Run To You

by Berty

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asb/berty/runtoyou.php
Summary: Jack has had his orders and is Washington bound. Now all he has to do is tell the love of his life... and his girlfriend.
Info: With thanks to the gorgeous Saladscream for the beta. Written for the Pepesplace "Not-Songfic" Challenge and inspired by the Bryan Adams song of the same name.

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, letting his thumb trace the shape of his eyebrow. He's tired; not physically, but mentally. Wrung out. And old - it pains him to admit it, but he feels old. Sighing, he slumps back into his chair, closing his eyes on the bland, impersonal office and watching projections of an uncertain future instead, scenarios playing out on the inside of his eyelids.

Some days he can feel every single ounce of mountain over his head.

He knows now that the move to Washington is inevitable, and he can bitch all he wants, it won't change anything; they've made it quite clear where his duties lie. But this upheaval isn't what has him bone weary. Washington, while not his dream posting, is still preferable to the complications that he'll be leaving back here.

"Hey."

One word, one voice that always has the power to lift his darkest moods.

"Hey," Jack replies, feeling some of the bleakness bleed from him.

Daniel strolls into his office, his arms crossed, glancing over his shoulder to see if they are being observed.

He looks good - relaxed and confident, and making navy blue cotton look way better than it should. He stops just short of the desk and smiles at Jack. "Hey," he says again, letting his gaze linger.

Jack tilts his head back, relishing the buzz he gets from something so simple, and returns the smile. "Hey."

"Whatcha doin'?" Daniel asks.

Jack scowls at him for stealing his lines, but Daniel just raises his eyebrows, unrepentant.

Daniel flirts.

Not overtly and not perhaps in the traditional sense of the word, but nonetheless its effects can be quite devastating.

Jack knows this. Intimately.

"Well, I could tell you," Jack murmurs, pulling Daniel in with his words. He waits until Daniel has leaned forward before adding, "But then I'd have to kill you."

Daniel rolls his eyes and sits down in the chair opposite Jack's. "Yeah, but that's getting really old," he replies. "So?"
He gestures at Jack's desk, asking again.

"Nothing much. Writing memos. Signing the things that Walter brings me. Oh, and saving the world."

"I thought that was my job," Daniel retorts, cocking his head to one side and regarding Jack with a not-quite-innocent twinkle.

"Only on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Daniel. The rest of the week it's me," Jack informs him, nodding seriously.

Daniel smiles, but like the glint of light on rough water, the expression is gone as fast as it came. He looks disappointed, sober, and he holds Jack's gaze unflinchingly. "What's going on, Jack?"

"What do you mean?" Jack leans his chin in his hand, watching his friend. Time has been kind to Daniel, and although the hair has changed and the body has been worked on, Jack can still see the wide-eyed, eccentric, brilliant man he first met right here, nine years ago. Of course, back then, Jack had thought him a dweeb and had only endured him for the required intelligence that lurked behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

It was an opinion he had been forced to reassess damn fast once he had grasped the reality of space-travel, hostile aliens and having his ass pulled out of the flames by that same dweeb.

The words 'hidden depths' didn't begin to cover Dr. Daniel Jackson.

"Oh, come on, Jack. There's no such thing as a secret down here," Daniel presses, his eyes flickering momentarily to the camera in the corner of the office, then coming back to meet Jack's own.

He knows.

Of course he knows. Those eyes of his could never hide how smart he is. Too fucking smart in Jack's opinion.

And Jack could waste time being angry about how he's found out or who has spoken out of turn, but at the end of the day, it has saved him the unenviable task of telling Daniel himself. Now he just has to explain why.

Jack can see disappointment in Daniel's face; that and resignation. This day has been coming for a long time.

"Daniel," Jack begins softly, instinctively leaning in as he speaks, needing to close the distance between them, needing Daniel to see what this is doing to him.

"Sir?"

Jack pushes away the sudden irritation and the sinking feeling in his chest. "Carter?"

Sam stands in the doorway, her smile hesitant and her gaze bouncing between the two men. She looks glowing, her excitement barely repressed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Jack glances at Daniel for a cue.

Daniel makes one of his non-smiles, self-deprecating and brittle. "It's okay, Sam, I'm not getting anywhere here anyway. Maybe you'll have better luck."

