Disclaimer:  I don't own 'em.  All the characters you recognize belong to someone who isn't me and are used without permission purely (!) for a little non-profit personal entertainment.

Trivia Quiz: virtual chocolate to the first person who spots the Cruel Intentions quote.

Codes/ratings/warnings:  J/D, NC-17, written in the first person, some violence

Author's Note:  this is my first ever Stargate fic (please be gentle - *sob*) and it's a result of an image that popped into my head a little while ago, and just wouldn't leave; Jack, asleep in Daniel's bed, and Daniel sitting propped up against a pillow, scribbling worriedly into his journal.  What, I wondered, was Daniel writing?  Why was he so tense?  How did he and Jack end up in bed together in the first place?  And, lastly, what would happen when Jack woke up in the morning?

Me being me, I couldn't leave well enough alone, and so without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I shall put on Daniel's hat and give you -
 
 
 
The Story Of My Life
 by Melissa
 
 
I don't know how to begin, to be honest.  With the White Tyger?  The first time I saw Keith?  The first time he saw me?  Or earlier still; the first time I met Jack, or the first time I heard him use the word 'fag' in conversation without a second thought, or -

But I'm getting ahead of myself.  As per usual.

In all fairness, I don't suppose it really matters how it began; one way or another, it happened.  Is happening.  And I still don't know what to make of it.

I'll start with the White Tyger, although it may not be the beginning, and I'll finish - unless Jack wakes up in the meantime - with just how I ended up in bed with an airforce colonel who, for all intents and purposes, is straighter than an arrow, and who hates my guts.

So.  The White Tyger.

It's not the biggest club in town, or the most expensive, but it is the hardest.  And, almost incidentally, the most interesting.  There are no questions asked and no answers given, and you're as likely to see one guy groping another at the bar as you are to see two girls swaying together on the dance floor, or some serious mass dealing going on at a corner table.

In short, it's the perfect ask-me-no-questions-I'll-tell-you-no-lies kind of place.  Pretty much anything goes, and on a regular basis, too.

'Nuff said.

I don't really know why I was there that night.

It had been an absolute *shit* of a day; Jack just about ripped my head off after I dropped out of sight on px35739.  I was just collecting a couple of rock samples, completely oblivious, and the next thing I know, I'm being pulled up by my lapels and literally screamed at for wandering off.  God, I felt like an errant toddler at that moment.  Sam just stared; she'd followed Jack when he'd set off to look for me, apparently, and I think she was about as shocked as I was.

See, Jack's not like that.  Not usually.  Calm, collected, sardonic, dry - sure.  All those things.  But hysterical?  Over a momentary lapse of attention?  No way.  Not him.  Mr Ultra-cool-calm-and-in-control?  Not a chance.

But there he was, shaking me like a kid, and me just staring back at him, half bemused and half completely in shock.

Not *my* Jack.

Anyway; he stopped after a few seconds - felt like for-fucking-ever, though - and just stomped off.  Just like that; game over.

Didn't say a word later.  No apologies, no explanations.  Just, "Hurry the fuck up, Jackson, they'll be here any minute," while I was dialing home.

And that was that.

The debriefing lasted forever, and when I finally got home, there were three pieces of mail in the box.  One was a bill I didn't have enough cash to pay; another was a frosty but polite form letter rejecting my request for a grant; and the third was from some girl called Lisa, telling me that Mike, an old friend of mine - fuck, we grew up together, *friend* hardly seems to cover it - had just died in some sort of car accident, and could I make it to the funeral?

I stared at that one for a long time.  Stared at it until the lines stared to blur together, and then I ran for the bathroom and vomited.  Once, twice, and then there was nothing left in my stomach, but that didn't stop me trying to make it three in a row.

I'm not really sure how long I sat, shaking, propped up against the bathroom wall.  I do remember vaguely trying to bargain with God - *please, God, take it back, please don't let Mike be dead, he can't be dead, it's not fair, please, I'll do anything if you'll just take it back* - and then not much else until I was standing in the doorway of the White Tyger, trying to ignore the bouncers and wondering what the hell I was doing there, and, more to the point, how I'd gotten there in the first place.

The mind plays funny tricks on you, sometimes.

