Patient Safety
AKA Doctor's Orders
by
Click for details and warnings
Note: Bunnyfic: #08
Disclaimer: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of
Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret
Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment
purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is
intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property
of the authors. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent
of the authors.
"Daniel! Daniel, hold up!" A strong hand grips my arm and yanks me to a halt. I give an impatient tug, but Ferretti's got the kind of hold on me that's not going to shake loose.
"Damn it, Ferretti, let me go! We've got to find Jack!"
"We *will* find him, Daniel, but *you* are going to stay back here where you belong or I'll have your ass sent back to the Gate and you can wait there."
This time I do jerk my arm free. "You'll have to knock me out first," I snap.
Ferretti eyes me coolly from under his cap. "Don't think I won't," he says grimly. "If I let anything happen to you, the Colonel'll throw me the through a Stargate without a GDO. So you keep yourself back here with me and let my men do their job." He lays a hand on my shoulder and pats it reassuringly. "We'll find him, Daniel."
"It's been two days," I say bleakly. "Who knows what they've been doing to him? For all we know they dragged him out and killed him --"
"Stop it, Daniel." Ferretti's voice is sharp. "If they'd wanted any of you dead, they wouldn't have fed you; they would have just let you starve."
"So, what then? They took him to torture him, to try to get information out of him --"
"This isn't helping," Ferretti says firmly, and gives me a gentle push to get me moving. "We've got a lot of buildings to search."
I stumble along beside him, my fears growing with each building that is searched and found empty. For the second time, SG-1 managed to get itself caught between two warring factions in a civil war. PCX229 reminds me a lot of P2X416. The Medrosian commander who questioned us there was quite fond of an electrical staff weapon he used to give us shocks when we didn't give him answers he liked. If Teal'c and Nyan hadn't rescued us, I don’t want to think about how nasty things could have gotten. Those electrical shocks were probably only the first step and that commander seemed the type to enjoy his work.
We were captured less than an hour after we set foot on this planet, this time by a vicious guerilla group, and tagged immediately as spies for the other side. The leader of this merry little band, someone who called himself 'Commander Fry'an', made the Medrosian commander look like Mary Poppins. As always, Jack found a way to make sure the attention was drawn away from the rest of us to him. He did such a good job they dragged him off two days ago and we never saw him again. When the team was overdue checking in, Hammond send in a SG-3 and SG-7 and we were freed in short order, the rebels being both outnumbered and outgunned. Instead of fighting, they melted into the surrounding woods. Unfortunately, that means there's no one left to tell us what happened to Jack. There are still pockets of resistance around, though, and a lot of sniper fire, which is why Ferretti is keeping me so close. All around us small groups of SG members are searching buildings and coming out empty-handed.
Is Jack still here? Or had the rebels taken him with them? Or when they saw the rescue coming, did they decide he was too much trouble and --
Ferretti points to a rough building ahead of us and I nod, forcibly shaking off those thoughts and falling in beside him as we jog toward it. Suddenly the door bursts open and my heart slams to a stop as Jack appears. "Jack!" I start to run to him only to be roughly pulled up short.
"Daniel," Ferretti hisses. "Don't move!"
My breath catches in my throat as I see why. There's an arm around Jack's neck and the sadistic commander is behind him, Jack's sidearm pressed tight against his temple. "I have seen what these can do," Fry'an calls out harshly. "You will stand back, or he is dead."
I can't take my eyes off Jack. My God, what did they do to him? His face is battered and there's fresh blood trickling out of his grey hair and down the side of his face; his jacket is gone and his tee shirt and pants are ripped and filthy with a mixture of dried and fresh blood. His hands are obviously tied behind his back, his head is drooping on his chest, and I can't even tell if he's conscious. "Jack..." It's no more than a choked whisper, but somehow he hears me. His head moves, then slowly it raises and his gaze locks with mine.
"You will let us pass or I will kill him!" Fry'an orders. I can see the finger tighten on the trigger of the gun.
*OhGodOhGodOhGod...*
"Ferretti." Jack's voice is a painful rasp and it barely carries to where we're standing.
"Yes sir?" Ferretti is asking for orders. Belatedly I realize he has his sidearm drawn and held out straight in front of him, arms extended. When the hell had he done that?
"Shoot him."
Everything happens at once. Jack sags, throwing Fry'an off-balance and Ferretti's 9mm barks. The commander is thrown back, his gun discharges, and Jack drops like a rock.
"No!" I hear Ferretti shouting something but this time he doesn't get a hand on me. I cover the ground separating me from Jack in a matter of moments and I drop to my knees by his side, running my shaking hands over his body, searching for the bullet wound that felled him.
"Hey, easy with the merchandise, Danny,"
That raspy mumble stops me in my tracks. "Jack?" I lean over him, carefully cradling his battered face between my hands.
"I'm okay," he assures me, but when he tries to smile it pulls at his split lip and a fresh trickle of blood slides down his chin.
My voice is shaking as badly as my hands. "I thought...I thought he'd shot you."
"Missed by a mile."
I'm sure that was supposed to sound very breezy but he sounds weary beyond belief.
"Colonel?"
