Local Angel
Jun. 1st, 2009 06:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brainofckSometimes you are just innocently trying to get some work done, client billing or drafting a final decree, listening to the Some Other Albums mix you made for media player, and BAM, a ridiculous song!fic AU kicks you in the back of the head and grabs you in a headlock and won't let go until you have humiliated yourself by converting it to electrons and posting it.
Stupid Brain.
Title: Local Angel
Author:muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A little diner AU inspired by a certain song everybody knows. *hangs head*
Content/warnings: None
Words: 3480
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, I'm certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, I'd be delighted to work in a co-writing/consulting/first-reader/advisory-type capacity, with my fee to be negotiated at that time. :D
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only.muck_a_luck and brainofck
The Matrix: Hours. The Matrix is located here.
All in all, it wasn't a bad life, on the road. It put Charlie behind me, mostly, and if sometimes Charlie rode shotgun, well, that's what driving for five days straight with only a couple of layovers at rest stops could do to your reality. And sometimes I liked having a traveling companion. If it ever got to be too much, I always had my gun in the tool chest in the back.
I figured I should stop and eat while it was still light. I stumbled a little as I walked into the diner. Another effect of driving and driving and driving. The old knees lock up. Getting my land legs back was tricky.
The cowbell on the door clanged when I pushed it open. The place was dead; completely empty except for one customer who I realized was not a customer, but rather the only staff. He was wearing some ridiculous, throw-back, diner-waitress, period shirt thing, Pepto-pink with white, folded-up cuffs on the short sleeves and a wide, white collar over a plain white undershirt underneath.
He looked up and unfolded from the booth where he was reading. It must have been the exhaustion. I am not stupid enough to believe in love at first sight, but when our eyes met for the first time, my heart did a little flip-flop-dip thing. Maybe it wasn't love, but the hormones were definitely pumping out and taking notice.
He smiled at me. His name tag read "Daniel."
"The place is all yours," he announced in a smooth voice with a clean, academic accent. Not really a local angel, then. "Booth or table, and sorry, new town ordinance, we're all non-smoking, I'm afraid."
"Even in cow town, huh?" I asked him, taking a seat at the empty counter. He gestured to the coffee pot, and I nodded. I took a really good at the tight, pert ass. Ordinarily, I keep my non-heterosexual thoughts to myself, but this guy was the whole package. Gorgeous ass, long legs, broad shoulders and tapered waist. I wanted to reach out and stroke his nicely muscled arm.
"Even in cow town," he agrees. He poured my coffee and set it down on the counter. "Cream?" he asked.
Oh, dear Lord.
"Yes, please," I managed to choke out. He must have caught something in my expression. He gave me an appraising, but not hostile, look as he placed the laminated menu in front of me.
"What can I get you?" he asked, untucking the pencil from behind his ear and groping in his waist apron for his order pad.
When I opened my mouth to deliver some great, food related come-on line, he interrupted.
"And I'm not on the menu," he warned, but the smile playing around the corners of his beautiful mouth and in the crinkles of his eyes made me feel like I could maybe earn a really nice dessert if I worked for it.
"You hear that a lot?" I asked him, glancing over the menu while he creamed my coffee.
"It's amazing what the rural community thinks about effete, well-spoken college-boys from California who wear pink shirts as a term of their employment," he replied, with only amusement. "Now, what can I get you?" he asked, playing with his pencil absent-mindedly as he stared, oddly, at my hands holding the menu. I had scars and gun calluses. I wondered what he found so interesting. Maybe he was imagining me putting my hands on him. I was getting hard, sitting here, imagining where I could put my hands.
I shook it off and focused on the menu. Not that there was anything unusual there. Just normal diner food.
"The special is cubed steak, gravy, mashed potatoes, salad, and okra fried in cornmeal. That's what I was just thinking I'd make myself for dinner. Can I interest you?"
"Sounds great," I replied, handing him the menu. Somehow, when he took it from me, our fingers met. He smiled to himself as he turned away. He reached into the fridge behind him and took out a salad. He pointed to the dressing bottles.
"Ranch," I told him.
He clunked it down on the counter in front of me along with my salad and followed it with two glasses of ice water, one for me and one for him. Then he went around into the kitchen. Sadly, the half-wall hid his ass, but I could still watch him, and from more distance, I felt safer doing it.
