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sid and I are sad. :-(We have both finished long fics and face an aching void of emptiness. (Heh, purple prose ftw!)
So we want to have fun. We want to smile.
The solution? The Summer 2009 Jack/Daniel Smile-athon ... son, or daughter, of Baby-athon, or maybe a distant cousin twice removed.
We want fics, screencaps, art, icons, anything that involves Jack and Daniel being happy. Happy for each other, happy with their team, happy together, quietly happy, raucously happy, friendship-happy, cracktastically happy, slashtastically, porniliciously happy ... just HAPPY. Oh, and if calling each other 'baby' makes them happy, then so be it. *g*
Post here, or post at your place and link. Comment here, or via Open ID or anonymously if you like (add your name to the post if you want to. It's nice to know you've dropped by!).
This will run from today until the end of Sunday, whenever that is in your part of the world. (I'll be tucked up fast asleep by the time the end rolls around, I think)
At the conclusion, we'll compile a masterlist, so that you can access all the Jack/Daniel goodness in one delicious set of linkage.
Please. Make
sid and I less sad. Turn our collective frown upside down.Smiles across the miles, people!
*sits back and peers anxiously into the ether*
Tags:
He’s waiting now, watching, ready to make his move when he sees it.
It’s not predictable in its timing. It’s not as reliable as “insert tab A into slot B and C happens.” Daniel’s response is never by the book, even if it’s a book he’s written, complete with a dedication that reads, “For Jack, who is mine as I am his.”
They’re in their new bed in their new house and already it’s seen more action than Daniel’s apartment bed saw in three years, or so Daniel said when he pushed Jack down into the already-rumpled sheets half an hour ago.
Jack breathes deeply, lets his gaze roam over Daniel’s body. Daniel’s stunning, sweat-sheened body that is moving above him in a rhythm of Daniel’s making. Daniel’s abs ripple and contract in a seductive ebb and flow as he moves on Jack’s lube-slicked cock; up and down, controlled, sure, steady. He’s riding him hard, back arching slightly as he shifts the angle to take him deeper. Unbelievably fucking sexy.
Jack thinks of pre-flight check procedures, counts from 100 backwards, gets to 96 bottles of beer on the wall, tries and fails to think of anything but coming because he hasn’t seen it yet - that moment - and he’s not coming until he sees it.
Daniel shudders, moans, throws his head back, says, “Oh, christ, Jack, yeah, yeah, fuck, hnnnng.” The linguist losing the fallatus to speak properly is a thing of beauty. Jack smiles. Any time now ...
Jack allows his eyes to graze Daniel’s body some more. It’s never a hardship and it never gets old, even though he knows this body as well as he knows his own. He knows and loves every scar, every imperfection, which all go to make his body more beautiful and achingly vulnerable. Perfect imperfection. Jack loves it, craves it, needs it.
“Ahh, push. Harder, harder, fuck me, hard, make me feel it. Jack ... come on ...”
Oh, getting pushy, getting demanding, getting there.
Jack grunts, hits 88 bottles of beer and pushes in deeper, harder, faster. Daniel’s given up control. They’re jolting to Jack’s rhythm now. It’s a seamless shift of the dynamic. It happens as thoughtlessly as they share a bottle of Bud without wiping the rim. It happens. Naturally. Easily.
And, oh, this feels so fucking good. He’s at 75 bottles and counting and he thinks if he fucks Daniel any harder he’ll lose himself in there, lose himself in Daniel. And god, who is he kidding ... he did that years ago. Years before three day ago, when he married Daniel before any deity who may have been watching, along with the people they call family.
Jack closes his eyes and remembers Daniel holding him close when Jack’s tears spilled as he struggled with his vows. “I love you, you sentimental old bastard. Just get through this and Walter’s speech and I promise we’ll go home and spend our fucking honeymoon doing nothing but fucking.” And Jack had smiled, pulled away and said the words.
