This Is How It Works

by Berty

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asb/berty/thisisho.php
Summary: Sixty minutes of unquestioning trust. Three thousand, six hundred seconds of giving over control to someone else. To Jack. Surely Daniel can do that. How hard can it be?
Info: Thanks to Saladscream for doing some heavy-lifting on this fic. Title taken from the Regina Spektor song, "On The Radio."

The silence hangs between them like fog, heavy and suffocating. Daniel's words seem to linger, their sound long since spent, but their gravity and their impact still a point of painful intersection. In the colour-leeching artificial light , Jack's face is stone - giving away nothing, and only the slow blink of his eyes reveals that he's heard Daniel at all.

Daniel thanks God that they made it into the corridor at least. If this had ignited over the briefing table there would have been repercussions that could have split the team for good. Instead it's just him and Jack, a quiet corner of the SGC and an argument that's been brewing for weeks. Months if he's honest.

He still can't believe that he's just said the things he's said. He's a linguist. He should have had the capacity... the fucking finesse... to choose his words more carefully. But he hadn't, and now he has to live with the consequences of that. And he won't take the words back; they were all true, even if the spite they were delivered with was unnecessary. Jack wouldn't let him recant them even if he wanted to. That's not in his nature.

Just like following blindly isn't in Daniel's.

So Daniel told him. Jack asked, and Daniel told him. Why he doesn't follow Jack's orders. Why he doesn't do as he's told. Why he seems to go out of his way to defy Jack.

Because I don't trust you, he hissed, three inches from Jack's hard, angry face.

Now here they are, the wrong side of those five little words that have been boiling inside Daniel's brain for so long. And neither of them seems to know where to go next. They stare, so close together that Daniel can taste Jack's breath - stale coffee and disappointment - and feel the infuriated heat radiating off him. It's like one of Sam's experimental EM fields has captured them, dragging them together and holding them despite their obvious unwillingness to share space. Despite their opposing polarity.

Of course if he hated Jack this would all be much simpler. Daniel has unconsciously challenged authority all his life, rejecting their beliefs about what was best for him and refusing to let their parameters define him. It's been easy to secretly scorn them for their narrow-mindedness or their lack of vision. Faceless suits, most of them, they've been simple to dismiss from his mind, their opinions of him utterly irrelevant. But that's not so for Jack.

Despite everything, Daniel likes Jack.

And that makes this whole thing about a million times harder.

As uncomfortable as it makes him feel, Daniel wants Jack's approval. But his own inbuilt self-sufficiency, learned through years of having no other choice brings him into conflict with Jack on a daily basis. Jack, for all his flippancy and questionable obedience, has been conditioned to believe in following orders and a cast-iron chain of command. He cannot understand that Daniel can't just switch off that part of himself which has kept him alive this long, and simply obey. It's why he asks questions and explores other options rather than jump when he's told to jump.

Behind them there's the noise of low voices, a door shutting and an echo of retreating feet.

Jack moves first, his expressions shuttered, his fury reined in for now. He takes a deep breath and his eyes flicker away, checking the corridor, checking the doors. His shoulders are still high, tense and ready for a fight, his jaw is still set, belligerent and stony. In the lifeless, flat light of the SGC he looks ashen and unreal. He breathes out through pursed lips and looks back to Daniel. "Topside. My truck. Thirty minutes. Think you can follow that one?"

Daniel lifts his chin ready to retaliate, the bitter words coming easily to his lips, but something in Jack's eye stops him; a challenge, almost playful instead of the deadness of a command. Daniel is intrigued. "Where are we going?"

A flash of disappointment crowds out the last shred of humour on Jack's face. With a twist of his lips, almost a sneer really, he says, "Trust me, Daniel."

Daniel hesitates. He searches Jack's expression for a trace of compromise, a glimmer of something worth saving, then nods and walks away.

~::~::~::~

In his office, Daniel flits from one thing to the next. His mind finds no relief in the petty chores of leaving the mountain from the maelstrom that Jack's request has thrown him into. If indeed it was a request. E-mails, translations, reports, nothing holds his attention long enough to be of any use. Daniel wonders just what Jack wants before briefly wondering what he will do if Daniel doesn't show up. Not that it's really an option. Daniel's curiosity is legendary among Stargate personnel, and an enigma centred on Jack is guaranteed to torment him into attending, no matter what the outcome. A fight? A beer? A few home truths and an actual conversation? Daniel's in.

He has no idea what he wants to say, or what they're going to do to resolve this fundamental difference in approach. Between what Jack wants and what Daniel has to give there is a whole world of disparity - all of it prime material for misunderstanding and conflict.

~::~::~::~

Twenty-nine minutes after parting, Daniel is in the parking lot, still tucking his t-shirt into his jeans. He approaches Jack's truck and finds him leaning against the back, legs crossed at the ankles, face lifted to the last rays of the sun.

"Hey," Daniel says quietly.

Jack opens his eyes and looks down at his watch. "I'm impressed," he replies, pushing off the truck and standing up. His tone is wary, his expression watchful, and Daniel takes a deep breath and forces a wry smile onto his own face in response.

"I do try." Daniel is surprised by how sincere his voice sounds, and when Jack's eyes snap to his and widen slightly, he realises that he's given something crucial away. He tries to cover his slip, reaching for the words that can bridge the gulf that's opened up between them. "I know we've had our issues, Jack, but you have to believe that none of them have come from thinking you're incapable or... you know, stupid."

"That's good to know," Jack replies cagily and rolls his eyes.

"It's not really anything you do," Daniel continues, ignoring Jack's comment. "It's nothing you... it's not that..." He takes a breath, realising that he's babbling like an imbecile and that he was about to use the clichŽd 'it's not you, it's me' line. "I do try. I... want this to work."

"This...?"

Daniel waves a weary hand at the mountain. "SG-1, the team, our mission. I don't want to be transferred to another team, Jack."

Jack leans back again, composed and open. He bites the inside of his cheek and watches Daniel with curious eyes. He looks in control. He looks assured. Daniel curses the way he does that - it makes him feel awkward without Jack even trying. Daniel resorts to his usual stance with his arms folded around himself. He knows that it makes him look vulnerable and kind of needy, but he can't seem to shake it. He knows he does it more around Jack than around anyone else - and Daniel shudders at what that gives away to anyone who might have noticed.

