Bright, Rich, Sweet: Chapter 5
May. 18th, 2009 08:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brainofckTitle: Bright, Rich, Sweet (5 of 6)
Author:muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck, with special contributions by cocoajava
Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill/Samantha Carter/ Teal'c
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A vampire cannot live by (chicken) blood alone. Jack becomes a vampire.
Content/warnings: Does one warn for bloodplay in a vampire story? Het content, Chapter 3 (incocoajava's journal), Chapter 5 and Chapter 6
Words: Approximately 25,000-30,000 overall, 4300 this part
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, we are certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, we'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. Our journals only.cocoasmut and brainofck
The Matrix: Taste. The Matrix is located here.
Chapter 4
To start from the beginning, click here for Chapter 1.
He woke up with Daniel still half under him, sleeping peacefully. Jack felt hyper-energized and rarely optimistic. He couldn't stop himself from feeling happy and alive and certain that everything about today was going to be good. He studied Daniel's quiet features. The vulnerable, thin skin of his closed eyelids. His long, dark lashes. His slightly parted lips.
He tried to remind himself of Daniel's apparent combined martyr complex and vampire fetish. Didn't matter. It didn't shake his mood.
He then considered that today they were about to walk into a highly-charged complex political scenario where they didn't know all the players, but where Jack could easily project the motivations.
That helped bring him down enough to tear his eyes away from his lover and get into a more useful headspace. This treaty was in many ways the culmination of everything the SGC was working for, and yet, Jack couldn't pretend that today's ceremony was just another diplomatic event. It was a mission in some ways more dangerous than any other to his team. Jack wouldn't even be able to go in there with a tiny pocket knife. In this situation, with so many unknown and unpredictable factors, they were going in half-blind, their only defense intergalactic diplomatic immunity. Jack didn't like it one bit.
When Mal'esh barged in without knocking, Jack was putting a little extra shine on his shoes, but Daniel was sitting in bed blinking in rumpled confusion.
One look at the bite mark on Daniel's neck had Mal'esh smiling in relief. A second look at Jack, who was indeed looking almost completely normal again had him beaming.
"Thank goodness!" he said. "You looked horrible yesterday!"
"Thanks," Jack said gruffly. "You wanna think about knocking next time, buddy?"
"Oh, yes! My apologies! But vampyr... You know... We don't deal with vampyr every day here. They tend to be secretive, private people. I had to be sure that we could proceed with the ceremony today, and if you looked as horrid this morning as you did last night, well..." He shrugged.
"Thanks!" Jack said, much too brightly. Mal'esh got the message.
"I will leave you to prepare for the breakfast. The Marwa Times is anxious for an interview."
"Great," Jack muttered as the man scurried back out the door.
"Grumpy Colonel is grumpy," Daniel said as they joined the procession of VIPs leaving what could only be described as a press breakfast and headed toward the venue for the signature ceremony.
"DanielJackson, I thought we all agreed that the limited vocabulary and redundant grammatical structures of the people of P37-258 were beneath your professional and academic stature," Teal'c reminded him.
Carter giggled.
"Major, I thought we agreed that astrophysicists with P90's don't giggle," Jack grumped.
"They do when they're in short skirts and panty hose, sir," she shot back.
He gave her an appraising look as he stopped himself from fidgeting with his cover. "I so did not join up to attend functions," he agreed.
"Hey, isn't this what you've always hoped for?" Daniel countered. "The opportunity to make useful allies, not just study ancient, dead civilizations?"
"Big honkin' space guns," Jack muttered. "Which, I point out, these people don't actually have. And just because it's all awesome-treaty-time doesn't mean that I have to like putting on a suit.".
"And funny little hat," Carter agreed.
"I see nothing wrong with your attire," Teal'c stated. He was looking very NFL lineman in his fedora and perfectly tailored Armani, Jack couldn't help thinking. Teal'c had a lot of spare dollars and not much to spend them on. Daniel was wearing his black gangster suit. The shirt's collar hid the bite mark that Jack was sure that both Carter and Teal'c had been trying to see earlier.
"Easy for you to say," Jack replied. "You used to spend your business day in armor with a giant snake helmet. A suit must seem like pajamas to you."
Daniel unkindly stepped on the heel of Jack's shoe in retaliation for the comment, but Jack caught the corner of Teal'c's mouth turning up in a tiny hint of a smile.
They passed through the open double doors into the atrium of the building. It was immense, suitably grandiose for the headquarters of a major government department. The impression that they could be anywhere in Washington, DC, made the event familiar and surreal at the same time.
Jack didn't like the look of the security arrangements. The civilian guard detail was in plain-clothes, with bulging armpits under suit jackets, complete with earpieces and sunglasses. Jack had the utmost respect for the Secret Service, but the crowd was too big, the room was too open. There weren't enough agents here to stop a large, well-planned attack.
Jack firmly reminded himself that there would be no large, well-planned attack. The only enemy on this planet were small, disorganized protest groups, none of which had the firepower or strategic intelligence to threaten a venue like this.
"There are no barricades out front," Carter muttered to him. "One fertilizer bomb could take out this entire lobby."
"Thanks for that, Carter. I had just convinced myself that the guys in the suits could handle whatever the terrorists could throw their way," he said.
"Sorry, sir. Force of habit," she replied contritely, as she smiled brightly for the press corps' representatives. Daniel was waving tentatively. Jack put on his best fang-less smile and gave the photographers new material for the kiddies' lunchboxes.
