Some Like it Hot
Confessions of a Curry Addict
Notes: Thanks as ever to Widget and Spring for listening while I curried this remorseless and ill-mannered little shit of a plot bunny which rudely assaulted me over a lamb roghan josh the other Sunday. Thanks as always to the inestimable Xochiquetzl for server space and all round splendid webmistress services rendered, and a special thanks to Minerva for telling me that my alternative title ‘sucked ass’. Such savage and frequently hysterically funny honesty always appreciated babe!
Warnings: Sexual abuse of exotic fruit, typical misconceptions about British food, tastebud whumpings all round and a shocking waste of good olive oil. And time – natch. Bon appetit!
This was one of George’s better ideas. Morale had been flagging lately. Thanksgiving had come and gone with the usual flatulent overindulgence, Christmas ditto with added sugar, New Year likewise with alcohol and now, in the depths of a dark, bitter Colorado winter, the prevailing atmosphere was one of gloom and boredom.
Having caught several SF’s engaged in a bet over a large stationary spider and which direction it would go when it finally did decide to move, George had engaged several methods of raising morale. The musak had been a dead loss. After hearing a massacre of Bach’s Air on a G-string (for child’s electric organ and asthmatic flautist with collapsed lung) for the forty-seventh time, Jack had thrown himself on his CO’s mercy and begged him to stop. The musak episode was made worse by Daniel’s attempt to drown out the noise with his own musical selections, which were eclectic and horrible in the extreme. A strange quasi musical soup comprising a gurgling rendition of The Blue Danube and Michael Stipe’s warbling grad-school ravings (which Jack loathed and Daniel loved) had floated through sub-Level 28 for days, to the point where numerous people begged George to terminate the musak with extreme prejudice if only they didn’t have to hear Dr. Jackson singing along to ‘Shiny Happy People’ again.
In typical sadistic fashion, Janet Frasier had then submitted the idea of a talent contest to the General. This was swiftly vetoed by everyone on the grounds that Colonel O’Neill singing was bound to make them feel even worse than Dr. Jackson’s adenoidal R.E.M impression did. Just…no…sir.
Dinner had been George’s idea and he’d looked shocked when it was enthusiastically approved by everyone but Carter, who was by reputation the worst cook on the planet. It was a simple idea – beautiful in its simplicity. People would host dinner parties for one another. George had cooked steaks, fried beans – good Southern food dished up incongruously on his late wife’s Minton china, and the evening had been a complete success.
"Definitely prefer that to the musak," Jack said, dropping on the couch and thumping his still full stomach approvingly. "Shoulda known General Hammond would know how to cook a steak. Never met a Texan who couldn’t."
"I liked the beans," Daniel said, with a discreet burp. "Must get the recipe."
"Good plan. Get the steak recipe while you’re there."
"Planning on getting me to cook that?" Daniel opened the fridge and dug out drinks. Diet coke for him, Bud for Jack.
"You can cook." Jack said, attempting to sweeten him into doing a few more…well…partnerlike things.
It wasn’t like he was trying to turn Danny into the barefoot and pregnant type – god forbid, but it would occasionally be nice to get a little TLC after a rough day training dim-witted recruits instead of a distracted ‘hmmph’ from a Daniel who was either up to his ass in translations or bashing the keys of a laptop. And this was on a better day. On one of those days he had to put up with Daniel screaming ‘fuck fuck FUCCCKKKK!’ over a crashed computer or howling over the ineptitude of lab techs who had misplaced some carbon-dating results. On the very worst days he’d find a joyous Daniel singing ‘Shiny Happy People’ inbetween incomprehensible monologues on the very old, very useless and very dead language he’d translated. It was just as well the sex was worth it.
"When I want to." Daniel burped again. "Damn. I think I have indigestion."
"I’m not fucking surprised. You inhaled that meal." He got glared at. "Anyway, it’s your turn to cook next week. What ya cooking?"
"I thought Indian." Daniel said, scratching his ear and settling in a chair, bending over to remove his shoes.
"Indian? Cherokee? Navajo?"
"Subcontinental. And the correct term is Native American. And I wasn’t cooking that. I meant Indian. As in India."
"Yadda…whatever. Is that like curry and stuff? I thought that was British."
"I can cook British food if…"
Daniel sniggered and took a long pull of his Diet Coke. "Blood sausage? Bangers and mash? Spotted dick?"
"Spotted dick?" Jack almost inhaled a sinus full of Bud. "They eat sexually transmitted diseases?"
"It’s a sort of sponge cake with raisins and custard. And I suppose technically you could call curry a British dish. It comes from the Hindi word kari which means meat in sauce. The British in India adapted it to disguise the taste of meat that had gone bad in the heat."
Jack made a face. "Mmm. Can’t wait."
"We have refrigerators in Colorado, you know. Anyway, I was thinking of the real thing. Genuine Indian food. It’s very good."
"Depends entirely on the dish."
Jack peered thoughtfully down the neck of the Bud bottle. "It’s not that I don’t trust you, Daniel…"
"It’s just that you don’t trust me?" Daniel asked, wryly.
"Okay…no. I do trust you. It’s just that you have about three functioning tastebuds that I know of. Sugar, hot, and extra hot."
"That’s a filthy lie." He got to his feet and stretched his back. "You know perfectly well I have a coffee tastebud too. Anyway. I’m going to bed."
"I assume you know the drill by now, Colonel."
"Ah huh. Bed before daylight and double entendres. I’m thinkin’ tonight keeps getting better."
Indian food. Jack wondered what had sparked that off while he brushed his teeth and scrubbed up any sweaty parts of his anatomy, which might cause offence in a bedroom situation. He knew he’d have to ask. Daniel was always doing that – dropping something non-sequiteurish and weird out of nowhere so that no matter how much he tried to ignore it he eventually had to ask why, what, wherefore, how. It was a Daniel thing. He was like that crazy little guy in the movie Catch-22. Apparently insane, but there was method in his madness.
He was already in bed when Jack got there, stretched out on his side wearing nothing but his glasses and a carefully arranged bedcover reading the Atlantic Monthly, which in Jack’s opinion was the most boring periodical on earth, aside from Daniel’s other favourite, National Geographic. He was laughing over something.
"Oh…nothing. Just this article. Why Literature is Dead. A comparison between the prose of a recent Pulitzer winner and the work of an old master stylist like Vladimir Nabokov just made me chuckle, that’s all."
Jack gave him a puzzled frown and twitched the magazine out of his fingers while dropping a quick kiss on the top of his head.
"I’m sure it was hilarious," he said, climbing into bed and waiting for Daniel to stop futzing around trying to find his glasses case. "But I think I’ll stick to MAD Magazine if it’s all the same to you."
"Well, I thought it was funny."
"You would. Now come here."
"Where? Specific co-ordinates please."
Jack grabbed his ass, pulled him in hard against the erection that had been plaguing him on and off all day and kissed him thoroughly. "Specific enough for ya?"
"That’s certainly specific. What are you planning to do with that?"
"That’s for me to know and you to find out. What’s with the Indian thing anyway…and yes, I had to ask. Isn’t that all kinda Kama Sutra?"
"The Kama Sutra is not a goddamn sex manual, Jack."
"Coulda fooled me. I bought the illustrated edition and they sure as hell weren’t playing polo."
"It’s actually more of a lifestyle guide for the Fourth Century Indian bon viveur, with specific emphasis on how to…"
"…there was this one thing where she kinda had her leg up here…"
"When have you ever known my leg to bend in that direction, Jack?"
"Jeez…owch. Yeah. Sorry. You could cut your toenails occasionally, ya know."
"You could avoid attempting to stick my foot in your ear and work with tried and tested methods of achieving orgasm."
"Oh for cryin’ out loud! Do you wanna bitch all night or do you want to fuck?"
"Wow. How can I resist you when you’re so charming?"
"Okay. Fuck. Definitely choosing the fuck option here. We can bitch anywhere."
"Hell yeah. We’re flexible."
"Speak for yourself…ow…what did you do to my hip, Jack?"
A week! An entire fucking week – or rather a not-fucking week. Jack hadn’t been getting his for a week. He couldn’t figure it out how he’d gone without for so many years since his divorce and got used to it, before he’d hooked up with the voracious sexual beast that had been sharing his bed, floor, stairwell, kitchen table, refrigerator (he still had no idea how they’d pulled that one off) and shower for the past six months. Now he felt cheated if a week went by without getting laid.
And the air recycling system was busted. Cheyenne Mountain was fuggy and stale and consequently the scene of more frayed tempers than usual, and Colonel Jack O’Neill was a seething knot of sexual tension courtesy of one pissy PhD with a curry fixation. After dinner at the General’s last Friday, Daniel had done his usual thing – bitched until Jack had suggested a more appropriate bedtime use for his tongue, screwed like a sweaty mink for forty five wonderful minutes then headed off to grab a drink of water and disappeared to sit behind a laptop for the remainder of the night. The main trouble with having a lover whose IQ was pushing 200 was that the little shit never stopped thinking unless he was poised on the brink of sexual nirvana or drunk off his ass.
Saturday morning, the Tok’ra called, early enough to cancel out the morning quickie that Jack was mentally choreographing while Daniel was still bug eyed on the end of a modem line. Unscheduled diplomatic bullshit all weekend, blah blah. Once they’d managed to get home, debrief and out of the mountain Daniel’s internal alarms went off, reminded him that he hadn’t slept for something like 42 hours straight and Jack came out of the bathroom to find that he’d collapsed unconscious in the process of undressing and was sprawled out on the bed on his back, snoring like a drain and wearing nothing but a partially unravelled sock. This was followed by a sixteen hour session during which Rip Van Jackson recharged his batteries and all attempts at a quick fondle between peaks of REM sleep had resulted in a tirade of some impressively disgusting language.
There was no use arguing. Jack vs. Daniel’s Sleep Pattern was a running battle that had been going on for years and Jack had enough military experience under his belt to know that he couldn’t take Daniel’s sleep pattern.
Monday morning came and 0500 reveille. This had always been and always would be a foreign concept to the unconscious academic who appeared to be trying to sleep his way into the record books. Jack had planned yet another seduction before they shipped out again that afternoon on a scheduled re-con mission. He’d mapped it all out in his mind. A little squeeze here, a nibble and kiss there, spoon, snuggle, caress, and Daniel would roll over and into his arms for a little hot stinky lovin’ before they had to once again get back to the mountain for some more wormhole jumping.
That was the fantasy. The reality included other elements he’d conveniently forgotten all about, like sixteen hour morning breath, Daniel threatening to kill him or worse if he didn’t stop groping him and let him out of bed to go to the bathroom and then having to face off against the terrifying creature that was Daniel after sixteen hours of solid sleep with no caffeine. There was this six foot, spiky haired, barefoot almost-human with bleary unspectacled eyes whose vocabulary extended to three words, ‘coffee’ ‘off’ and ‘fuck’, and sometimes in that order before its built in grammar checker kicked in. Jack knew you had to feed this thing coffee before it turned back into Daniel.
And God help you if you tried to feed it Instant.
Then he’d done it. He’d Pissed Daniel Off.