I'd just made up my mind to leave; decided that I shouldn't be there, and that booze and noise and sex were probably not best enjoyed in my current frame of mind - or on an empty and still restless stomach.  Decided being there was too dangerous.  And then I saw him.

From the back, I thought it was a certain colonel.  You know the one.  Tall, a little lanky, but well built.  Dirty blonde/light brown hair.  He even moved the same.  It was uncanny.

He turned around - almost as though he felt me staring at him - and I got my first full look at his face.  It wasn't Jack, his features weren't the same at *all*, but if you tilted your head slightly, you might almost believe -

Well.  Like I said, the mind plays tricks, sometimes.  And if I tell you that the thing I wanted most at that moment was to find Jack - yes, *my* Jack - in the least vanilla club in town, prowling for a piece of ass, then I guess you'll understand what I'm saying, and how easy it was to let myself believe, then and later, that -

Wait.  I'm getting ahead of myself again.

I just looked at this guy.  And maybe he took that as a challenge, I don't know.  Maybe he decided it was an invitation.

Maybe it was.

The next thing I know, we're sitting at the bar, I'm sipping a double scotch on the rocks, and wondering what the hell I'm doing.

Maybe I should take a moment here to explain myself.  See, I'd been to the White Tyger only once before.  It wasn't that I didn't like the place, because I did; in fact, that was really the root of the problem.

I'm not gay.  I feel the need to clear that up.  I'm not.  I like women just fine.  I like watching them move, I like touching them, I like having sex with them.  I like women.  I do.  It's just that sometimes - like now - I get hit by the feeling that what I need is a *man*, someone stronger than me, someone who can hold me down and fuck me and -

Um.  Well, anyway, when I first heard about the White Tyger, I decided I wanted to check it out.  And I did, eventually.  Making very sure that no one I knew was around, that no one back at SGHQ would ever hear about it.  So I went, I danced, I had a few, and I ended up going home with a Brit called Eddie.

I snuck out of his bed early - around 5am - and went home.  I never tried to get in touch with him.  And I swore to myself I'd never set foot in the White Tyger ever again.  It was too dangerous.  I liked it too much; I liked the atmosphere and the people and the anonymity.  I liked the fact that I could get anything - *anything* - I wanted, then and there.

It was addictive.  I would've been there at every opportunity, and in repetition, as Jack is so fond of telling me, lies discovery.  Sure, I got away with a little indiscretion once, but if I was doing that every chance I got -

Well.  Sooner or later I would've gotten myself into some serious shite - one way or another - and that would have been that.  Don't Ask, Don't Tell only goes so far.  There would've been no more Stargate, no more research, no more Jack.  Or Teal'c or Sam.  The US army may only want a few good men, but apparently somewhere along the line someone neglected to tell them that *good* isn't necessarily synonymous with *straight.*

Or maybe it is, I don't know.

So, you can imagine all the things going through my mind as I sat at the bar with this guy - Keith, his name was - staring at my scotch, wondering if I'd lost all my marbles or if maybe the world had gone mad while I wasn't watching.

I mean, God, Mike was only twenty eight, and what kind of fucked up world was it anyway that would kill a twenty eight year old who never hurt a fucking *fly* -

I think maybe I was drowning.

So I made small talk with this guy for maybe quarter of an hour, and he was nice enough, and when he suggested we go back to his place, I thought, fuck, why not?  I was already putting my balls on the line, just being there, why not go the full fucking hog?

So go the full fucking hog I did.
 
Looking back on it, I was taking one hell of a risk.  If he'd turned out to be dangerous - psychotic or something, I don't know - I was in no shape to take care of myself.  But as it happened, he wasn't.  At least, not as far as I know.

By the time we got to his place it was late, nearly 2am.  Despite the toll that the day - and the alcohol - had taken, I was acutely aware that I had to be at HQ at 9am for the debriefing.  I was beginning to wonder what the hell I was doing there.

I guess Keith picked up on that - not the details, unless he was a psychic, which I doubt - but he made his move.

One minute I was staring at the wallpaper, wondering how I could make a tactful exit, and the next Keith was pressed up against me, his tongue in my mouth, rocking his hips against mine.

Christ.  Zero to warp ten in under five seconds.  Someone get the captain, coz I think this one's gonna end up in the Guinness book of records.

I was responding in kind long before my mind caught up with my body and decided to join the party.  Tasting him, running my hands over his chest, unbuttoning his shirt.