"Colonel O'Neill, when you're ready," Ambassador Rourk prompted through his own smile for the cameras.
Jack nodded and turned to his boys and girl.
"Alright, SG-1. Best behavior. I have to go off and be a superstar now." Jack took one more look around, feeling upside down. He was finding the skylights oppressive. Daniel was glowing at him. He nodded to Teal'c and his fedora and turned to follow the Ambassador. Oh, Jack could so do without this.
He took his place on the stage beside the podium, watching the sea of weird blue people in the auditorium. SG-1 was escorted down the long aisles of seats slightly ahead of the rest of the arriving crowd. They were given spots in the front row. In the context, everything about them screamed alien, from Carter's blond hair to Daniel's wingtips.
The Minister of the Stargate took the podium.
"Good afternoon and welcome all of you who have assembled here today to witness and be part of this historic event. I am honored to represent our entire planet in greeting and embracing the peoples of Earth. Today Zella enters a new epoch. By the signing of this treaty…"
It droned on from there. Ambassador Rourk was presented. Jack himself and SG-1 were recognized and honored. The entire time Jack's Spidey-sense was tingling, telling him that something was off about the audience, the security, everything and that it wasn't just the bright natural light streaming in all around, not just the strange alien hormones and blood components, not just the weird yellow irises and slitted pupils of the Zellans fixed on him.
His eyes shifted over the room again and again.
It was almost a relief when all hell broke loose and he didn't have to wait anymore.
He heard the distinctive sounds of helicopters before the security staff got the word over their earpieces. Jack heard the warning go out. He caught Carter's eye and gave her the head's up. As the attackers came through the windows and skylights, rappelling fast, SG-1 was already moving, heading for the ambassador.
Jack was off the stage in three long steps, launching into the air and latching onto the nearest descending attacker. The guy's eyes widened in shock at Jack's fanged snarl before Jack crushed his windpipe. Jack could see the room erupting all around SG-1. The terrorists were supplying weapons from above to their allies in the crowd below.
"Carter!" Jack bellowed. He threw her his victim's larger firearm, then tucked the Zellan's sidearm into his own waistband. He appraised the situation below again and made a decision. It wouldn't matter if he stayed. The Tauri were the obvious targets of this raid, and SG-1 would be overrun no matter what he did. It looked like security had at least managed to get Ambassador Rourk out. So instead of going down, Jack went up. He climbed the rope hand-over-hand, reaching the roof in seconds.
There were half a dozen flying-machines on the roof, remarkably similar to Earth helicopters. He pulled out his weapon and started taking out the pilots. The action of the Zellan gun was gratifyingly fast and accurate. It was tricky to find a weapon that could keep up with Jack's new ability to acquire a target and fire. Within a minute he had the roof to himself and a bunch of whirly birds to choose from, if it came to that.
Jack collected a small armory's worth of fallen firearms, then dropped to his knees at a broken skylight. It was complete chaos below, civilians screaming and running, pushing and trampling. People injured and dying. The blood smelled different. Harsh, like cleaning fluid or paint. Alien.
Jack was not at all surprised to see that terrorists were already using rope ascenders to lift themselves and SG-1 out of the melee on the auditorium floor towards the roof and their expected airborne getaway.
The impact to his right shoulder came as a complete shock. The force of it twisted him sideways. A second shot caught his thigh. Jack thought the sniper must have a crap sight, even as he tried to get his bearings and find some shelter from a third, possibly better, shot. He belly-crawled behind one of the birds, not the greatest cover, then spotted a hutch on the roof, hiding HVAC or an elevator shaft cap or who the hell cared. Jack went for it, his shoulder and thigh screaming protest, then lay there, flopped, panting on his back in the merciful shade, listening to the scramble of the terrorists pulling themselves and SG-1 onto the rooftop.
He heard them discover their dead pilots, cursing and swearing, but they recovered quickly, finding secondary staff to fly, shoving and manhandling a shouting Daniel into one of the machines and dumping Carter and Teal'c in with him. He could smell the blood of his team. It was almost enough to bring him out of his hidey-hole in a killing rage, but he didn't know if the sniper was still looking for him or if he would be able to take them all with the one heavier gun he had dragged across the roof with him despite the sniper's strikes.
Jack sat up and scurried around the hutch on all-fours, putting it between himself and the whirly-bird, already firing up and getting airborne. He peered around the corner of his shelter. He immediately spotted the sniper on the rooftop of a building about a klik away. He wasn't watching Jack's location anymore, focused instead on wrecking havoc in the stampeding crowd below. Jack took his chance, blasting across the roof. He was slower than he would have liked with the bullet lodged in his thigh and it hurt like a mother-fucker. The wound in his chest didn't feel great either, but it was nothing like when he had been shot before. He made it to the nearest helicopter apparently without anyone noticing him. SG-1's captors were already launched and flying high and fast away from him.
Jack hadn't flown a rotary-wing aircraft in years, though once upon a time he had been certified. He stared at the controls in front of him and hoped like hell the people of this world had solved the engineering problems with flight the same way Earth's inventors had. He hit a couple of likely looking switches and got ignition on the second one. He tried not to be too concerned about what the first switch might have done. He couldn't help thinking it would have been much easier if they had just labeled the various gages and controls with a Latin-based alphabet rather than the Korean looking squiggles and circles, fercryin'outloud.
