Assimilation
Title: Assimilation
Author:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Pairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jack is brought to Daniel's tent, as prompted here.
Words: 894
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: Shade. The Matrix is located here.
Daniel sighed as he returned to base camp from the dig site. He had tried to discourage his diggers from their side-economy of abducting French tourists for fun and profit, but especially when folks stumbled right into camp, they fell back into old habits.
“For the love of Allah, Ahsan, why do they keep doing this? Now I’m going to have to apologize to the guy for scaring his kid...” He pushed aside the tent flap and the sun fell onto the face of the man, bound and kneeling in his tent.
“Oh, dear. Maybe I’ll have to keep this one,” he muttered, still in Arabic, drawing a chuckle from Ahsan.
“I heard that,” the man growled.
Daniel blushed.
“My apologies for all this, Daniel said, choosing to brush past the embarrassment and pretend he never said anything. "Ahsan, could you go check on our other guests?" Ahsan made a hasty departure, still chuckling.
"You 'apologize' for terrorizing my sister and nephew at gunpoint, tying us up, and dragging us around?" the man asked, voice dripping sarcasm. His accent was pure US Government language school, all Midwest twang and Egyptian phrasing.
"I'm sorry," Daniel said, in English. "My diggers probably thought you were French. You know how they can be in Tunisia."
He shrugged casually as he opened his pocket knife and walked around behind the man to release his hands from the carefully tied cords. He realized that his legs were bound and cut those ropes as well.
"I'm impressed," he said, "they don't usually bother with the legs. You must have really given them some trouble." He walked across the room to removed the folds of indigo cotton from around his head and lay them on the top of the trunk that held his clothes, doubling as a place to sit. He fluffed out his sweat damp hair, wishing as he always did right after he took off his work clothes, that he could get a shower.
"I'm retired Special Forces. They're lucky none of them are dead," the man replied, in perfect, school book French. "Is this where we negotiate the ransom now?"
Despite his completely understandable hostility, when Daniel turned around he found the man was watching him with obvious, and active, interest.
"That is so fucking sexy," Daniel breathed "What other languages do you speak? Would it be in poor taste for me to suggest that you could buy your freedom with just one good fuck?"
"Yes," the man said. "Very poor taste. And I have a pretty good grasp of Spanish." In fact, he displayed an almost flawless accent, and without the Castilian lisp, so he probably picked it up naturally in the Americas. Probably doing some nasty special ops wet work.
Why was that so hot?
"My name's Daniel," Daniel said. He began unbuttoning his shirt with purpose. "I may be a little skinny, but I'm a fantastic lay. Though it's been forever." He was staring at the other man. Well, mainly at the other man's crotch. The active interest was not going down.
"None of you are prisoners, you know. Ahsan is giving your nephew a tour of the dig site right now. You sister has her own tent."
With something like a snarl, the man was suddenly right there deftly and efficiently opening Daniel's pants. He found himself on his back on the pile of blankets and pillows he used for a bed. He hoped there were no visiting scorpions, because he was suddenly naked, and being folded over and oh God was that his tongue?!
Daniel grabbed a pillow to hold over his face and muffle the embarrassingly loud moans, only to have it ripped out of his hands and thrown away. A large hand clamped over his mouth and something hot and blunt and huge pressed against his hole.
He was taken. Plundered. Crushed.
Finally, they were panting together, side-by-side but not touching, sweaty and cum-covered in the late afternoon heat of the tent.
"I'm Jack, by the way," the man said, in English again.
"Nice to meet you, Jack," Daniel replied. He noticed a slight slur in his own response. Yes, Jack had fucked his brains out, it would seem.
"Likewise," Jack said.
"Sleep now," Daniel muttered.
"Sure," Jack agreed.
And just like that, Jack was asleep. But oddly, Daniel was suddenly more awake.
He propped himself up on an elbow to stare down at Jack. In the dim light inside the tent, Daniel looked at him again. Substantially older than Daniel; short, tidy dark hair starting to gray; long, handsome face; thin lips; crow's feet. He wondered what had brought Jack here, to the shade of Daniel's tent. Then he remembered the sister, and more importantly the nephew, and he knew they must be tourists. So Jack would have another life to go back to. Daniel couldn’t keep him here. But he had said "retired." Maybe he really was.
"Do you always do that after sex? Think like that?" Jack asked him. Suddenly Daniel was staring into the deepest chocolate brown eyes he had ever seen.
"Um…" he answered intelligently.
"You make me think I didn't do my job right," Jack grumbled. He caught Daniel around the shoulders and pulled him down onto his chest. "Sleep now," he ordered.
Lulled by the sound of Jack's breathing and beating heart, Daniel did.
If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.
Author:
muck_a_luck, posting in brainofckPairing: Daniel Jackson/Jack O'Neill
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jack is brought to Daniel's tent, as prompted here.
Words: 894
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: Shade. The Matrix is located here.