Complicated doesn't begin to explain his relationship with Jack. They're close - probably closer than they should be with them serving on the same team, but SG-1 has always been a bit of a law unto itself. All the time it works, the brass are happy to turn a blind eye to the rest of it. But although they're friends and confidants - and Daniel sometimes thinks that Jack knows him better than anyone ever has - they also have some serious issues in their dynamic which force Daniel to rail against the easiness he feels around Jack.

He wants to trust Jack; it's not that he's deliberately challenging his command because he gets a kick out of it, or to show off his intellectual superiority. But it's been such a long time since Daniel's been able to rely on anyone, and this job asks that of him every single day. He has to put his faith in his team and especially in Jack, his commander. He defers the safety of his life into their keeping in a fire fight without hesitation - and while that's not exactly an ego-trip for him, he has sense enough to see that they are better qualified to the task. But not all hostile situations end in a shoot-out, and Daniel knows the best way to solve a major difference in outlook is to find common ground and build upon it, not to start shooting and decide that the winner is the last one left standing. He's supposed to trust Jack to find that common ground. And some days that's easier than others.

Today, for example, was not an easy day. A simple first contact became a mad sprint for the gate with him and Jack spitting over who was to blame even as they'd been firing rounds into the air above the native's heads. More and more missions these days, even the successful ones, seem to end with tense, loaded silences over the briefing room table, neither of them meeting the other's eyes. Daniel doesn't know if that's caused by a difference in their basic ethical outlook or a misinterpretation of their standing orders.

Added to that, there is the issue of the physical attraction that exists between them. Daniel doesn't even know if Jack knows he's doing it, but he walks too close. He touches too often. He watches Daniel all the time. And Daniel watches right back. He not totally certain that men are Jack's thing; if he's watching with intent or just curiosity. And their working environment is not the kind of place to make a mistake about something like that, unless your idea of fun is boot-shaped bruises on your ribs.

Trust issues plus a hard-on for your C.O.

As if all the other problems of saving the planet weren't enough.

Daniel waits for Jack to speak, but Jack seems content to watch him. Daniel forces himself to stand still as Jack's eyes slide up and down his body, like he's never seen him before. Horrified at himself, Daniel feels his heart beat faster and heat begin to coil slow and tight in his belly. He feels like he's being felt-up by the scrutiny and he prays that Jack can't see the reaction it's provoking.

Jack's eyebrows quirk slightly as their eyes meet again, and Daniel knows his prayers have not been answered. Like anything in his life would be that simple.

"I think there are some things we need to work out, don't you, Daniel?" Jack asks, his voice patient with a dash of something else that Daniel can't quite put a finger on.

"You think so?" Daniel replies sarcastically. Jack smiles at that, a sudden, characteristic grin that hits Daniel like a jolt of electricity straight to his dick. He exhales quickly, and covers it by clearing his throat.

Jack's cocks his head and looks hard at Daniel for another long moment, his brown gaze boring into Daniel from beneath half-lidded, calculating eyes. "Come on, get in," he invites, finally breaking the tension and waving a lazy hand as he walks around to the driver's door.

His pulse thrumming in his ears, Daniel slides himself into the passenger seat and buckles up. Jack's truck is big, but Daniel feels confined in here with Jack so close beside him. He tries to pull himself together and concentrate. This is important. This could be the future of his place on SG-1. Between them, he and Jack have to find a way to work together and relieve the tension that's threatening to overwhelm them.

But Daniel can't stop thinking about that look. Even now as they drive through security he's still half hard. He thinks he must be coming undone, losing the plot to be thinking the things he's thinking. Is it normal behaviour to become aroused after a fight with your nominal boss? He watches Jack's hands on the wheel, confident and precise. He can smell Jack all around him, shampoo, laundry detergent and masculinity.

Daniel grits his teeth and rolls down the window.

~::~::~::~

"So, what makes you think you can't trust me, Daniel?" Jack asks smoothly, voice like honey. They're half way to Jack's place, at least that's where Daniel is assuming they're going, and this is the first time Jack has broken the silence.

This is a side of Jack that not everyone gets to see. He's known for his badass bravado or his wisecracking, one-of-the-guys ease, but this serious Jack, this honest, no pretences Jack is the one Daniel knew on Abydos. The one he would have died for.

Daniel removes his glasses, drops his head, pinches the bridge of his nose and tries again to put his apparent lack of faith into words. But his train of thought is derailed by Jack holding out his hand expectantly. Daniel glances up at Jack, confused.

"Give them to me," Jack murmurs, eyes on the road, his expression giving away nothing of his intentions. His tone is two-fold; it's the tone he uses in the field when he needs to be obeyed without question - do as you're told. But beneath it there's that hint of warmth again, that challenging lilt that got Daniel here in the first place. Please?

Daniel still hesitates, wondering why Jack would want him at a disadvantage, and figures it's a test. He briefly considers ignoring him, but then passes his glasses to Jack, who folds the arms in and rubs a thumb across the frame in a strangely possessive gesture before he puts them on the dash.

"That's a start," Jack says quietly.

He might not be able to see quite so clearly now, but Daniel can still see Jack, unruffled and confident. Daniel only realises that he's lost in thought when Jack looks across at him, expecting an answer.

"Sorry?" he asks, his head snapping up.

Jack smiles at him from across the car, warm and faintly amused. "I asked what I could do to make you trust me," he repeats slowly, smoothing out his vowels. He glances at the road, then back to Daniel. There's a question in his eyes - a different question to the one on his lips.

Daniel feels a sweet ache in his cock as it fills. He fights not to show it on his face, he struggles to keep his breathing even and his skin from flushing. "I honestly don't know," he mutters truthfully.

Jack's eyes linger for a second, then return to the traffic. "Maybe we should work on it now, this trust thing," he suggests, checking his mirrors and making a left turn. "You know, a little team-building exercise. If you can learn to trust me here, then maybe we'll do better out there."

Daniel nods, his attention divided between Jack's voice, Jack's mouth and his own rigid cock. "Okay," he grates, remembering that Jack's not looking his way. "How?"

"You've got to let me prove it to you, Daniel. You can trust me, and I think you know that deep down. How about...how about you follow my orders, just for the next..." he glances at his watch. "Hour. Agreed?" He's charming and persuasive as he looks across at Daniel. He seems sincere. "Nothing bad will happen. Nothing that you don't want to happen. Trust me." He casually puts a warm hand on Daniel's knee and squeezes gently.

