SG-1 fic: Daycare, by kuonji (NC-17)
Title: Daycare
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson
Pairings: Jack/Daniel
Category: Jack/Daniel first time, AU
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: none
Words: ~2130
Summary: Jack found a different dream while growing up. Daniel might be about to find his.
Daycare
by kuonji
"He's back again."
Jack raised his eyes at the whisper. He turned around slow, pretending to be only following Yvonne and Jackie to the sandbox with his eyes.
Yup, there he was: Ratty tweed coat, shaggy blond-brown hair, and spectacles. Third time this month.
"Think you can handle things here?" he asked his assistant. "I'm going to go have a talk with our guest there."
"Sure thing, boss."
Jack strode across the playground toward the stranger, who stiffened at his approach and looked like he was about to flee, the way he had the first two times.
"Hey, there!" Jack called, which was enough to make Mr. Tweed-Coat hesitate. A few more ground-eating strides, and the other man had no choice but to stay his ground as Jack came within conversing distance. "Jack O'Neill," he introduced himself, trying to sound non-threatening. "I run the establishment here." He offered his hand.
The man stared for a moment but then took it readily enough. His grip was dry and strong, not what Jack would have expected. "Daniel Jackson. Um, Doctor. I, uh..."
Jack waited -- in vain, apparently -- for him to finish, their hands suspended together until Jack extricated his hand with a pointed lack of grace. "You have kids, Dr. Jackson?" he asked.
"Oh! Oh, no. I never married." There was a wistful look to the man, a somewhat needful expression, that prompted Jack to ask, "You looking for a job here?" He eyed Jackson's dusty wardrobe and delicate hands, adding, "I prefer to take people with credentials."
"What? No, I, uh, I've got a job, down at..." He pointed over his shoulder. At what, Jack didn't know.
"I've seen you come around a few times now. What do you want?" Jack asked, to the point.
Jack was good at reading body language. (You had to be, when you worked with kids who were only just starting to be verbally coherent.) There was a hungry, evasive look to Jackson's manner that Jack didn't like.
"You some kind of pervert?" he asked, when the other man sputtered for a response.
That seemed to get his attention. He flushed abruptly bright red, but his posture straightened. "I wouldn't call myself that," he said, his tone careful.
"Yeah, I'll bet you wouldn't."
"Look, obviously I've made a mistake." The man -- Jackson -- raised his hands in surrender. "Let's just forget this conversation ever happened, okay? I won't bother you again."
"You'd better not." Jack got into his space, using his well-honed six-foot-plus frame to loom. Jackson's face registered shock. "You come near my kids again and I'm calling the cops."
"What?" Jackson squeaked. His mouth dropped open. He looked horrified, then furious. He shoved Jack away, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to surprise Jack. "I'm not that kind of pervert."
It was an odd choice of words, and the signals he was giving off now seemed honest. Unhappy, but honest.
"So what kind of pervert are you?"
Jackson lifted his chin defiantly, at the same time as he sunk his neck slightly back, like he was used to dealing with big guys who liked to pound on him. His eyes never left Jack's but Jack could feel the quivering awareness of the guy, zinging off of him like electricity.
Oh.
"Crap." The guy tensed anew but didn't rabbit. "Look, uh. I'm sorry for calling you..." Jack frowned. "But you realize stalking a guy isn't exactly the way to go. It makes you look like a creep."
"I wasn't stalking! I just..." He stuck his hands in his pockets and relaxed his shoulders, seeming to sense that Jack was no longer a threat. The guy had instincts like a deer. "I had a good day for once, and I thought I would try and... Would you like to have dinner with me?"
Jack felt his eyebrows reaching. He had to hand it to Mr. Tweed. He had cajones. "Okay," he heard himself say.
"Really?" Jackson simply lit up, and somehow the mad professor wardrobe and his awkward geekiness were smudged out by that blinding smile. Jack felt his own spine loosen.