He was confident and efficient in the kitchen, sautéing the meat, chopping the okra, making the pan gravy while the vegetable sizzled in the hot Crisco. He served it all with real mashed potatoes from a warmer and brought two plates around. He sat on the stool to my right.
"So," he asked conversationally, as he popped a crispy piece of okra in his mouth and cut his first bite of the tender meat, "who are you?"
"Jack O'Neill," I reply around warm potatoes drenched in luscious, beefy gravy.
"You have to do better than that," he replied tartly. "I may be easy, but I'm not free."
I thought about how to answer the question, who are you? Thought about why I would bother. Thought idiotic thoughts about true love again.
"Colonel Jonathan C. O'Neill, USAF, retired," the words ran together. "I'm a guy who can't stay in one place anymore because I'm haunted by the ghost of a ten-year-old boy who's dead because of me, and because I can't face that boy's mother anymore, because I took her boy away from her. So I drive for days and days until I can't be sure I won't kill somebody else with my truck, then I stop at some dive and drink and think about the various ways I could end it all with the gun in the back."
He stared at me, and his blue eyes were full of shock. But not with pity. I was sure all I saw there was sympathy. Our knees were touching where we had turned to face each other on the counter stools.
I took a deep breath and went for it.
"Baby, you look good to me tonight. I'd be polite if I had the time, but I'm out of here in the morning. Please don't make me wait that long."
He stood up, taking his plate and his glass.
"I get off at eleven," he said, and walked away, back to his booth and the paper he'd been reading.
I couldn't believe how my heart was beating and breaking and flying all at once. I finished my food. I didn't have a bill, but I'd seen the menu, so I left fifteen bucks on the counter. It ought to be more than enough to cover a blue plate special and coffee at this place. Then with a nod to him I went out again. He didn't even look up.
I drove through the quiet town until I found a drug store still open at 2200. I picked up a few supplies and tried not to imagine that the clerk knew exactly what I was planning, and who I'd be doing it with. She smiled at me and gave me a conspiratorial wink as I left. I sat in the truck a little while outside his restaurant, then I went back in, because really, he might be a great dessert, but so was pie.
There were a three men at the counter and one couple in a booth when I came back in. There was also a waitress busy pouring out coffee. She set a cup in front of me without asking. Her name tag said "Sam."
"Pie?" she asked brightly.
"How did you know?" I replied with a confused smile. She gestured to the other occupants of the diner.
"Everybody who comes in this time of night is here for pie," she said with an eye roll. "Tonight we've got strawberry rhubarb, lemon meringue, apple, cherry, and peach cobbler. And of course, Daniel's special chocolate cream."
I noted that the two strapping young farm hands down the counter from me had big slabs of chocolate on their plates. Daniel wasn't kidding about his admirers.
"I'll have cherry," I reply.
"Whipped cream, or a al mode?" she asked.
"Cream, definitely," I said, snorting to myself at my own joke. Seconds and one squirt of RediWhip later, there was wonderful pie in front of me.
Daniel came through the kitchen door with a huge basket of fries on his tray. He delivered them to the two men with chocolate pie. His cheeks pinked a little when he noticed me, and I grinned at him over the first bite of cherries and cream. He caught the leer in his peripheral vision as he kept his attention on his customers.
"We're going out to Layne's place when we're done here," said one of them. "He still bales his hay and he's moving it into his new barn. We could use another strong back out there."
"In the middle of the night?" Daniel asked, skeptically.
"We're starting early tomorrow," the other man said. "Layne's putting us up in the barn to save us the drive."
Daniel's eyes shifted back and forth between the two men. Sam, wiping down the work surface behind Daniel under the kitchen window, was shaking with contained laughter.
"Sorry," Daniel said, with a truly regretful smile. "I pulled the breakfast shift tomorrow. Another time, maybe. I'd love to see how Layne's new design ideas worked out."
He ducked back into the kitchen. We all watched him go. The boys with the chocolate pie didn't look too disappointed. Daniel had practically made them an offer, after all. They finished their pie and fries quietly and left generous tips for Sam. As she bussed their plates she smiled at me conspiratorially.
"The pie's on the house, sir. And Daniel says, when you're all done, just come around the back."
"Thanks, Sam, I think I just finished," I said with a wink. I left her a nice chunk of change, too.
Around the back turned out to be a largish recreational vehicle that had definitely seen better days. Light was glowing through the orange curtains on the windows. The passenger side front wheel was missing, replaced by cinder blocks. The awning was rolled out over a bricked patio area lit by the light spilling through the screen protecting the open door. The RV was situated at a right angle to the diner, so that the view would be over rolling farm land. I could hear the susurrations of the corn in the field though the humid August night. There was a cheap, plastic Adirondack chair and a matching cheap plastic table on the terrace. Daniel was waiting for me.