"Okay," Daniel says quickly, his breath hitching strangely.

He's so screwed.

He feels the thrill of Jack's touch throughout his body, jangling his nerves and making his dick twitch. And he's beginning to think that maybe he's the clueless one, and that Jack's not quite so oblivious as he'd assumed.

One hour.

Sixty minutes.

He can do that.

Sixty minutes of unquestioning trust.

Three thousand, six hundred seconds of giving over control to someone else. To Jack.

Surely he can do that.

Can't he?

The smile that Jack gives him is full of approval. "Good," he says softly and looks back at the road. He rubs gentle circles on Daniel's thigh with his thumb, warm and distracting. Daniel doesn't know whether to make some scathing remark about Jack's behaviour or just soak up the contact, because it feels so good, whatever the reason behind it. He's relaxing into it, glad that his hands are held loosely in his lap, when Jack uses that same thumb to follow the seam of his jeans up the inside of his leg. Slowly. So slowly that it could be unconscious, a thoughtless gesture while Jack's focussed on the road. It could be completely innocent. Until Jack scrapes a thumbnail along the denim, dragging a muted sharpness up his thigh that Daniel can feel ricochet off every single nerve in his body.

Daniel freezes, because that's not his imagination, and it's not a friendly gesture between buddies, no matter how close. And how did they get from a stand-up row at the mountain to here? What exactly did Jack see when he was watching Daniel in the parking lot?

He panics and squeezes his knees together, trapping Jack's hand, his breath coming fast. He can't. He really can't. It's too fast. Too crude. Nothing's been said. How can Jack be so sure?

And if Daniel opens his thighs, Jack will know he's already hard, that he's been thinking about this. He can't not know. It would be as clear as admitting it out loud and Daniel's not ready for that, but... God, if this is what Daniel thinks it is... And he needs something. He has done for a long time. And how long has Jack known that? And why has he chosen to act on it only now?

Daniel can't think, can't seem to make sense of anything.

"Relax," Jack directs softly - and underneath the softness there's an unmistakable new authority in his tone that makes Daniel's dick pulse again.

It's shameless behaviour. To spread himself for Jack, to display himself like this, hard and heavy and wanting; the humiliation should be enough to make him stop this right here and now. To take what's left of his dignity and walk away. Gather some of that anger that's been characterising their interactions lately and throw it back in the Colonel's face.

But Daniel wants. Daniel wants this badly enough to take a ridiculous chance. Because if these are the rules by which he gets what he wants, well, then he'll comply. For now.

The casual assurance in Jack's body language is suddenly less unnerving and more of a challenge. So Jack thinks he knows what Daniel wants, does he? Then Daniel will be interested to see how well Jack does with this - how far he's prepared to go.

Jack reminds him with a slight but insistent pressure against his knee, pushing his legs apart. With a shiver, Daniel lets him, slowly, deliberately spreading his thighs, letting his hard-on speak for itself. He can feel the wet stain on his shorts cool as it smears against him.

Jack stops at a traffic signal, just two minutes from his home now. He takes his hand from Daniel's leg to put the truck into park and leans back in his seat, his leather jacket creaking a little against the window where his arm is propped. He looks over at Daniel thoughtfully.

Daniel's hands are curled into fists on his thighs. The tightness in his belly is icy fear and burning longing combined. The ache in his groin is fierce now, his skin screaming out for contact. The humiliation and the arousal cycle round in an unending feedback loop, one stoking the other. He stares out of the windshield, too nervous to look at Jack directly, but from the corner of his eye Daniel can see the smile that plays on his lips. He looks a little smug and Daniel feels another surge of competitiveness, pushing him to sink a little lower in his seat, relax back and sprawl. He might not feel entirely comfortable, but he damned well looks it.

"Almost there, Daniel," Jack tells him, his warm hand coming down on Daniel's thigh again and sliding slowly upwards. "You're doing good."

Daniel thinks he might scream, grab Jack's hand and use it to rub himself off, right here, in Jack's truck. He can't seem to get enough air into his lungs. He can't seem to find a position that's easy; his cock is so painfully hard.

And Jack's hand trails so slowly. So fucking slowly. Inching up, then rubbing back down, each pass going a little further, a tiny bit higher up the over sensitised skin of his inner thigh. Daniel can feel a trickle of sweat roll down past his ear, but he holds on. The wetness has soaked through his jeans now, a small, darker circle on the washed blue of his crotch. A trophy for Jack.

The signal changes to green, and Jack takes his hand away to put the truck into drive. Daniel almost moans at the loss, holding back the pathetic noise by swallowing hard.

By the time they pull up on Jack's driveway it's starting to get dark. Jack turns to Daniel, his eyes in shadow. "Let's go," he says simply and climbs out, walking to the house without waiting for him to follow.

Daniel watches him, trying to resolve the conflicting signals from Jack and the conflicting emotions rolling inside him. He gets out into the warm, evening air, sweet with the scent of mown grass. His legs are unreliable beneath him, his cock is chaffed by the dampness of his jeans and his heart is pounding, but he follows Jack up the path and into the house. He keeps telling himself that he has choices, that it's not too late to step back, but he can't help but feel helpless and out of control. And the strange head rush Daniel gets from that is almost a strong as his arousal.

Jack has put on no lamps, despite the failing light, but Daniel makes his way to the kitchen, his guess rewarded by the sight of Jack, bent at the waist, reaching into the refrigerator for beer.

Daniel stops in the doorway, wondering if Jack is being deliberately provocative in taking his time to find what he wants from the chiller. It's not like Daniel hasn't noticed how well Jack's ass looks, but the studied ease and the play of muscle visible even through the material of his pants leaves little to Daniel's imagination. He takes a calming breath and waits to hear what Jack has in mind next.

Jack straightens and closes the door. He twists off the bottle cap, dropping it onto the counter with a muffled ping. Taking his time - and don't think for a second that Daniel doesn't know that's deliberate - he turns to Daniel and gestures him toward the table.

Daniel walks into the kitchen, trying to convey calmness and disinterest with each step. He's pulling out a chair when Jack's voice stops him short.

"Not there. That's my chair."

Daniel stands frozen, confused. What does that mean? He turns and watches as Jack walks up to him, his skin alive for the promise of a touch. Jack's heat is all down his side as he reaches around Daniel and takes the chair. He places it squarely in front of the table and sits down, slouching back, getting comfortable.

