Kernel Of Truth

by J. M. Griffin

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/asj/jmgriffin/kernel.php
Summary: Jack broods, Daniel comforts.

Jack is moping. That's the only word for it. We're at my place instead of his because his place doesn't have air conditioning and mine does and we're in the middle of a heatwave and drought.

While I've been finishing up my notes on the translation of the odd tablet we found on PT3 888 today, Jack has sulked, which is not usually his wont.

"Hey, " I say when I've typed in one last thought. "You about ready to eat?" I can smell the baked potatoes in the oven; they'll be ready soon.

"Sure. " He comes up behind where I sit at my desk. I can see his face reflected in my computer screen. He has a weird sort of closed off look on his face, which I would have said I haven't seen in years, except that I've seen it on several occasions recently, when he didn't think I was focusing on him at all.

I pivot in my chair, reaching out and encircling his waist with my arms. Sliding to the edge of the chair, I pull him tightly against me, my head on his abdomen. He gives a little pleased whuff and slides his hands down my shoulder and arms. I look up and he swoops down and we kiss, spending some time, tongues dueling for dominance, before coming to a mutual decision when I win. Tugging on him, I ease him down to sit astride my lap. The corded muscles of his thighs feel so good under my hands.

"Hey," he says into my mouth, "let's take this into the bedroom."

Just then the timer for the potatoes begins to buzz.

"Sustenance first, " he grins. "And then..."

"Sustenance of an entirely different sort." I finish for him. He laughs and I think maybe whatever it was he's been brooding about might be banished.

However, while we eat, the look comes back.

"You told me once your birthdate was recorded incorrectly when you were fostered. So you're thirty-three, not thirty five, am I right?"

We'd been talking about our day on PT3 888, so I'm a bit surprised by the change in topic. "That's right."

"What would you say if I told you I was older than most people think?"

I shrug. It really doesn't matter how old he is. He'll always be my Jack, with prematurely grey hair and brown eyes that say things he can't. "I love you." You're mine alone." And his body, long and lean, his skin surprisingly silky in texture, his mouth always eager for me.

He gives that little Mona Lisa smile of his that tells me he's horny as hell and it wouldn't be long now.

"How old are you, Jack?"

He sighs, "almost fifty."

I laugh without sound. This could mean anything. Most probably it means that he is forty-six, almost forty-seven, as per his Air Force records and just worried about turning fifty in a few years. After all, unlike me, Jack was born in the good old U.S. of A. and it is highly unlikely there is even the slightest doubt about his birthdate.

"I've always had a thing for older men."

"Always?" he asks, looking at me with the tiniest bit of malice.

"Always." I promise.

"I thought I was your first." He says it very nonchalantly, holding his chin up in that way he does just before he goes in for the kill.

"But not the first man I ever lusted after," I remind him.

Somehow he is out of his chair and around to mine before I can even blink. He towers over me, one hand on the table near my hip the other on the back of my chair, glowering down at me as I gape up at him. "I don't wanna know," he growls.

I laugh aloud now and stand up into his embrace, feeling his breath hot on my cheek. "You're the first man I ever let..." He silences me with a kiss, his hands sliding up under my tee shirt to sprawl across my back. Then he pulls me hard against his chest in a hug, which is not what I expected. I can feel his breath sighing harsh and hard out of his lungs. It catches in his throat and I realize suddenly he is close to tears and I have no idea why.

"Jack, Jack, " I croon as he nuzzles my neck, butting against me with his head.

I take his face in my hands and kiss him softly. I can taste the tears he has swallowed back. Then I grab him by the hand and tug him down the hall to the bedroom and we tumble on the bed.

He can't seem to let me go long enough to pull my clothes off, though all he seems to want is my skin against his own. Finally, we are both nude. His erect penis is already leaking in the crease of my groin. Gasping, he rubs fiercely against me, his eyes closing as the friction builds. I slide one hand between us and stop his movement and he whimpers into my ear as I lube him up. I roll us until I am on top and his eyes pop open as I slide my body down over him, letting him split me open gradually. He gasps and tosses his head from side to side as I take him in. I move once, twice, and he's coming is short sharp bursts and sobbing "sorry, sorry" as he does. His hands have been wrapped around my cock and now he infiltrates one under my balls and I begin to spasm at the pleasure of it, coming on his chest in milky streams.

I collapse down on his chest and he cradles me against him, smoothing my hair, peppering it with kisses.

I pull back to look at his face and he moves, turning away so I can't look into his eyes. I take his chin between my fingers and make him look at me. He gives in sighing and I see it there in his eyes: the love, the fear, the hope that I know is the part of him, but that he rarely lets anyone see. It is such a gift that he leaves it unveiled for me.

"Ahhh," is all I can say, a benediction, but not a plea. I keep looking at him making sure he can see all of me: my love for him, my insistence that it will not go away no matter what.

He hugs me again, whispering "Danny, Danny," into my skin. When he finally releases me, we clean up and then curl up together, his head on my chest. And then he sleeps, trustingly, in my arms.