He got up gracefully and met me in front of the door. He didn't waste any time, wrapping his arms around me and attacking my mouth like he wanted to catch the last taste of cherry pie before it got away. His chest was as bare as his feet, and his hair was damp. He had showered away the grease and sweat and smell of cooking before I got there, and he tasted fresh and darkly yeasty. There was probably an empty Guinness bottle somewhere nearby. He drew me stumbling up the fold-down steps into the cramped kitchen of his home. The screen had barely banged shut behind us before he was impatiently tugging my t-shirt over my head in the weak yellow light. I toed off my shoes as he let the shirt fall onto the built-in table and started on my fly. There was nothing to prevent the whole cornfield from watching him ravish me, and frankly, at this point, I hardly cared what the corn thought.
Pushing his jeans down, I found only lush, bare skin underneath. He was more than half-ready. His cock springing free was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and I was on my knees, shoving him back to sit on the bunk that took up the back end of the camper, swallowing him down as if he were made of chocolate cream. He groaned and flopped back, pumping his hips up once before he settled down to gasp and curse. I was sucking him hard, ruthlessly, while I tried to get my pants off as fast as possible. I finally had to give up on sucking to stand up and get them off me. He took the opportunity to sit up and pull me down onto the bed. It wasn't made from the night before, sheets cool, but rumpled and humid like the air in the tiny room.
It was pure bliss to stretch out on that thin mattress on those dirty sheet and just wrap my legs and arms around that gorgeous hard body.
Daniel rolled on his back, pulling me over on top of him.
"You pitching or catching?" he asked, he had his legs around my waist, humping upwards into my weight.
"I prefer not to bring sports metaphors into bed with me," I teased.
"Fine!" he huffed with a laugh. "Top or bottom? Fucker or fuckee? Just take your dick and shove it up my ass already!" he growled. My hard on was already rubbing in his seam, passing back and forth over the heat of his hole.
"I've got stuff," I began.
He stopped me with a kiss and kept squirming and fighting, so I got my knees under me and reset my hips. After a few misses, we found the angle. I caught his gasp in my mouth and pulled away to let him breathe and adjust.
"Keep going," he ordered harshly. "God, you're the best idea I had all day."
I grinned down at him.
"Better than being Lucky Pierre in a hayloft somewhere?"
He just groaned and tried to move into my thrust, take more faster.
I'd never done a guy dry, and he was unbearably tight, but not as tight as he should be. I realized he might have loosened himself up some in that shower. I groaned back at him, thinking about it, trying to cram myself inside him. He was chanting yesyesyes, so I figured I must be doing something right.
"No wonder they're all lined up eating your pie," I managed to grunt, my dick finally sliding home, my balls pressed up tight against his ass.
"My pies are widely believed to be the best in three counties," Daniel wheezed a bit, obviously struggling to adjust.
"Any persons of the female persuasion ever tell you that?" I asked him, pulling out a little and pushing back in experimentally. It was almost too much, the mostly-dry tightness. Almost.
"I have… many devotees… of the female… persuasion," Daniel's reply came in breathy moans as I started rocking in and out of him, a little more each time. I finally gave up on the dry fuck, it wasn't going to work for me. I pulled out completely, though he tried to hold me in place with his thighs, and reached back for the pocket of my jeans and the bottle of lube I'd opened and put in there as I was leaving the truck.
"Don't," he protested.
"Trust me, I can make you feel it," I promised him. I set my feet on the floor and pulled his body to me. "I always take the time to satisfy."
Slicked up, I shoved back in viciously hard. Daniel's snort at my cheesy line turned into a shout. He pressed his hands against the wall, biceps defining nicely as he held himself in place. He definitely felt that in his gland and in his balls. With my new leverage I hammered him, and he yelled each time, a mixture of inarticulate grunts, prayers and curses, with my name thrown in occasionally. I could have gone on like that for a lot longer, but he came in a sudden, unexpected explosion, clamping down on my dick hard, spurting white streaks all over himself, and watching his cum splatter his face, I couldn’t resist the tight grip and I pumped into him. It felt so good, just letting myself shoot into a hot hole, not worrying about babies or regulations or condoms, even though I should have. But Daniel didn't care, and somehow I trusted that, even though I shouldn't have.