The sudden urgency didn't seem at all strange or unwelcome, and I realized that this was *exactly* what I needed at that moment.  Some nice, rough, life-affirming sex.

Now, maybe it had more to do with displaced sexual tension that anything else, but it didn't really matter.  At that point, nothing much mattered beyond getting rid of Keith's clothes, and mine, and getting horizontal, and -

Well.  You get the idea.

So we did.  He went down on me - felt like he damn near sucked my brains out of my cock - and then he fucked me.

Don't get the wrong idea; I know I'm making it sound, well, rather impersonal.  And I suppose it was, really, on an emotional level.  But  I've always thought the term 'casual sex' was a bit of a misnomer.  I really can't think of anything less casual than sex.  And sex with Keith was no exception to the rule.  Honest to God, the man had a mouth like a Hoover.  He knew pretty much everything there was to know about the human body and its various erogenous zones.

The advantages of fucking a physiotherapist, huh?

Anyhow, between the day I'd had and the intensity of what Keith and I had just done, I fell asleep.  Looking back, that was either my worst mistake ever or the best thing I've ever done in my whole life.

When Jack wakes up, I'll let you know.

What it boiled down to was the fact that when Keith woke up and saw me still there, he figured I wanted what he did; a reasonably casual but long term relationship.

And hell, the man was great in bed, he was *more* than attractive; there was no reason to turn him down.  So more by virtue of circumstance than intention, I found myself in a relationship.

Not the I'll-send-you-flowers-if-you'll-light-us-some-candles kind of relationship; more the kind where you gravitate towards each other periodically, have a drink or two, and then proceed directly to the rough business of skin-on-skin tension relief, if you know what I mean.

And that's exactly what happened.

If I'd had a bastard of a day, I'd give Keith a call, we'd get together - usually at my place, seeing as he had two roommates - and let nature take its course.  And Keith was only too happy to return the favour after a tough day at work.

And that was how Jack caught us in the act.  Yes, *the* act.

Keith had apparently had a hell of a day.  He showed up around 7pm without calling.  I opened the door to him and found myself thrust back against the wall and kissed as though there'd be no tomorrow.

Given the circumstances, I'm hardly surprised I forgot to lock the door.  I'm just stunned I actually had enough presence of mind left to kick it closed.

Keith's enthusiasm - desperation? - was infectious, and the next thing I know I've lost my boxers and t-shirt and I'm bent over the kitchen table, concentrating hard on trying not to hump the tablecloth, watching Keith, still fully dressed, search frantically for something to use as lube.

He settled on a bottle of olive oil after what seemed like forever, and less than a second later I felt his slicked fingers inside me, stretching me roughly.

Oh *God* it felt good.  Felt even better with his cock inside me, pounding into me and pushing me flat against the table.

Then I felt his oil-slicked hand reach around me and grab my cock, and I lost control.  I bucked frantically, each forward thrust increasing the pressure of his hand, each backward thrust impaling me more deeply on his cock.  I was lost in a whirlwind.

Then, seconds away from coming, I got the sudden, unmistakable feeling that I was being watched.  Somehow, without even looking, I knew.

Jack.

In retrospect, I suppose I didn't have to look.  I could have focused on the table, on what Keith was doing to me - and Jack would have been gone by the time I looked up.  I'm not sure how I know this, but I do.  I would have pretended I didn't know he was there, and he would have pretended that he never saw what he did.  And life would go on as always.  Jack's good at repressing things.  It would never have been brought up between us.

But, of course, there would be that awkwardness.  The embarrassment.  Our friendship would be, for all intents and purposes, over.  Oh, Jack wouldn't rat me out to SGHQ - that's something else I just know - and we'd still be working together, but that would be all.

I suppose I'd like to say that I weighed my options, and decided to take the moral high road - the honest way out.  Decided that it would be better to be openly disdained than covertly tried and rejected.

Truth is, though, given the situation and my condition at that moment, I could no more avoid looking than I could avoid coming.

Although perhaps I could have timed the latter more appropriately.  Despite that fact that I knew what I'd see when I looked up, the shock of meeting Jack's eyes -

Well, I'm sure you can guess.

And my orgasm triggered Keith's, which left him in no state to fend off a furious airforce colonel with almost 20 years of combat experience.  Not that he would have had a show anyway.