"You sit there," Jack says, lifting his chin and gesturing at the tabletop. He takes a long swig at his beer while Daniel just stares, too stunned to react.

"Did you hear me, Daniel? Are we doing this or not?" Jack asks when Daniel doesn't move. His voice gets lower with a hint of displeasure and he runs his tongue along his top lip, chasing the taste of his beer, waiting.

"Yes," Daniel replies. For an awful instant, Daniel wonders if Jack wants to be called sir. But that's never been their problem; this isn't a dominance issue. It's more complicated than that.

Once again his instinct is telling him retaliate, to push back, to bark out a few demands of his own, but that way he knows he won't get the contact he needs, and they'll be back where they started with nothing resolved and the weight of their behaviour in the car to carry along with everything else. It really seems that the only direction is forward. It scares Daniel that they've unwittingly fallen into a make or break situation - or maybe that Jack has knowingly forced them there.

"So?"

Daniel turns to look directly at Jack, whose face is once again that weird combination of command and request. He seems patient, as if he'll wait for as long as it takes, but he obviously wants an answer.

Daniel turns back, and hitches his ass up onto the table, wriggling back so his feet are off the floor. Jack's eyes, when Daniel looks up, are full of approval and warmth.

And the game is on.

Daniel has, with a single action, ceded control to Jack, as if his wantonness in the truck hadn't been as good as a capitulation. He has no idea what Jack will do, or how far he'll go or how he hopes to address Daniel's trust issues by making him come in his pants, but Jack's asked for an hour, and Daniel, never a man to back down, has agreed. He won't question. He won't disobey. He knows it, and now Jack knows it too.

Taking another steadying breath, Daniel reminds himself that this is his choice. He has to put aside that he's a member of SG-1, a multiple PhD. and a necessary part of Earth's defences, he has to let go of the urge to goad Jack, and exercise his sarcastic wit. Because that isn't all he is, and that isn't who he wants to be right now. He wants to be the yearning, undone, bundle of neediness that Jack's touch has uncovered. He wants to see how far he can go. He wants to know what Jack is prepared to do. He wants to experience the aching, wanting, rawness that keeps him here, awaiting Jack's pleasure.

"Now spread, like you did in the car," Jack says, smooth as cream and without missing a beat. His face betrays not a flicker of doubt.

Daniel's heart thuds unevenly. There're to be no preliminaries, no niceties it would seem. His palms are sweaty, and his balls are throbbing, but he plants his hands beside his ass and spreads his thighs, forcing his cock against the inseam of his jeans. He can feel the flush heat his cheeks, a creeping, prickling sensation, and he licks his lips nervously.

Jack moves closer, scooting his chair between Daniel's legs, close enough that he could just lean in and take Daniel into his mouth. But he slouches back again, folds his arms and drinks in the sight of Daniel, his eyes drawn to Daniel's groin, weighing him up, touching him so intimately, but only with his eyes.

Jack lifts a booted foot and places it against the edge of the table between Daniel's spread legs. Gently he nudges Daniel's right thigh further out, holding it there, just how he wants it.

Daniel has never felt so exposed in his life, not even naked. He knows his cock is blatantly outlined beneath the denim, he knows the damp circle on his groin has spread. Jack's gaze is dark and intense, and it pins him in place, so even though his mind is telling his hands to cover himself, he remains frozen, breathing hard and shaking slightly under Jack's scrutiny.

Daniel is ruined. Fucked. He's sitting here splayed open, with his cock and balls on display for Jack's gratification, and instead of feeling remorse or shame, his arousal is threatening to make him lose control of himself any moment. The further Jack pushes him, the hungrier Daniel becomes, willing to do anything he's asked. Like lines in the sand, Daniel has no idea where the last one will be, or whether it will hold him back or feed his resolve to go further.

"You look good like that," Jack murmurs. He touches his throat with his fingers, lingering on his own skin instead of on Daniel's where they should be. He sits forward suddenly, removing his foot and replacing it with his hand. Daniel's mouth dries, overwhelmingly aware of Jack's fingers scant inches from his cock. Jack touches his thumb to Daniel's inner thigh, rubbing gently. But it's not meant to soothe, Daniel knows. Despite the apparent casualness of the gesture, it's possessive, marking Daniel as his own. He's doing it because he can.

"Thank you," Daniel manages, pleased to hear he sounds almost normal.

Jack sits back again, and adjusts the crotch of his own jeans. Daniel feels a thrill of triumph at that. Other than his eyes, that is the first time that Jack has given away that he's affected by this game they're playing. Daniel can't help it; he smiles quickly and fiercely.

Jack's eyebrows quirk for a second before he gets up and goes to stand by the refrigerator again. Daniel can't see him so clearly over there, his glasses still sitting on the dash of Jack's truck. Maybe that's why he's done it.

Jack drains his bottle, places it carefully on the counter and clicks on the work-surface lighting, a subtle but efficient glow that fills the room with a reassuring warmth and familiarity. He folds his arms again, leaning back against the refrigerator. "Unbutton your jeans, Daniel. Get your cock out where I can see it," he says quietly.

Daniel's mouth works, trying to form words that aren't deliberately disobedient around a lump in his throat that is where his heart has just jumped to. "I th... I thought you m...might like to do that," he stutters stupidly, barely able to hear himself over the thundering pulse in his ears.

"No," Jack says simply, and Daniel knows he's being punished for the smile.

And if the act of being spread-eagled for Jack was hard, this is ten-times harder still. Without Jack's nearness to remind him of the possible advantages of his actions, Daniel has to expose himself further, thereby admitting that it's what he wants, not just Jack's desires that are fuelling this insanity.

Can he do that? He's being asked to let Jack watch as he handles himself, touches himself. He's being asked to bare his skin for scrutiny. Can he make himself that vulnerable to Jack?

Daniel squints: Jack's expression is uncompromising and expectant; I'm waiting and I want this. Daniel recalls Jack's voice asking him to trust, just for an hour. Forty-nine minutes now. He's only made it to eleven minutes before he's baulking at one of Jack's commands.

With shaking fingers Daniel pops the buttons on his fly, helped by the softness of the well-worn material and the pressure from within. He wriggles a little, forcing the denim down and exposing his hips, then pushes the cotton of his shorts roughly over his erection, making it bob and bounce as the cool air of the kitchen catches it. The spread of his thighs means that his jeans are bunched beneath his dick, rubbing hard against his balls, another sensation to ignore as best he can.