To my amusement, he passed out cold, hands suddenly lax over his head. I pulled out and he didn't even notice. I let his feet fall over the side of the bed and went into his tiny bathroom for something to clean us up. I stepped into his shower and spent a minute getting the grime of five days of hard driving off me, washed my hair and my cock with his shampoo, brushed my teeth with his toothpaste and my finger, then took the damp washcloth I'd borrowed over to him and wiped him down. He woke up enough to blink at me blearily and scoot onto the bed, resituating himself to lay with his head on the pillow, then he pulled the sheet up, holding it open invitingly. I didn't need to be asked twice, but fell exhausted next to him. He slapped the toggle switch on the bedroom light.
We fell asleep side by side, him on his back, me curled on my side, sharing the pillow.
I woke up at 0430, I knew without checking my watch. I felt restless, closed in, ready to get moving again. Daniel was snoring lightly, still sprawled on his back, with me sleeping mostly on him. I slowly disentangled myself and looked around in the light from the kitchen area for my clothes.
My jeans were right where I left them on the floor. My shirt was on a pile of papers and books on the small kitchen table. I looked them over, stealing a little more information about Daniel. I realized I hadn't asked him anything, and he had volunteered almost nothing. He asked me who I was, and I more or less told him, but I didn't have any idea what a self-described California college boy was doing in a diner in a tiny town in the middle of the American heartland.
Almost none of the texts were in English. Most were in Arabic, and were those scrolls? And there were definitely hieroglyphs on some of the papers. Handwritten notes were scrawled on yellow notepads. A beaten up, well-used laptop was shut under a stack of real paper notebooks.
Daniel wasn't your average short-order cook. His pink work shirt lay incongruously draped over the back of the RV's driver's seat. He didn't seem unhappy, but I felt strongly that he didn't belong here, in this squalid place, doing this menial job. I emptied the cash from my wallet, a couple hundred bucks, and left it on the table.
I had changed my shirt yesterday morning, but after a shower, I wanted to put a clean one back on. With my shirt in my hand, I turned to slip out the front door. I took one last look into the back of the camper, and found Daniel had rolled on to his side under the cover of the sheet and was watching me.
"You came, you saw, you conquered?" he asked with a sad smile. "You know, the 'easy but not free' comment was not intended as a demand for payment."
"I have to hit the road," I said lamely. He was blatantly admiring me. It made me feel good, but self-conscious, to see the appreciation in his eyes.
"Your destiny's your own, Jack," he said, deceptively mildly.
"Places to go," I muttered, then unable to stop the impulse, I took the two steps back to the bed and leaned down over Daniel, kissing him thoroughly. As I stood back up, he caught my wrist. Producing a pen from the depths of the pillowcase, he wrote on my hand, Daniel Jackson 620-571-5988.
I looked up from my hand to see him watching me.
"Bye, Daniel," I said quietly.
"I don't think this is the last you'll see of me," he said in equally quiet response.
"Bye," I repeated, and turned back again, without a backwards glance.
I rummaged in my duffle in the back of the truck and shrugged into a new shirt. I climbed into the cab and headed back towards the interstate.
I couldn't shake the look he left me with. I kept thinking thoughts that shouldn't come into my head, like born to love him and your destiny's your own.
As I drove, his smile was the only thing I could see. No matter how long it was before I gave in and called the number I had already memorized, I knew he had already won.
UPDATE: August, and Everything After.
If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.
Stupid Brain.
Title: Local Angel
Author:
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofckPairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A little diner AU inspired by a certain song everybody knows. *hangs head*
Content/warnings: None
Words: 3480
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, I'm certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, I'd be delighted to work in a co-writing/consulting/first-reader/advisory-type capacity, with my fee to be negotiated at that time. :D
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only.
muck_a_luck and brainofckThe Matrix: Hours. The Matrix is located here.
All in all, it wasn't a bad life, on the road. It put Charlie behind me, mostly, and if sometimes Charlie rode shotgun, well, that's what driving for five days straight with only a couple of layovers at rest stops could do to your reality. And sometimes I liked having a traveling companion. If it ever got to be too much, I always had my gun in the tool chest in the back.
I figured I should stop and eat while it was still light. I stumbled a little as I walked into the diner. Another effect of driving and driving and driving. The old knees lock up. Getting my land legs back was tricky.
