstances, the buttons on Jack's 501's were adding five throbbing pressure points along the length of his engorged cock. If Maybourne ever decided to go out of the traitorous weasel business, he could make a fine living writing porn. Listening to him talk, Daniel saw Jack standing naked in that tub, he watched him respond to slick fingers, and he damned near came with him.

Although a quick change of subject was in order if he didn't want to embarrass himself by bringing his part in the story to its logical conclusion, he was curious about one thing. "So Podoprigora didn't actually touch him?"

"Oh, he did plenty of touching, Dr. Jackson."

"No, I mean, he didn't touch his…"

"His cock? No, not that time. He sure did later though." Maybourne had a distinctly dirty laugh, Daniel decided. "Alexander Podoprigora is a man who pays attention to details. There wasn't a square inch of Jack's body he didn't memorize, cataloguing even the smallest response - and as we both know, Jack's very responsive."

The car dropped into a pot hole, bounced out again, and the added friction almost pushed Daniel over the edge. I can't stand this anymore… He had to think of something to bring him down. Uh, Sam and Teal'c… Jesus, Daniel, you're trying to lose an erection not make it worse. The thought of Sam and Teal'c going at it was actually pretty damned hot. Okay, I can do this. General Hammond and Paul Davis. Senator Kinsey and Adrian Conrad. Thor and anybody…

Nothing seemed to be working.

"I can take care of that for you."

He turned his head toward Maybourne so fast he almost gave himself whiplash. "What?"

The nod toward his crotch cleared up any ambiguity. "That. Looks a bit painful. We can pull over and well…" A astonishingly pink tongue licked lips that looked almost swollen. "…it wouldn't take long."

Daniel glanced down between his legs and imagined Maybourne kneeling there. Imagined his cock sliding between Maybourne's lips. Imagined one of Maybourne's hands fondling his balls while the other slid under his ass, one slicked finger probing upward…

Drawing in a long, grateful breath, he slowly exhaled as the pressure eased. "Thanks but I'm fine now."

"Am I so repugnant to you, Dr. Jackson?"

"You're not… I mean, I just… That is to say, I don’t… We couldn't… It isn't…" Oh screw it; better to apologize for the truth than to perpetuate a lie. "Yes."

"Even though I'm helping you save Jack?"

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's all right. If I'm not your type…"

Daniel was tempted to re-explain his feelings about the whole murdering, traitorous, NID agent thing but decided there really wasn't much point.

They drove in silence for a few miles. "I'm really very good."

"I can truthfully say that speculation about your abilities had nothing to do with my decision."

"Okay."

And few more miles.

"Jack always said I was a grade-A cocksucker."

Prodded by his better nature, Daniel actually hesitated for a heartbeat but so perfect a set-up didn't come along every day and proved impossible to resist. "Yeah. I've heard him say that about you…"

***

"I have always wanted to go to Reno."

"You have?"

"Yes. The city has been mentioned numerous times on the Jerry Springer Show." Teal'c played with the passenger seat controls for a moment then added, "I have often felt that your ability with numbers combined with my excellent poker face would allow us to be very successful at Reno's gambling establishments."

Sam sped around a half dozen pick-up trucks, eased the Land Rover back into the right lane, and finally glanced over at Teal'c. Not surprisingly, he was looking inscrutable although long years of practice allowed her to identify the slight curve at the corner of his mouth as amusement. Impossible to deny it; he did have an excellent poker face. Actually, he had an excellent face. Period. "You've often felt this?" she asked at last.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I just did," he pointed out reasonably.

Her and Teal'c in Reno. Away from the SGC. Away from crisis and catastrophe. Poker. Black jack. Midnight buffets. Sam had to admit she was definitely attracted to the thought.

And not just the thought.

This little road trip of the colonel's was turning out to be about an eight on her own personal appalling-to-interesting scale. Provided they got the colonel back unharmed of course.

They'd found the truck stop with no problem. Daniel and Maybourne had been remembered for a number of reasons. Apparently, Daniel had been dressed provocatively, which didn't sound at all like Daniel, he'd spoken Polish, which did, and he'd beaten up a couple of truckers in the men's room, which didn't.

Or it didn't until Teal'c had approached the truckers out in the parking lot and gotten the rest of the story from them.

"Okay maybe we came on a bit strong and maybe we weren't listening when he said no and maybe we started the whole thing and please stop banging my head against the pavement."