With a final hope that a vampire couldn't bleed to death (a quick check suggested his blood loss was currently at slow ooze, so okay, not too bad) and a quick prayer to the machine around him, Jack started pressing foot controls.
He got lift fast. He squinted and watched through one eye as he pushed forward on the stick protruding from the dash in front of him. Forward motion, yes! He was lifting and flying and a few more experiments had him twisting and turning and maybe it wasn't riding a bike, but it was close to it. And it made him remember why he preferred jets, but hey, he knew he could get somewhere, and that was what he needed right now. But first, he found that his experimentation with the controls had him flying right over the sniper's position. He leaned out the open door of the helicopter. The gunman turned and raised his weapon. Jack ducked back inside and instead of trying to pick the Zellan off with his own gun, he just swiped him off the roof with the bird's landing skids. If they guy was lucky, he might survive the fall. Jack wished he could have risked trying to knick him with his tail rotor.
He turned the bird and headed after SG-1. They were far ahead of him now. He wasn't sure he would be able to see them at all if it weren't for his preternatural vampire sight. He still had his aviator glasses on. Which was a good thing, or he wouldn't be able to fly anything in this bright, desert sun. The powder blue sand below was just as disconcerting as always. He realized that it had only been about five minutes or so since the first window had cracked above the auditorium. So he wasn't really that far behind them, only a couple of minutes, and as he got a knack for the controls, as the machine started to speak to him, work with him, as every flying machine always had (well, except for that one stupid death glider that was determined to kill him), he pushed a little to make up distance. But once he was sure he wouldn't lose them, he hung back and followed. No sense tipping them off, if he could help it.
The bird's proximity alarms started yowling just before he felt the whole machine shudder.
Shit, was all he had time to think before he was struggling with the controls, trying to manage some kind of survivable landing while his the rotors stuttered. He swore out loud when he smelled leaking fuel. When he got low enough to the ground he had a heartbeat to think he was going way too fast then he jumped for it anyway.
When he came to there was someone kicking him. It hurt. God, it hurt! He figured there was a good chance he had a couple of broken ribs before they started. He gasped and heard his own croaked cry as yet another boot connected with his body. He could smell the anger and grief rolling off their alien blue bodies in waves of hatred.
There was a pause in the fury and he realized that the kicking might have been for emphasis, as there was some sort of argument or debate going on.
"Shut it, Dimont. We can't kill him enough times for everybody he murdered. But maybe we can kill him enough."
Oh, that did not sound good.
Dragging himself out of the depths of pain, Jack moved. He was amazed at what his body could now do; the level of abuse it could now withstand. He made it to his feet and wasn't even too wobbly. Until he felt something crash down on his head from behind and then there was nothing.
The bright light dragged him out of the depths of comforting darkness. They were burning him. He screamed and tried to writhe away from the heat and the light, but it was impossible. His arms and legs were immobile. His eyes were blind in the searing, painful light, covered with clouded cataracts that let the brightness in, but nothing else. His tongue was swollen. He felt the course, dry, hot, sandy dirt grinding into his cracking, frying skin. His skin was pulling in on itself, stretching and breaking. He screamed and screamed and screamed, even as he heard his screams die to whispers die to nothing in the horrible, horrible light.
He woke up again in cool darkness. He thought maybe his eyes were still blind. He could usually see in the dark.
He was resting against Daniel. He knew from the beat of his friend's familiar pulse, even before he felt the silk of his skin or smelled his beloved scent.
He heard his own whimper.
Daniel shushed him.
"Sam," Daniel murmured, soft and gentle, but urgent.
Then Carter was hushing him, too.
"Drink," she said, and he felt blood drip onto his lips. He knew the bright taste of it before it touched his tongue. Her blood. He wanted to say no, Daniel was bad enough, never Carter, but he was too weak to turn his head away. Daniel was holding him, solid as stone, soft as down, and Jack drank Carter's blood.
He felt how they were oriented, with his broken abused body lying over Daniel like a mattress. Carter was climbing on top of him, settling with her pelvis locked against his. Only at the shock of the familiar, moist heat of a woman against him did he realize she was naked, Daniel was naked, they were both there, and he knew what they were planning. She pressed her wrist against his mouth.
"Daniel, what if he can't…" Carter began. Traitor, but she was right. He couldn't imagine getting it up, under the circumstances. He wondered exactly how bad it was if their naked bodies and throbbing blood, circulating all around him, couldn't get him hard. A couple of bullet wounds, a fall from a crashing helicopter, a good beating, a bash over the head, frying in the sun; eventually it takes it's toll on the undead, ya know?
"No, Major, get off now," he wanted to order her, but his mouth was full of blood.
"We'll improvise," Daniel said reassuringly. She was already feeling the effects of the vampire glamor, shifting against Jack's unresponsive body restively.
Daniel started movinging him, and Carter lifted her weight off them. The pain of Daniel's grip on his skin was drowned in Carter's blood bathing his parched, ravaged throat.
"Stay like that," Daniel ordered her breathlessly. He was manipulating Jack's limp, almost completely unresponsive body, and then Jack knew why. As Daniel's erection pressed into the seam of Jack's ass, he gave another whimper against Carter's wrist, but he wasn't sure himself if it was a protest or a plea. Apparently, even if he couldn't get it up, he could still get fucked. His body was relaxing and opening for Daniel despite the fact that there was only Daniel's precum for lube.