The cowbell on the door clanged when I pushed it open. The place was dead; completely empty except for one customer who I realized was not a customer, but rather the only staff. He was wearing some ridiculous, throw-back, diner-waitress, period shirt thing, Pepto-pink with white, folded-up cuffs on the short sleeves and a wide, white collar over a plain white undershirt underneath.
He looked up and unfolded from the booth where he was reading. It must have been the exhaustion. I am not stupid enough to believe in love at first sight, but when our eyes met for the first time, my heart did a little flip-flop-dip thing. Maybe it wasn't love, but the hormones were definitely pumping out and taking notice.
He smiled at me. His name tag read "Daniel."
"The place is all yours," he announced in a smooth voice with a clean, academic accent. Not really a local angel, then. "Booth or table, and sorry, new town ordinance, we're all non-smoking, I'm afraid."
"Even in cow town, huh?" I asked him, taking a seat at the empty counter. He gestured to the coffee pot, and I nodded. I took a really good at the tight, pert ass. Ordinarily, I keep my non-heterosexual thoughts to myself, but this guy was the whole package. Gorgeous ass, long legs, broad shoulders and tapered waist. I wanted to reach out and stroke his nicely muscled arm.
"Even in cow town," he agrees. He poured my coffee and set it down on the counter. "Cream?" he asked.
Oh, dear Lord.
"Yes, please," I managed to choke out. He must have caught something in my expression. He gave me an appraising, but not hostile, look as he placed the laminated menu in front of me.
"What can I get you?" he asked, untucking the pencil from behind his ear and groping in his waist apron for his order pad.
When I opened my mouth to deliver some great, food related come-on line, he interrupted.
"And I'm not on the menu," he warned, but the smile playing around the corners of his beautiful mouth and in the crinkles of his eyes made me feel like I could maybe earn a really nice dessert if I worked for it.
"You hear that a lot?" I asked him, glancing over the menu while he creamed my coffee.
"It's amazing what the rural community thinks about effete, well-spoken college-boys from California who wear pink shirts as a term of their employment," he replied, with only amusement. "Now, what can I get you?" he asked, playing with his pencil absent-mindedly as he stared, oddly, at my hands holding the menu. I had scars and gun calluses. I wondered what he found so interesting. Maybe he was imagining me putting my hands on him. I was getting hard, sitting here, imagining where I could put my hands.
I shook it off and focused on the menu. Not that there was anything unusual there. Just normal diner food.
"The special is cubed steak, gravy, mashed potatoes, salad, and okra fried in cornmeal. That's what I was just thinking I'd make myself for dinner. Can I interest you?"
"Sounds great," I replied, handing him the menu. Somehow, when he took it from me, our fingers met. He smiled to himself as he turned away. He reached into the fridge behind him and took out a salad. He pointed to the dressing bottles.
"Ranch," I told him.
He clunked it down on the counter in front of me along with my salad and followed it with two glasses of ice water, one for me and one for him. Then he went around into the kitchen. Sadly, the half-wall hid his ass, but I could still watch him, and from more distance, I felt safer doing it.
He was confident and efficient in the kitchen, sautéing the meat, chopping the okra, making the pan gravy while the vegetable sizzled in the hot Crisco. He served it all with real mashed potatoes from a warmer and brought two plates around. He sat on the stool to my right.
"So," he asked conversationally, as he popped a crispy piece of okra in his mouth and cut his first bite of the tender meat, "who are you?"
"Jack O'Neill," I reply around warm potatoes drenched in luscious, beefy gravy.
"You have to do better than that," he replied tartly. "I may be easy, but I'm not free."
I thought about how to answer the question, who are you? Thought about why I would bother. Thought idiotic thoughts about true love again.
"Colonel Jonathan C. O'Neill, USAF, retired," the words ran together. "I'm a guy who can't stay in one place anymore because I'm haunted by the ghost of a ten-year-old boy who's dead because of me, and because I can't face that boy's mother anymore, because I took her boy away from her. So I drive for days and days until I can't be sure I won't kill somebody else with my truck, then I stop at some dive and drink and think about the various ways I could end it all with the gun in the back."
He stared at me, and his blue eyes were full of shock. But not with pity. I was sure all I saw there was sympathy. Our knees were touching where we had turned to face each other on the counter stools.
I took a deep breath and went for it.
"Baby, you look good to me tonight. I'd be polite if I had the time, but I'm out of here in the morning. Please don't make me wait that long."
He stood up, taking his plate and his glass.