Jack's heart lurches at the hard words and he turns a sharp look at Daniel as he gets up and moves toward the door. But Daniel doesn't look back.

Jack watches him go, wanting to call him back, wanting to straighten things out and clear the air, wanting...

Wanting is what's wrong in Jack's life. What he wants and what he can have are two very different things it would seem.

"Sir? Is this a bad time? Shall I...?"

"No. This is fine," Jack says quickly, afraid of what she might otherwise suggest. "What can I do for you, Carter?"

"I was just wondering if you had a timescale yet for the... uh... imminent changes?" She fairly crackles with secret knowledge and Jack wonders if one look at Carter wouldn't be like a big sign to everyone she met that there's something going on.

"Not yet. You'll know when I do," Jack replies, having to force the frustration out of his voice.

She nods and smiles, watching him with an intensity that leaves prickles on Jack's skin. So eager to please him, so convinced that they are right together, it doesn't cross her brilliant mind that Jack might feel differently. She has it all mapped out, Jack thinks, and he can't stand another second of it.

He looks down at the paperwork on his desk and she takes the hint.

"I'll just... I'll see you later?" she asks and Jack knows that her eyes hold a loaded question.

He takes a deep breath before he looks up, pasting on a smile. "Sure, see you later," he nods and her smile cranks up a couple of notches, inviting him to share their little joke. She's waited a long time for this moment, and Jack knows she's going to savour every last moment of it.

A billion tons of granite above his head.

Her smile weighs more heavily.

~o~o~o~

The feeling of dread is like a living thing - a creeping, greasy sensation spreading through his veins, insidious and cold.

He always comes to her place - although 'always' is an exaggeration. It's hardly a common occurrence. They would never have been able to get away with frequent meetings off the mountain. But if Jack is honest with himself (hey, there's always a first time) he has kind of counted on the necessity of secrecy. It's been an excuse for a number of things in his life.

As he turns into her street, the feeling concentrates down into an ice splinter behind his ribs, numbing his heart with every beat. He can see her car in the drive, the lights from inside her house pooling onto the lawn, the neat, tidy shrubs. He knows she wants to celebrate. God knows she's waited long enough for this day. She's probably got wine chilling and plans to discuss with him. And something within him implodes - silent, invisible but catastrophic.

He looks straight ahead and carries on driving, willing himself to adhere to the speed limit. Past her house and out of her neighbourhood, his hands grip the wheel as if they are the only point at which he connects with reality anymore.

Him and Sam. Sam and him. It's been the worst kept secret on the base. Not that he's ever been called on it, because he's smart. He knows what they can turn a blind eye to and what they can't ignore - and he's kept it at the right level for years now. Jack knows that Sam would have followed his lead, he's pretty sure she would have given whatever he asked.

Visually they make a good couple. The physical similarities between Sam and Sara are not lost on him, and everyone used to say what a charming couple Jack and his ex were.

But that was just appearances. It's all about appearances. Jack and Sam appear to have a good, professional relationship. They appear to think a lot of each other. They appear to have a stronger bond than an average friendship might engender. But that's as far as anyone goes. No one suggests out loud that anything improper is happening. Doesn't stop them whispering it, though.

And Jack lets them. He knows what people are thinking and he does nothing to dissuade them. He does, in fact, act in a way that just adds fuel to the fire. Because that suits him just fine. And it drowns out the other rumours - the ones that they won't be able to sweep under the carpet.

He knows where he's going - he doesn't fool himself that he even considered anywhere else. The streets are quiet and it doesn't take too long. He doesn't need to think about how to get there. No matter where he is, he always knows which way he has to go to get there.

Daniel's place is in darkness, but Jack spots his jeep at the kerb and pulls up in front of it.

Jack rings the bell twice before Daniel answers, and from the look on his face, he really wasn't expecting to see Jack tonight.

"Hey." Daniel looks over Jack's shoulder onto the street and Jack almost laughs, wondering if he's looking for her. Something inside him has broken loose, something important, and Jack can't figure out if he should be scared or exhilarated.

"Can I come in?"

Daniel's face hardens, becoming wary, but he steps back and lets Jack pass.