Words seem to be deserting them both now.
Jack opens his eyes. He can’t afford to wallow in memory if he’s to catch the moment. There’s a low moan coming from Daniel’s throat. It’s continuous, sexy as hell and sends an immediate “Push right in hard and stay there, hard, hard” message to Jack’s cock.
Daniel is touching himself, playing with his leaking cock with his right hand; three fingers stroking his own cock flat against his belly. In contrast, his other hand is lazily sweeping figures of eight across his own chest, the backs of his fingers grazing tight, erect nipples.
“Yeah,” Jack says, harsh and low. “Yeah, Daniel, play with yourself. Touch. Let me see that.”
“Yeah,” Daniel echoes on a quiet breath. He pinches a nipple, bites his bottom lip to conceal a brief flash of delicious, sharp pain. Jack sees it and his cock hardens and twitches and Daniel lets out a stifled, “Fuck” as Daniel feels it inside.
Jesus, Daniel, I’ve gotta come soon, baby, please just ...
And there it is.
Daniel arches his back further and holds still, so still that his body resonates with the tremors in his muscles, and, in total contrast, his mouth goes lax. Jack has no idea how he does that. How one part of his body acts in counterpoint to the rest. But it does. Daniel breathes out, once, twice, makes a beautiful sound that is a cross between “Ah” and “Oh” and he smiles. It’s a smile that says, “I made it. I’m here. You’re here. Look at what you do to me. I love you.”
It’s a smile of relief and affirmation, and it’s a smile that only Jack ever sees.
That perfect moment, when Daniel is at peace with himself and in love with Jack, is all Jack needs. He grunts a warning and shoots hard and high up into Daniel. Again and again. His body curls in on itself - the pleasure is almost too much - and he feels Daniel’s hand on the back of his neck, petting, stroking, supporting and holding him in place.
“Watch me, watch me,” Daniel whispers, breathlessly, urgently. So he watches Daniel come; sees the semen spurt in white stripes, coaxed from Daniel’s body by shaking fingers. His cock is so, so beautiful. Jack wants to cradle and adore it. He longs to take it in his mouth and kiss it to softness. Instead, he burns the sight into his retinas to hold forever, superimposed over the curve of smile. That smile. The one that says everything about how much Jack is loved and wanted.
Daniel’s orgasm goes on and on and it moves and delights Jack, just as it does every single time. Daniel is still moaning his completion when he strokes Jack’s neck for one last time and lets go, allowing Jack to ease down into the bed, head resting on a scrunched-up pillow.
After the last shivers of orgasm race through Daniel, the need for Jack to get closer is insistent. So he strokes Daniel’s side in a familiar signal, and Daniel slowly lifts himself off.
Jack’s breath catches a little as Daniel disengages. The sense of loss is not unexpected, but he’s always surprised how hard it hits him. Every time.
Daniel collapses on him like a discarded ragdoll, all uncoordinated arms and legs and breath and sweat, and oh god, it’s fucking wonderful. Jack hauls him in and pulls the sheet over them, knowing they’ll both sleep and probably wake cold and achy.
Jack smiles into Daniel’s sweat-soaked hair and kisses the top of his head. “Love you,” he whispers. And he feels Daniel smile into his chest; feels the sweet curve of lips against his shivery skin. Another smile. A different one. They’re all good. It’s all good.
A fucking perfect honeymoon spent fucking. Yeah.
Hooray for Smile-athon. :-)/:-) <----smile slash
Hot and filled with love. And I started smiling with paragraph four. :-) *hugs*
*iz v. happy*....
Thank you dearie for thinking of this!!!
Deeds xx
i loved it.
Even if I know that it’s a smile that only Jack ever sees.
Sigh and guh and gngnh
and yeah, I'm smiling too! *g*
perfect moment, indeed.
Yep, ya did it again.
I will be under my desk, meeping at the joy of it all.
"Baby."