The re-con mission had been standard in every way, including the usual Jack/Daniel routine. Daniel wanted to look at rocks. The nasty mean ole’ Colonel wouldn’t let him. Daniel said he thought it could be important. Jack said that that he didn’t want to hear it because whenever Daniel said something was important and investigated it usually meant they all nearly got killed. Daniel then said he didn’t exactly like getting killed and had more knowledge of that whole Tunnel of Light thing than he really wanted and what was his point anyway? Had geophysics surveys suddenly started resulting in fatalities? Daniel didn’t think so.
The upshot was that a PMSy Carter and a scary as anything you’ve ever seen Jaffa with a staff weapon had told them to knock it off and Daniel had apologised sweetly and then added as a whispered aside that Jack could forget about any naked and sweaty privileges for the time being.
Which left Jack staring at a computer screen in his quarters, breathing in stale air, kicking his heels, swearing and thinking long and hard about the day when Pissy Kama Sutra Rock Boy got his fucking comeuppance, with emphasis on the fucking.
Tonight was revenge time. Daniel was bound to be smug over his cooking. Like it or not, the truth was that Daniel was the best cook. Jack would never admit that, but he knew it to be a fact. While he could rustle up a mean breakfast and deemed himself a deity with a barbecue, Daniel had done enough travelling around the world and waited enough tables to know what made a meal swing. Teal’c didn’t cook, except for basic field cookery and survival stuff. His idea of fast food was an extremely swift moving mammal that had somehow slipped the snare he’d laid, and as for Carter, well, the least said the better. The only one who might be able to outdo Daniel was Janet, who excelled at Creole cuisine, but amongst SG1 there was no doubt that in the culinary stakes, Danny was going to come out on top.
Or rather Dannyboy was going to come on the bottom if he had his way. A pleased with himself Daniel was a much more pliant proposition than a pissed off one, and Jack knew just the buttons to push. Offering to help with the dishes was strategic move number one. Somehow getting their hands tangled under the dishsoap was step number two, then a little nuzzling on that spot below the ear, a few wet swirls traced inside the ear itself, then onto step three, which comprised a swift leglock which would have Daniel’s nose pressed up against his and full lip privileges would henceforth be restored.
Could that boy ever kiss! The first time Daniel had planted a big one on him, Jack’s IQ had taken up residence behind his fly buttons and his lips had tingled for hours afterwards. There was no way he could hold Daniel’s technique up for examination because his brain turned to mush every time his lower lip got swiped with the linguist’s tongue and when Daniel moved in for that long, wet, hungry tongue slowdive thing he did Jack was ready to be led whimpering by the dick to wherever Daniel wanted it, just so long as he got it soon.
Hmmm…yeah. That was it. Shove him up against the kitchen sink, grab his ass, kiss him until anoxia threatened to set in and give the boy a few teasing grinds and let him know what he was missing. Daniel was smart. He’d know when to quit. Horny little bastard had probably been jerking off all week because he wasn’t getting any. Four years of celibacy had turned Daniel into a kind of hormonal timebomb waiting to go off. He liked his sex like he liked his coffee – hot, strong and very often. God…a week! He’d be wired, desperate, panting for it once Jack gave him a taste of what he’d been denying himself…
"…oh God…ohhhhh…pleasepleaseplease…mmmm…Hard. Fast. Dirty. NOW…please…"
Daniel’s glasses going flying across the kitchen, one leg wrapping around Jack’s ass, wriggling and grinding…oh YEAH, baby…
"Uh uh. You brought this on yourself, Dannyboy. You ain’t getting nothin’ unless I say so."
"Jaaaack…" Oh boy…loved it when he moaned his name like that, his head falling back, bent right over the sink so that his head was almost in the washing-up bowl, going CRAZY. "Um…double negative."
"Trying to FANTASISE here, Daniel! Can’t you even stop being an ACADEMIC in a fucking daydream? Jeez…"
He took a deep breath, uncrossed his legs. Tried again.
"…where were we, Daniel? Oh yeah. You aren’t getting any. How’s that? Better?…good, now shut the fuck up. The only words I wanna hear out of your mouth tonight are dirty ones, ya hear?"
"Mmmph…oh yeah. Gotcha…"
Oh hell yeah. REALLY out of control now, sucking hungrily on Jack’s tongue inbetween panting breaths hissed out between clenched teeth, thrusting against his hip, rock hard in his jeans. Time for some serious torture.
"Want me to do something about that? Huh? D’you wanna come, Daniel? Oh yeah…you really DO…a WEEK. This is NOT good for a guy with an appetite like yours, y’know. You need a good fucking like you need air right now…"
He was making those hot little mewing noises he made when he was so aroused that his brains had puddled clean out of his ears and all he wanted was to be nailed there and then.
Jack decided to take his fantasy into the bathroom before he did something really indiscreet under the desk. He made it in two strides, locked the bathroom door, slid down against it and unbuttoned in a hurry…
"A whole fucking WEEK, Daniel. Why should I give you anything?"
"Quit screwing around and fuck me, you bastard." Daniel snarled.
Dammit. Even in his imagination he couldn’t resist Daniel talking dirty. Shit. How was it the man had him by the nuts even in his psyche?
…turning him around, yanking his pants around his ankles, bending him over the worktop in the centre of the kitchen. Olive oil. Extra Virgin. It’d do, even if it was kinda inappropriate given their current position…
He squeezed Daniel’s butt – sweet perfect ass, high rounded cheeks which he pushed apart and knelt to run his tongue between quickly as a tease…
"You want me?"
"Oh God,…yes, yes, YES…now! Fuck me…please…fuck me NOW…"
…unscrewed the bottle top, poured the golden-green liquid down Daniel’s cleft, letting it pour over his balls, slip and slide in expensive dribbles down the backs of his long legs, pants scrunched around his ankles. Now THERE was a pretty sight…
…fucking HELL…oh yeah. So damn tight as he worked his cock inside with a slow screwing motion, but Danny got impatient and shoved back against him, taking him up to the hilt, his balls colliding with the oil slick he’d made of Daniel’s ass…ohhhhh my…GOD…
"Daniel? Holy shit…you sound just like Carter. Carter? CARTER!! AAAAGH!"
He was too close to hold it off and came messily all over his hand.
"Sir? You in here?" Carter’s voice from behind the door. Fuck, fuck, fuck…dammit Daniel. Look what you made me do.
"I’m in the bathroom!" he called, trying to make his voice sound normal and failing miserably. What came out was a kind of strangulated squeak.
"You okay, sir?"
"Um…okaaaay…Teal’c and I were about to head off to Daniel’s now. Are you coming?"
Bad choice of words, he thought, trying to clean up the mess with thin, crappy USAF issue toilet paper. "Be there in a moment…I need to get outta these BDU’s."
"Okay sir. We’ll meet you in the Rec room on level 26."
He waited until he heard the sound of her heels walking out of his quarters and the door closed then swore the air blue. Dr. Daniel Jackson was so dead. This was his goddamn fault.
"Hiiii…" It was that breathy ‘hi’. Jack knew he was screwed. Daniel was in sweet mode. Pretending he wasn’t a snarky, pissy, bad tempered little bastard who was cutting off Jack’s fun rations lately out of personal pique.
I’ve got your number, Dr. Jackson. Just you wait until you’re doing the dishes. I’m going to make you BEG.
"Hel-lo…" He looked Daniel up and down. White jeans, blue shirt unbuttoned at the throat, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, showing off those forearms and strong, flexible wrists. Jack knew just how flexible.
Daniel blinked, his tongue darting out to wet his lower lip as he backed up against the hall wall to let Carter and Teal’c through, leaving him almost nose to nose with an annoyed Jack. Jack knew the looks – the small, fast sidelong glance, a quick spark lighting up in Daniel’s eyes, a crackle of sexual tension. He was being played.
He narrowed his eyes and scowled at Daniel, who gave him a perfectly innocent ‘who me?’ look over the rims of his glasses.
"Wow…something smells great!" Carter was saying.
Jack gave him a quick glance that he knew Daniel knew full well meant ‘This is not over,’ and headed for the living room where General Hammond was sitting sipping a Scotch and Janet Frasier in a short skirt was nursing a vodka and tonic.
He settled on Daniel’s couch at the other end from the General. "Hi. Brought the stomach pump, Doc?"
"Don’t be mean," Janet rebuked. "Whatever Daniel’s cooking it smells delicious."
"Sure does," Sam said, enthusiastically.
"Sam?" Daniel called from the kitchen. "Could you do the honours with drinks and stuff? I’m kinda tied up with stuff in here…"
Jack swallowed hard at the thought of Daniel tied up in the kitchen and tried to rid himself of the constantly recurring suspicion that his significant other could somehow read his dirty mind.
"Of course. You got ice?"
Daniel leaned over the counter that divided the rooms and handed her a bag and an ice bucket. "Thanks. Just finishing up…won’t be long. Can you pour me a Southern Comfort please?"
Jack sighed. "Teal’c, wouldja sit down? You’re making me nervous."
Teal’c sat down.
"Nothing to be nervous about," Janet said.
He eyed her with deep suspicion. "That’s what you always say."
She laughed, a rich dark chocolate syrup sound, brown eyes a-twinkle. That woman must have been one hell of a handful for her husband, Jack reflected. Not to mention that she knew more about male anatomy than even he and Daniel did. Guy must have been a complete asshole to let her go.
"Whatcha cooking in there, anyway?" Jack called.
"Indian. I told you."
"A week ago! You coulda changed your mind."
"Has it really been a week?" Daniel asked, peering over the kitchen counter again. "Time flies, huh?"
"Need any help there?" Jack said, between clenched teeth, getting off the couch and stalking into the kitchen, while Daniel retreated behind a partition to rummage in the fridge for something. He was behind Daniel in under a second, satisfied when the archaeologist let out a quick startled gasp when he turned and found himself nose to nose with him once more.
Daniel cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. "Yes."
"A. Whole. Fucking. Week." Jack whispered.
"Well, I’d say the apposite obscenity was inaccurate but yes, I think you have a grasp of the timeframe involved."
Jack looked blankly at him. "Did you wanna be buried or cremated?"
"You’d never…" Daniel slipped out from between him and the fridge, brushing past him in a cloud of spice and Chanel. As Jack turned his head to track the impossibly fast moving thing he’d somehow lost his heart and genitals to, his eye caught sight of a bottle of Extra Virgin Olive Oil on the counter. Okay…breathe. Let’s not go there. Not with General Hammond in the next room.
"I could do you serious damage, Daniel."
"Hmm…" Daniel stirred something on the stovetop. "I, on the other hand, could just do you. I’ll hold on the serious damage."
Jack spun him around to face him. "You’re dead."
Daniel glanced at the door. "Sam’s coming in to bring me a drink any second."
"It won’t take me a second."
Another quick sidelong glance at the door, the flirting look. "This isn’t the time or place," Daniel said. "So don’t even think about it." With that he leaned in to steal a kiss and moved away just as fast, leaving Jack standing dumbfounded with a bottle of Bud in his hand and the expression of a recently clubbed seal on his face.
Dinner was served.
And it was excellent. Daniel had pulled out all the stops. There was some kind of potato thing with turmeric, chillies in a nut sauce, a lamb dish which was rich and thick with onions, naan breads, puppadoms and mango relish, and a large, covered dish lurking suspiciously in the middle of the table.
General Hammond was tucking into second helpings of the lamb. "What is it you call this, Dr. Jackson?"
"It’s dopiaza. Roughly translated that’s meat cooked with double the quantity of onions. There’s eight pounds of onions in there."