Jack stalks into the familiar living room; Daniel's book on the chair where he left it, his glasses lying on top, the lamp beside it the only light and his sneakers kicked off onto the rug. Familiar. Safe. But can't settle. He stands at the glass doors to the garden and stares at his own reflection against the night, a distortion, an empty image.

"Is there something wrong?"

Jack can see Daniel watching him, reflected right alongside him. In jeans, a t-shirt and his socks, he looks ridiculously young. His head is tilted, looking at him with concern. And Jack doesn't know how to reply to this most basic of questions.

He wants to answer.

He wants to say, "Yes, Daniel, everything is wrong - my whole life has been wrong for many, many years and it shouldn't be. Because I have a successful career, I have seen things and been places that most people don't even believe exist, and I have the love of a smart, beautiful, strong woman who thinks I am the answer to all her prayers. And it all feels wrong, wrong, wrong.

And why is it that the only time that I feel right is when I'm with you? When you look at me in that way that makes me feel fucking invincible? When we don't need words to explain ourselves to each other? When we are together and it's easy and you let me stay and make love to you?"

"Everything's fine," Jack murmurs.

Daniel looks like he's going to fight, then shakes his head and sits down instead. And waits.

Jack traces the shape of his jaw on the cold glass, staring with eyes that won't focus. Hard and cold and smooth and illusory. He turns to Daniel and closes the distance between them.

Daniel tilts his head up, looking at Jack with an obvious cautiousness that makes Jack feel sick.

He reaches down and places a finger on Daniel's jaw, stroking a path to his chin, feeling the warmth, the roughness of his invisible stubble, the undeniable life that thrums beneath the skin.

Daniel is real.

Sometimes Jack feels that Daniel is the only thing that's real.

He hooks his finger beneath Daniel's chin, lifting it further. He leans down, making his mouth soft to touch Daniel's, but Daniel pulls back, easing away.

Jack takes a step back, shocked and scared. He watches as Daniel stands, his arms crossed over his chest and an indefinable pain in his gaze.

"Why are you here, Jack?" he asks quietly, tiredly.

"You know why," Jack replies, his words more blunt than he'd intended, but Daniel's reluctance is unnerving him.

"Humour me," Daniel suggests.

But Jack can't find the words - he doesn't think there are words big enough to encompass the paradigm shift he experienced tonight. He feels the remnants of it still within him, powerful and charged, remaking everything he thought he knew about himself. He's stunned that Daniel can't see that on his face.

But maybe he does see some glimmer of it, because Daniel leans in and gives Jack the kiss he wanted - soft and achingly sweet. "When are you going?" he murmurs, licking the taste of Jack off his lips and closing his eyes, hiding the hurt there.

"Next week," Jack responds, watching Daniel with hopeless fascination.

"So what is this? A good-bye fuck? One for the road?"

Jack feels all the air leave his lungs in an instant.

"Does she know you're here, Jack?"

Daniel's eyes, when he finally opens them are like granite - sparkling and attractive but hard, cold and unimaginably old.

"No," Jack whispers and all the years of lying come home to settle on his shoulders. He was a fool for thinking it could be that simple. All the years he let the rumours about him and Carter multiply and become a twisted kind of truth in the corridors of the SGC. All the times he spent with her, thinking of him. All the carefully constructed stories he spun himself about what he wanted and what he needed. All the times he's got up and left her afterwards, and let her think that he was keeping them safe. All the time he let her think that he wanted the same things as her. All the times he's run to Daniel when he just couldn't stand himself for a second longer.

He's a liar and a fucking fool. And he could be too late.

He's ruined three people's lives while he's been deluding himself that he could be happy with her and her expectations; just a shadow, living a life of lies, no more real than his distorted reflection in the night-dark glass.

Jack doesn't know if Daniel is going to kick his ass out, tell him a few gloves-off truths or just look at him with the disappointed expression he has on his face right now. Jack knows he deserves all three.

Amazingly, Daniel does none of these things. Jack watches the indecision on his face; he doesn't seem to know what to do until he grabs Jack by the back of the neck and smashes their mouths together, holding Jack so hard it hurts. His kisses are desperate, biting, gasping heat, and Jack can feel the bruises already tingle and flare on his lips.

