Damn, he was a nice person. Who else would be standing in an 'around the block and into an adjoining state' line on a Saturday in May, with blue skies overhead, and birds chirping as they flew from tree to telephone line? Him. 'Cause he was such a nice guy. And a good friend to boot. Daniel glanced over at his companion, who had his nose buried in a book, and gave an exasperated shake of his head. Exactly when had he and Jack traded personalities? He tweaked the tome in Jack's hand and said, "Good?"
"You know, you really need to learn about line etiquette, Jack."
Daniel made a fist and 'knocked' on the underside of the hardcover. "Jack? Line etiquette?"
The reader looked up and squinted. "Line etiquette?"
"Yeah, line etiquette. You ask a buddy to go with you while you stand in line to get Colorado Mudslide--"
"Avalanche, mudslide, whatever, you ask this buddy to come along and line etiquette requires that you keep said buddy entertained. So ... entertain me."
Jack stared at him for the count of five (Daniel knew this because he counted) before saying with some puzzlement, "You want me to entertain you?"
"Etiquette, I know. But you're supposed to keep me entertained, Daniel."
"Oh, well, see, you've forfeited your right to be entertained when you cracked open that book. The line asker is entitled to be entertained by the line askee, but said entitlement ends when the line asker opens a book and ignores the line askee. It's simple, really. So ... entertain me."
Jack's brow furrowed in that way that happened whenever he was around Daniel (which was all the time now, so Daniel recognized it immediately) and he got that glazed look that said he was pretty certain that the reason Daniel always got along so well with aliens, was because he was one. Jack closed the book. "I only brought this because I assumed you'd have one," he said, coming just this close to whining.
Daniel hid his smirk as he said, "But Jack, why would I bring a book when it's my job to entertain you while you stand in line? Haven't you been listening?"
Jack's body trembled slightly, a sure sign that Daniel had sent him around another bend in the Danielriver. Jack scratched the back of his head. "So... now that I've put down the book, who is supposed to entertain who?"
"Well, technically, it's too late for you. I do believe the ball, or should I say puck? Anyway, whatever, it's now in your court."
"Would chocolate shut you up?"
Daniel pretended to consider the bribe, then nodded shrewdly. "You know, that might work. I noticed that little bakery across the street, and would you look at that? A newstand too. You could get me, say, a brownie, a coffee, and oh, maybe, the new National Geographic?"
Muttering something about being had by a professional, Jack slid out of line, and after looking both ways, and praying for a large diesel truck to end his misery, he jogged across the street.
Daniel started whistling.
"Here. Now eat, read, and shut up."
Daniel took the coffee, the brownie, and the magazine, which he tucked under his arm. While he nibbled and sipped he decided that standing in line for playoff tickets wasn't so bad after all.
Unfortunately, it only took him five minutes to eat the brownie, and the NG held no secrets or interesting articles, thanks to the fact that Daniel found all his mysteries off world now. He went from content to bored the moment he wrinkled up the wax paper that had held the brownie.
The book snapped shut. "What, Daniel?"
"How much longer?"
Jack looked at his watch. "The box office opens shortly, and I'd say it'll take us about an hour to get to the window."
"Yes, Daniel, an hour. Now that's not so bad, is it? Especially considering we're about fifty from the front of the line."
One well defined eyebrow rose at the fatherly tone. Jack shifted uncomfortably under the steady gaze and added helpfully, "You want my book?"
"Read it, he loses everything at the end. Very depressing and I can't imagine you enjoying it, but hey, different strokes and your mileage may vary."
Daniel catalogued "Jack Look Number Fifty-Two", the "Do I really know this man and if I do, why?" look, and he mentally counted up his accomplishments so far: First, he'd deliberately substituted "Mudslide" for "Avalanche", then he'd made Jack count to five. He'd gotten the furrowed brow with the "Daniel is an alien" look (a real coup), followed by a near whine, which was almost immediately followed by the great "fatherly" tone. He'd pried not only a chocolate brownie out of Jack, but the newest edition of National Geographic (which really didn't count since Jack loved them too), and finally, he'd managed the truly impossible; Jack had offered him his new hardcover in order to keep him quiet.
He was on a roll.
"Gee, thanks, Daniel. I'm so glad you refrained from spoiling the ending for me. I mean, I'd hate to have wasted the," he looked at the inside jacket, "twenty-eight dollars I spent on it."
Heh. Sarcasm. He'd finally reached the Jack-sarcasm stage. The next (he looked at his watch) forty-five minutes were going to fly by.
"Now, Jack, you know you bought that at Barnes and Noble, which means you paid less than twenty for it."
"For your information, Daniel, I did not buy this book at Barnes and Noble. So there."
Daniel, when translated by ... Daniel, meant "Smarty pants". Daniel chalked up another one for the champion "Jack-hazer" of all time.