"Sorry," Daniel was whispering into his ear, even as Jack's internal muscles gave way without any resistance and he was completely impaled in one long, fast stroke. All three of them gasped, and Carter was back on them without a pause.
Jack was sucking hard on her arm now and she was wet and even hotter. Her blood flowed over his tongue. He could feel it soothing his flayed skin, easing the burning in his eyes. Slowly, he realized that it wasn't pitch black. Greys and shadows came back to him. He realized her blood was healing his sunblindness, too.
His chest and thigh and ribs still burned and throbbed, but he could distinguish them now from the general mass of pain that had enveloped him.
"SamanthaCarter," came a quiet, insistent voice. "He has taken enough from you. You must stop."
He felt Teal'c's lifeblood so near. He knew now that the Jaffa's exotic flavors were beyond him. He couldn't drink.
"Teal'c, let her finish the cycle," Daniel said, just as Teal'c's strong hand wrapped firmly around Carter's forearm.
The shock of the contact hit all of them. A dry orgasm of pure blood and power flooded through him. He felt Daniel stiffen, and Carter yelled. Teal'c gave a startled grunt and dropped out of his crouch to his knees at Carter's side. Jack made his jaws unlock to release her from his bite. Funny, he couldn’t remember biting her.
"Sam, Sam," he realized Daniel was repeating from the bottom of the suddenly very heavy pile.
Teal'c rebounded quickly, murmuring soothingly to Carter in his own language, and gently lifting her away. She caught her own weight on her feet and staggered a few yards away in the darkness before she sat hard on her naked butt and leaned her forehead on her bent knees. Teal'c stood beside her, shaking off the daze of the surprise orgasm and resuming watching the night.
With a new clarity, Jack realized they were still right where he had been all day, lying out under the open sky. There was the silohouette of an alien flying machine looming over them. He could smell the still-smoldering wreckage of his own helicopter.
And Daniel was still hard inside him. He snaked his arm around, pressing his pulse against Jack's lips.
"More, Jack," Daniel urged him. Daniel's blood. Again.
He sank into Daniel, and welcomed Daniel into himself. He focused his attention on where he and Daniel were joined, willed away the pain of everything else. He drank.
The power was building again rapidly, looping back and forth between them in a mobius strip, reverberating and vibrating. He didn't know how Daniel had held out the first time, but he didn't hold out much longer. His orgasm swamped them while Jack was still feeding and Jack didn't stop. He drank and drank, and the glow of the power ran out through his arms and legs, filled his chest, expanded his consciousness, so that he felt Carter's wet cunt throbbing in sympathy to the second orgasm, felt the low groan in Teal'c's chest, felt the weight of the helicopter on the ground beside them, felt the heat of the dead machine farther away, felt the whole sandy wasteland, all the inhabitants of this weird, blue planet.
Teal'c intervened again, carefully removing Daniel's arm from Jack's grasp. This time he broke the loop, even as he set off aftershocks in all four of them. Jack let Daniel go, didn't fight Teal'c's judgment that Daniel had given enough. He found he had the strength to roll away. The slide of Daniel's soft, spent dick and the following rush of fluid onto his flesh left him shivering as Teal'c spoke to Daniel.
"Yeah, yeah," Daniel said shakily as Teal'c helped him to sit. "Jack?" he asked worriedly.
"Just catching my breath," Jack grated out. Teal'c's hands were on him, lifting him, carrying him to the helicopter.
"Good work, team," he said weakly, unable to give the statement the right amount of irony. Carter laughed. It should have been nervous, but it was just light and clear in the embracing darkness. Teal'c was pulling and tugging at him, putting clothes on him, he realized. As he focused and tried to help, he realized they were his own Class A's, retrieved from where they had been thrown aside. He gave a wheezy little laugh of his own at the idea of pulling the uniform over his bloody body, especially his filthy, semen coated ass.
Daniel staggered into view, half-dressed. He wore slacks. The suit jacket was hanging off of him, but his feet and chest were bare. Carter, who'd lost her hosiery, but otherwise looked practically spit and polish, aside from the blood everywhere, stepped up to him and offered him his shirt and glasses. Daniel wrapped his arms around her and just held her for a moment. She collapsed against him with another light laugh. Teal'c was buttoning Jack's shirt. He batted the big man's hands away and finished the task himself.
"As usual, SG-1 wins because the bad guys are so damned stupid," Daniel commented, coming to stand over him. It was too dark for Daniel to really see anything. Jack could see the little wrinkle of worry between his eyes.
"Hey!" Carter objected from the pilot's seat.
"Sam, anybody who ties me up, but leaves you with your hands free is an idiot. There is nothing to debate."
"Yeah, well, I want a little credit for skill and initiative," she said warmly. "OK. I don't think we should fly back too close to the city in the terrorists' own helicopter. We'll have to find some place to put down closer to civilization and if nobody notices us Teal'c and I can walk the rest and send the cavalry back for you guys."
He no longer felt like he would die in this desert. He was a mess. He could feel every broken bone and the two bullet wounds and the knot on the back of his skull. But with the power pulsing through him, in syncopated rhythm to the combined heartbeats of SG-1, he felt strong enough to walk back to the infirmary if he had to. And he didn't.
"They're coming already," Jack informed them, staring up at the strange stars above him and hearing four, possibly five, responding helicopters, flying in fast from the west.
Teal'c and Daniel pulled him to his feet and his ribs and every fracture in his body screamed, but they were on their way home.