"You chopped eight pounds of onions?" asked Sam. "Owch."
Daniel laughed and sipped his drink. "Yeah. My eyes were kind of streaming a bit."
"It’s absolutely delicious." George said, happily shovelling his seconds.
"It is indeed," agreed Teal’c, dipping into the lamb.
"So what’s in there?" Jack asked, pointing to the covered dish.
Daniel nibbled on a shard of puppadom. "That, Jack, is not for the faint hearted. Chicken vindaloo."
"Is that hot?" Janet said, looking as though she was up for giving it a shot.
"Think I’ll skip it, if you don’t mind," said Sam. "This is all spicy enough for me."
"Sure. I only made it in case any of you turned out to be spice junkies."
"Spice junkie here!" Janet sat up in her chair. "Hit me. I like the hot stuff."
General Hammond and Teal’c also sensibly declined, but Jack figured when he saw Daniel dishing up the stuff onto Janet’s plate and his own like they were going head to head in some kind of curry duel, he knew he’d have to compete. No way was he being bested by the world’s most irritating archaeologist and the world’s most intimidating MD.
"Count me in."
"Are you sure, Jack?" Daniel asked, in a concerned voice.
"I think I can handle it."
Daniel raised his eyebrows and dipped the ladle into the tureen. "Good luck," he said, as the chicken vindaloo hit the plate.
Sam and the General were looking on with amused interest. Teal’c had an eyebrow raised. The matter of tasting the curried chicken had suddenly turned into a kind of gladiatorial contest as to who could take the most heat. Daniel and Janet were waiting with forks poised.
Sam held out one hand, palm upwards, in a prompting ‘whatcha waiting for?’ gesture, and Jack speared a cube of sauce covered chicken on his fork. "Okay…here goes."
He put in his mouth, chewed. Hmm. Not so hot. Pretty good actually. The chicken was nice and tender, and hot, hot! And getting hotter! He took it back. The stuff had a burn.
He chewed frantically, swallowed, and gazed yearningly at his beer which was beginning to look less like a bottle of Bud and more and more like The Holy Grail as a lethal combination of chilli, cayenne and scalding black pepper assaulted his tongue and palate.
"Got a kick!" Janet said, appreciatively, digging her fork into the fiery stuff once more.
Jack glared lividly at Daniel, who was chewing away happily and obviously enjoying himself enormously. "It’s hot," he admitted. "I’ve eaten hotter."
He stared at the next piece of chicken on the end of his fork and wondered how he was going the face the next mouthful of the fiendish vindaloo. He was aware of how bad this looked. He’d managed a taste and was toying, terrified, with his second mouthful. Janet and Daniel were shovelling it down without flinching. Daniel hadn’t even broken a sweat.
"Raita?" Daniel asked, passing him a bowl of whitish green goo.
"Huh? What the hell is that?"
"Cucumber and mint raita. Goes rather well with it."
He spooned the goop onto his plate and tried smothering the chicken it in. Ah. Better. The cucumber stuff cooled it down long enough for him to manage another mouthful.
"Anyone else want to try?" asked Janet, offering her plate.
Teal’c accepted the challenge. He chewed, swallowed, looked thoughtful.
"Is it really hot?" Sam leaned forward on her elbows, interested to gauge the Jaffa’s response.
"I believe a similar dish on Chu’lak to be more highly spiced than this," Teal’c said. "But it is pleasing."
"Really?" The demented curry junkie at Jack’s elbow looked up with interest. "That’s fascinating. I wonder if it’s anything like a Phaal."
"What’s a Phaal?" Jack let out a mental howl the moment the words were out of his mouth. It was another one of those ‘have to ask’ things.
"A Phaal is hotter than vindaloo. I don’t think it’s a genuine Indian dish. In fact I read somewhere that it was something a restaurant owner invented in response to a dare, but it’s hot."
Jack scooped more cucumber goop onto the vindaloo and stared at Daniel. "You eat food based on a dare?" he said. "Actually…no, why was I even surprised by that? You ate that lizard thing on Abydos…aww…hell…Daniel, this had better be chicken and not some Abydonian Giant Iguana you dragged through the Gate with you."
"Hardly, Jack…" Hammond laughed. "Dr. Jackson couldn’t exactly squirrel one of those through without us knowing."
"I thought about it but it would never have fitted in the deep freeze." Daniel said, with that quick little nose wrinkling smile.
He was on a roll, well pleased with himself. Jack gave him a tight, sarcastic smile and went for another mouthful of vindaloo. He was beginning to lose all sensation in his lips and his body temperature seemed to be rising alarmingly. Carter was lapping up the dinner-time cabaret – damn woman seemed to enjoy watching her CO suffer. Who knew she was such a sadist? He suddenly felt extremely sorry for those alternate universe Jacks who had married various versions of Sam Carter, then figured maybe they were the lucky ones. In this universe he’d got over himself, forty five years of heterosexuality and the regs to find himself having wild dirty sex with Daniel. Not that he minded the wild dirty sex part, or the times when Daniel dropped his waspish guard and went sort of purry and snuggly, but most of the time it was a matter of letting him know who was in control in this relationship. Judging by the look on Daniel’s face he thought he was in control right now. Jack knew he wasn’t – he had an ace up his sleeve which he planned to pull out after dinner.
Nobody, but nobody made a fool of Jack O’Neill, no matter how good in bed they were. Daniel was going to pay for this.
The bastard was smirking. "Oh, sorry Jack…did I give you too much?"
"Naa…it’s good." He crammed another chunk of chicken into his mouth and hoped his pores wouldn’t give him away. He was starting to sweat and his tongue was a thick wedge of burning nerve endings in his mouth.
"It’s great!" Janet said, wiping her plate with a piece of torn off naan bread. "More please!"
Goddamn woman was completely insane.
"You really do like it hot, huh?" Daniel dished up more chicken onto Janet’s plate.
"Honey, I was practically weaned on some of the hottest food in the South. My mom used to cook a Jambalaya that could blow your socks off."
"Hmm…me too. Mostly Egyptian and Moroccan stuff. Are you planning on cooking jambalaya when it’s your turn? I love cajun and creole food…"
Jack knew where he’d gone wrong. He’d been raised on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, franks and beans and hamburgers. Not even some of the hotter dishes he’d eaten in the Gulf could match this. The stuff was like molten lava. It was like a combination of food and bowel surgery. He knew his stomach was going to be killing him tomorrow.
Self-consciously, he reached for his beer. Nicely chilled Bud hit his stinging lips and tongue and it was the closest thing to orgasmic relief he had experienced for a week. He tipped the bottle. Shit. He’d emptied the already half empty bottle.
"Another beer, Jack?" Daniel asked, all wide eyed innocence.
Oh Dr. Jackson…payback’s a motherfucker. I hope you KNOW that.
Two hours later, when he’d regained some sensation in his lips and stopped sweating, Jack was standing in the kitchen of Daniel’s apartment watching his demon lover smirking over the dish drainer.
"How are you feeling?"
"Poisoned. What did you do to me?"
"Absolutely nothing." Daniel dried his hands on a roller towel. "I did warn you about the vindaloo."
"Knowing I’d bite."
"Naturally." Daniel smiled. "I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist. Machiavelli me knows you all too well, Jack."
He was so goddamned smug that Jack lost all reservations about what he was about to do. Jack prowled across the kitchen towards him, squeezed his butt with both hands and dived in for a curry scented kiss. "Very nice, Daniel. Very shrewd of ya…finished humiliating me now?"
Daniel was practically purring. "Of course. Checkmate. Do you concede?"
It was never going to be an easy thing to do. Jack knew that. He was hard in his pants, lost in a tangle of spicy tongues, Daniel’s body moving with sleek grace against him, hard and strong and almost unbearably sexy. He had a flashback to that hot little olive oil fantasy and wanted so badly to do that for real – watching the gold liquid ooze down between the cheeks of Danny’s perfect ass and down the backs of his broad, smooth thighs. He grabbed himself one last, hot, slow grind to remember Daniel by and was gratified when Daniel arched into him with a rough thrust and hard bite on his lower lip, moaning softly, deep in the back of his throat.
It was Jack’s turn to feel pleased with himself. He’d got the enemy just where he wanted him. So the sex-free week and the vindaloo had been Daniel’s way of teaching him a lesson, had it? Having assaulted his ego and his tastebuds with that chicken from Netu, Daniel was thinking he had Colonel O’Neill put firmly in his place and that a pissed off Jack meant that he was going to get what he’d been missing for the past week in spades. Nice work, Dannyboy, but you didn't count on me busting your little power game.
He grinned to himself as Daniel’s hands started work on his belt buckle. "Nope."
"Nope. I don’t concede. Think you’ll find I’m in check. I have a move spare."
"What move would that be?" asked Daniel, his voice warm and throaty as he levered himself up to sit on the kitchen counter and wind his legs around Jack’s waist. Damn him for being so fuckable! This was getting more difficult for Jack by the minute, but he wanted this tease. It was going to make it so much better when Daniel got his.
"Hmm…I like this one…"
Daniel pulled him down onto the counter so that he was bent over between Daniel’s open legs, a position they’d adopted quite a few times. If he’d been naked, Jack knew he wouldn’t have been able to help himself and he’d have been fucking Daniel stupid on top of the kitchen counter there and then. He was going to have to launch the assault before Daniel got his pants off, assumed the position and killed his resolve stone dead.
"Nice move, my little tikka masala, but not the one I had in mind."
"Do you want me to turn over?" Daniel asked, so horny he didn’t even protest about the new stupid nickname Jack had stuck him with.
"Nope." Jack stood up straight and grinned.
"Then what?" Daniel was off the counter and all over him again.
"A week, Daniel."
"Yes. Aren’t you…?" He ground his groin eagerly against Jack’s, wanting to take this into the bedroom.
"Oh yeah. I am. I’m horny as hell, but not so I couldn’t handle another week."
"Huh?" Jack couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. That was the confused huh?
"A week, Daniel. That’s how long you’re going without. How’s that for checkmate?"
Oh, this was good. This made the vindaloo worth every bite. Daniel had that open mouthed frown which signified that Dr. Jackson had moved into Outrage City.
He finally managed to get his mouth shut, which closed on the patent Danny-pout. "Right…"
"Okay. A week." Daniel’s arms folded. "I’ll make up the couch for you then, shall I?"
"I said no sex."
"And I say no torture. Being forced to lie naked in a bed next to you after a week without sex comes under the category of cruel and unusual punishments as far as I’m concerned, and as a lifetime member of Amnesty International I won’t stand for it. So you’re sleeping on the couch."
How was it that every time he thought he’d won, Daniel managed to turn it around?
He stood in the kitchen with his head resting against the doorframe, sorely tempted to bang it against the wall.
"Besides…" Daniel’s voice drifted from the living room. "I’m not sharing a room with you after that curried chicken, never mind a bed. You’re bad enough after burritos."
A week! Well, huh - he could cope. Daniel figured he could last another week. Trust Jack to take that vindaloo thing so personally. Woe betide anyone who dared fuck with Jack's ego, and he had been thoroughly humiliated on Friday night. It was now Monday evening and Daniel had managed to keep the tension so high over the weekend that Jack's cage was getting once again well and truly rattled.