Daniel sighed as he returned to base camp from the dig site. He had tried to discourage his diggers from their side-economy of abducting French tourists for fun and profit, but especially when folks stumbled right into camp, they fell back into old habits.
“For the love of Allah, Ahsan, why do they keep doing this? Now I’m going to have to apologize to the guy for scaring his kid...” He pushed aside the tent flap and the sun fell onto the face of the man, bound and kneeling in his tent.
“Oh, dear. Maybe I’ll have to keep this one,” he muttered, still in Arabic, drawing a chuckle from Ahsan.
“I heard that,” the man growled.
Daniel blushed.
“My apologies for all this, Daniel said, choosing to brush past the embarrassment and pretend he never said anything. "Ahsan, could you go check on our other guests?" Ahsan made a hasty departure, still chuckling.
"You 'apologize' for terrorizing my sister and nephew at gunpoint, tying us up, and dragging us around?" the man asked, voice dripping sarcasm. His accent was pure US Government language school, all Midwest twang and Egyptian phrasing.
"I'm sorry," Daniel said, in English. "My diggers probably thought you were French. You know how they can be in Tunisia."
He shrugged casually as he opened his pocket knife and walked around behind the man to release his hands from the carefully tied cords. He realized that his legs were bound and cut those ropes as well.
"I'm impressed," he said, "they don't usually bother with the legs. You must have really given them some trouble." He walked across the room to removed the folds of indigo cotton from around his head and lay them on the top of the trunk that held his clothes, doubling as a place to sit. He fluffed out his sweat damp hair, wishing as he always did right after he took off his work clothes, that he could get a shower.
"I'm retired Special Forces. They're lucky none of them are dead," the man replied, in perfect, school book French. "Is this where we negotiate the ransom now?"
Despite his completely understandable hostility, when Daniel turned around he found the man was watching him with obvious, and active, interest.
"That is so fucking sexy," Daniel breathed "What other languages do you speak? Would it be in poor taste for me to suggest that you could buy your freedom with just one good fuck?"
"Yes," the man said. "Very poor taste. And I have a pretty good grasp of Spanish." In fact, he displayed an almost flawless accent, and without the Castilian lisp, so he probably picked it up naturally in the Americas. Probably doing some nasty special ops wet work.
Why was that so hot?
"My name's Daniel," Daniel said. He began unbuttoning his shirt with purpose. "I may be a little skinny, but I'm a fantastic lay. Though it's been forever." He was staring at the other man. Well, mainly at the other man's crotch. The active interest was not going down.
"None of you are prisoners, you know. Ahsan is giving your nephew a tour of the dig site right now. You sister has her own tent."
With something like a snarl, the man was suddenly right there deftly and efficiently opening Daniel's pants. He found himself on his back on the pile of blankets and pillows he used for a bed. He hoped there were no visiting scorpions, because he was suddenly naked, and being folded over and oh God was that his tongue?!
Daniel grabbed a pillow to hold over his face and muffle the embarrassingly loud moans, only to have it ripped out of his hands and thrown away. A large hand clamped over his mouth and something hot and blunt and huge pressed against his hole.
He was taken. Plundered. Crushed.
Finally, they were panting together, side-by-side but not touching, sweaty and cum-covered in the late afternoon heat of the tent.
"I'm Jack, by the way," the man said, in English again.
"Nice to meet you, Jack," Daniel replied. He noticed a slight slur in his own response. Yes, Jack had fucked his brains out, it would seem.
"Likewise," Jack said.
"Sleep now," Daniel muttered.
"Sure," Jack agreed.
And just like that, Jack was asleep. But oddly, Daniel was suddenly more awake.
He propped himself up on an elbow to stare down at Jack. In the dim light inside the tent, Daniel looked at him again. Substantially older than Daniel; short, tidy dark hair starting to gray; long, handsome face; thin lips; crow's feet. He wondered what had brought Jack here, to the shade of Daniel's tent. Then he remembered the sister, and more importantly the nephew, and he knew they must be tourists. So Jack would have another life to go back to. Daniel couldn’t keep him here. But he had said "retired." Maybe he really was.
"Do you always do that after sex? Think like that?" Jack asked him. Suddenly Daniel was staring into the deepest chocolate brown eyes he had ever seen.
"Um…" he answered intelligently.
"You make me think I didn't do my job right," Jack grumbled. He caught Daniel around the shoulders and pulled him down onto his chest. "Sleep now," he ordered.
Lulled by the sound of Jack's breathing and beating heart, Daniel did.
If you're interested, all my stories, in order, from one page. Also, my fiction recommendations.
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*falls over ded*
great little au snip :) gives me plenty to think about
and the icon is perfect for it! I look forward to more Desert!Daniel stories.
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Would it be in poor taste for me to suggest that you could buy your freedom with just one good fuck?
Maybe ... but effective. :D
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A series - YES!
::do-it, do-it, do-it::
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