The smile stengthened as he stroked his hand down Jack's back and let sleep take him.
Thanks for contributing something so delicously short and sweet. :-)
*hugs!*
Thanks for playing!
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Spoiler: Absolute Power, Double Jeopardy
Rating: NC-17 for slash
Word Count: 756
Disclaimer: Don’t own ‘em, wish I did, you know who does, yadda, yadda, yadda
Paint By Numbers
#27
For someone who people think doesn’t smile a lot, Daniel has a lot of different smiles. So many so, that I have taken to numbering them. Currently, we…no, I should say they, are on the receiving end of smile number twenty-seven. The one that says ‘the only thing keeping me from rearranging your features is the big Jaffa at my side.’ Washington bureaucrats can be surprisingly dense. And easily buffaloed. Witness, if you will, the sudden proliferation of bowing and scraping directed toward one lowly archaeologist and a silent, glowering former First Prime. I just stand back and grin at the lot of them.
The Washington gang of four (two Air Force officers and two Pentagon chair-fillers) journeyed to the Mountain to make known their displeasure at us, but mostly Daniel, for allowing Shifu to make like, well, the wind, and blow this pop stand. Daniel gave them a short, but well-worded, answer about why pursuing Shifu would not be a good idea.
General Hammond, bless him, jumped in to explain how we stood no chance of holding Shifu against his will, seeing as how he can dial stargates with his mind and cause tornados to simply appear. It was, he stressed, in our best interest to remain on good term with both the young man and the alien-light-thingy who was currently subbing for a mother figure. The surest way to make a couple of bad enemies, to the general’s way of thinking, would be by punishing the one person for whom both boy and alien demonstrated deep respect and affection. That would be the afore-mentioned archaeologist.
So the Washington gang has departed, Daniel smiled sweetly (#4) softly thanked the general and Teal’c before speeding away to parts unknown.
*
#14
This is the one that very few people here on Earth have ever seen. At least, very few who are still alive. This is Daniel not just smiling, but laughing. Having the time of his life. Clad only in cut-offs, playing in the sand, which I think takes him back to another place and time. I was just content to watch as he jumped in to help his new friends compete in an impromptu sand-castle contest here on the beach. And it all came about from a strange set of circumstances. Start with some distressingly dead robots, mix in a friend of mine who owns a Malibu mansion, albeit a small one, add the neighbor who wrenched his back and can’t get out of his beach chair, stir in a pair of four-year-olds who have perfected the big, sad eyes, especially when trained on an unsuspecting, completely marshmallow-hearted Daniel. Throw in the youngsters’ devoted mutt and I defy anyone to say no to any of them.
So he volunteered to help the scheming twins and got to indulge in one of his favorite pastimes, making sand castles. I can vividly picture Daniel at that age, probably using his big, sad eyes to get his parents to put down the artifact and just play with their kid. At least, I hope they did.
*
#7
This is Carter’s favorite one. The one that comes when he ‘gets’ it. When he understands physics or mathematics or solar flares or something she is trying to explain to him and only him because she knows T and I tuned out several ‘it’s all theoreticals’ ago. His eyes go wide and the color just pops and his mouth blooms into an all-out smile that might have started in his brain, but goes right to my heart every time. It’s a smile full of little kid wonder and I hope he never loses that particular quality.
*
#1
And this one is my favorite. Because it belongs to me and me alone. It’s the one I get when I enter a room and he looks up and sees me. It’s been a very long time since someone got that excited about seeing me coming; most folks get like that when they see me leaving, if you know what I mean.
I get it when I come home.
I get it when I kiss him good-night.
And I get it when we make love, our bodies still entwined, hands clasped, hearts racing, when he sees me coming. Literally.
I’m pretty partial to that smile, right there.
slurp, slurp, sluuurp
Jack raised an eyebrow across their dining table, but Daniel either didn't see or didn't care. He cleared his throat. "Having fun?" he asked.