He figured Jack expected him to beg, grovel, throw himself naked at him and plead for sex. Jack hadn't counted on Daniel's stubbornness, and had spent a hellish weekend of complete and utter torment as a consequence.
Daniel had meant to start off subtle, but things had spiralled out of control on Saturday afternoon. He still had the Kama Sutra card up his sleeve and under the pretence of working on Hindu cultures for work had treated Jack to several lengthy lectures on Indian erotica. Following dinner on Friday night Daniel's fridge was crammed with leftover treats and he'd taken enormous pleasure in testing the waters of Jack's resilience by working his way through a dish of figs.
"I'm not interested..." Jack had grumped, and tuned out to all further mention of Vatsayayana by glueing his eyes firmly to a hockey game. Daniel, stretched out on his belly on the carpet, continued his perusal of the Sixty Four Arts while dipping into the figs. He pushed a hole in one of the purplish fruits with his thumb, opening it up. It was tremendously easy to feel sensuous when hearing the fluid, sibilant syllables of 4th Century Sanskrit in his head, describing how to bring a lover's body to the peak of ecstasy as delicately and precisely as an artist. He ignored the bad tempered reality sitting on the couch and let himself sink into the fantasy, flicking his tongue lightly over the hole he had gouged in the fig, imagining it was Jack's ass under his tongue, remembering the earthy spice musk scent of him as he widened the hole with the tip. He kept his eyes on his book, meaning to make the show look as guileless as possible. If there was one thing guaranteed to make Jack scream the place down, Daniel's tongue up his ass was it. And Daniel knew it.
His tongue made a wet slurping noise as he sank it deeper into the fig, and Jack glared at him from the couch, then double taked when he saw Daniel performing what looked like oral sex on last night's leftover dessert. Daniel blinked, licked juice from his lower lip and cut his eyes quickly away, flipping over the page which somehow flicked open to the Auparishtaka, or Mouth Congress. He suppressed a smile at the aptness of that and sucked slowly on the inside of the fruit, the sweet seeds filling his mouth. There had been no mistaking the look in Jack's eyes and judging by the way he was shifting his butt on the couch Daniel's tease was working beautifully.
It was also having an unexpected effect on Daniel himself. He'd counted on this being a method of working Jack into a frenzy, but it seemed he was in a similar state himself. Reading through the various methods of making love with one's mouth described in detail by Vatsayayana, scraping his tongue through the moist flesh of the fig (which incidentally had been a phallic symbol in numerous ancient cultures) and imagining Jack's wet cleft opening and stirring under his mouth, he had become painfully aroused. Fortunately lying prone was a good position to be in, and he only had to arch his hips an imperceptible distance to press his crotch against the floor.
Hmmm....Kama into the Sutra, Jack...
He widened the hole in the fig with his index finger, imagining pushing inside Jack's spit slicked ass, hooking his finger inside and disturbing the flesh, licking up the juice from his fingers and chin. Jack was looking at him again and he kept his eyes on the page, his cock aching in his pants as he read about the stylised embraces and touches which led to a perfumed eunuch taking a wealthy citizen gentlemen's swelling prick into his painted mouth.
He'd won this round already, he thought, shifting his hips slightly and feeling the delicious pressure on his dick. It was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced, having this power over Jack, conducting this elaborate tease while fantasising wildly about slowly eating Jack's ass and hearing him moan and cry out as his tongue pushed and his fingers probed. He didn't know what Jack intended to do about the interesting condition he was trying to hide under a throw pillow but Daniel knew that with a couple more strategic wriggles on the floor and he was going to come in his pants. Jack was going to suffer and he was going to come.
Look Jack! No hands!
Daniel bit his lips, making them swollen and red, meeting Jack's gaze full on as he sank his teeth into the fig, tearing it open and raking his tongue up the inside of it, inhaling the rich scent of it and watching Jack's already dark eyes turn black with lust. He knew that look. It was the look that meant he was completely at Daniel's mercy, the look he got when he was being screwed or when he was grinding his cock against Daniel's hip, moaning into his mouth while Daniel slowly fucked his ass with two fingers.
Breathing heavily, panting into the wet sweetness of the much abused fig, Daniel looked up at Jack, holding his gaze.
Look what you're missing, Jack. I'm hotter than cayenne here and I did it all by myself.
He closed his eyes and plunged his teeth deep into the fig, the taste of it flooding his mouth as his cock began to twitch of its own volition and exerted just the right amount of pressure to bring him to a climax made only more acutely pleasurable by the fact that he had to try to hide it from Jack.
"Mmmph..." He tried to turn the moan that poured out of his throat into a little noise of appreciation for what was quite clearly a delicious piece of fruit.
Jack adjusted the pillow on his lap. His nose twitched and Daniel thought he could probably smell the salt-musk of his come along with the scent of ripe figs and lingering undertone of spice from last night.
"I'm guessin' those figs are pretty good." Jack said, drily.
"Excellent!" Daniel replied, stickily.
"I gotta go to the bathroom..." Jack was off the couch in seconds, taking the throw pillow half the way across the room with him and only discarding it when his back was turned.
Daniel gasped, rolled onto his back and sighed happily. He had won this round hands down. Jack may have said he wasn't having sex for a week, but he didn't even need to touch Jack to have sex with him. They'd just had sex using eye contact and body language alone. He rested his head on the Kama Sutra. It wasn't a sex manual. It was an inspirational guide.
Sunday, however, Jack struck back.
Daniel had been working on some bona fide paperwork this time, stretched out in the same posture as he had been the day before, when Jack snuck up behind him and started kissing and nuzzling.
"You said no sex."
"This isn't sex. This is revenge. Now strip."
"You heard me. Naked. Now."
A slow tease? He could do that. Daniel snapped the laptop shut and sat up, wriggling out of his sweater and jeans. He sprawled out naked on the rug, knowing that Jack was walking a fine line here. He'd cave this time. He could never resist him naked.
"Revenge?" he asked, innocently.
"Yeah. Revenge." Jack said. He pulled the bandanna off Daniel's head and folded it into a long strip. "Heads up, Dannyboy...I'm putting the lights out now."
Daniel felt a brief flicker of fear when he felt the bandanna cover his eyes. They'd never done anything like this before. "What's this about, Jack?"
Jack settled him back down on the rug, placing a pillow under his head, in a gesture of solicitude which meant so much more. Daniel could feel his breath against his ear as he began to speak.
"This, my dear...this is payback for your little floorshow yesterday. I missed the goddamn final goal because I had to go jerk off in the bathroom after watching you come like a fucking express train."
"So what are you going to do?" he asked. He couldn't hide anything which he assumed was the name of Jack's game after witnessing his little covert op the day before. His cock had risen like a dog hearing its master's voice and he was sure Jack was taking a good look at him spread out and aroused on the floor.
"I'm going to talk to you. Maybe ask a few questions..." Jack's voice was low and seductive, whispering directly in his ear. "And you are going to lie there and listen, and answer. If you touch yourself, I'll stop. Do you understand, Daniel?"
"Mmmhm..." This was all getting extremely dark and dirty. Despite his reservations his mind was screaming BRING IT ON!
"Good..." He felt Jack make himself comfortable on the floor beside him. "Now...what was all that about yesterday? I was minding my own business, watching the game, and suddenly you've got your tongue jammed so far up a fig it was like you were eatin' pussy or something. Fess up..."
He licked his lower lip. "Ah...well...I wasn't thinking about...um...eating...er...performing oral sex on a woman, if that's what you mean..."
"Performing oral sex on a woman?" Jack said, incredulously. "You're gonna have to do better than that, Daniel. I know you have a dirty mouth on you. Tell it like it is. What were you thinking?"
He hated the P word. Not even Jack could make him use it. So he neatly circumvented it. "Actually I was thinking about eating your ass."
Jack inhaled a sharp breath. Ah. Good. Better. If it was talking dirty Jack wanted, talking dirty Jack would get. Colonel O'Neill was going to be making another trip to the bathroom.
"You were, were you?"
"I most certainly was. I don't usually lick out desserts unless I'm thinking about something more explicit. Perhaps you'd like me to tell you while you get off?"
He was holding out on this one, but had a feeling that Jack already had his cock in his hand.
"You will tell me, Daniel."
Jack was expecting him to stammer and flush and stumble over the words. Daniel knew it. Jack thought he was going to win this round in the game of tease. Daniel knew better. If he thought he could use words to make a linguist squirm he was most definitely barking up the wrong tree.
"Of course I'll tell you. I'd be delighted to. I meant to tease you from the start, Jack. I pushed my thumb into the fruit and it left a hole, which left me thinking of how much I like to push two thumbs into your hole and open you up for my tongue, licking round and around in wide circles then stopping in the centre for a moment to push my tongue inside you. You like that, don't you?"
He struggled not to smile. Jack's voice was hoarse with lust.
"As I was running my tongue up and down that fig I was thinking specifically of the times you've been bent over, or face down, or kneeling over me, so that I could push your legs wide apart and lick you slowly, working my tongue behind your balls, sucking on the loose skin there, working my mouth back to your asshole and pausing for a moment to fuck you with my tongue..."
The blindfold was wrenched off. Jack's mouth came down hard on his in a hot, greedy kiss. "Okay..." he panted. "I give. I can't fucking resist you...dammit, where'd you learn to talk like that?"
Checkmate. Daniel smiled. "You said no sex. I said okay. For a week. It's been two days."
"You should never make threats you can't carry through, Jack."
Friday meant dinner at Jack's, and this time the battle was really escalating. Daniel had seen very little of Jack all week, having been offworld on a dig, which he had partly welcomed and partly dreaded. The incident with the figs was still preying on his mind and had a hot sticky habit of sneaking up on him when he was curled up in his sleeping bag. He’d got back from the brief exploratory dig on Thursday morning where Jack’s presumption that he’d give in and let a day slip had so infuriated him that he felt like adding another week to the sex-embargo, just to teach Jack a lesson, but he knew from experience that such things didn’t work. Jack would turn it around to make it look as though he was the victor, and besides, Daniel was steadily losing his mind from vivid erotic thoughts of what he was going to do to Jack come Friday night.
Thursday night, Daniel had been sprawled out in his bed, once again leafing through the Kama Sutra for a little light relief after the boredom of excavating postholes all week when the telephone rang.
Ah. Jack. He of the intense desire, substantial lingam and pathetically weak resolve.
"Hello Jack. What can I do for you?" Daniel said, silkily, closing his book.
"Several things I could mention. Actually I was wonderin’ if you had any of that curry powder left."
"Yeah. I got me a recipe for that Phaal thing you were talking about. Could kinda use your help in the kitchen tomorrow, actually."
Daniel bit his lip and suppressed a snigger. He knew where this was going. Jack was turning dinner into an opportunity for revenge. He was screwed. There wasn’t even a Phaal that Daniel couldn’t take. "Say please…" Daniel said, in a low voice which he knew caused a groin led reaction in Jack every time he used it. He’d been reading up on the arts of courtesans in the Kama Sutra. He figured the way he played Jack he’d make a rather good courtesan himself.
"No! Say please…or do something for me." He slipped one hand under the covers and squirmed out of his boxers, kicking them out of the bed and onto the floor where they’d remain all weekend in the company of the fast breeding dustbunnies under Daniel’s bed.
"I offered to do something for you this morning."