Chapter 6
If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.
Author:
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck, with special contributions by cocoajava Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill, Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill/Samantha Carter/ Teal'c
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A vampire cannot live by (chicken) blood alone. Jack becomes a vampire.
Content/warnings: Does one warn for bloodplay in a vampire story? Het content, Chapter 3 (in
cocoajava's journal), Chapter 5 and Chapter 6Words: Approximately 25,000-30,000 overall, 4300 this part
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, we are certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, we'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. Our journals only.
cocoasmut and brainofckThe Matrix: Taste. The Matrix is located here.
Chapter 4
To start from the beginning, click here for Chapter 1.
He woke up with Daniel still half under him, sleeping peacefully. Jack felt hyper-energized and rarely optimistic. He couldn't stop himself from feeling happy and alive and certain that everything about today was going to be good. He studied Daniel's quiet features. The vulnerable, thin skin of his closed eyelids. His long, dark lashes. His slightly parted lips.
He tried to remind himself of Daniel's apparent combined martyr complex and vampire fetish. Didn't matter. It didn't shake his mood.
He then considered that today they were about to walk into a highly-charged complex political scenario where they didn't know all the players, but where Jack could easily project the motivations.
That helped bring him down enough to tear his eyes away from his lover and get into a more useful headspace. This treaty was in many ways the culmination of everything the SGC was working for, and yet, Jack couldn't pretend that today's ceremony was just another diplomatic event. It was a mission in some ways more dangerous than any other to his team. Jack wouldn't even be able to go in there with a tiny pocket knife. In this situation, with so many unknown and unpredictable factors, they were going in half-blind, their only defense intergalactic diplomatic immunity. Jack didn't like it one bit.
When Mal'esh barged in without knocking, Jack was putting a little extra shine on his shoes, but Daniel was sitting in bed blinking in rumpled confusion.
One look at the bite mark on Daniel's neck had Mal'esh smiling in relief. A second look at Jack, who was indeed looking almost completely normal again had him beaming.
"Thank goodness!" he said. "You looked horrible yesterday!"
"Thanks," Jack said gruffly. "You wanna think about knocking next time, buddy?"
"Oh, yes! My apologies! But vampyr... You know... We don't deal with vampyr every day here. They tend to be secretive, private people. I had to be sure that we could proceed with the ceremony today, and if you looked as horrid this morning as you did last night, well..." He shrugged.
"Thanks!" Jack said, much too brightly. Mal'esh got the message.
"I will leave you to prepare for the breakfast. The Marwa Times is anxious for an interview."
"Great," Jack muttered as the man scurried back out the door.
"Grumpy Colonel is grumpy," Daniel said as they joined the procession of VIPs leaving what could only be described as a press breakfast and headed toward the venue for the signature ceremony.
"DanielJackson, I thought we all agreed that the limited vocabulary and redundant grammatical structures of the people of P37-258 were beneath your professional and academic stature," Teal'c reminded him.
Carter giggled.
"Major, I thought we agreed that astrophysicists with P90's don't giggle," Jack grumped.
"They do when they're in short skirts and panty hose, sir," she shot back.
He gave her an appraising look as he stopped himself from fidgeting with his cover. "I so did not join up to attend functions," he agreed.
"Hey, isn't this what you've always hoped for?" Daniel countered. "The opportunity to make useful allies, not just study ancient, dead civilizations?"
"Big honkin' space guns," Jack muttered. "Which, I point out, these people don't actually have. And just because it's all awesome-treaty-time doesn't mean that I have to like putting on a suit.".
"And funny little hat," Carter agreed.
"I see nothing wrong with your attire," Teal'c stated. He was looking very NFL lineman in his fedora and perfectly tailored Armani, Jack couldn't help thinking. Teal'c had a lot of spare dollars and not much to spend them on. Daniel was wearing his black gangster suit. The shirt's collar hid the bite mark that Jack was sure that both Carter and Teal'c had been trying to see earlier.
"Easy for you to say," Jack replied. "You used to spend your business day in armor with a giant snake helmet. A suit must seem like pajamas to you."
Daniel unkindly stepped on the heel of Jack's shoe in retaliation for the comment, but Jack caught the corner of Teal'c's mouth turning up in a tiny hint of a smile.
They passed through the open double doors into the atrium of the building. It was immense, suitably grandiose for the headquarters of a major government department. The impression that they could be anywhere in Washington, DC, made the event familiar and surreal at the same time.
Jack didn't like the look of the security arrangements. The civilian guard detail was in plain-clothes, with bulging armpits under suit jackets, complete with earpieces and sunglasses. Jack had the utmost respect for the Secret Service, but the crowd was too big, the room was too open. There weren't enough agents here to stop a large, well-planned attack.
Jack firmly reminded himself that there would be no large, well-planned attack. The only enemy on this planet were small, disorganized protest groups, none of which had the firepower or strategic intelligence to threaten a venue like this.
"There are no barricades out front," Carter muttered to him. "One fertilizer bomb could take out this entire lobby."
"Thanks for that, Carter. I had just convinced myself that the guys in the suits could handle whatever the terrorists could throw their way," he said.
"Sorry, sir. Force of habit," she replied contritely, as she smiled brightly for the press corps' representatives. Daniel was waving tentatively. Jack put on his best fang-less smile and gave the photographers new material for the kiddies' lunchboxes.