"Uh, Teal'c, maybe you'd better stop."

Teal'c had stared at her over his grip on the trucker's ankles. "This man has assaulted my brother."

"Well, yes, but Daniel assaulted him back so technically, they're even."

"Hey, you guys are brothers? One of you's adopted, right? OW!"

Irene had told them that Daniel -- described unmistakably as the man with an ass like an angel -- had mentioned Reno just as he was leaving with the man who had not ordered his burger without onions no matter how much fuss he'd put up later.

So north on I15, west on I80.

And I80 went through Reno on the way to the coast.

***

It had been dark for about half an hour and so far no one had said anything about stopping for the night. That wasn't good. Jack had pretty much determined that the odds of escaping from the van were so low as to be non-existent so he needed the van stopped, he needed to be out of it, and he needed to be untied. Some artillery back-up and the rest of the team wouldn't hurt but he was trying not to be greedy.

He'd prefer to be in a situation where he'd only have to deal with Sascha without the goons. Unfortunately, he could think of only one way to accomplish that.

Seduction.

And he didn't do seduction well.

Okay, granted, the trip to the art gallery, the picnic lunch, and the bottle of very good Madera had resulted in Daniel horizontal and willing but since a cup of coffee and a cheerful, "You wanna fuck?" had an identical result, Jack really couldn't chalk that one up to his technique.

The only light in the back of the van came from a small, battery powered lamp sitting on the bench beside Sascha who was currently sitting, hands on his thighs, eyes closed, completely relaxed. First, he'd have to get the Russian's attention.

He sighed, deeply. A sigh that said he was remembering the good times and wishing things didn't have to be the way they were. At least Jack hoped that's what it sounded like because the words, "Pay attention, fuckwad!" were going through his head at the time.

Since Sascha opened his eyes, it probably didn't matter.

Jack rolled his head back, exposing his throat, slowly working muscles against the t-shirt, straining against the rope. Considering his audience, the fact that he was tied could only be a bonus.

He could hear Sascha's breathing beginning to change as he worked his hips forward, relieving the pressure on his butt one cheek at a time. All perfectly innocent. Well, except for the extended lip licking but it was very dry in the back of the van.

Then he sagged against the metal and stared up at his captor from under lowered lids -- the whole through the eyelashes thing was a Daniel trick; it worked on him so why not -- and sighed again.

"What is it, my Jack?"

"Nothing."

"It must be something for you to sigh so. Tell me."

"Bite me." Too eager and he'd give the game away.

"Perhaps later. For now, you will talk."

"I was just, you know, remembering."

"Remembering what?" The question emerged as a low growl and all the hair lifted off the back of Jack's neck.

He'd come twice, once in the tub and once about a half an hour after being tied to the bed but somehow, in spite of that, Podoprigora had managed to keep him in a constant state of arousal. Worked with hands and mouth and whatever that strap with all the dangly bits was; he was writhing and panting and all but begging for release.

Which was when Podoprigora finally got undressed.

Jack moaned, unable to stop himself. He'd been lubed and stretched and lubed and stretched again. Now he saw why.

His red velvet ankle restraints were attached through the headboard and to each other. Stretching one leg out pulled the other up and out, keeping him exposed. Podoprigora knelt, tucked a hand under each knee, and opened him even further. As the massive cock head bumped hot and wet against his body, he managed a single coherent thought.

If the KGB arrived before this was over, he'd fucking kill them.

"I've been locked in the back of this van with you all day," he muttered, no longer needing to fake arousal. "What the fuck do you think I’m remembering?"

"I am remembering too, my Jack."

"It's a long drive to the coast, Sascha."

Just for a moment, he thought he'd been too subtle - I can so do subtle, Danny-boy - but then Sascha smiled.

"Too long a drive I am thinking." He turned toward the drivers and spat out a string of Russian commands too fast for Jack to translate.

Not that his Russian had ever been great. I need Daniel here for this. Well, not for the watching the old man try to seduce his kidnapper part of things but for the translating. And for the moral support. And the backup. Screw it, he just needed Daniel and he'd do whatever was necessary to get back to him.

And if that meant he had to do Alexander Podoprigora one last time, he'd close his eyes and think of archeology. Daniel would understand.

***

"Three days?" Daniel stared across the car at Maybourne. "Without a break? That's not possible!"