"No you didn’t. You presumed that I’d be on my back with my heels in the air faster than you can say ‘mutton biriyani’. Which as you’ll observe, I am not. You’re doing whatever you’re doing and I’m tucked up safe and sound in my own bed with a copy of Vatsayayana and wearing nothing but my glasses."
"I can be there in twenty minutes."
"I won’t open the door."
"Do you want to get laid or what?"
"I don’t mind. I’m perfectly content to have a platonic relationship. You know I love you for your mind."
He could hear Jack’s mouth opening in shutting as he searched for words to express his intense irritation at the other end of the ‘phone line. "Okay…so you’ll come and help me in the kitchen?"
"If you accept my demands, yes."
Jack sighed. "Okay. Just what are we demanding here? And you are going down tomorrow night with this curry."
Daniel smiled to himself and stretched out in bed. Overconfidence had always been one of Jack’s failings. He’d swallow that Phaal without flinching. "I’d rather just go down if it’s all the same to you," he said, glibly.
"Daniel! Lay the goddamn demands on the table already, you blackmailing little shit."
"A bedtime story would be nice."
"A fucking what?"
"A bedtime story. You know. Like the one I told you on Sunday." He stifled a laugh and peeked under the covers. Oh yeah…is that a trowel in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?
"Ohhhh…I see." Jack still sounded hugely pissed off. "Like what I’m gonna do to you when I get my hands on you?"
"Yes. That sounds interesting. I haven’t heard that one before."
"Nope. And I’ve heard an awful lot of bedtime stories. Your average bedtime story is usually actually a complex myth entrenched in a rich and varied oral tradition."
"I’ll give you rich and varied oral tradition…"
"Do tell…" He reached for the Kleenex box, the ‘phone receiver cradled under one ear.
"I have a good mind to make you beg, Daniel."
"Mmmhmm?" He stroked himself lightly and listened, lazily brushing fingers through his pubic hair.
Jack gave a sharp sniff at the other end of the line. "Okay…please will you help me in the kitchen tomorrow?"
Shit! "Yes, alright. Now will you please…"
"Thanks! Bye!" Click. The bastard! The malevolent, teasing, malicious, smartassed, evil to the power of a thousand bastard!
Daniel knew that Jack was probably picturing his stunned expression right now and laughing his ass off. That did it. No mercy. The time for teasing was over. Jack was in very very deep trouble.He peered at the clock. 10:15pm. Yeah, she’d be up. He dialled Sam’s home number, and when she didn’t reply tried the SGC and asked to be put through to Major Carter."Hey Daniel!""Hey…you working late?"
Protons, quarks, giant levitating superturtle, particle accelerators…he didn’t understand a word of it and he had a PhD in linguistics. Although the levitating superturtle sounded kind of fun."…sounds fascinating…" he said, warily, and got hit with another blast of technobabble.
"…well, really I was just calling to see if you were still on for dinner at Jack’s tomorrow night."
"Oh hell yeah!" said Sam. "Wouldn’t miss it for the world. I heard he was doing Indian since yours was such a big hit with everyone last Friday. Although I think he might wanna skip the vindaloo."
Daniel laughed. "Well, no…actually. Jack found a recipe for Phaal – you know? The curry based on a dare?"
"Nooo?" She gasped. "Oh no…don’t tell me. Is he thinking of taking you on for a rematch?"
"I think that’s the plan."
Sam snorted with laughter. "Oh my God…Daniel, this is priceless. I gotta run a book on this. I’m backing you. I’d stake my life on it. He was almost purple trying to get that chicken vindaloo down and he seriously thinks he can take you?"
"Are there any odds on this book?"
"Yeah. They’re stacked in your favour."
He lay back happily in bed. Jack had expected to get his revenge over the vindaloo incident by testing Daniel’s limits with a Phaal. He hadn’t expected it to go head to head, and now it would, because Sam told Janet everything and Janet would tell George and Teal’c and Jack would find that everyone around his dining table was expecting a contest and his culinary revenge would have backfired on him. With the added bonus that he’d solicited Daniel’s help in the kitchen using underhand methods. Daniel fell asleep with a smile on his face that night. Jack was going to be going head to head with him over the Mother of All Curries.
"Twelve chillies?" Jack frowned at the recipe sheet. "Twelve? You have gotta be kidding me. You’re actually going to eat this thing?"
"Looks that way, doesn’t it?" Daniel said, perched on a kitchen stool and watching Jack’s ass with deep dark dirty thoughts of performing indecent acts on figs running through his mind. Please God, let him surrender this time. I want that man naked, willing and able and stripped of all inhibitions by midnight tonight…humbly requesting your assistance in this matter, God. Yours, Dr. Daniel Jackson.
"Well, no…wait. How many people does the recipe serve?" Daniel asked.
"Says four…" Jack blinked behind silver framed reading glasses. Daniel suspected him of knowing perfectly well that the elegant little specs made him look so damn sexy that it almost made Daniel spontaneously combust with desire every time he popped them on to peer at something. The combination of silver rimmed glasses and silver hair was devastating, especially with those wicked dark eyes peeking up to glance over them to dart him a lecherous sidelong look…oh, dammit. Fantasising again!
"Six for dinner…makes three chillies per person, so six threes are eighteen…you need eighteen."
"Eighteen chilli peppers?"
"Well, obviously you have to adjust the other ingredients accordingly."
"Yah…uh huh…I guess it’s supposed to be hot, huh?"
"It was based on a dare, Jack."
"You’re actually going to eat this? Seriously?"
"You kinda dared me."
Jack stared at the recipe again, shook his head and wandered across the kitchen. "You do realise you’re gonna reek of chilli tonight?"
Daniel guessed what was coming. This was Jack’s way of suggesting they get the sexual tension out of their systems before he ate the Phaal and rendered himself curry stained and stinky beyond all washing methods short of a hosing down in the backyard, and even then that might not cut it. "Yes, I very probably will."
"Soooo…" Jack leaned in for a kiss. "How about we…"
"We’re cooking. Would you like to explain to General Hammond that you haven’t cooked because we were busy having sex all afternoon?" Daniel slid off the kitchen stool to avoid further molestation. After his ‘phone sex tease last night Jack didn’t deserve to get any. And besides, he was going to be just as chilli scented himself after dinner once he’d stumbled into the landmine that Daniel had laid for his fragile and gargantuan ego. "How about a quickie to take the edge off?" Jack suggested, hopefully.
No way, not ever, don’t even think about it, ne-eever gonna happen. "Nope. You can wait until after dinner."
Jack tried to look appealing in a sort of puppy dog way, which was nigh on impossible for a forty five year old, six foot two killing machine with more scars than a Polynesian tribal meeting and a nasty habit of blowing things up. He pinned Daniel up against the workbench and went for some tactical below-the-left-ear nuzzling. "Thought you were desperate."
"I can wait."
P.S. One more thing, God. Do you think you could persuade my penis to listen to my brain occasionally? It would come in handy at times like these.Daniel groaned as Jack’s hand stole to his fly buttons and squeezed. He could wait. Other bits of him couldn’t.
"No you can’t…" Jack murmured. "Come and get Kama Sutric in the bedroom."
Daniel reached out and snagged one of the red chilli peppers that were lying scattered on the bench and dangled it under Jack’s nose. "Would you really want to? After I’ve eaten this?"
"Hot as hell. And stinky."
He smiled sweetly and held the chilli pepper to his lips. "I would."
Jack tilted an eyebrow, sceptical. "Okay. Go on then. Do it. Dare ya."
He did. A raw chilli pepper was no object to tastebuds which had been weaned on spicy Egyptian dishes and honed to oblivious perfection by years of digs in exotic locations and the screamingly spiced cuisine of Abydos. Everything had tasted bland after Shau’ri’s cooking.
Jack was staring at him in amazement. "I can’t believe you just did that."
Daniel smiled through the burn of the chilli, his lips tingling pleasantly. "Believe it."
"Do you have any nerves left in your mouth?" Jack shook his head and sighed. "Well…screw you. Two weeks! I’m gonna do this anyway…"
He leaned in for another kiss and Daniel felt it was only fair to reciprocate. He went for the full, passionate liplock, the heat adding an interesting dimension to the sensation as he swirled his burning tongue deep into Jack’s mouth.
Jack was off like a sprinter from the starting blocks in a nanosecond, dropping Daniel and racing across the kitchen to turn on the faucet and bend under it with his mouth open.
Daniel sniggered quietly. "What were we supposed to be doing? Cooking?"
A livid brown eye peered up from the sink behind a stream of running water. Daniel ignored him. He’d brought all of this on himself. He slid off the worktop and returned to the recipe, which he knew perfectly well was serving only two not six, although Jack had conveniently missed the point there. Nine chillies apiece. This was going to be more than a Phaal. It was going to be the culinary equivalent of colonic irrigation with napalm. This was going to be hot even by his own pyroclastic standards. A raita on the side would be badly needed if either of them were going to stand any chance of surviving this bastard son of a Phaal.
He opened Jack's fridge, which was surprisingly well stocked for a change. It usually contained a bottle of maple syrup with sugar crystals growing at the bottom of the bottle, a jar of peanut butter that contained peanut butter and jelly, a jar of jelly which contained jelly and peanut butter, a jar of pickles and the heel of a loaf of bread begging to be put out of its misery. Today it was stacked with the makings on a feast fit for a Maharajah, pounds of diced steak, mangoes, sheaves of mint and coriander, cartons of yoghurt, eggplants, cucumbers, bellpeppers - a riot of colour that promised a feast for the senses.
"Did you get limes?"
"Uhhhh?" gurgled Jack, still attempting to cool his tongue under the faucet.
"Limes, Jack. Did you get limes?"
"In the thalad crithper...fuck...my tongue really hurth you basthard...."
"Thanks...got 'em." He knew he shouldn't laugh. It was wrong to mock the afflicted, but then he wasn't sure if Jack was afflicted or just plain stupid. The lisp was amusing though.
"Ja-ack...come here. Eat some yoghurt. That'll help cool it."
"I hate yoghurt."
Daniel sighed in exasperation. "Don't be so childish. C'mon. It works."
Jack sloped across the kitchen and accepted the carton of yoghurt and the spoon with bad grace. He took one mouthful, pulled a face and then looked relieved when the yoghurt started to cool the inside of his mouth.
"Hey...it workth...fuck...works, dammit. You know I might never kiss you again after that, don't you?"
Daniel said nothing. He handed him a cucumber.
Jack blinked and screwed his nose up. "Wherever you tell me to put this...and I don't care if it does make me feel better...just NO, okay?"
"I was going to ask you to grate it actually."
"Oh." Jack took the cucumber, meekly. "I knew that."
Daniel paused for a quick giggle over the mint he was chopping. He almost felt guilty about the ordeal facing his partner that evening. Sometimes Jack could be so dumb and funny-sweet it was touching. He almost said 'I love you' and hurriedly thought about last night's humiliating telephone incident in order to stop himself. Had he said the magic words Jack might have become suspicious, because in general he only said them in moments of extremis or at the point of orgasm. A display of verbal affection might cause concern.
He looked over at Jack who was attacking the cucumber with a cheesegrater with a vindictive look in his eye, as though he'd like to be applying the cheesegrater to something similarly shaped, only less green. No - forget love. C'est la guerre. There were going to be casualties.
"You bring that curry powder?" Jack asked.