"Colonel O'Neill, when you're ready," Ambassador Rourk prompted through his own smile for the cameras.
Jack nodded and turned to his boys and girl.
"Alright, SG-1. Best behavior. I have to go off and be a superstar now." Jack took one more look around, feeling upside down. He was finding the skylights oppressive. Daniel was glowing at him. He nodded to Teal'c and his fedora and turned to follow the Ambassador. Oh, Jack could so do without this.
He took his place on the stage beside the podium, watching the sea of weird blue people in the auditorium. SG-1 was escorted down the long aisles of seats slightly ahead of the rest of the arriving crowd. They were given spots in the front row. In the context, everything about them screamed alien, from Carter's blond hair to Daniel's wingtips.
The Minister of the Stargate took the podium.
"Good afternoon and welcome all of you who have assembled here today to witness and be part of this historic event. I am honored to represent our entire planet in greeting and embracing the peoples of Earth. Today Zella enters a new epoch. By the signing of this treaty…"
It droned on from there. Ambassador Rourk was presented. Jack himself and SG-1 were recognized and honored. The entire time Jack's Spidey-sense was tingling, telling him that something was off about the audience, the security, everything and that it wasn't just the bright natural light streaming in all around, not just the strange alien hormones and blood components, not just the weird yellow irises and slitted pupils of the Zellans fixed on him.
His eyes shifted over the room again and again.
It was almost a relief when all hell broke loose and he didn't have to wait anymore.
He heard the distinctive sounds of helicopters before the security staff got the word over their earpieces. Jack heard the warning go out. He caught Carter's eye and gave her the head's up. As the attackers came through the windows and skylights, rappelling fast, SG-1 was already moving, heading for the ambassador.
Jack was off the stage in three long steps, launching into the air and latching onto the nearest descending attacker. The guy's eyes widened in shock at Jack's fanged snarl before Jack crushed his windpipe. Jack could see the room erupting all around SG-1. The terrorists were supplying weapons from above to their allies in the crowd below.
"Carter!" Jack bellowed. He threw her his victim's larger firearm, then tucked the Zellan's sidearm into his own waistband. He appraised the situation below again and made a decision. It wouldn't matter if he stayed. The Tauri were the obvious targets of this raid, and SG-1 would be overrun no matter what he did. It looked like security had at least managed to get Ambassador Rourk out. So instead of going down, Jack went up. He climbed the rope hand-over-hand, reaching the roof in seconds.
There were half a dozen flying-machines on the roof, remarkably similar to Earth helicopters. He pulled out his weapon and started taking out the pilots. The action of the Zellan gun was gratifyingly fast and accurate. It was tricky to find a weapon that could keep up with Jack's new ability to acquire a target and fire. Within a minute he had the roof to himself and a bunch of whirly birds to choose from, if it came to that.
Jack collected a small armory's worth of fallen firearms, then dropped to his knees at a broken skylight. It was complete chaos below, civilians screaming and running, pushing and trampling. People injured and dying. The blood smelled different. Harsh, like cleaning fluid or paint. Alien.
Jack was not at all surprised to see that terrorists were already using rope ascenders to lift themselves and SG-1 out of the melee on the auditorium floor towards the roof and their expected airborne getaway.
The impact to his right shoulder came as a complete shock. The force of it twisted him sideways. A second shot caught his thigh. Jack thought the sniper must have a crap sight, even as he tried to get his bearings and find some shelter from a third, possibly better, shot. He belly-crawled behind one of the birds, not the greatest cover, then spotted a hutch on the roof, hiding HVAC or an elevator shaft cap or who the hell cared. Jack went for it, his shoulder and thigh screaming protest, then lay there, flopped, panting on his back in the merciful shade, listening to the scramble of the terrorists pulling themselves and SG-1 onto the rooftop.
He heard them discover their dead pilots, cursing and swearing, but they recovered quickly, finding secondary staff to fly, shoving and manhandling a shouting Daniel into one of the machines and dumping Carter and Teal'c in with him. He could smell the blood of his team. It was almost enough to bring him out of his hidey-hole in a killing rage, but he didn't know if the sniper was still looking for him or if he would be able to take them all with the one heavier gun he had dragged across the roof with him despite the sniper's strikes.
Jack sat up and scurried around the hutch on all-fours, putting it between himself and the whirly-bird, already firing up and getting airborne. He peered around the corner of his shelter. He immediately spotted the sniper on the rooftop of a building about a klik away. He wasn't watching Jack's location anymore, focused instead on wrecking havoc in the stampeding crowd below. Jack took his chance, blasting across the roof. He was slower than he would have liked with the bullet lodged in his thigh and it hurt like a mother-fucker. The wound in his chest didn't feel great either, but it was nothing like when he had been shot before. He made it to the nearest helicopter apparently without anyone noticing him. SG-1's captors were already launched and flying high and fast away from him.
Jack hadn't flown a rotary-wing aircraft in years, though once upon a time he had been certified. He stared at the controls in front of him and hoped like hell the people of this world had solved the engineering problems with flight the same way Earth's inventors had. He hit a couple of likely looking switches and got ignition on the second one. He tried not to be too concerned about what the first switch might have done. He couldn't help thinking it would have been much easier if they had just labeled the various gages and controls with a Latin-based alphabet rather than the Korean looking squiggles and circles, fercryin'outloud.