"I get off at eleven," he said, and walked away, back to his booth and the paper he'd been reading.
I couldn't believe how my heart was beating and breaking and flying all at once. I finished my food. I didn't have a bill, but I'd seen the menu, so I left fifteen bucks on the counter. It ought to be more than enough to cover a blue plate special and coffee at this place. Then with a nod to him I went out again. He didn't even look up.
I drove through the quiet town until I found a drug store still open at 2200. I picked up a few supplies and tried not to imagine that the clerk knew exactly what I was planning, and who I'd be doing it with. She smiled at me and gave me a conspiratorial wink as I left. I sat in the truck a little while outside his restaurant, then I went back in, because really, he might be a great dessert, but so was pie.
There were a three men at the counter and one couple in a booth when I came back in. There was also a waitress busy pouring out coffee. She set a cup in front of me without asking. Her name tag said "Sam."
"Pie?" she asked brightly.
"How did you know?" I replied with a confused smile. She gestured to the other occupants of the diner.
"Everybody who comes in this time of night is here for pie," she said with an eye roll. "Tonight we've got strawberry rhubarb, lemon meringue, apple, cherry, and peach cobbler. And of course, Daniel's special chocolate cream."
I noted that the two strapping young farm hands down the counter from me had big slabs of chocolate on their plates. Daniel wasn't kidding about his admirers.
"I'll have cherry," I reply.
"Whipped cream, or a al mode?" she asked.
"Cream, definitely," I said, snorting to myself at my own joke. Seconds and one squirt of RediWhip later, there was wonderful pie in front of me.
Daniel came through the kitchen door with a huge basket of fries on his tray. He delivered them to the two men with chocolate pie. His cheeks pinked a little when he noticed me, and I grinned at him over the first bite of cherries and cream. He caught the leer in his peripheral vision as he kept his attention on his customers.
"We're going out to Layne's place when we're done here," said one of them. "He still bales his hay and he's moving it into his new barn. We could use another strong back out there."
"In the middle of the night?" Daniel asked, skeptically.
"We're starting early tomorrow," the other man said. "Layne's putting us up in the barn to save us the drive."
Daniel's eyes shifted back and forth between the two men. Sam, wiping down the work surface behind Daniel under the kitchen window, was shaking with contained laughter.
"Sorry," Daniel said, with a truly regretful smile. "I pulled the breakfast shift tomorrow. Another time, maybe. I'd love to see how Layne's new design ideas worked out."
He ducked back into the kitchen. We all watched him go. The boys with the chocolate pie didn't look too disappointed. Daniel had practically made them an offer, after all. They finished their pie and fries quietly and left generous tips for Sam. As she bussed their plates she smiled at me conspiratorially.
"The pie's on the house, sir. And Daniel says, when you're all done, just come around the back."
"Thanks, Sam, I think I just finished," I said with a wink. I left her a nice chunk of change, too.
Around the back turned out to be a largish recreational vehicle that had definitely seen better days. Light was glowing through the orange curtains on the windows. The passenger side front wheel was missing, replaced by cinder blocks. The awning was rolled out over a bricked patio area lit by the light spilling through the screen protecting the open door. The RV was situated at a right angle to the diner, so that the view would be over rolling farm land. I could hear the susurrations of the corn in the field though the humid August night. There was a cheap, plastic Adirondack chair and a matching cheap plastic table on the terrace. Daniel was waiting for me.
He got up gracefully and met me in front of the door. He didn't waste any time, wrapping his arms around me and attacking my mouth like he wanted to catch the last taste of cherry pie before it got away. His chest was as bare as his feet, and his hair was damp. He had showered away the grease and sweat and smell of cooking before I got there, and he tasted fresh and darkly yeasty. There was probably an empty Guinness bottle somewhere nearby. He drew me stumbling up the fold-down steps into the cramped kitchen of his home. The screen had barely banged shut behind us before he was impatiently tugging my t-shirt over my head in the weak yellow light. I toed off my shoes as he let the shirt fall onto the built-in table and started on my fly. There was nothing to prevent the whole cornfield from watching him ravish me, and frankly, at this point, I hardly cared what the corn thought.