"Damn...I'll drive home and get it."
"I have no idea what I'm doing. You're supposed to be helping."
"Look...it's really simple. Get a dish - squeeze of lime juice, yoghurt, chopped mint, coriander ditto, grated cucumber and a pinch of dried cumin. Then just put that in the fridge to let the flavours blend while you prepare the chillies and trim the fat off the meat. I'll be back by the time you've done that."
"Okay...preparation. I can do that."
"I know." Daniel infused the words with double entendre, watching Jack's dirty look segue to a completely different kind of dirty look. Jack reached out and lazily fondled his butt, which was usually the prelude to a kiss, only he thought better of it a split second before their lips touched, obviously not wanting another mouthful of raw chilli.
"Be back before you know it." Daniel settled for dropping a quick kiss on the tip of his nose and headed out to his car. He was having misgivings. He'd set Jack up good and proper and there was no way Jack could handle more than a mouthful of that mutant Phaal. This could lead to another week without sex or the possibility that Jack might refuse to sleep with him ever again, which was not an option he could handle. He almost front-ended his car into a snow plough when he thought about never again snuggling down warm and naked with a warm, hairy, horny Jack. It was unimaginable, the thought of never making love to him again. And it was also something that might be looming in his near future if he didn't mend some fences and confess to having gone a little too far.
Driving back to Jack's place armed with a bottle of milk of magnesia and the garam masala, Daniel worked out his apology in his head. It was starting to snow again and the roads were getting clogged, so he had plenty of time to think it over. Sorry Jack. I really and truly fucked up this time, purely because I wanted to get one over on you. I'm an idiot. Hit me if it makes you feel better and please please please take me to bed.
The words evaporated the second he walked through Jack's back door because he was treated to the extraordinary sight of Jack standing gasping beside an open fridge, his pants around his ankles and apparently making love to a dish of cucumber raita.
Oh. My. God.
He stared at Jack's face, then stared down at his dick, swimming in green flecked white goo. What the hell?
"I can explain..." Jack groaned.
"If that's what's coming out of it these days you should really ask Janet for a VD test, you know."
Jack bristled. Venereal disease was a sore issue with him ever since a dose of offworld clap courtesy of that hank of hair and mouthful of teeth with a vagina attached that was Kynthia. Clearly he didn't appreciate Daniel's attempt at a joke, although he was having a pretty rough time playing the wounded dignity card while standing there with his cock in the condiments.
"There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for this," Jack said, gesturing with his free hand.
"I know you saw that movie American Pie...baked goods are one thing, but sexually assaulting side dishes?"
"...if you ever take up playing the flute this relationship is over. What in the name of Vishnu and all his avatars are you doing...aside from the relish. I can SEE you're doing that. Put it away."
"Will you shut the fuck up for five minutes?"
"Two weeks without sex...that's all it takes and you resort to abusing food?"
"Speak for your goddamn self! You and that fig!"
"I didn't shove my dick in it, Jack!"
"Oh for cryin' out loud! This is not what it looks like. I got some chilli on my dick, OKAY?"
"And how did you manage that? Are you planning on having penetrative sex with everything in your kitchen? 'Oh, how's the meal, General Hammond?...enjoying it? Yes, interesting white sauce isn't it? Of course, everything on this table has been thoroughly fucked by your 2IC ...' "
Jack closed his eyes and breathed hard as a long, slow shudder of laughter started to build inside him. Sometimes Daniel hit the humour buttons without even realising it, usually when he was ranting over something. Jack had obviously found the mental image so damn funny that he dissolved into hysterics.
"Well I'm glad you find this funny..."
"HOWL! Stop it! OWWW! Oh God...."
"JACK! Not laughing here! Don't you dare serve that up at dinner."
Jack wheezed, sobbed, wiped his eyes. "I've just figured out why I put up with you."
Daniel glared at him. He'd just caught Jack fucking a sidedish and he had the nerve to say that he was impossible to put up with? "And why would that be?" he said, caustically.
"Because you make me laugh." Jack put the dish on the worksurface. "Okay...I do owe you an explanation. I forgot to wash my hands before going to the bathroom. Chopping chillies...went for a piss...big owies. So I remembered what you said about the yoghurt."
"Ah..." Well...that was a reasonable explanation. He supposed it would do. He felt like a moron for having ranted himself breathless.
"You wanna help me clean up here?" Jack asked, hopefully.
Daniel would do just about anything to wipe the grin off Jack's face and spare his own withering embarrassment at that point, so he knelt down on the kitchen floor, keeping his gaze fixed on Jack's face. Not laughing now. Oh no. More that look of bewildered rapture, the look he always got when he found himself on the receiving end of Daniel's oral fixation.
He took off his glasses and flashed his most cluelessly innocent expression, watching Jack's raita smeared cock rise and swell in front of his eyes.
He leaned forward for a quick lick, tasting the unique flavour of Jack mingled with cucumber, mint, fresh coriander and a dash of lime. Mmm...good. Jack moaned, and he wondered what else would taste good on him. Mango perhaps, or sesame oil. He could think of some interesting uses for clarified butter.
"Daniel...oh yeah....don't tease me, Danny...please, please..."
"Since you asked nicely..." he murmured, and shuffled a couple of inches forward on his knees. He knew how good he was at this, and how much he'd missed it - the rasp of hair under his hands as he ran them over Jack's hard, scarred thighs, the rich sharp smell of his rough tangle of dark pubic hair, and the taste of him. Of all the things he missed it was taste of his come, salt-sweet and tangy. The meal they were supposed to be preparing was forgotten. Daniel wanted nothing more than to taste his lover again as he knelt on the floor, feeling sensual and suppliant, hard in his pants as he licked the relish off Jack's cock with the full length of his tongue. He licked him clean, savouring the cool flavours that combined in his mouth while he teased, rubbing the soft part of his cheek against him like a cat, noting his little cry of pleasure when Daniel's stubble scraped against the sensitive head.
His pants were becoming acutely uncomfortable. He quickly unfastened them, freeing his erection and settling back into his stride, running his hands up the inside of Jack’s bare thighs, pushing his legs apart and reaching up to stroke and play with his balls, teasing the tip of his neat, circumcised cock with his tongue.
Jack moaned, his fingers raking through Daniel’s hair, callused tips scraping against his scalp, one hand resting on the back of his head and gently drawing him in closer as a plea for more.
God, he loved doing this. Pure control, pure pleasure. He teased some more, brushing his lips lightly over the sweet, high arch of Jack’s hip bones, over the smooth silky plane between hip and pubic hair, burying his face in the rough hair and inhaling the lingering scent of mint from the raita while slowly pulling long slow strokes along Jack’s dick with a tightly clenched hand.
He recalled the fantasies that had flooded his mind while he teased Jack with that fig – hot and dark. He opened his mouth the way he had while devouring the figs, breathing deep through his mouth to taste the warm smell of his lover’s arousal, rolling it over his tongue as he let his lips soften and slide, pliant and wet over the head, holding it in his mouth, tasting as though it was an exotic delicacy.
Jack was sighing, panting, going crazy as he lightly swirled his tongue around. He glanced up quickly, saw Jack looking down at him with such a look that he wanted to take it further, make him explode. He flashed a quick look upwards from the corner of his eyes and took him deep, tightening his lips and letting them slide back and forth down the length, pushing and darting with his tongue, loving the throaty moan Jack always let out when he dispensed with the tease and got down to the serious matter of getting him off.
It was quiet outside, the sounds of everyday life muffled by the thickening blanket of snow, and all he could hear were the wet, suctioning sounds of his mouth in his own ears, Jack’s moans and the low rumble of the heating boiler. He added a few more sharp stabs with his tongue against the sensitive slit as he quickened his pace, relaxing his lips and teasing a hand over Jack’s tightening balls and caressing the sensitive skin behind them, feeling the blood pulse through the distended vein pressing against his lower lip.
This was worth waiting for, the first splash of warm fluid on his tongue and the low cry that accompanied it, holding on, sucking gently and licking him clean until his whole body arched with a surfeit of pleasure and he had to beg him to stop.
He sat back on his heels as Jack slid to the floor, gasping.
"Okay?" Daniel wiped a sticky corner of his mouth with his hand, aware he looked unbearably smug. Jack was a mess.
"Okay? Oh hell yeah…come here you." He found himself flat on his back as Jack yanked his pants down, reached up and dipped his fingers into the already abused cucumber raita and settled down to exact his revenge, fast, sweet and incredibly intense.
Firm hands pushing him so that he was lying half on his side, a finger entering his ass without preamble, two shoving roughly into him at the same time as Jack’s mouth closed over his cock, starved for him. He knew he’d never last long, not like this, one of his favourite things, being stroked from the inside while sucked off with long, hard, hungry strokes. Jack’s fingers shifted, wriggled – hit the spot which sent licks of flame racing through his nerve endings, forcing a choked sobbing sound out of this throat. He did it again, touching just there….oh yes…there. Like that…yes.
"Ahhhhhhhhh….oh yesssss, yes, God, yes…I’m…mmmmmph…"
Perfect. Amazing. He sprawled out limply on the kitchen floor, moaning as Jack’s fingers slid out and his tongue gave a last teasing flick. He had no idea how long he’d been lying there, or how loud he’d screamed – just wanted to stay here, Jack draped over him, tingling to the very tips of his toes with post-coital bliss.
"Danny…c’mon. We’re supposed to be serving this dinner in…like…four hours time."
"I don’t think I can move."
"Can you move your toes, fingers?"
Jack laughed, kissed him on the mouth and got up.
"C’mon Spacemonkey. Move your ass. We can finish this later."
"Felt finished to me…" he groaned, as he got to his feet, pulling his pants and boxers up, his legs still shaking.
Dammit. Friday night and dinner. Now for the nigh on impossible task of preparing a curry dinner in under four hours.
"That was just a snack…" Jack said, washing his hands at the sink. "The main course is for later."
"Good. I’m starving."
"Well, how about we have dinner first, huh?"
Dinner at eight. Eight came and went. They’d accomplished the seemingly impossible and managed to get everything in the kitchen in order, with much bickering, yelling, complaining and squeezing and groping as usual. Eight o’clock and they were sitting around waiting for people to show up.
"Bet they’re all snowed in."
"Oh please. It’s hardly snowing."
"Is too," Daniel sat at the kitchen table and sipped a much needed glass of Chardonnay. Trying to talk Jack through the process of blending spices had been stressful in the extreme, and there was still the matter of the Phaal challenge preying on his conscience.
Great. Another cerebral discussion courtesy of the no-brain twins. How was it Jack managed to mentally regress him to the age of twelve every time he got argumentative?
"Jack, there is a huge carpet of horrible, white, irritating, cold, wet and completely goddamn vile snow covering the best part of the state of Colorado. How can you say it isn’t snowing?"
"We had worse in Minnesota. Quit your bitching. Warm enough in here, aren’t ya?"
"I’ll bet you anything they’re snowed in."
Jack checked his watch. "Yeah, but Janet only lives on Mercy Street. If she couldn’t drive she could walk."
"If she couldn’t get a sitter for Cassie…"
"Oh for cryin’ out loud. Girl’s old enough to date. Janet’s too strict with that kid."
"I think she’s an excellent mother."
"She’s a lunatic with a prostate fixation. I’m surprised they led her adopt."