With a final hope that a vampire couldn't bleed to death (a quick check suggested his blood loss was currently at slow ooze, so okay, not too bad) and a quick prayer to the machine around him, Jack started pressing foot controls.
He got lift fast. He squinted and watched through one eye as he pushed forward on the stick protruding from the dash in front of him. Forward motion, yes! He was lifting and flying and a few more experiments had him twisting and turning and maybe it wasn't riding a bike, but it was close to it. And it made him remember why he preferred jets, but hey, he knew he could get somewhere, and that was what he needed right now. But first, he found that his experimentation with the controls had him flying right over the sniper's position. He leaned out the open door of the helicopter. The gunman turned and raised his weapon. Jack ducked back inside and instead of trying to pick the Zellan off with his own gun, he just swiped him off the roof with the bird's landing skids. If they guy was lucky, he might survive the fall. Jack wished he could have risked trying to knick him with his tail rotor.
He turned the bird and headed after SG-1. They were far ahead of him now. He wasn't sure he would be able to see them at all if it weren't for his preternatural vampire sight. He still had his aviator glasses on. Which was a good thing, or he wouldn't be able to fly anything in this bright, desert sun. The powder blue sand below was just as disconcerting as always. He realized that it had only been about five minutes or so since the first window had cracked above the auditorium. So he wasn't really that far behind them, only a couple of minutes, and as he got a knack for the controls, as the machine started to speak to him, work with him, as every flying machine always had (well, except for that one stupid death glider that was determined to kill him), he pushed a little to make up distance. But once he was sure he wouldn't lose them, he hung back and followed. No sense tipping them off, if he could help it.
The bird's proximity alarms started yowling just before he felt the whole machine shudder.
Shit, was all he had time to think before he was struggling with the controls, trying to manage some kind of survivable landing while his the rotors stuttered. He swore out loud when he smelled leaking fuel. When he got low enough to the ground he had a heartbeat to think he was going way too fast then he jumped for it anyway.
When he came to there was someone kicking him. It hurt. God, it hurt! He figured there was a good chance he had a couple of broken ribs before they started. He gasped and heard his own croaked cry as yet another boot connected with his body. He could smell the anger and grief rolling off their alien blue bodies in waves of hatred.
There was a pause in the fury and he realized that the kicking might have been for emphasis, as there was some sort of argument or debate going on.
"Shut it, Dimont. We can't kill him enough times for everybody he murdered. But maybe we can kill him enough."
Oh, that did not sound good.
Dragging himself out of the depths of pain, Jack moved. He was amazed at what his body could now do; the level of abuse it could now withstand. He made it to his feet and wasn't even too wobbly. Until he felt something crash down on his head from behind and then there was nothing.
The bright light dragged him out of the depths of comforting darkness. They were burning him. He screamed and tried to writhe away from the heat and the light, but it was impossible. His arms and legs were immobile. His eyes were blind in the searing, painful light, covered with clouded cataracts that let the brightness in, but nothing else. His tongue was swollen. He felt the course, dry, hot, sandy dirt grinding into his cracking, frying skin. His skin was pulling in on itself, stretching and breaking. He screamed and screamed and screamed, even as he heard his screams die to whispers die to nothing in the horrible, horrible light.
He woke up again in cool darkness. He thought maybe his eyes were still blind. He could usually see in the dark.
He was resting against Daniel. He knew from the beat of his friend's familiar pulse, even before he felt the silk of his skin or smelled his beloved scent.
He heard his own whimper.
Daniel shushed him.
"Sam," Daniel murmured, soft and gentle, but urgent.
Then Carter was hushing him, too.
"Drink," she said, and he felt blood drip onto his lips. He knew the bright taste of it before it touched his tongue. Her blood. He wanted to say no, Daniel was bad enough, never Carter, but he was too weak to turn his head away. Daniel was holding him, solid as stone, soft as down, and Jack drank Carter's blood.
He felt how they were oriented, with his broken abused body lying over Daniel like a mattress. Carter was climbing on top of him, settling with her pelvis locked against his. Only at the shock of the familiar, moist heat of a woman against him did he realize she was naked, Daniel was naked, they were both there, and he knew what they were planning. She pressed her wrist against his mouth.
"Daniel, what if he can't…" Carter began. Traitor, but she was right. He couldn't imagine getting it up, under the circumstances. He wondered exactly how bad it was if their naked bodies and throbbing blood, circulating all around him, couldn't get him hard. A couple of bullet wounds, a fall from a crashing helicopter, a good beating, a bash over the head, frying in the sun; eventually it takes it's toll on the undead, ya know?
"No, Major, get off now," he wanted to order her, but his mouth was full of blood.
"We'll improvise," Daniel said reassuringly. She was already feeling the effects of the vampire glamor, shifting against Jack's unresponsive body restively.
Daniel started movinging him, and Carter lifted her weight off them. The pain of Daniel's grip on his skin was drowned in Carter's blood bathing his parched, ravaged throat.
"Stay like that," Daniel ordered her breathlessly. He was manipulating Jack's limp, almost completely unresponsive body, and then Jack knew why. As Daniel's erection pressed into the seam of Jack's ass, he gave another whimper against Carter's wrist, but he wasn't sure himself if it was a protest or a plea. Apparently, even if he couldn't get it up, he could still get fucked. His body was relaxing and opening for Daniel despite the fact that there was only Daniel's precum for lube.