"Oh, right," he said thoughtfully. "Sam loaned that to you. I'd almost forgotten."
Jack peered at Daniel for several seconds, and finally said, "You know, you remind me of a fly."
"I get that. But you should know, one could take that two ways. First, there's the obvious, namely that you'd like to swat me, but then, then there's the less obvious and the more ... cerebral. The almost Freudian fly."
Jack rolled his eyes and made the mistake of saying, "This I gotta hear. Okay, how would me thinking of you as a fly be even remotely contrued as Freudian?"
"We-ell, it's the ointment."
"The ... ointment? The ointment, Daniel?"
"Yeah. I'm the fly in your ointment. Get it? Me? Fly? You? Ointment?"
Oh goody. Now he was getting the "I'm constipated" look from Jack. The man was just too easy.
"You're really sick, Jackson."
"I realize that the sexual implications go way over your head, Jack, but that's hardly my fault. Most everything goes way over your head."
Ooh, the blinking was back. Daniel refrained from rubbing his hands gleefully.
Jack opened the book again and said dramatically, "I'm not talking to you anymore today. In fact, I may never talk to you again."
"What about notes?" Daniel asked curiously.
"Yeah, notes. If you're not going to talk to me, then you'll do notes, right? Little post-its that say, 'Daniel, don't touch that' or 'Daniel, dial us out', or maybe--"
"Daniel, shut the fuck up."
"Or that one. I'll have Sam order you a bunch of Post-it Notes. Or do you know ASL?"
Jack gave him the finger.
"Oh, so you do know ASL. Good for you. In that case, I'll have Sam scratch the Post-It Notes."
"I will never, as long as I live, ask you to accompany me to stand in any line. This, I promise the gods of lines."
"Now, Jack, do you honestly think that would upset me?" Daniel turned around as someone near the front of the line suddenly whooped. "Oh, look, they're open. The line should start moving now. Isn't that great news?"
"You know something? I don't care if the Colorado Avalanche make the Stanley Cup play-offs or not. What do you say about that, Doctor Jackson?"
"Well, I think they'll do it, Jack. I'm looking at the New Jersey Devils and the Avalanche for the finals. Bob Hartley is hot, but the New Jersey Devils coach, Larry Robinson is hungry, I just don't think he's hungry enough to beat Peter Forsberg and Joe Sakic. I mean, we're talking point leaders, you know? So I'm thinking--"
Jack grabbed his arm, turned to the guy behind him, said, "I'll give you fifty bucks to hold my place in line" and when the man nodded eagerly, Jack fished out the money and handed it over. He then marched Daniel across the street, into the restaurant that was attached to the bakery, past tables and customers, to the back where a sign proclaimed "restrooms". He hauled Daniel down the hall, but when he spotted a door marked "Storage closet", he opened it, shoved Daniel inside, joined him, and slammed the door shut.
"Jack? It's dark in here."
"Who are you, and where's Daniel Jackson?"
Laughter threatened to bubble to the surface. Daniel wisely stomped on it. Hard. "Now, Jack, you know perfectly well--"
"The Doctor Jackson I know wouldn't know Peter Forsberg from Brad Pitt. Spill. Who are you?"
"Who's Brad Pitt? Not that it matters, his teeth are probably real."
"So help me--"
"Get real, Jack. What, you think I can sit in front of the set in your living room for hours on end while you watch hockey and not absorb a few things? I'm known for my smarts, in case you've forgotten. Now can we get out of here, or at the very least, turn on a light?"
There was no response... if you didn't count the heavy breathing. Jack's heavy breathing. O-kay, this was even better than he'd hoped. Jack's breathing actually sounded... excited? Yeah, excited. Man, he was so good.
Voice low and easy, Daniel said, "Or... we could leave the light out."
Daniel bet himself five dollars that Jack's next words would be, "Ya think?"
"You'd better be Daniel Jackson because I'd hate to waste what I'm about to do on some alien creature--"
"I sincerely doubt that it would be wasted, Jack."
"It would if you're not you."
The closet was small, but not so small that Daniel didn't have to take a step or two in order to be close enough to be a hair's breath away from Jack O'Neill.
"Thank God I'm me then," he breathed out.
"I should make sure," Jack murmured, his arm coming around Daniel's waist.
"How would you like to do that? An MRI?"
"I'm thinking... dental records."
"Could work. My dentist is--"
He didn't get the opportunity to share his dentist's name as Jack was currently feeling up his teeth... his tongue... and the insides of his cheeks. Was he good at keeping a guy entertained while standing in line, or what?
When the kiss finally ended, Jack touched his forehead to Daniel's and said, "You taste like brownies and really great coffee."
"And I prefer milk with my brownies."