"Yeah," he said. "I think it'd be fun."
***
"What do you teach?" Jack leaned across the wood tabletop of the booth at Fog's Diner to snag another onion ring from Jackson's -- Daniel's -- plate. The four-eyed geek was a high school teacher. What a surprise.
"Um, French at the moment. I'm trying to start an elective course in archaeology, but you know how the budget is."
"You must be a hit with the girls." Kids took French because it was romantic, and Daniel's floppy-haired puppy look would be irresistable to the teenagers.
"What?" The innocence, which Jack was pretty convinced was genuine, must be a big draw as well.
"Never mind. So you speak French?"
"Yeah. I'm fluent in nineteen languages, actually."
Jack set down his napkin. "Nineteen?"
Daniel looked smug, then kind of apologetic. "Well, to be fair, a lot of them are related. Portuguese and Spanish, for example. And I'm not sure it's accurate to say I'm fluent in Latin, since no one knows anymore how it's supposed to be pronounced."
Jack shook his head, grinning. Dr. Jackson was one strange bird. "Say something."
"Huh?"
Jack gestured at the table. "Say, 'This is good food', in whatever languages you know."
Jackson hesitated. "I don't just-- It's not some parlour trick I do. I used to be a philologist. I study words and languages."
"So you don't actually speak those nineteen languages? Just study them?"
"Of course I do!" Daniel pursed his lips, clearly wound up. He crossed his arms, lifted his chin again in that fascinating way -- and started spouting some crazy string of gibberish that went on and on, changing tone and cadence with every breath he stopped to take.
Jack stared for a while when it was over. Then he cocked his head and asked, just to be annoying, "Wasn't that eighteen?"
Daniel scowled. "And English: 'You are an annoying, condescending prick'."
"And yet, I'm the annoying, condescending prick you asked out to dinner."
Daniel tensed. Jack thought he was angry again, until he caught his furtive look around the room.
"Hey, don't worry. The folks here know about me, and they're fine with it."
"Oh." Daniel relaxed. "I-- They weren't so... 'fine' with me at my last school."
"Yeah?"
Daniel just shrugged. Jack waited a beat, but no elaboration was forthcoming.
"So." Jack scooped up some baked potato as he changed the subject. "You know how to say 'prick' in Italian?"
"You recognized it?"
Jack grinned at Daniel's flabbergasted look. "I don't look like it, do I?"
Jack's mom had been fluent in Italian and she'd insisted on speaking to him in it on even-numbered days. It'd become kind of a game for the two of them. It'd been a hit with the girls, too. Too bad Jack had figured out early on that he wasn't interested. That had near broke his parents' hearts.
Jack had been pretty disappointed, too, truth be told. He'd had his eye on being a fighter pilot in the USAF since he was seven years old -- but in the end, he'd felt personal integrity (and regular sex) outweighed that particular dream.
So he'd found another one.
"Parents like their kids to be exposed to foreign languages. It was one of the draws I had when I started the daycare center." He studied Daniel for a second. He was a good judge of character, and Daniel was comfortable to be around. "Say, do you think...?"
Daniel's attention riveted on Jack's face with flattering focus. "Yes."
Jack raised his eyebrows. "Yes, you want a job at the center?"
"What? Oh. No. I mean, I have..." Daniel flushed. "I thought you were going to ask something else."
Well, that settled one question that had been tickling at him. "You are coming home with me, aren't you?"
Daniel's eyebrows were thick, finely shaped, and very expressive. "Pretty confident, aren't you?"
Jack popped another stolen onion ring in his mouth and chewed ostentatiously through his grin. No one except his mother had been able to resist that grin for forty years.
Daniel caved in less than five seconds.
***
"Oh, god!"
Under all that tweed and hair, Daniel had long legs, broad shoulders, and a lickably muscled chest. "Ohhh..." Definitely lickable. Jack lifted himself a bit in order to grind down with his hips. His own toes curled at the sound that pulled out of the man beneath him.