"Sorry," Daniel was whispering into his ear, even as Jack's internal muscles gave way without any resistance and he was completely impaled in one long, fast stroke. All three of them gasped, and Carter was back on them without a pause.
Jack was sucking hard on her arm now and she was wet and even hotter. Her blood flowed over his tongue. He could feel it soothing his flayed skin, easing the burning in his eyes. Slowly, he realized that it wasn't pitch black. Greys and shadows came back to him. He realized her blood was healing his sunblindness, too.
His chest and thigh and ribs still burned and throbbed, but he could distinguish them now from the general mass of pain that had enveloped him.
"SamanthaCarter," came a quiet, insistent voice. "He has taken enough from you. You must stop."
He felt Teal'c's lifeblood so near. He knew now that the Jaffa's exotic flavors were beyond him. He couldn't drink.
"Teal'c, let her finish the cycle," Daniel said, just as Teal'c's strong hand wrapped firmly around Carter's forearm.
The shock of the contact hit all of them. A dry orgasm of pure blood and power flooded through him. He felt Daniel stiffen, and Carter yelled. Teal'c gave a startled grunt and dropped out of his crouch to his knees at Carter's side. Jack made his jaws unlock to release her from his bite. Funny, he couldn’t remember biting her.
"Sam, Sam," he realized Daniel was repeating from the bottom of the suddenly very heavy pile.
Teal'c rebounded quickly, murmuring soothingly to Carter in his own language, and gently lifting her away. She caught her own weight on her feet and staggered a few yards away in the darkness before she sat hard on her naked butt and leaned her forehead on her bent knees. Teal'c stood beside her, shaking off the daze of the surprise orgasm and resuming watching the night.
With a new clarity, Jack realized they were still right where he had been all day, lying out under the open sky. There was the silohouette of an alien flying machine looming over them. He could smell the still-smoldering wreckage of his own helicopter.
And Daniel was still hard inside him. He snaked his arm around, pressing his pulse against Jack's lips.
"More, Jack," Daniel urged him. Daniel's blood. Again.
He sank into Daniel, and welcomed Daniel into himself. He focused his attention on where he and Daniel were joined, willed away the pain of everything else. He drank.
The power was building again rapidly, looping back and forth between them in a mobius strip, reverberating and vibrating. He didn't know how Daniel had held out the first time, but he didn't hold out much longer. His orgasm swamped them while Jack was still feeding and Jack didn't stop. He drank and drank, and the glow of the power ran out through his arms and legs, filled his chest, expanded his consciousness, so that he felt Carter's wet cunt throbbing in sympathy to the second orgasm, felt the low groan in Teal'c's chest, felt the weight of the helicopter on the ground beside them, felt the heat of the dead machine farther away, felt the whole sandy wasteland, all the inhabitants of this weird, blue planet.
Teal'c intervened again, carefully removing Daniel's arm from Jack's grasp. This time he broke the loop, even as he set off aftershocks in all four of them. Jack let Daniel go, didn't fight Teal'c's judgment that Daniel had given enough. He found he had the strength to roll away. The slide of Daniel's soft, spent dick and the following rush of fluid onto his flesh left him shivering as Teal'c spoke to Daniel.
"Yeah, yeah," Daniel said shakily as Teal'c helped him to sit. "Jack?" he asked worriedly.
"Just catching my breath," Jack grated out. Teal'c's hands were on him, lifting him, carrying him to the helicopter.
"Good work, team," he said weakly, unable to give the statement the right amount of irony. Carter laughed. It should have been nervous, but it was just light and clear in the embracing darkness. Teal'c was pulling and tugging at him, putting clothes on him, he realized. As he focused and tried to help, he realized they were his own Class A's, retrieved from where they had been thrown aside. He gave a wheezy little laugh of his own at the idea of pulling the uniform over his bloody body, especially his filthy, semen coated ass.
Daniel staggered into view, half-dressed. He wore slacks. The suit jacket was hanging off of him, but his feet and chest were bare. Carter, who'd lost her hosiery, but otherwise looked practically spit and polish, aside from the blood everywhere, stepped up to him and offered him his shirt and glasses. Daniel wrapped his arms around her and just held her for a moment. She collapsed against him with another light laugh. Teal'c was buttoning Jack's shirt. He batted the big man's hands away and finished the task himself.
"As usual, SG-1 wins because the bad guys are so damned stupid," Daniel commented, coming to stand over him. It was too dark for Daniel to really see anything. Jack could see the little wrinkle of worry between his eyes.
"Hey!" Carter objected from the pilot's seat.
"Sam, anybody who ties me up, but leaves you with your hands free is an idiot. There is nothing to debate."
"Yeah, well, I want a little credit for skill and initiative," she said warmly. "OK. I don't think we should fly back too close to the city in the terrorists' own helicopter. We'll have to find some place to put down closer to civilization and if nobody notices us Teal'c and I can walk the rest and send the cavalry back for you guys."
He no longer felt like he would die in this desert. He was a mess. He could feel every broken bone and the two bullet wounds and the knot on the back of his skull. But with the power pulsing through him, in syncopated rhythm to the combined heartbeats of SG-1, he felt strong enough to walk back to the infirmary if he had to. And he didn't.
"They're coming already," Jack informed them, staring up at the strange stars above him and hearing four, possibly five, responding helicopters, flying in fast from the west.
Teal'c and Daniel pulled him to his feet and his ribs and every fracture in his body screamed, but they were on their way home.
Chapter 6
If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.