Jack nods and pushes himself off the refrigerator to move slowly closer.

Daniel's skin burns, aches for Jack's touch. He can feel the flicker of his own pulse in his neck, fluttering like the wing-beats of a trapped bird. His lips are parted, obscenely wet, dragging in panted, ragged breaths. Now, Daniel thinks, he will be rewarded.

But although Jack's eyes are dark with lust, he seems in no hurry to release Daniel yet. He touches a finger to Daniel's wrist, drawing it up, against the grain of the fine hairs on Daniel's forearm, making them prickle and rise. He rests a hand on Daniel's shoulder; more warmth through the cotton of his shirt, and Daniel closes his eyes at the electricity of that connection.

"Please," Daniel breathes, licking his lips again.

"Please what?" Jack murmurs, his tone light and teasing, at odds with the dark want in his eyes.

"What next?"

Jack leans into Daniel's space and puts his lips close to his ear, tickling the skin of his neck with his hot breath. "You want to take more orders from me, Daniel? You like taking orders from me?" Jack's words curl around him, slip beneath his clothing and caress his skin, soft as smoke.

Daniel's fists clench against the wood of the table, and he nods shakily.

"Say it, Daniel."

Daniel closes his eyes. "I like it," he whispers, the heat in his cheeks matching the heat in his balls. Jack doesn't move, still leaned in against Daniel, close, but not touching and Daniel realises he hasn't said enough yet. He clears his throat and tries again. "I'd like to take orders from you," he says as steadily as he can. There's a thrill of anger twisting in his chest, but it's not for Jack. This admission is costing him more than he knew, forcing him to take a good look at himself and the carefully constructed walls he's always lived behind up to now. The same walls that Jack has been systematically working away and that are now tumbling down around Daniel's ears, leaving him undefended and out in the open. It's too late to do anything to save himself now, there's nothing left to save. Jack has it all.

The relief when Jack brushes his lips against his cheekbone is a rush and he turns his head blindly, his mouth searching for Jack's. Jack kisses him, keeping a hand against his shoulder, pushing Daniel back when he tries to rise and find some friction for his aching, leaking cock.

Jack steps back, looking pleased and slightly smug. "Good, Daniel," he mutters. "Very good."

Daniel's lips tingle with the aftertaste of Jack. He wants to reach out and grab a handful of Jack's silver hair and drag that perfect mouth to where he needs it most. But Jack is backing away.

The game, apparently, isn't done.

"Now wait here. Don't move and don't cover up, understand?"

"What? Where are you going?" Daniel asks. His heart thumps leaden in his chest, panic ripples, barely controlled, through his mind and his imagination seems more than ready to provide him with a dozen nightmare scenarios for his consideration. Jack will leave him there. Jack will bring a camera to capture his humiliation. Jack will come back with rope and tie him up. Jack will call Sam or Teal'c and tell them what he's done.

Suddenly Jack is in front of him again, his hand cupping Daniel's face and his thumb stroking across his lips. "Daniel. Remember? You have to trust me. Just for a little while longer. Can you do that?"

Daniel focuses on Jack's face, on Jack's eyes, full of warmth and encouragement. He wants to. God! How he wants to trust Jack. He nods slightly, and Jack puts a heavy hand to the back of Daniel's neck, squeezing gently. He leans down to kiss him again, softly and thoroughly, his tongue taking and taking, and Daniel's dick forgets its moment of shock and reminds him what it needs. Jack's hand. Jack's mouth. Jack's ass. Jack's skin.

Daniel can wait. "How long?"

Jack smiles at him, cocky again and brilliant. "I'll call you. No more than ten minutes, okay? Don't move."

"Yes," Daniel says, leaning forward to catch the last possible shred of body heat from Jack as he leaves.

~::~::~::~

It's been five minutes, and Daniel can hear Jack intermittently, moving around the house, but he hasn't been able to catch sight of him since he left the kitchen.

Daniel's back is aching and his ass is numb. He shifts his weight and wonders if Jack would even know that he's moved. He feels a little ridiculous to be honest, straddling Jack's kitchen table with his softening cock poking out of his jeans.

Daniel hears the shower start and figures that if Jack is in there, then he can't be spying on him, making sure he's staying still. But... maybe not. Maybe it's another of Jack's little tests, seeing if Daniel can comply. Seeing if Daniel himself can be trusted. So Daniel sticks it out, repeatedly flattening his hands on the table and curling them in to keep the blood flowing.

He's never been a man for playing mind games, in or out of the bedroom, and he's never done anything like this before. Truthfully, he's never had anyone he could share this level of intimacy with. This is more than sex. This is more than faith. This is truth and honesty and, for once in his life, he's holding nothing back.

Three minutes. Daniel hears the shower shut off again. Jack said ten minutes at the most, so any minute now Jack will call for him. Daniel distracts himself from the twinges in his lower back by imagining what Jack will do. Perhaps he'll come back here. Perhaps he'll stand in the doorway and command Daniel to come to him. Perhaps he'll be so pleased with Daniel that he'll jerk him off right there with a tight grip and a quick wrist. Or perhaps he'll tell Daniel to strip, turn him around, spread him over the table and fuck him. Or maybe he'll make Daniel wait while he strokes himself to completion first, and watching Jack come will trigger his own orgasm.

Daniel's rock hard again, his teeth holding his bottom lip tightly as the throbbing in his cock replaces the niggle in his back as the most pressing sensation.

One minute. Maybe Jack will make him wait longer to punish him for his earlier outburst. But he will call for him soon. And Jack will touch him. Jack will look after him. Jack will make certain that he's safe and satisfied. Daniel closes his eyes and imagines that touch. Rough and demanding, or gentle and understanding, Daniel will take either. Anything. Everything. From Jack's hand.

"Daaan-iel."

His eyes snap open. He didn't hear him come in, but Jack is standing watching him from about three yards away. His eyes are openly admiring, and Daniel glances down at himself to see his cock jutting stiffly, and a thin trail of drooling impatience sliding down the crown and shaft, catching the light.

Jack's hair is half dry, and he's got only knit shorts and a t-shirt on. He wears the evidence of his own arousal without shame, the pressure of it tenting out his underwear and making a dark stain on the pale grey cotton to match the one on Daniel's jeans.