Daniel pushes, walking Jack back against the garden door, shoving him none too gently against the glass and pinning him there with a forearm across Jack's neck and shoulders. Daniel forces a thigh between Jack's, bringing the solidness of his hip and groin to Jack's and starting to rock against him, fast and rough.

Jack tries to pull his mouth away, but Daniel chases him down and possesses him again, thrusting his tongue into Jack's mouth, fucking it, filling him and stealing the breath Jack needs to speak. Jack moans, deep and ragged, helplessly moving with Daniel's strength, responding mindlessly to his urgency.

He's not concerned because sometimes it gets like this. It's painful and raw because that's where this comes from - it's just like life.

Daniel's hands are assured, unbuckling Jack's belt without taking his mouth off Jack's. He unbuttons, unzips and forces a rough hand inside Jack's jeans, no patience for the time it would take to undress. He growls when Jack again tries to turn his head, and strokes him hard through his shorts. Jack yields and mumbles what has to be said around Daniel's aggressive kisses.

"I love you."

Daniel groans, low and dangerously, but Jack has to be sure that he's heard.

"I love you," he says again, his mouth hot and stinging, panting the words against Daniel's slick lips.

Daniel stills, his hand still cupped over Jack's cock, and Jack can feel his heart; its rapid, even beat thumping a counterpoint against his own, making a constant rumble between them. Daniel pulls back, releasing Jack's mouth. Daniel's eyes search his, looking for the sense behind his words.

The coldness of the glass at his back burns him through his clothes, but the front of his body is sweaty, absorbing the heat that Daniel radiates, and Jack shivers at the contrast.

"What do you mean?" Daniel's voice is tight - need and confusion vying for their share. "Why are you...? What do you mean?"

Jack presses into Daniel's hand, relishing the strength and the warmth and the safety that Daniel's touch gives him. He lifts his head, closing his eyes at the intimacy of his position - pinned against the glass, his heavy, solid dick cradled in Daniel's palm, and speaking the only words he has to begin to express what he needs to say.

Words of admission.

Words of submission.

Because Jack concedes. He's spent so long, knowing this day was coming. Nine years he's been wondering what it would be like to be free to have a relationship with Samantha Carter, to be allowed to fall in love with her like she has with him, and plan a life together. But now it's here, he realises that was never what he wanted at all. And what he wanted was the thing he'd told himself was stress relief, an itch to scratch - an affair at best.

Because all this time, Daniel has never questioned his motives until tonight. They have stayed friends, whether Jack has fucked Daniel the night before or whether he has managed to stay away for three months without a word of explanation. Daniel has never judged him, never before let him see the bitterness or the hope or the anger that he has endured while Jack sat on the fence and took what he would from whom he would.

And all this time Jack has pretended that he didn't know, deep down, that he would never marry Carter, even though she has told him that her love could endure anything. Jack knows that it wouldn't endure this - and he wouldn't want it to.

Jack opens his eyes. Daniel is still waiting for his answer. He looks angry, confused, betrayed, aroused, bitter - all the things he's kept so well hidden up to now. He thinks Jack has come here to tell him goodbye, but he's wrong.

Jack has come here to offer him his due - which is everything, and Daniel can take whatever he wants from that.

He knows that Daniel might want nothing more to do with him. He might be happy with what they've had up to now. He might laugh in Jack's face and tell him he'll call. Or maybe, as Jack is quietly hoping, Daniel will want more.

Jack drops his head to look his friend in the eye as he says, "I mean I love you, Daniel."

"What about...?" Daniel licks his lips, probably afraid to ask. "What about Sam? The Washington thing?"

"Yes, I'm going to Washington. No, there's nothing I can do about that. But no, Sam won't be coming with me, and I won't be coming back for her."

"Does she know?"

Jack shakes his head slightly and Daniel's eyes narrow suspiciously.

"No," Jack tells him, understanding the hesitation. "Even if you kick me out and never speak to me again, this is the way it is. Sam and I...we're done, no matter what you say next. I don't love Sam - not in any way that would make a difference."

Jack can see Daniel's thoughts flicker behind his eyes, caution and fear and hope. "So when you say you love me..."