"What?" Daniel looked up, spoon halfway to his lips. A smile spread across his face. "Good stuff, huh?"
Jack wobbled his own spoon. "Huh," he said, noncommittal.
"What's yours say?"
Jack stifled a sigh and glanced down. "X-A-R" he read out.
Daniel made a face. "You're supposed to read it. Make it a word."
"Zahr?"
Jack's half-hearted attempt at sounding out nonsense elicited a grin from his linguist. Jack couldn't help but return it.
"Yours?" he asked.
Daniel obligingly looked down. "Oh," he said, fuzzy eyebrows jumping.
"Yeah?"
"Take a look." He chuckled and held out his spoon. Jack craned forward to see. A drop spilled, and his eyes automatically followed it, so it was a few seconds before he realized the contents of Daniel's spoon.
Jack grinned. "Who am I," he said, "to deny the gods of Alphabet Soup?" He stood and rounded the table. Daniel smiled up at him expectantly before he cupped the back of Daniel's head and swooped down for a kiss.
J-X-D spilled across the tabletop.
He chugs a glass of orange juice, grabs a water bottle and fetches his bike from the garage. He wheels it to the bottom of the driveway, casts one look back at the house he never sold when he was supposed to, smiles at the thought of what lies tucked up safe and snoring inside, and heads out on a twenty-mile ride through the foothills.
It’s the start of a beautifully warm Sunday. Wispy white clouds pepper the sky and a light breeze lifts his hair - it’s a little longer than regulation these days - as he changes gear to tackle the coming incline. He breathes hard, shifts his grip on the handlebars and rises from the seat, pushing his weight down on the pedals and setting a steady rhythm.
It’s not long before the sweat begins to bead his forehead and roll down his face. He can feel it dripping from his chin. He reaches for the water bottle, takes a drink, breathes out hard.
The ride is testing but not exhausting. He’s past pushing his body to the limit these days. He did that for years in all sorts of ways, mental and physical. This is about keeping in reasonable shape; a healthy body (knees notwithstanding but soon to be dealt with) results in a healthy mind.
Exercise clears his head. It always has, right from hours spent playing street hockey with his buddies, through tough Air Force workouts to ultra-competitive boxing bouts with Teal’c. He can think. Reflect. Let this thoughts wander in a way they never do otherwise.
Time was when those thoughts concerned the safety of millions. Today, he thinks about the lumber he needs to fix the back fence, the burgers he needs for tonight’s barbecue and the beer for tomorrow’s poker game. Everyday, simple stuff that is, for him, kind of exciting in its own mundane way.
The terrain evens out. It’s not quite downhill all the way now, but it’s easier.
He raises a hand to acknowledge a fellow cyclist who he often sees on this route. A young, handsome, short-haired guy with a tight ass and leanly-muscled legs. He could be military. He always smiles and waves. Jack’s seen him checking him out more than once. He’s picked up the vibe. He’s pretty sure that, if he wanted it to, it could go somewhere.
He smiles.
The only place he wants to go is home.
He cruises through the last five miles, enjoying the wind on his face, the warmth of the rising sun on his back.
There is a song going through his head. He can’t remember the title or who sings it. One of those interchangeable easy-listening singers who infest the damn radio these days ... Let me go home, I’ve had my run, Baby, I’m done, I’ve gotta go home ... Yeah. Home is where he wants to be these days. He pedals faster.
The house is bathed in sunshine when he pulls onto the driveway. And, god, but he loves the house he built. The house that is now a home for one reason, and one reason alone.
He puts the cycle in the garage, glugs the rest of the water in the bottle and heads into the kitchen.
His heart starts beating faster. Faster than on the toughest climb.
Daniel is standing barefoot by the refrigerator, peering inside. He’s just got up. His hair is mussed, standing up in unruly spikes. He’s bare-chested and the boxer shorts he wears for sleeping are riding low on his hips. Not finding what he’s looking for, he turns, stretches and yawns. Jack watches as the line of hair leading down beneath the cotton shorts is revealed when Daniel’s stomach muscles tighten.