Daniel's nostrils are full of the scent of his soap and his damp skin, and he can feel the thud of his pulse in every swollen inch of his dick.

Jack looks momentarily at a loss. He tips his head and brings a thumb up to his teeth where he worries at it. "What do you suggest next, Daniel?" he asks, as if they were discussing treaty negotiations, not foreplay.

Daniel swallows and keeps a rein on his impatience. But Jack has noticed anyway, and he moves closer with an easy, knowing smile, the malicious bastard. He moves close enough to rub Daniel's jaw with the back of his knuckles, a touch that Daniel leans into greedily.

"You don't have an opinion, Dr. Jackson?" Jack asks trailing his fingers from Daniel's jaw to his throat, maintaining eye contact all the while.

"What..." Daniel stops, swallows, and is pleased when his next attempt comes out more purposefully. "Whatever you want."

Jack withdraws his hand and his thumb goes back to his lips, his even, white teeth closing around his nail.

Daniel shudders, and he looks past Jack to the kitchen wall, composing himself. But when Jack's hand ghosts over the head of his cock, Daniel has to close his eyes altogether.

"Look at me, Daniel," Jack insists, his tone cajoling rather than demanding. Jack folds his hand around Daniel's shaft, a perfect fit that has Daniel gasping and shaking. "Open your eyes and look at me."

Daniel complies, getting a sudden mental image of what he must look like, flushed, sweating, shaking and utterly at Jack's mercy. He didn't think it was possible, but the thought makes him harder.

Jack's face is just inches from his own, his pupils blown, making his dark eyes darker still. There's a lot written in that familiar, handsome expression, but Daniel's never seen the pride or the love there so clearly before. But there's also a flicker of wariness, a slight uncertainty.

"Are you still with me?"

Daniel nods. It's all he can manage. Jack is squeezing him, learning him; touching him so intimately he's almost insane with need.

"Do you want another order?"

Daniel nods again quickly. In a tiny, rational corner of his mind, he knows that Jack is giving him an out. If Daniel has had enough of their game, he has only to say and Jack will stop. Can Jack not see that Daniel is too far-gone for that? Does he not know that Daniel has to complete this now if any measure of trust between them is to be achieved? Daniel has made an admission of who he is and what he wants - Jack has to keep up his end of that trust now, and give it to him.

Jack steps away, releasing Daniel. There's no more uncertainty in his face. Maybe something of Daniel's need to give up control has crossed the barrier of their skins, strengthening his resolve. Maybe he truly understands how huge this is for Daniel, and that for Jack to show doubt now would undermine everything they've achieved so far - that there are no second chances with this. It has momentum; it's too big and rolling too fast for them to stop it now.

His chest is heaving almost as hard as Daniel's is, but Jack's voice is firm and assured. "Go to the bathroom, Daniel. Strip and wait for me there."

Daniel's legs are like jell-o when he slides off the table, so numb he almost falls, but he catches himself with sweaty-palmed hands. He ought to wait for a second, to let the pins and needles subside, but he pushes himself off and stumbles out of the kitchen and through the dark house to the bathroom.

Jack has left the mirror light on, and Daniel sees in that dim reflection that he was right. Jack has pushed Daniel beyond anything he has dared before and he looks utterly undone, his eyes heavy and half-closed, and his cheeks and lips the only high points of colour in the dark mirror image.

His hands are slow and clumsy as he undresses, piling his clothing on the floor heedlessly. His body is aching, burning for release, he feels drunk with it, and he stumbles back to the sink again, leaning his weight on the cold ceramic.

He doesn't move when Jack appears from the darkness behind him, gazing over his shoulder and into the mirror. Jack doesn't reach to touch him, and his eyes are in shadow, but his voice gives him away.

"Switch on the water and get in the shower," he mutters with a rawness and desperation he can't hide anymore.

Daniel complies without question, stepping into the warm, strong spray. It costs him. Even the touch of the water is erotic to him, something so mundane and everyday made into something sensual under Jack's hungry eyes.

Daniel keeps his own eyes lowered, unable to bear the heat in Jack's expression. He watches the water ripple over his chest and belly, describing sinuous patterns on his skin as he rolls his neck under the torrent.

Jack's hands on him are a surprise, first for the suddenness, and then for the gentleness in them. Daniel marvels at his control, even as he loses himself in the slip and glide of contact. Jack sweeps him with soapy palms, his shoulders, his back, his chest, and then down to his thighs and calves. He touches places that no one has ever noticed before, the tendons in his ankle, the curve of his lowest rib, the muscle in his shoulder. Daniel's body is thrumming, and he realises that he is purring aloud, giving voice to his skin's ecstasy.

"Jack," he moans, and grunts when Jack's fingers card through the hair at his groin, stroking and lathering the soap before sweeping a hand up his length. But Jack doesn't linger there. He guides Daniel to turn then and grasps his ass cheeks, his strong fingers kneading into his muscles. He slides fingertips into the crease, slippery and good, and Daniel gasps as Jack presses into him without waiting. A single fingertip, a knuckle and a heavy pressure within.

Daniel's spine curves and he arches into the sensation. It's so good, so nearly what he needs. Jack's body presses up against his back, naked now, and Daniel can feel the bright prickle of Jack's hairy skin on his own. Jack sets his hot mouth against Daniel's shoulder, hotter even than the water that rains down on them both. Sharp teeth just grazing his skin and a second finger wring moans from Daniel's lips. He pushes back, forcing Jack deeper into his body. The burn is perfect, dizzying, and Jack's hands are knowledgeable, spreading him, relaxing his hole.

"God! I want to touch you everywhere," Jack murmurs huskily in his ear. "You should see yourself. So fucking dirty, Daniel. So fucking hot."

Daniel lets his head fall back against Jack's shoulder and reaches back to touch him.

"Hands on the wall," Jack barks at him, the second he finds the skin of Jack's thighs.

With a whine, Daniel does as he's told, although he yearns to touch the strength of Jack's muscled body. He sighs when Jack's fingers are withdrawn, but they are back only a second later, slippery and with a third.

Jack bites the sensitive skin at the top of Daniel's inner arm when he pushes the three fingers home, and, for a second, Daniel is poised between pain and coming everywhere. "F...fuck me," he moans, almost incoherent with the need for release.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you, Daniel. But not yet."

Daniel drags in another lungful of air. "Please. Please, now, Jack."