Jack just smiles - a small, 'you got me' smile. "Yeah."

Daniel stares at him. And then he's moving away, releasing him, withdrawing his hand from Jack's jeans and leaving Jack to somehow remain standing unaided.

Jack is so stunned, he doesn't move. He's never seen Daniel this volatile before. He's never had a problem with reading him - Daniel isn't the kind of man to hide how he's feeling. If he's pissy, you know it - if he's disappointed, you can't fail to see it - if he's happy, you couldn't mistake it for anything else. But this switching from minute to minute is a surprise, and Jack feels completely adrift.

He leans heavily on the glass behind him and tries to gather the enough sense to decide on his next move. But before he does, Daniel is back, throwing a bottle onto the couch, taking a fistful of Jack's shirt and dragging him across the room. Jack stumbles, unable to understand what Daniel is wanting him to do and unwilling to admit it.

With rough, deliberate hands, he strips Jack out of his jeans, boots and socks and pushes him back onto the couch, crowding him, pulling his shorts off without caution or delicacy and arranging him to his satisfaction. Daniel uses his weight to pin Jack to the sofa, his thighs spread wide.

The shock of Daniel's cold, lubed fingers make Jack gasp and his muscles twitch and seize. But Daniel doesn't seem to notice and he pushes a third finger in without pausing to let Jack relax. His face is intent as he works Jack's hole as quickly as he can, and Jack can only hang on. He has seen Daniel like this before, but it has always been in response to Jack's own mood; Daniel has never instigated such rough play before. He wonders if Daniel, on some level, wants to hurt him. Just a little bit.

Although he's not ready, Jack realises that Daniel has no more patience when he withdraws his fingers and, with harsh, jerky movements, he unzips his own jeans and pushes them and his shorts down to his thighs. He palms his own cock, stroking it hard a few times, then takes a handful of lube and smoothes it over the length, breathing fast. He does the same to Jack's cock, his fingers lingering under the crown, at the base of his shaft, rolling his balls in a sticky, hot hand.

But then Daniel tires of his exploration and Jack lifts his legs, holding behind his knees with hands that are slippery and trembling. Daniel growls... growls... and impatiently knocks Jack's hands aside, taking the weight of Jack's legs himself. He lifts one to his shoulder, forcing the other back against Jack's chest with his weight. He positions himself at Jack's hole and, with a jerk of his hips, he breaches him.

Jack hisses at the stretching, burning sensation, but Daniel doesn't seem to hear because he rolls his hips hard, pressing deeper with each pass, twisting and screwing himself into Jack's body.

Jack can feel every inch of Daniel's cock, pushing past the barriers of his body; its smooth heat fills him with exquisite pressure, leaving nothing, no part of him untouched. It seems to take an age before Daniel is satisfied that he can possess no more of him like this and he leans down, demanding awkward, hard kisses that Jack strains to provide, his stomach muscles and back protesting the abuse.

Daniel leans back, taking a handful of Jack's chest through the t-shirt in his hot hand and kneading it as he spreads his own knees, changing the angle and the sensations inside Jack. He smiles when Jack groans in approval, a more feral look than Jack has ever seen on his face.

Daniel doesn't mess about; there is no suspicion of teasing. He rocks back smoothly and slides home again, setting up a steady, rapid pace that leaves Jack little time to react. He watches Daniel's face - eyes closed, mouth set - and gives up any semblance of control to his lover. He simply accepts, his own needy cock bouncing against his belly with each thrust of Daniel's hips. This is all about Daniel - his needs, his pleasure, his orgasm. And Jack gets that, because up to now, this relationship has been all about Jack. In some strange way this is a taste of his own medicine.

Daniel is sweating now, pounding into Jack's ass in an almost mesmerising rhythm. With his head thrown back and his bottom lip caught between his even teeth, he looks stunning. Jack struggles to keep his eyes open, fights to watch this new Daniel so exposed, but the touch of him inside is too good, too perfect and he feels his own release building.

He grabs at Daniel's wrist, encouraging him to give him what he needs, but Daniel just claws at Jack's chest, riding him as hard and deeply as he can.

"Daniel," Jack moans, "I need... I need..."