Daniel could hear the smile in Jack's voice and he remembered seeing some kind of box or crate on the floor before Jack had closed the door. He figured it had to be right behind him. He stepped back, taking Jack with him, and sure enough, the back of his legs hit something hard. Smiling in the dark, he shifted them around, then pushed Jack down until he was seated on whatever the item was.
"So," he said as he rested his hands on Jack's shoulders, "this leads to the question so often repeated on commercials, namely, got--"
"Milk?" Jack finished for him.
"Yeah," Daniel whispered against Jack's lips.
Even in the pitch black of the closet, Jack managed to easily connect with Daniel's belt buckle, and seconds later, Daniel felt his zipper being lowered. "Careful," he warned moments before his cock sprung free.
"Whoa," Jack said, humor clearly evident in his voice. "A man could lose an eye here."
"So put it somewhere safe, O'Neill."
Daniel couldn't see it, but he was pretty certain that Jack had just licked his lips. A shiver ran up his spine in anticipation of what Jack was about to do to him. Nobody could deep throat like a certain Air Force colonel with bad knees, a big heart, and a great tongue.
Steady hands shoved his jeans down before gripping his hips, and his own knees wobbled a bit with the knowledge that any second now ... that talented tongue would--
"Aw godjack... yes..."
It had to be fast, after all, they were in the storage room of a restaurant, but that didn't mean Jack would skimp on the technique, no siree. Daniel's fingers dug into Jack's shoulders hard enough to bruise but he'd have fallen otherwise. Jack was teasing him unmercifully, allowing the edge of his teeth to just graze the sensitive underside of his cock.
"Ja-ck... time... tickets...."
Jack's hand ghosted over his right ass cheek and Daniel had to squeeze his eyes shut... not enough time....
"Stan-ley... cup... playoffs...." Daniel added breathlessly.
Jack swallowed him in one incredibly erotic move.
Jack opened the door, peeked out, then said over his shoulder, "All clear, let's amscray."
Easy for him to say, Daniel thought as he tried to stand. Jack had already taken care of getting him tucked and zipped, but that didn't mean he was ready to move. "Give me a sec."
Turning back, Jack closed the door, snapped on the wall switch, and said, as he lounged against the door, "Recuperative powers on the wane, ArtifactBoy?"
Daniel might have been insulted if not for the huge grin on Jack's face. Okay, it was a very smug grin, but still--
"I'm coming, I'm coming. And my recuperative powers are just as remarkable as always."
"You done come already, Doctor Jackson, now you just need to get your ass in gear. That guy isn't going to hold our place in line if--"
Daniel got up from the crate that had so recently held Jack's very fine ass, and walked over to the door. "You know, Jack, I just realized that while you're getting tickets to the playoffs, I'm definitely getting the better end of the whole line deal. Brownies, coffee, and one hell of a great--"
"Daniel, ass in gear, now."
Daniel gave him a mock salute and pulled open the door. "You know your words are my--"
Jack swatted him on the butt.
Daniel watched as a very happy Jack pocketed the two rink-side seats. All those hours in line had paid off big time. Still feeling pretty damn good and boneless, Daniel had to agree with himself. Yep, paid off big time. He'd really cleaned up today.
"These are great seats, Daniel," Jack said as they headed for the car.
"Yep. Who you planning on taking?"
"Mmm, how 'bout Major Davis?"
Jack beeped the car to unlock it, and as Daniel slid in, he said, "I don't know, Jack, Paul isn't really into hockey. He's a baseball man from way back."
"Oh, right." He started the car and pulled into traffic. "Okay, so maybe Teal'c would enjoy it?"
"Remember how he feels about ice?"
"Right, so scratch Teal'c. Gosh, I guess that leaves Carter."
"Mmm, that's a possibility. Of course, you'll have to separate her from her motorcycle, but hey, go for it."
"Oh, come on, would you chose a stupid motorcycle over a chance to spend the evening with me and the Colorado Avalanche?"
"Hell, no," Daniel said as he scooted closer to Jack. "By the way, have I told you how glad I am that you bought this truck?"
"No, can't say as you have. Why?"
"I just love these bench seats, don't you?" Daniel reached over and lowered Jack's zipper.
"Oh. Uh. Ye-ah--"
"By the way? Maybe you should take the long way home? And try Evergreen this time, less traffic, you know?"
Jack's fingers gripped the steering wheel even as he lifted his foot a bit from the accelerator. He tried very hard not to shut his eyes as Daniel's fingers encircled his rapidly growing cock.
"You... angling... for one of ... the tickets?"
Daniel mumbled something, but since his mouth was extremely occupied, not to mention almost full, he really couldn't make out the words. But he was pretty certain Daniel had said, "Fuck you."
He figured he could take that either literally, or ... Freudian-ly.
Jack decided to take it literally. He stepped on the accelerator.
Standing in line with Daniel Jackson was really fun. He promised himself to try it again in December. Or sooner.
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