Every whisper of breath, every droplet of water is a torment of exquisite pleasure on his over-sensitised skin. Jack's fingers are scalding inside him, rough now and impatient, and rubbing him just so fucking perfectly, he can't stand it and he squeezes his eyes shut.

Through his drunken haze, Daniel feels Jack's hand leave him and he's aware that his own murmurs have become harsh sobs. Jack turns him, his hands no longer gentle, and he must have switched off the water, because Daniel is suddenly cool. He leans back against the tiles when Jack pushes him, a shiver going through him at their sudden cold slickness against his shoulders.

"Daniel."

Jack's command voice pulls his scattered wits together enough for him to open his eyes. He sees that Jack's outside the shower, a towel around his waist now although Daniel has no idea when he did that. Time, for him, is measured only in the throb of his pulse and the hunger in his groin.

"Touch yourself, Daniel. I want to watch you come," Jack tells him softly but firmly.

He knows that he should feel as dirty as Jack tells him he looks, but Daniel only knows that he needs it when his fist wraps gratefully around his cock.

Jack closes his own eyes momentarily as Daniel begins to pump himself, and Daniel resolves to keep his eyes open if he can, to see the reaction his own pleasure is having on Jack.

Daniel spreads his legs a little further, steadying himself against the wall, and giving Jack a better view. He brings his second hand down to touch his balls, rolling them and tugging them a little, just how he likes it. He can't believe that he's lasted this long, with Jack's dark gaze and the slick wetness of his skin giving just enough play for him to do this right.

It feels like he's been hard for hours. He needs to come so badly it's a basic, unstoppable reaction to let his hand move faster now. His higher brain functions have shut off in face of this overwhelming need. It's primal. It's animalistic. He can feel it building, in his toes, in his shoulders and thighs, reaching the plateau of sensation that tells him to grip tighter and pull faster and any second now and any second and... now... fuck now... now.

The instant before his eyes close, Daniel sees Jack's lips shape a long "oh". And then he's gone, spiralling into the flash point at the apex of his climax, the whiteout claiming his consciousness for a split-second eternity.

~::~::~::~

Daniel bounces a little when Jack tumbles him onto the bed. He's feeling utterly wiped, and something like high. The endorphins are still pinging off his overworked nerve endings, bringing him down slowly.

But Jack is impatient, almost clumsy with a need that shows in the trembling of his hand and the glitter in his eye. He pushes Daniel back onto the bed, and Daniel flops bonelessly, too mellow to care. He only pays any heed when Jack's hands begin to touch him.

With slow, deliberate care, Jack strokes the skin of Daniel's flanks, his belly, his chest. He pauses to scrape a thumbnail over a nipple, making Daniel grunt at the raw sensation of it. But Jack doesn't stop. He bends and licks water from Daniel's belly, the tickle and heat of it making him squirm. Jack's mouth drifts lower, and he kisses the head of Daniel's too-sensitive cock.

Daniel huffs a laugh and tries to roll away but Jack pins his hips, and, with gentle persistence, covers Daniel's dick with tiny, flickering kisses while Daniel protests as best he can that he's too sensitive and that he needs a minute.

Daniel grits his teeth and tries to stifle the urge to giggle or thrash as Jack lavishes attention on his cock, taking its softening length into his mouth and licking it clean. Jack arranges him on the bed, lifting his heavy limbs and exposing his ass. Daniel stiffens when he feels Jack's fingers, cold with lube, unerringly find his hole and press in.

The resistance from his body is less now, stretched and relaxed as he is, but Jack is driven and in seconds he finds what feels like the centre of Daniel's nervous system. Daniel protests; it's really, really too soon for this much attention and the shocks coursing through his groin from Jack's clever, teasing pressure are almost but not entirely pleasurable, jangling on his already overloaded senses.

But Jack ignores his half-hearted protests and starts to fuck him in earnest with his fingers, rubbing him slowly, just so, and suckling at his flaccid dick in a way that gradually becomes a warming, flickering ache of renewed desire.

Daniel groans; he's lost all sense of time again. For all he knows he could have been lying here for hours, while Jack's been coaxing him back to life. All he can do is accept whatever Jack wants to give him and murmur incoherent encouragement. It's been so long since anyone has touched him like this; slowly, possessively and with an intensity that thrills him even as it unnerves him.

Daniel wants again despite himself. He allows Jack to roll him onto his belly and spread his thighs wide. Jack's fingers are slick and experienced, caressing the underside of his balls and playing with his hole until Daniel has to drag himself onto his knees despite his fucked-out state to beg mutely for more than what Jack's hands, however clever, can give.

"Something I can do for you, Daniel?" Jack asks in a lust-hoarse voice.

"Fuck me," Daniel says immediately. He's so hard again, the stinging heat of his cock twitching and straining for more abuse. Nothing else seems to matter anymore. Daniel's ass feels empty without Jack's fingers to fill him. He needs to be fucked, and Jack got him into this state so he owes it to Daniel to pound him and make him come as hard as he can.

But Jack's hands on him are gentle now, soothing, ignoring the pleas of Daniel's greedy skin. No matter how Daniel pushes back or groans at him, Jack simply toys with his hole, circling and rubbing it possessively.

"Well, I'd love to only..." Jack leans over Daniel's back and pulls the clock from his nightstand, dropping it on the bed in front of his eyes. "... you don't trust me anymore."

Daniel blinks at the clock stupidly, and it's an indication of how wrecked he is that it takes him a few seconds to realise that the hour has passed and that he's no longer honour bound to trust Jack.

Jack's hands on him are still, but Daniel can feel the weight of intensity behind them. It burns through his skin and sends waves of tension screaming through nerves that are already at breaking point.

He wants to yell. He wants to spit sarcasm at Jack until he breaks, throws him down and fucks him hard enough to hurt him. Daniel grits his teeth and tries to think what Jack will want to hear. "Please. I want you to," he mutters.

Jack is silent and Daniel doesn't think his heart can take much more of this; naked and spread for Jack, a need like starvation holding him there.

Daniel's arms turn to cooked spaghetti when he feels the blunt, cool roundness of Jack's cock at his hole. He makes an embarrassing whimpering gasp and his face mashes into the covers.

But Jack's not done. He hangs there, his crown snugged against Daniel's ass, slick and hard, pressing gently but not inside him.