"Nothing wrong with a girl knowing the location of the prostate gland in my humble opinion. Cassandra will have the male of the species quite literally by the balls for the rest of her days if Janet has included that in her motherly advice."
Jack sniffed and stared at his watch again.
"Dan-iel! Will you quit with that? It’s a flurry."
He glared at him. The ‘phone rang.
Jack had adopted Homer Simpson as a role model since he decided he was too old to be Cartman from South Park any longer. Daniel figured this was a good transition but Jack still did the ‘You Will Respect My Authoritah!’ routine complete with sunglasses and attitude. On an irritatingly regular basis.
"…shiiiit…oh, sorry…didn’t mean to say shit…aww, fuck, dammit, said it again…ignore me. You use those words? Oh don’t make me laugh. Strongest thing I ever heard comin’ outta your mouth was hell or holy hannah."
Sam! Ooops! Daniel eyed the exits. Too late. Jack was looking straight at him, eyebrows raised.
"Oh he did, did he?"
Busted. He tried to look fluffy and defenceless, which was about as likely as Jack pulling off the sad puppy dog look.
"…nuh uh…this is the first I’ve heard about it."
Daniel rubbed his temples, peering through his fingers at the look aimed in his direction. That quick, sticky, messy tangle on the kitchen floor was beginning to look like the only sex he was going to be getting tonight. Jack was going to crucify him. He was grateful of the diversion when his cellphone rang in the next room.
He went into the living room and answered the ‘phone. It was Janet.
"Hey…I just tried Jack’s but his line’s busy. Are you at his place?"
"Yeah…he’s talking to Sam. I think they’re snowed in at the mountain."
"Oh goddammit…" Janet sighed. "You would not believe the day I’ve had, Daniel. First off Angela’s mom ‘phones me to say Angie has the flu and it’d be better if Cassie didn’t sleep over tonight – I mean, I knew Sherrie was ditzy but who doesn’t notice a bout of flu coming on? She could have given me some warning. And now there’s no way I can get a sitter because of the weather and I can’t get the frigging car out of the garage anyway…"
He had no idea who Sherrie and Angie were, but assumed they were friends of Janet and Cassie respectively.
"It’s a bitch, honey…it really is. I’ve been looking forward to this meal all day and now I can’t make it because I can’t leave Cassie in this storm."
"Storm. Thank you. Jack thinks it’s a flurry."
Janet snorted. "Anyone would think that man had been raised in the Arctic for the hardass front he puts on about the weather. The weatherguy says it’s a snow storm, it said on the local radio station not to leave your house if you can help it and he says it’s a flurry? Huh. Definitely not visiting Northern Minnesota any time soon if that’s his frame of reference. I hate snow."
"So do I. With a passion."
"Kinda screwed our plans for dinner, huh?"
"You said it. Although maybe we can freeze the curry and serve it next Friday? It freezes very well."
"You planning on putting it in the deep freeze or just leavin’ it out on the doorstep?"
He laughed. "Either would work just as well."
"Oh well…" Janet sighed. "Looks like it’s just me, Cassie, pizza and two pints of Cherry Garcia. And season two of ‘Angel’ for the forty sixth time."
"Sounds like fun." His stomach rumbled approvingly at the mention of Cherry Garcia. The whole house smelled of spice and naan and slowly tenderising meat melting in thick rich sauces – ranging from a delicate coconut fragranced korma to the savage and frightening Phaal monster that was bubbling malevolently in a casserole in the oven. All he’d eaten all day was a mouthful of cucumber raita, a raw red chilli pepper and a large amount of creamed coconut which Jack had had to wrestle away from him before he ate the lot and made himself sick.
He was starving.
He signed off with Janet and headed back into the kitchen.
"Janet can't make it. She can't get a sitter because of the snow. Oh, and she says that they said it's more than just a flurry on TV."
Jack opened a Bud and took a long, much needed pull. "Well, just you and me then. And I have one hell of a bone to pick with you, Dr. Jackson."
"Don't you 'oh' me, Daniel. Carter told me everything. You thought you could dupe me into eating that...that thing?"
"I wasn't trying to dupe you..."
"You fucking liar! You so were! You thought you could try and con me into doing the same as I did last Friday, using the same goddamn tack. You're gonna pay, Danny. I have a good mind to make it even and call it a month this time."
Jack looked intensely pleased with himself. "Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder."
"No!" Daniel panicked. "God...no. Please. I was going to tell you, I swear. As I was driving back from my apartment I was going to admit that I'd set you up, but obviously I got sort of distracted when I saw what you were doing to the raita..."
"Oh you were, were you?"
"Yes! Oh, for goodness sake Jack...can we quit with these childish games of one-upmanship and have dinner? I'm ravenous."
Jack didn't reply. He got up and walked over to the fridge and peered inside.
"I'm very very sorry. I was going to tell you."
"And you expect me to feed you after all this?" He reached into the fridge and rummaged around. God, he was really pissed this time. He was going to carry this threat through. A month! It didn't bear thinking about. Daniel realised that if he was going to eat anything tonight then humble pie was most definitely on the menu. He touched Jack's shoulder and Jack turned to face him, peering down his nose with his most imperious and disgusted expression.
"Please...not a month. I can't take anymore. I give. You win."
Jack's nose wrinkled. He couldn't keep the corners of his mouth down, his face creasing into a slow, lecherous smile. "And my prize would be?"
Daniel kissed him, a hard, hungry kiss, throwing his whole body into it - not only working with lips and tongue but pressing into him in a full embrace, hands roaming over his hair, slipping up the back of his shirt, pushing a thigh between Jack's. Jack moaned and moved against him, reaching down to give his cock a quick squeeze through jeans and boxers, making him dizzy with the possibility of more. Missed this...so much. Two weeks of sensual starvation, nights spent aching for him, for his hands and mouth and muscles and tongue and teeth and skin, wrapped around him in tight lover's knots of lust.
"I thought you were hungry..." Jack whispered, tracing the curve of his ear with the tip of his tongue, his breath cool with beer in the steamy heat of the kitchen.
An old quote sprung to mind, making him giggle. "I too am ravening with hunger. Let us first have supper."
"Oh...ah...Voltaire. Candide. Well...made me laugh, anyway. Although it's not that hilarious unless you read it in the context of the whole passage I....mmmph!"
"Shut up, Daniel." Jack had several versions of this phrase, seemingly identical while delivered in differing tones of voice. There was the impatient 'shut up,Daniel' he snapped out when he'd had enough and really meant it, the desperate, hissed 'shut up Daniel' usually employed when they were about to be killed and Daniel was mouthing off to whichever pissed off System Lord was prancing with gratingly tacky arrogance in front of them, and this 'shut up Daniel'. Which was Daniel's favourite because the clear message underlying the murmured word was 'shut up Daniel and stop talking because I'm going to make you forget how to talk starting now'.
Jack was pulling off his sweater, taking his T-shirt with it, and the warm spice-steamy air was like a caress on his bare skin. It was cold outside, but it was hot from the oven in here, condensation dripping down the steamed up windows. Jack's mouth was moving over his neck, licking wet trails over his shoulders and collarbones, his head dipping to lick and suck and nip each of Daniel's nipples in turn.
"Hungry, huh?" he said, thoughtfully, planting another kiss on his mouth and with one hand pushing a stack of dinner plates out of harm's way.
"I can wait," Daniel said, working his hands up Jack's shirt, savouring the smoothness of his back. Strange that he was so hard and wiry and hairy everywhere but the upper part of his back, where the skin was soft as a woman's.
"You said you were starving. And I'm pretty hungry myself." Jack reached behind him into the open fridge and pulled out dessert, which Daniel had lovingly prepared on a serving platter an hour earlier. It comprised a dish of a concoction of creamed coconut flavoured with rosewater and coloured pale yellow with expensive saffron, surrounded by sprigs of mint and sliced and chilled exotic fruits - figs, mangoes, persimmons, tamarillos, passion fruit.
"Figure we can save the main course, but don't want this to go to waste..." Jack said, pulling off his shirt with an evil look in his eye.
"Oh my..." The erotic possibilities were endless. Ripe figs, sticky sweet creamed coconut. "Dinner's on you?"
"Nope." Jack pinned him up against the kitchen table and worked his pants down, taking his boxers and socks off at the same time and leaving him standing there naked with his butt half on the kitchen table. "Dinner's on you. Lunch was on me, remember?"
"That dessert is supposed to be served with honey on the side," Daniel said, consenting to be pushed down and spread out all over the kitchen table. Oh, this was going to be so much fun...
Jack leaned over him, pressing against his already aching cock, offering two fingers dipped in creamed coconut which Daniel sucked eagerly and messily. Mmm...delicious. He loved creamed coconut. Jack licked the remnants of it off his lips. "I bow to your greater expertise in the field of Indian cookery. You want honey, you got honey."
He reached over for the jar and opened it, scooping out the clear, gooey liquid with his fingers, dribbling it in small spirals over Daniel's bare chest, once again offering his fingers to be licked clean. Sweet, sticky, clinging to his teeth and tongue. It was good honey as well - Daniel had insisted on that when drawing up a list of ingredients for Jack's little excursion into Indian cooking. Dark and rich mountain honey, made from the pollen of wildflowers, with a strong, almost liquorice flavour in the background. Jack's tongue dragged through it, its path across his skin slowed by the stickiness, and when he kissed him the kiss was an explosion of sweetness rolling over his tongue.
"Maybe we should take this onto the floor..." Jack murmured, against a sticky nipple.
Jack's knees were unlikely to be able to take the strain of bending over the kitchen table like that all night, and it wasn't going to be easy to explain just how they'd got into that state when Janet checked him out. Although Daniel suspected Janet had an idea of what was going on. There wasn't a part of their bodies she hadn't probed.
Jack shook his head. "What I have in mind is a little too messy for the bedroom. Wait there."
He slipped out into the hallway and came back with an old sleeping bag which he unzipped and spread on the kitchen floor, next to the oven. Daniel sat down, placing the dessert plate on the sleeping bag next to him and enjoying the heat. Much as he'd been reluctant to admit it he had been getting a little cold on the kitchen table. Jack dimmed the light before slipping off his jeans. He had a thing about lighting which Daniel suspected had a lot to do with vanity, although the lowered lighting did manage to restore a sense of sensuality to the occasion which the old USAF issue sleeping bag had threatened to kill. He stole a fig from the dish as Jack curled up beside him, sinking his teeth into the fruit, bulbous and purple like the head of a penis.
"I'm guessing you like those?"
"Try it..." He held out the bitten fig and Jack's hand came up to lightly grip his fingers, holding his hand steady as he leaned forward and bit into it, wicked dark eyes glinting up at him as Jack licked the inside of the ripe fruit.
"Mmmm...nice. Wanna know what's going through my mind?"
He laughed, recalling last Saturday and Sunday's little confession session. "Oh, I think I can guess."
Jack leaned in closer, caught his mouth and kissed him slowly, the tang of sweet figs mingling in their mouths. "Practical demonstration please."
He moaned and pulled him down onto the sleeping bag, a hot shiver darting through his groin at the thought of it - rolling Jack over and opening his legs right here on the floor of the exotic scented kitchen. He kissed him fiercely, pushing his tongue in and out in rhythm with the rocking of his hips against Jack's.