"You didn't know Jack in his prime. He's got to pace himself a bit now but back then…" Harry whistled long and low. "Our orders were to keep Podoprigora distracted until the KGB showed up and since they didn't show up for three days, Jack, well, Jack followed orders."

"Yeah," Daniel growled. "He's good at that." And Maybourne had watched the whole thing. No wonder Jack hadn't cared that Maybourne had been taping them; after three days with Podoprigora in that whorehouse, he was probably conditioned to it like Pavlov's dog. He probably needed the thought of surveillance to even get it up. He probably got off on the thought of Harry Fucking Maybourne listening in.

Suddenly aware that both his hands had clenched into fists, Daniel took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Where the hell had all that come from? All right, this slice of Jack's past probably did explain why he'd allowed that last tape of Maybourne's but the rest of it, that was just unfair.

I have no right to get upset over something that happened twenty years ago. It's entirely possibly I'm over-reacting as a result of being trapped in a small car with Harry Maybourne for ten hours listening to him tell dirty stories about Jack's past. He's got me so horny, cognitive processes are off line and the fact that it's Harry Maybourne who's got me horny… well, that's just wrong on so many different levels.

"Penny for your thoughts, Dr. Ja… There!"

"What? Where?"

"The white cube van in the parking lot of that motel!"

Daniel grabbed the dashboard as the Honda hit the off ramp at considerably more than the posted speed. He could feel the car leaning into the turn, was sure he could feel the inside wheels lifting, couldn’t stop himself from leaning the opposite way. When they stopped at the lights at the bottom of the ramp and all four wheels were back on the road again, he had to remind himself to breathe.

"Let's just wait here until Major Carter and Teal'c catch up."

"What?"

"Your Land Rover has been two cars behind us for the last seventy miles. Mind you, I'm only assuming its Major Carter and Teal'c but you have to admit the odds are in my favor."

***

"The light's green but they're just sitting at the bottom of the ramp."

"Then it is safe to assume that they are aware of our presence."

As the Land Rover's headlights flooded the interior of the Honda, Sam could clearly see the look on Daniel's face as he peered up at them around the edge of his seat. "Oh yeah, I think that's pretty safe to assume."

***

Harry turned right and began driving toward the motel. "I've been thinking about the conversation you had with her this morning. Code?"

"Uh, yeah."

"You set it up in case of something like this?"

Never in a million years could Daniel have imagined something like this but essentially… "Yeah."

"Smart."

"Thank you." He ducked down in his seat as they drove into the parking lot. "Hey! Aren't we supposed to be sneaking up on them?"

"No. Sneaking is too obvious. We're working with a little technique I call hiding in plain sight. We'll get out of the car and we'll greet Major Carter and Teal'c like we've been convoying together all day. Then, we'll rent rooms. Then we'll order a pizza and only then will we get together in one room to make plans. I can guarantee that at least one of his men will be watching for things that don't fit in - cars in the parking lot that don't belong to guests, groups of people with no social connections, the sudden appearance of a swat team."

Daniel had to admit that made sense. "About the social connections; we don’t have to act like a couple do we? Because I honestly don't think I'd be able to do that convincingly."

Harry sighed as he drove toward the motel office. "Two men traveling together don't have to be a couple, Dr. Jackson. You're thinking like you're in a gay porn film, where everyone you meet is after your ass -- the gas station attendant, the guy in the burger joint, the truckers you meet in a roadside diner. Okay, that last one's a bad example," he admitted as he parked next to the motel's office, "but, generally, two men can travel together and not be doing each other."

"That's a relief."

"We could be brothers."

That wasn't -- but it beat the alternative. Daniel sighed and, although he wasn't looking forward to the explanation Sam would undoubtedly demand, said, "You'd better drop the Dr. Jackson then."

"Why Daniel, I'm touched."

"That's one theory. Others include amoral and sociopathic."

Harry turned off the engine, turned to face Daniel, and put his hand over his heart. "If you hadn't said that so fondly, I'd be hurt."

Realizing with some degree of horror that he had sounded almost fond, Daniel glanced up as the Land Rover pulled in beside them. "You'd better get into the office and book the rooms while I explain what's going on."

"Good plan. Think you can keep Teal'c from killing me?"

He could see Sam's face and she didn't look happy. "Oh, I wouldn't worry about Teal'c."

part three