Daniel tries to rock back onto him, to force Jack to breach him, but Jack's big hands grab his hips, holding him tight and he moves when Daniel does, pulling away, pulling back, losing contact, then, with toe-curling deliberation, replacing his cock head gently at Daniel's hole.

The torment of it rages through Daniel. What does Jack want from him? He can't think, he can't concentrate; all there is, is this gnawing, clawing hunger tearing at him.

Daniel slumps to the bed fully, shaking like he's half frozen. He flinches at the touch of the comforter on his cock-head, but it's better than the infuriating there - not there touch of the man behind him, and he squirms against it, finding friction.

Jack's weight settles on him, crushing the air from his lungs and stilling his hips, before he tucks his arms beneath Daniel's armpits and hauls him onto his side, Daniel's back plastered up against Jack's belly and chest.

He knows it's pointless to struggle, and he doesn't think he could if he wanted to, so he lets himself go limp, gasping air into his lungs.

Jack is silent for a long time, holding him around his chest, soothing him with slow breaths and a quiet solidness in the cool darkness of the room.

"You want to know what I think?" he asks finally, when Daniel's breathing has synchronised with his own. He doesn't wait for an answer. "I think that the problem isn't that you don't trust me. It's that you do, and it scares the fucking crap out of you."

Jack traces a lazy pattern across Daniel's shoulder with his teeth and his tongue, leaving a chill tightness in his wake. "When was the last time you relied on anyone for anything, Daniel?" he asks in a low, smooth voice into Daniel's hair, making him shiver.

Daniel doesn't know what to say, his head still muzzy from unfamiliar combination of satiation and lust. And yet Jack, who has been hard for what must be an hour or more, is still rational and eloquent enough to confront Daniel with his trust issues, with his dick pressing into Daniel's back and his mouth on Daniel's skin all the while. Bastard.

Daniel drags his consciousness together enough to say, "I'm capable of trust, you arrogant prick."

Jack slides a hand down Daniel's side, over his hip and down his thigh, forcing his knee forward to rest on the mattress. "Reeeeally?" He kisses the back of Daniel's neck, rubbing his lips against the short hairs there, making them prickle. "Like who?"

"Lots of people."

"Name one."

"Teal'c."

Jack pauses for just a second, but Daniel was expecting it. They don't discuss the fact that Teal'c was, in a way, responsible for the abduction and subsequent death of his wife, Sha'uri. They never have.

Jack's hands resume their gliding caresses. It looks like today is another day that's going to go un-discussed, and Daniel's glad of it.

"Who else?"

"Sam," Daniel says, knowing it's predictable, but it's the closest thing he has to the truth.

"Sam? Huh. So you trust Sam and Teal'c with your life, do you? You'd let them hold whether you live or die in their hands?"

"Within reason," Daniel hedges, and he swears that the twitch he can feel against his shoulder blade is Jack's smile.

"Within reason. Right. So you'd trust them with your life, but how about your darkest secrets? How about the bits that aren't so admirable? How about your heart and soul, Daniel? Trust them with that?"

Daniel is silent. Jack knows him too well.

"So I'll ask you again. Who do you trust, Daniel?"

"Sam. And Teal'c."

Jack's palm presses against Daniel's ass, spreading him open, the touch of the cool air sending a lazy, sensuous fizzle into Daniel's balls. Jack fits the head of his cock against Daniel's hole again and pushes gently. "Who do you trust? With all of it? With everything you are, Daniel?" he asks.

Daniel swallows hard, resisting the urge to push back.

"I told you..."

Jack pushes a little harder, stretching Daniel, holding him open.

"Jack, please!" Daniel moans, his muscles tight and his back arching taut like a bow.

"Tell me," Jack insists in a soft enticing tone, as if he were talking to an idiot. He spreads Daniel wider and the head of his cock slides past the tight muscle of Daniel's hole with a twinge of discomfort that is quickly washed away by the thrilling knowledge that Jack is finally, finally going to fuck him.

"You," Daniel blurts. "Oh fuck! You! Just come on. Come on!"

Jack bites his shoulder and slides into him in one long, steady push. "Me," he growls, licking over the sensitized spot tenderly.

Daniel's breath hisses between his teeth as pain and pleasure flare into a dark heat low in his belly. The sensation of being filled by Jack makes him almost dizzy, and as Jack's groin snugs up against Daniel's ass, he relaxes completely, heavy and happy.

Jack's body curls protectively around Daniel, holding him together, keeping him safe. "Me," he repeats softly, holding tightly around Daniel's chest. "I knew it." There's no crowing in his voice, no triumph, just a simple statement of fact. "I knew it all along. Even when you didn't want to, even when you hated me, you still trusted me."

If he could, Daniel would say something cutting, and take the colonel down a peg or thirty, but he can't. His body is learning the feel of Jack within him, the heat and the heaviness of his cock and the way his own body stretches and holds him so tightly.

And, for all his irritating certainty, Jack is right. To be honest, Daniel could have spat "I don't trust you," at anyone else, and it would have been nothing but the truth. He's always found trust to be an overrated concept, doomed to failure at its inception - not due to poor intentions or spite, but through basic human nature.

That's why self-reliance has been his rule ever since he can remember. He's only too aware of his own frailties and failings - why should he expect anyone else to be any better?

And then he met Jack.

Jack who was smart and brave and handsome. Jack who never left a man behind. Jack who never gave up, even when he thought he had. Jack who actually seemed to like him. A lot. Jack who could call him names without it hurting because his smile said something else.

Jack is right. Daniel has found himself trusting, despite the inherent danger, despite the inevitable outcome.

And he hates it.

Half of him is yearning to believe it; the other half is scoffing at his pathetic need for that belief. But every time he's with Jack, a feeling of ease comes over him - like he can relax just a little bit, just for a little while, because Jack is there to watch out for him. And it's not that he needs protecting. And it's not that he's lonely. And it's not that he's sick of fighting his corner. He wasn't looking for someone to lean on, but he's found one anyway.

That the someone is smart, funny, sexy as hell, male and his commanding officer is just Daniel's luck.

"Don't make me regret it," Daniel says, surprised when his tone isn't the scathing sharpness he'd imagined, but a quiet, heartfelt whisper. He feels Jack bow his head against his back, the short sweaty strands of his hair tickling the skin between Daniel's shoulder blades.

"Never," Jack murmurs back in that same strangely honest voice. He twines their fingers together on the sheets and starts as Daniel hopes he means to go on.

Fin