Pushing his jeans down, I found only lush, bare skin underneath. He was more than half-ready. His cock springing free was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen, and I was on my knees, shoving him back to sit on the bunk that took up the back end of the camper, swallowing him down as if he were made of chocolate cream. He groaned and flopped back, pumping his hips up once before he settled down to gasp and curse. I was sucking him hard, ruthlessly, while I tried to get my pants off as fast as possible. I finally had to give up on sucking to stand up and get them off me. He took the opportunity to sit up and pull me down onto the bed. It wasn't made from the night before, sheets cool, but rumpled and humid like the air in the tiny room.
It was pure bliss to stretch out on that thin mattress on those dirty sheet and just wrap my legs and arms around that gorgeous hard body.
Daniel rolled on his back, pulling me over on top of him.
"You pitching or catching?" he asked, he had his legs around my waist, humping upwards into my weight.
"I prefer not to bring sports metaphors into bed with me," I teased.
"Fine!" he huffed with a laugh. "Top or bottom? Fucker or fuckee? Just take your dick and shove it up my ass already!" he growled. My hard on was already rubbing in his seam, passing back and forth over the heat of his hole.
"I've got stuff," I began.
He stopped me with a kiss and kept squirming and fighting, so I got my knees under me and reset my hips. After a few misses, we found the angle. I caught his gasp in my mouth and pulled away to let him breathe and adjust.
"Keep going," he ordered harshly. "God, you're the best idea I had all day."
I grinned down at him.
"Better than being Lucky Pierre in a hayloft somewhere?"
He just groaned and tried to move into my thrust, take more faster.
I'd never done a guy dry, and he was unbearably tight, but not as tight as he should be. I realized he might have loosened himself up some in that shower. I groaned back at him, thinking about it, trying to cram myself inside him. He was chanting yesyesyes, so I figured I must be doing something right.
"No wonder they're all lined up eating your pie," I managed to grunt, my dick finally sliding home, my balls pressed up tight against his ass.
"My pies are widely believed to be the best in three counties," Daniel wheezed a bit, obviously struggling to adjust.
"Any persons of the female persuasion ever tell you that?" I asked him, pulling out a little and pushing back in experimentally. It was almost too much, the mostly-dry tightness. Almost.
"I have… many devotees… of the female… persuasion," Daniel's reply came in breathy moans as I started rocking in and out of him, a little more each time. I finally gave up on the dry fuck, it wasn't going to work for me. I pulled out completely, though he tried to hold me in place with his thighs, and reached back for the pocket of my jeans and the bottle of lube I'd opened and put in there as I was leaving the truck.
"Don't," he protested.
"Trust me, I can make you feel it," I promised him. I set my feet on the floor and pulled his body to me. "I always take the time to satisfy."
Slicked up, I shoved back in viciously hard. Daniel's snort at my cheesy line turned into a shout. He pressed his hands against the wall, biceps defining nicely as he held himself in place. He definitely felt that in his gland and in his balls. With my new leverage I hammered him, and he yelled each time, a mixture of inarticulate grunts, prayers and curses, with my name thrown in occasionally. I could have gone on like that for a lot longer, but he came in a sudden, unexpected explosion, clamping down on my dick hard, spurting white streaks all over himself, and watching his cum splatter his face, I couldn’t resist the tight grip and I pumped into him. It felt so good, just letting myself shoot into a hot hole, not worrying about babies or regulations or condoms, even though I should have. But Daniel didn't care, and somehow I trusted that, even though I shouldn't have.
To my amusement, he passed out cold, hands suddenly lax over his head. I pulled out and he didn't even notice. I let his feet fall over the side of the bed and went into his tiny bathroom for something to clean us up. I stepped into his shower and spent a minute getting the grime of five days of hard driving off me, washed my hair and my cock with his shampoo, brushed my teeth with his toothpaste and my finger, then took the damp washcloth I'd borrowed over to him and wiped him down. He woke up enough to blink at me blearily and scoot onto the bed, resituating himself to lay with his head on the pillow, then he pulled the sheet up, holding it open invitingly. I didn't need to be asked twice, but fell exhausted next to him. He slapped the toggle switch on the bedroom light.
We fell asleep side by side, him on his back, me curled on my side, sharing the pillow.
I woke up at 0430, I knew without checking my watch. I felt restless, closed in, ready to get moving again. Daniel was snoring lightly, still sprawled on his back, with me sleeping mostly on him. I slowly disentangled myself and looked around in the light from the kitchen area for my clothes.
My jeans were right where I left them on the floor. My shirt was on a pile of papers and books on the small kitchen table. I looked them over, stealing a little more information about Daniel. I realized I hadn't asked him anything, and he had volunteered almost nothing. He asked me who I was, and I more or less told him, but I didn't have any idea what a self-described California college boy was doing in a diner in a tiny town in the middle of the American heartland.