Jack was across the room before I knew what was going on.  He pulled Keith off me, dragged him across the room, and literally threw him out the front door.  It's a good thing Keith was still more or less fully clothed; I have a feeling Jack wouldn't have hesitated to throw him out naked, given the fury that had taken hold of him.

"Hey," I managed, rather ineffectually.  "What the *hell* are you doing?"

Jack slammed the door, locked it, and turned back towards me.

All of a sudden, I was sorry I'd spoken.

"What the fuck was that?"  He spoke mildly, given the fire in his eyes, but there was no mistaking the underlying steel in his tone.

It was about that time that I realised I was naked.  And vulnerable.  And more scared than I'd like to admit.  Luckily, my boxers were in reach and I grabbed them, pulling them on as quickly as my post-coital and somewhat rubbery legs would allow.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I returned indignantly.  "I'm an adult, Jack, and this is *my* house!  You can't just barge in here and -"

"Who was he?"  Ah, the voice of command.  Who could resist?

"His name is *Keith*, if you must know, but that's beside the point.  You've got no right to just -"

"Is he a good lay?"  It was a sneer more than anything else.  I swear, I've never seen Jack look so close to completely losing control.  See, the thing with Jack is that the louder he yells, the less angry he really is.  It's when he gets all quiet and intense that you need to start worrying.

"Who knew the geek was a fag, too?  Do you like taking it up the ass, *fag*boy, or were you just waiting your turn?"  He was down to a harsh whisper now, every other word bringing him a step closer to me.

Needless to say, I was getting a little worried.  And a little speechless, too.   He can do that to me at the best of times - my friends wouldn't recognize me sometimes when I'm around him - but of *all* the times to just stand still and gape, that probably wasn't the best one to pick.

He backhanded me.

I suppose I should be grateful that he didn't punch me and break my nose, or my jaw, or something, but given that my face is *still* stinging, I think I'll settle for numb indignation.

 I put one hand up to my cheek and just *stared*, utterly dumbstruck.

Not *my*  Jack.

He stood toe-to-toe with me, and I backed off.  He matched me, every step of the way, his eyes never leaving mine.

Now, I've studied hundreds of cultures.  I've seen other worlds.  I've been shot at, captured, tortured, threatened, seen and done things that most of the people on earth would never believe outside of a movie theater.  I've seen miracles and I've seen tragedy.

But I have never, *never*, felt the way I felt in that moment, holding Jack's gaze, feeling his heat, retreating until my back hit the wall with an audible *thump*.

Scared - terrified, really - and desperately, desperately turned on in a way I haven't been since I left my teenage years behind.

And then - finally - I found my voice again.  "Jack?"  He didn't reply, just kept staring down at me.  "Look, we can talk about this, okay?  I mean, I know this was a shock and everything, but hear me out - "

He brought a hand up and for a brief moment I thought he was going to hit me again.  I glanced nervously up to his eyes, and I saw, to my relief, that the fury was gone.  What it had been replaced with, I don't know.  Years of living in the military gave Jack a strong tactical advantage in that respect.  I knew everything I was thinking and feeling was showing on my face, but he was giving nothing away.  Bastard.

So I was standing there, back to the wall, feeling the lightswitch dig into my shoulderblade, with Jack only inches away.  He had one hand braced against the wall, and the other hovering in the air by my face, not touching me, just hanging there.

Then, all of a sudden, he brought his hand down, and instead of hitting me, he touched my face.  Gently.  Stroked my cheek, my neck, and slid his hand down across my chest, and then lower, toward my stomach.

All this time, he'd been watching his hand move down my body - while I held my breath and prayed to pretty much every god I'd ever heard of - but at that point, he looked up at me.

Our eyes met, and I felt like all the breath had been sucked out of my lungs.  I remember thinking, Christ, what's he trying to do to me?  and then his hand slid down further still, inside my boxers, and encircled my cock, and I stopped thinking altogether.

We stayed like that for a few minutes, standing face to face, me half naked with my back to the wall, him fully dressed and slowly - God, so slowly - jerking me off.

He leaned his head in close to mine, never stopping the movement of his hand on my cock, and I could smell the whisky on his breath.

So he'd been drinking.  That explained a few things.