"Touch yourself," Daniel orders, his eyes opening and looking down at where they move together.

Jack doesn't wait to be told again and wraps his fist around his slick cock, matching Daniel's measure as he rocks into him.

He can't last. Though he grits his teeth and holds on as long as he can, the feeling of fullness and of being possessed so thoroughly overwhelms him. With a low moan, he spills over his fingers and his belly. Daniel gasps, shudders and slows, drawing it out, making Jack whine and writhe as he drags his hard cock over the place inside Jack that undoes him. With one last, long slide, Daniel comes, Jack can feel his cock swell and twitch within him, pulsing, pouring his heat deep into Jack.

Daniel sucks in a breath, once, twice, then collapses beside Jack, pulling out roughly, making Jack wince. Now he can get a decent breath into his lungs, Jack stretches, easing muscles still trembling from the unaccustomed position.

The leather of Daniel's couch is cold against his skin, his t-shirt offering little protection from the chill of it. But Daniel is warm all down his left side, pressed up against him, his leg thrown over Jack's. It's a big, squashy sofa, but it wasn't designed for two six-foot men to sleep on and soon Jack's back is protesting again.

He turns his head to watch Daniel whose eyes are closed and cheeks are still stained red. Cooling sweat is spiking his hair as he dozes. No trace of the man who just took Jack so thoroughly remains on his sweet, passive face, but Jack knows he's in there.

He has no idea what to say to him - he has no idea what that was. Anger? Alpha? Revenge? Is Daniel even capable of those base emotions? Is it a measure of how far Jack has pushed him that he is displaying this behaviour now?

With a jerk, Jack realises that Daniel is watching him, his eyes wary again. And still Jack is lost for words, so he waits, the cold of his skin as nothing to the cold dread that grows inside him the longer Daniel remains quiet.

Daniel's face gives nothing away, not disapproval or acceptance or any point in between, only the cautiousness of his gaze lets Jack know that he sees him at all. Yet Jack feels naked in a way that has nothing to do with his lack of clothing.

By now, any other time they had been together, Jack would be getting dressed. By now Daniel would be avoiding his gaze and talking the trivialities of work. By now Jack would be saying his goodnights and Daniel would be letting him go once more without question or recrimination. By now Jack would be in his car, watching the lights in Daniel's house go out as he went to bed alone. By now he'd be thinking of an excuse for where he'd been to feed to Sam in case she asked. Which she never has.

Daniel lifts a hand and, stupidly, Jack braces himself for the blow he thinks he deserves. But Daniel's palm cups his cheek and his thumb drags softly across his lower lip. He traces his fingers along Jack's jaw, just as Jack had done to him earlier. He follows the curve of Jack's eye sockets, smoothing the lines at the corners of his eyes. He rubs his knuckles across Jack's cheekbones. The intensity of each gesture both thrills Jack and scares him. It's like Daniel is testing him, seeing if he's real, checking his resolve. Because this is the kind of contact they never have had time for before.

This is the touch of a lover - slow, deliberate and possessive.

Jack is lost in it.

"If I tell you I love you, will I live to regret it?" Daniel asks, so softly that Jack doesn't register it for a moment.

Where Sam would have had a million practicalities to discuss and reassurances to seek, Daniel distils all the unknowns down into this one question - simple and all encompassing.

Daniel waits on Jack's answer, and Jack knows that behind the veneer of acceptance there is a man who has endured more than any man should have to. And that man is prepared to offer himself up again to fate. To be with Jack.

"No, Daniel," Jack murmurs, his voice thick and close to breaking. "You won't regret it."

Daniel's hand stills on Jack's face, just for a second, then he nods, rolls over and stands up, tucking himself back into his jeans, but not bothering to fasten them. He smiles gently and Jack watches him when he pads across the living room and into his bedroom.

Jack takes longer to get to his feet, though the aches in his hips and back feel sweet to him now he knows that Daniel's need was motivated by love, not anger. A glimpse of a Daniel who can trust Jack enough to let himself be seen like that.

He picks up his shorts and jeans and socks, but leaves his boots on the floor beside Daniel's sneakers. Clutching his clothes, he locks the front door and follows Daniel, switching off the lamp as he goes.

Fin