"Since you said please..." he whispered, hoarsely, his mouth wet with the thought of what he was about to do. Jack rolled over onto his stomach, presenting that long, beautiful back which never failed to give him a sharp pang of erotic and aesthetic pleasure every time he saw it. Smooth brown skin on his shoulder blades, tracery of old scars here and there, scars which Daniel smeared with blobs of creamed coconut, the smooth sweep of his spine over which he trickled a long trail of honey, then down to that shallow valley just where the butt begins - a shadow of dark hair there, a pattern rather like a moth with its wings outstretched, resting above his furred cheeks. He crushed the flesh of a mango over the dark hair, scattered it with seeds scooped from half a passion fruit, then kissed the top of the cleft, pushing Jack's legs wide apart.
"You don't mind if I make a mess?"
Jack turned his head and peered over one shoulder. "That's the plan. The more the better."
"Oh good..." He tipped the jar of honey, letting it fall at the top and roll golden and sticky down between Jack's legs, coating his asshole and the folds of his balls in a flood of dark, sweet gold.
"Oh God...Danny...what is that?"
"Honey..." Looked so good he wanted to dive in and devour there and then, but there were entrees awaiting first. He leaned over, licking up the sweet creamed coconut he'd daubed like warpaint over his back, drowned in sweetness as he worked his tongue slowly down his spine, following the trail of honey to the sharp exotic fruits squashed into his skin, cleaning passion fruit seeds from every fine hair with his tongue. The main course awaited. His hands were so sticky and messy that it was wonderfully easy to hold Jack's cheeks apart as he went down, the whole of his cleft soaked in honey. He teased the sticky folds of loose skin before darting his tongue over the hole, stroking the perineum with the lightest touch of a finger. Jack was moaning loudly, his hips stirring, bucking. Daniel swirled his tongue deeper into the almost impossible sweetness, his chin sticky with spilled honey, tracing his tongue in circles around the edge of Jack's ass, pushing harder with each circle until it was licked perfectly clean and opened effortlessly when he stiffened his tongue and pushed inside.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...fuck...yeeeeeeeees!" Jack howled out, his voice ragged and hoarse. "Oh God...gonna..."
He thrust his tongue in again, twice, felt Jack shudder and jerk under him, heard him scream his name as he came. Delicious.
Daniel knelt so that Jack could roll over, couldn't keep the huge, stupid smug grin off his face when he saw Jack's face, flushed and sweating. He loved the way he looked after sex - rumpled and messy, a deep flush on his high cheekbones, eyes black and wide, that proud mouth bitten red in the throes of orgasm. He lay splayed on his back, panting, splashes and smudges of semen beading the hairs on his belly.
"C'mere..." He beckoned and Daniel settled down beside him, accepting a long kiss on his still sticky mouth, letting Jack lick the honey which clung to his stubble and had trickled down his neck. "Gimme a few minutes..." Jack panted. "Then I'm going to make you scream so loud they hear you in fucking Canada."
"Hmmmm...sounds nice. I'm gonna get a drink. You want one?"
Daniel went to the fridge and poured himself another glass of wine, returning to the now extremely messy sleeping bag and sitting down beside Jack. "Sure? It's nice and cool..."
Jack propped himself up on one elbow. "I don't think I can sit up. You're good at that."
He laughed, nudging Jack's lower lip with the rim of the wine glass and tipping it gently so he could sip.
"Is this another 'over my head' joke?"
"Uh...no. I was just thinking that they mentioned something about this in the Kama Sutra."
"Korma Sutra, more like. Mentioned what?"
"The art of entertaining a lover after sexual congress. They talk about doing things like this, persuading one another to drink from the same cup with agreeable words."
"S'funny. All I ever seem to remember was a bunch of pictures with little guys and gals fucking in all sorts of weird and wonderful positions."
"It's not a fucking sex manual!" Daniel said, sick to the back teeth of this discussion.
"Hey! It's only a book...whoops, fuck...okay. That was a stupid thing to say to you."
He sipped his wine. "It's a rule book, if anything."
"It is, huh?"
"Uh huh. Kama means pleasure, Sutra means rules or modus operandi. The rules of pleasure."
"And what are the rules?"
"No rules, no sins in the Western Judaeo-Christian sense. The only sin is to screw it up and do it wrong when you're giving or taking pleasure. The Kama Sutra shows you how to do it properly."
Jack took the glass away from him. "Can't have that, can we? I'd better do this properly then."
He got to his feet, picked a bottle of olive oil off the kitchen worktop and settled back down on the floor.
"Oh..." Daniel had a pretty good idea of what was coming.
"Relax. It's a little fantasy of mine. Now...where did you put that honey?"
He lay back on the sleeping bag as Jack found the honey. His erection had collapsed during his inopportune fit of academic pissiness over the Kama Sutra and he felt like an idiot for getting so sniffy over the matter, but at the same time serene in the assurance that he was right. Jack leaned over him and kissed him.
"Now will you loosen up? I don't care what the Kama Sutra says. I know exactly how I want to make love to you and I'm following step by step instructions as mapped out in my dirty ole' mind, okay?"
Daniel smiled, unable to resist him when he was sweetly old fashioned like this. Called it making love as opposed to sex or fucking, kissed each of his closed eyelids in turn or called him dear. It made his heart skip a beat every time. Jack was always softer and sometimes unbearably tender after sex, and now, kissing his way over Daniel’s shoulders with the lightest of touches, breathing in the smell of his skin, he had that lush sated laziness about him.
So good when he was like this, languid and slow. Daniel found it easy to go with it, let himself sink into a state when he finally stopped thinking for a change and consented just to feel. He kissed Jack slowly, arching up as his cock stiffened against Jack’s side, letting their legs tangle while their tongues teased one another. Rough hands swept warm, strong patterns over his still sticky skin, callused fingers pausing to circle his nipples or toy with the uppermost ridge of his navel. He let out a plaintive moan when the contact was broken, then gasping out with surprise when he felt a warm tongue sweep over the pulse point in the hollow of his left ankle. Wasn’t that one of those Chakra spots, he wondered and then tried to shut off the train of thought and surrender entirely to the sensation. The touch of Jack’s mouth stirred his blood, the veins warming all the way up his inner thigh to his cock, which was hard again and begging for attention. He moaned when Jack kissed his inner thighs, pushing his legs apart and pausing to breathe gently on his dick, teasing.
"Turn to the side a little…that’s it…"
Daniel sighed, feeling a light dribble of oil slide between his buttocks, Jack’s fingers warming it and smoothing it down over his ass, then gasped when he felt the fingers of his other hand move over his cock, sticky and slippery all at once.
"Honey…you’re not the only one with a sweet tooth here."
He laughed and sank back down, resting his weight on one hip so that Jack could stroke his ass at the same time, touching very lightly, stroking small slow circles around the hole, while his tongue flicked and teased over his honey-smothered cock. So very, very nice…
A finger entered him, just the tip, slipping and oiled, and he made a small, needy sound, almost unconsciously. Wanted more, wanted to be fucked and filled to the heart with pleasure. Jack’s mouth circled the head of his cock and he moaned as the finger simultaneously thrust deeper, but it still felt thin and unsatisfying. Two fingers…yes…now…that’s it, slick and smooth inside, pushing in slowly, pulling out, then sliding deep with greater ease as the oil worked its way in. He caught his breath in a shivery gasp as his hips thrust and Jack opened his mouth and took him deep, stroking his right thigh in mute encouragement. The honey was sticky, lending a delicious friction to each stroke of Jack’s tongue and lips, the oil slippery and making Jack’s fingers slide deeper every time Daniel rocked back onto them, wanting to push them further in to hit the spot.
Jack crawled over him, kissed him. He was hard again, his eyes dark and hungry. He nudged his lips against Daniel’s, flicking his tongue out to taste, and Daniel could taste honey in his mouth.
"Do you want me to fuck you?" he murmured, his voice hot and low.
He breathed in same breath as Jack, tasted his mouth again. "Yes."
"Fuck me." He shivered, arching his back, moaned as his cock nudged Jack’s.
"On your knees."
Daniel rolled over, shifted onto his knees. There was a sudden flood of cool liquid pouring between his cheeks and he realised it was the olive oil by the way it slithered and clung to his skin, dripping down the backs of his legs. He thought how it must look to Jack, remembering the image of all that honey poured over Jack’s butt, and pictured himself as Jack must see him, from behind, his ass in the air with the golden oil pouring down and puddling under his knees.
Jack’s hands slithered over his thighs, the tip of his cock nudging his ass. He rocked back and cried out as the head slipped inside him effortlessly, slicked with so much oil, spreading the stuff up inside him as Jack pushed all the way in and began to fuck him slowly.
He screamed as he picked up the pace, Jack’s hand gripping his cock with that wonderful sticky sweetness, wide open from behind, listening to Jack’s moans as he fucked harder, pushing deeper, his balls nudging his ass with every stroke, the shaft sliding over his prostate, back and forth. He couldn’t speak, just moan. Friction and slick heat as he moved, thrusting into Jack’s hand when Jack pushed deep, hard, sweet and sure where he needed it the most. The orgasm ripped through him, loosening his throat and spilling the words out along with his come. "…ohgodyes…yes…yes…I love you, I love you…I’m coming so…fucking hard…I….ahhhhhhhhh!"
He lowered himself on shaking arms, dazed, counting the strokes of Jack’s cock inside him. Four times and he came, without words, just a long moan, then collapsed and Daniel gratefully took the weight off his own knees and hit the sleeping bag, gasping and wide eyed at his own response.
"Yep…" Jack chuckled, breathless. "Think they heard that in Canada."
Daniel flushed. "Um…yeah. Sorry. You know I can get a little…vocal."
"Don’t I know it." Jack rolled onto his side. "Vocal oughta be your middle name…wow. Maybe we should abstain for two weeks more often if we have sex like that at the end of it."
"Okay." He laughed. "And I love you too."
"Mmmrrr…yeah…love you…" He lay sprawled out on his stomach, the sweat drying and cooling. Despite the heat from the oven he was starting to feel a little cold. Not to mention messy.
"Soooo…seems like we’ve got a shitload of curry on our hands my little Tikka Masala."
"I’ve got about a pint of olive oil up my bottom, never mind my hands…" He yawned and sat up, surveying the wrack and ruin. Dessert everywhere, puddles of honey and olive oil. The sleeping bag was no longer really worth calling a sleeping bag. He suspected that Jack would rename it garbage. "And tikka masala? Please!"
Jack sniggered. "Knew that’d yank your chain eventually."
He yawned again. "Wow…messy. I have another fantasy if you’re interested."
"Another? Are you trying to kill me?"
Daniel sucked a blob of honey off his finger. "Actually this one involves a hot shower, a bed free of condiments and a hot meal."
"I’ll buy that."
"I’m getting a little cold now."
"I’ll go warm up the shower. See you in the bathroom."
He watched Jack’s butt as he walked out and quickly got to his feet. Thinking fast. It was his speciality. Creating a diversion long enough for him to get that Phaal out of the oven and hidden away in some dark corner of Jack’s deep freeze where it would remain.
Well, until next Friday anyway. It was Sam’s turn to cook. She’d be glad of an extra dish to serve.
This story is © (copyright) Anais, 2001-2002. All Stargate SG-1 characters are © (copyright) MGM, Showtime, Gekko Productions, Secret Agent, and whomever else. No copyright infringement intended.