I didn't know what to do.  Part of me insisted that I should stop him, that if he was drunk it wasn't right to just let it happen - but the truth was, even pissed he could still take me in a fair fight.  I didn't really have a chance.  And I wasn't sure I could even try at this point.

So I did the only think that occurred to me; I went with the flow.  I tried to stay as passive as I could, but God, it felt so damn *good*, my hands were clenching into fists and unclenching and clenching again, and I couldn't help thrusting into his hand, and I couldn't control my breathing, and I was so close, so close -

And then, abruptly, he pulled back, grabbed my shoulder, spun me around, and shoved me roughly back against the wall, giving me barely enough time to brace myself with my forearms.

I was shaking.  It wasn't so much fear, although there certainly was that, but a weird combination of fear and desire and uncertainty; a reaction to the strange mix of violence and tenderness.  And, mixed in there, that peculiar feeling you get when you realise that you've just surrendered completely to someone, and you have no idea how it happened.

He started again with the hand.  First, on my neck, then stroking down my back.   God, I was hard.  Aching.

My breathing was fast and far too hard, but I couldn't seem to control it.

I wondered if Jack was getting off on doing this, or if it was some weird kind of game.  With that poker face, I had no way of knowing.

The mind plays tricks on you, sometimes.  Looking back, we can't have been there for more than fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours.  Felt like forever.

Maybe it was.

Finally, his hand reached my ass.  My breath caught in my throat.  This was it.

Rough hands jerked my boxers down - scraping my poor cock painfully - and then I felt a finger slip inside me.

I cried out.  I couldn't help it, I was shocked and sore and just so desperate for release.

He pulled his finger back, and for a minute I thought that was it, that he was going to beat me into a pulp or leave, or both.  But no.

I heard the rustling of clothing, the sound of a zipper, and then I felt something much larger than his finger pressing against my opening.

I had enough time to think *God, oh my God -* and then he was inside me.

I was glad that Keith had been generous with the olive oil he used for lube.  Between that and the fact that I was still a little stretched, it didn't hurt nearly as much as it could have when Jack entered me.

It did hurt a little, a nagging burn, and I whimpered involuntarily for a moment.  But then he struck my prostate, and bam!  I came.  Just like that.  He never even got close to touching my dick.  Christ.

He rode it out, thrusting hard but slow.

It was unbelievable.  Suddenly my world had narrowed down to the feel of his cock in my ass, the wall beneath my hands, and the harsh sounds of our breathing.  I've never felt anything like it.  The clarity was heartbreaking.

He braced one arm against the wall, and one wrapped around my chest, hand on my shoulder.  His thrusts sped up, became more irregular, and his breathing more shallow.

"God, Jack - " I whispered, leaning my head against the wall, trying to remember to breathe.

His fingers tightened on my shoulder, he gave one final thrust, and came.

I swallowed convulsively.  My throat was dry and the motion hurt a little, but that was nothing compared to the rest of my body, which was finally sending in the damage reports now that Jack was easing his cock out of my ass.  I was getting a tension headache - surprise, surprise - vague aches in my shoulder and hip that have since turned into some pretty spectacular bruises, a sore ass, cramped muscles -

Jack finally relaxed against me, head buried in my shoulder.  I stayed like that for a heartbeat, then turned, slowly, to face him.  He made no move to stop me.

I waited for a cue from him.  None came.  So I took a deep breath and tugged him the few steps into my bedroom.  We collapsed on the bed, and he was asleep within minutes.  Bastard.

And that is how I ended up in bed with an airforce colonel who, for all intents and purposes, is straighter than an arrow, and who hates my guts.

Well, I guess he's not so straight as all that, given last night, but whether he wants to admit that to himself or not is another story.

Maybe he'll wake up, see me here, and decide to tell me how much he loves me and how he wants us to ride off into the sunset together.

Or maybe he'll wake up, remember what happened, and pound me into the floor.

Either way, I'll find out soon.  It's 5am, and we've got a 9am briefing.  And Jack, being a military man, is going to be awake long before then, and -

Shit.  He's stirring now.  Oh, God, *please* let this be okay, please don't let him break every bone in my body, please let us still be friends -

He's opening his eyes.  He's awake.
 

Oh God.

 
 

 
 
THE END
 
 
 
 
 
 
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