Daniel's nineteen languages seemed to carry over into his moans. Jack was having a great time listening to them all. "Was that one Portuguese or Spanish?" he murmured into Daniel's neck, before taking a nibbling path along the side of it.
"Wha...?" One long-fingered but interestingly calloused hand flailed, finally bunching into a fist in Jack's flannel winter sheets. The other hand was captive in Jack's own. He could feel the tremors and jerks through his palm like a lightning rod to his cock.
"Arabic," Jack decided. The dry, stacatto huffs Daniel was now giving voice to made him think of blistering sand and an endless sky the color of Daniel's thin, blown irises.
"Nnnng." German? No, definitely French. Jack ran his left thumb lightly along the outside of Daniel's trapped hand. Daniel's breath hiccupped, and he instinctively tried to pull away, even as his hips quickened their rhythm against Jack's thigh.
Jack's other hand was busy, too, making its way down to tease Daniel's backside. "Aghhhh!" Bingo. The linguist was receptive. And he could count that guttaral no-nonsense outcry as German.
"Hang on," he said, going for his bedside drawer. He almost dropped everything in his hands a second later when he looked back and realized that Daniel had started without him. Frozen, he watched the smooth, experienced glide of fingers. Daniel arched his long neck back, swearing in maybe-Polish.
Jack swore, himself, in humble English, at the same time thanking every divine being he knew that he had stamina and easy-open flip-top lube.
His hands shook as he pulled on a condom, Daniel's United Nations of porn providing a background symphony. Daniel turned over, easy, raising his ass and spreading his legs. He moaned again when Jack grabbed his thighs. He kneaded Daniel's quivering legs, then pulled his cheeks apart and drove himself in with no preamble.
Italian, he thought. "Jaaack!" Opera, no less.
He took a moment to orient himself and rein in his libido.
Daniel was squirming and keeping up a litany of, "yes, yes, yes, please, yes..."
"Say that eighteen more times," Jack teased, having caught his breath enough to enjoy his advantage.
"Bastard," Daniel gasped, glaring over his shoulder. His gaze didn't quite focus. He let loose a rapid-fire string of words that Jack was certain did not mean 'Yes' or 'Please' -- in any language. At the same time, he pressed up on his elbows and pistoned himself back. He squeezed, then released, and Jack shuddered as he completely lost all his cool.
He realized that he hadn't kissed Daniel, hadn't yet tasted those exotically erotic nouns and verbs and expletives. He twisted forward and pressed against the side of Daniel's head with one hand, forcing his face towards Jack's own.
Their lips met, and Jack completely forgot that he never pushed for a kiss with men, because he could never be sure if they would be amenable or not, and he was so needy, he sometimes didn't notice when they weren't.
But even he could tell that Daniel was. Amenable, that is. Enthusiastic, even.
Their mouths ground together as their hips did the same. Italian was sweet on his tongue and Greek was hot and Mandarin zesty. Russian was heavy and Latin (the one that no one knew how to pronounce anymore) was heavenly.
His climax reached him just as they broke for air, and Daniel's followed.
Hindi? He wasn't sure. But it was definitely nirvana.
***
"Maybe part-time."
Jack raised an eyebrow without turning around. He picked up the two mugs of coffee and brought them to the kitchen table where Daniel was already wolfing down pancakes. "Huh?"
"Your other question."
"My...?" It took Jack a few to get it.
Daniel in the morning was a soft-boned bundle of blurry smiles. He still hadn't put his glasses back on, and his long hair was frizzled in the back. He looked adorable in his undershirt and a pair of Jack's sweatpants.
"Hey, great. The kids will love you."
"As long as one person does," Daniel muttered, then caught himself and blushed. He drew his mug of coffee in and downed half of it.
Pretending not to hear, Jack raised his own mug with a grin. "Salute!"
END.
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