The man is so beautiful.
Daniel finally sees him leaning against the doorjamb and smiles, absently scratching his smooth chest. “Oh, hi. I was, um, we’re out of milk. And I forgot to defrost the bacon.”
Jack grins. This is what he hungers and thirsts for. This is home.
ends
Loved the metaphors in Jack's bike ride as much as he loves the sleepy, mussy guy in his kitchen. :-)/:-)
Okay. He stepped in and used his pinky to press his floor button, then lowered his head and resumed reading the file.
The file, and all three notebooks slid to the floor when Daniel felt his butt being fondled. He also lost his grip on the coffee cup in his surprise, but the cup only tilted and hung in the air, two of his fingertips barely touching the handle.
“Jack,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Hmm?” a voice murmured in his ear as the unseen hand did a little more fondling.
“Do you have to enjoy being invisible quite so much?”
Daniel could practically hear the shrug. “It has its benefits.”
Daniel smiled sarcastically in Jack’s general direction. “I’m not seeing them.”
Jack chuckled, and at the sound Daniel’s smile turned more genuine. “It let me sneak out on Carter while she was technobabbling. She probably doesn’t even know I’m gone.”
“Ooh, you’re so bad!” Daniel was half full of admiration and half of dismay on Sam’s behalf.
His coffee cup floated out of reach and invisible lips touched his. He could feel Jack’s smile.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Another brief kiss. “I really think she shoulda seen it coming.”
And to imagine that Sam is still talking to the empty room ... *bg*
So, Jack's not in the picture, but let's just say he's the one taking it! And he is undoubtedly very happy, too. :)
Thanks for playing and adding to the smiles. :-))
Hope this qualifies. :)
~~~~~
Jack scratches the back of his briefs and finds a tiny rent in the fabric. It's time to get new ones, he thinks, and he blames it on Daniel. The man gets a little too impatient sometimes.
The line between Jack's brows crease just as he turns the corner into his dining room, heading for the coffee pot in the kitchen. There's a small blue gift box on the table. It has a red bow, which deepens the frown, and no tag.
He picks it up, turns it over, feels a thunk inside. With a smirk that turns to curious smile, he plucks the tail of the bow and tosses it onto the table, along with the box top. There's cotton covering, the sort found in medicine bottles or bandage packages, and the knot between his brows smoothes with amusement. This was a last minute thing apparently.
Lifting it up, he stares at the contents nestled in more cotton: A gold dollar-sized coin. Stamped upon it are clasped hands, and the writing etched around the edge reads, "Happy 10th Anniversary". The grin on his face turns crooked, but is interrupted slightly when arms wrap around his waist, body heat spoons against his back and ass, and lips press against his neck. Daniel's getting better at sneaking up on him these days.
"Morning," Daniel says.
He sounds smug.
"Gold? For a tenth anniversary?" Jack asks, still staring at the coin.
Daniel's voice, low and seductive, whispers over his skin and into his ear. "I could add the diamonds, if you like."
Jack smiles, almost shyly, and sets the box back on the table. He doesn't turn, but just places his hands over Daniel's. He can feel the arousal forming behind him anyway and his own is beginning to match.
"Nah. Just give me something equally hard and more memorable."
With a purring type of chuckle, Daniel says, "Happy Anniversary," and complies.
I'm not just smiling, I'm laughing!
Thanks for playing. \o/
Jack’s hands loose at his sides, not bothering to blot the sweat on his brow; jaw sagging, eyes shut.
He could almost be asleep, if not for that smile.
He comes to life briefly when I bring him a damp washcloth and a cold beer. He takes a long chug, wipes his forehead, temples, neck.
I’m smiling blissfully, too, as I watch Jack worship and adore central air-conditioning.