Almost none of the texts were in English. Most were in Arabic, and were those scrolls? And there were definitely hieroglyphs on some of the papers. Handwritten notes were scrawled on yellow notepads. A beaten up, well-used laptop was shut under a stack of real paper notebooks.
Daniel wasn't your average short-order cook. His pink work shirt lay incongruously draped over the back of the RV's driver's seat. He didn't seem unhappy, but I felt strongly that he didn't belong here, in this squalid place, doing this menial job. I emptied the cash from my wallet, a couple hundred bucks, and left it on the table.
I had changed my shirt yesterday morning, but after a shower, I wanted to put a clean one back on. With my shirt in my hand, I turned to slip out the front door. I took one last look into the back of the camper, and found Daniel had rolled on to his side under the cover of the sheet and was watching me.
"You came, you saw, you conquered?" he asked with a sad smile. "You know, the 'easy but not free' comment was not intended as a demand for payment."
"I have to hit the road," I said lamely. He was blatantly admiring me. It made me feel good, but self-conscious, to see the appreciation in his eyes.
"Your destiny's your own, Jack," he said, deceptively mildly.
"Places to go," I muttered, then unable to stop the impulse, I took the two steps back to the bed and leaned down over Daniel, kissing him thoroughly. As I stood back up, he caught my wrist. Producing a pen from the depths of the pillowcase, he wrote on my hand, Daniel Jackson 620-571-5988.
I looked up from my hand to see him watching me.
"Bye, Daniel," I said quietly.
"I don't think this is the last you'll see of me," he said in equally quiet response.
"Bye," I repeated, and turned back again, without a backwards glance.
I rummaged in my duffle in the back of the truck and shrugged into a new shirt. I climbed into the cab and headed back towards the interstate.
I couldn't shake the look he left me with. I kept thinking thoughts that shouldn't come into my head, like born to love him and your destiny's your own.
As I drove, his smile was the only thing I could see. No matter how long it was before I gave in and called the number I had already memorized, I knew he had already won.
- I've been out on this highway now
Five days in a row
My words all run together
My feet are movin' slow
I've got to stop and eat
While it's still light
There's a local angel sitting on my right
Do you believe in love at first sight?
Baby, you look good to me tonight
I'm ordinarily very shy
And I'd be polite if I had time
Baby, you look good to me tonight
Tomorrow, I'll be good and gone
Please don't make me wait that long
Baby, you look good to me tonight
I get off at eleven, she said
And walked away
She poured a cup of coffee and
She brought it on a tray
She said, It would be nice if you could stay
You're the best idea I've had all day
Usually I put up a fight but
Baby, you look good to me tonight.
Well I'm ordinarily very shy
But I grinned at her as I ate my pie
Baby, you look good to me tonight
I thought I must be in a dream
When she asked me if I wanted cream
Baby, you look good to me tonight
All in all you know
It's not a bad life on the road
If you've got wheels to roll
And lucky stars above
Your destiny's your own
You go as far as you can go
And if there's time to sleep
There's time to make love
I came, I saw, I conquered
But I rode off in the sun
But I know the look she left with me
Keeps telling me she won
Her face is the only thing I see
Whispering those words of prophesy
I may come easy, but I don't come free
You're never gonna see the last of me
Baby, you look good to me tonight
I was born to love you now can't you see
Baby, you look good to me tonight
I'm ordinarily very shy
But I take the time to satisfy
Baby, you look good to me tonight
- -Words and music by Bill Danoff, but you probably heard it sung by John Denver (though I was listening to the Starland Vocal Band Version when this story snuck up behind me and bashed me over the head)
UPDATE: August, and Everything After.
If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.
This was so cool...
Date: 2009-06-01 11:36 am (UTC)I'm going to try to contain myself... Seriously though, this was great. For some reason, the image of the pink diner shirt just fascinates me. Can't get it out of my head...
You da' best!
Re: This was so cool...
Date: 2009-06-01 01:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 11:38 am (UTC)GIP for you. I'll get back to you later with more of what I loved about this story and you KNOW I don't like AUs like this!!!!!!
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Date: 2009-06-01 01:56 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-06-01 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 04:18 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2009-06-01 08:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 03:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-03 07:20 am (UTC)And hopeful!
Whee!!
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Date: 2009-06-03 10:12 am (UTC)