Ferretti appears beside me and Jack gives him an approving nod. "Well done, Major."
"Thank you, Sir." Ferretti holds up his knife. "May I?"
"I'd appreciate that."
I carefully ease Jack over, biting my lip when I hear his hiss of pain, and Ferretti makes quick work on the rope binding his wrists.
"Carter, Teal'c?" Jack asks as I help him into a sitting position just inside the building out of the sun. "They're fine," I assure him immediately. When his eyes search my face, I add, "We're all fine. Now."
Jack studies me a bit longer, then glances up at Ferretti. "What's the situation, Major?" After Ferretti quickly fills him in, he nods. "Pull everyone back and secure our route to the Gate."
Ferretti gets to his feet. "Yes, Sir. Do you require medical assistance, Colonel? We've got a medic."
My 'yes' and Jack's 'no' leaves Ferretti looking from Jack to me, one eyebrow cocked. "No," Jack repeats firmly, shooting me a warning look. "Just give me a few minutes." He jerks his head and Ferretti nods his understanding, claps me lightly on the shoulder, and steps outside the building, leaving us alone.
When Jack looks back at me, his dark eyes soften. "I'm okay, Daniel," he says carefully. "Really. I've been knocked around worse than this."
That's not exactly comforting. Now that I'm up close I've got a much better look at the damage: the bruises on his face, the bloody rope burns on his wrists, what look like burn marks on his arms, the smell of stale sweat and dried blood. What other damage must be hidden under his torn clothes? Suddenly I don't give a damn if the entire United States Air Force is standing at attention watching. I have to have him in my arms, I have to touch him, I have to taste him. God help me, I have to have his arms around me, I have to *feel* him around me. Maybe he sees it in my eyes, or maybe he needs it as much as I do. Suddenly Jack's arms encircle me and I'm pulled in tight against his chest. I hear him making soothing noises as I carefully snake my arms around his back, trying to bring us closer together without causing him any pain. For a long time we stay like this, my face buried in his neck, his lips pressing kisses into my hair, my lips tasting the skin under his left ear. One part of my brain registers the fact that it's too warm, he's got a fever, probably infected wounds. We need to get him back to the infirmary.
"You okay now?" The deep murmur in my ear is followed by a wet kiss there as his hand runs up and down my back in a soothing motion.
I take a deep, unsteady breath and pull away from his chest, giving him a rueful look. "I think that's supposed to be my line."
He reaches out and cups my cheek. "Just get me home, Daniel," he says quietly, "and I'll be fine."
"You got it." I shift so I can get his arm around my shoulders and carefully get him to his feet. Jack's never been one to hold back complaints when he's in pain and now is no exception. He swears freely and imaginatively as we take our first steps out into the sunshine. Ferretti has kept everyone back from the building far enough so we couldn't be seen or overheard -- and I make a mental note to ask Jack about that -- but I see Sam and Teal'c watching anxiously for us. As we make our way past the body of Fry'an, I feel a flash of hatred race through my body like an electrical shock and I tighten my grip on Jack. "I'm glad he's dead," I say flatly.
Jack doesn't spare him a look. "Me too, Danny. Me too."
***
"Daniel…!"
During the endless crawling hours of those two days while Jack was missing, I'd have given anything to hear him call my name again. Now he's home and slowly recovering, with me as his designated carer, I'm starting to think *not* hearing him call my name for a while might be nice.
"Yes, Jack." I try not to sigh it too wearily as I go back into the bedroom. I'm really starting to sympathize with Janet Fraiser. Jack is a *lousy* patient, just like she's always said. Mind you, she says the same thing about me, and I know she's wrong there…But in this instance, Janet has a point. Jack has very firm ideas about what would help with his recovery and as far as I'm concerned they're all wrong but that doesn't stop him making his demands at fairly regular intervals.
As I stick my head around the door, I see he's trying to get to his feet and I have to speed across the room to take his arm. "Jack, you know what Janet said. Complete bed rest for five days. You're only supposed to get up to use the bathroom."
"That is such a crock. I walked back to the damned 'gate. There is nothing wrong with…ow!" And that's where he puts weight on his right leg and hisses with pain.
"Nothing wrong with you? Right. I can see that."
He waves an admonishing finger under my nose. "I've had tickets for this game for four months and I am damned if I'm going to miss it."
Determinedly not helping him, I cross my arms. "Well I'll be seeing you in hell then, because you're not going."
He looks so surprised I realize I obviously don't stand up to Colonel Jack O'Neill anything like enough. I press on ruthlessly. "And in case you're insane enough to think you can drive yourself there, I've already taken the precaution of hiding the keys to your jeep and my car."
"Damnit, Daniel!"
"You can yell all you like, Jack. Your house has nice thick walls so I don't suppose the neighbors will mind. I'm not taking you to the game and you're not going yourself."
"I'll call a cab." As he reaches for the phone, I lean down and unplug it, wrapping the cord around the phone before tossing it on top of the closet. Janet was adamant Jack couldn't possibly take the strain of a two-hour car ride to watch a game that went on for who knows how many hours, followed by a two-hour car ride back. She'd only let me take him home on condition that I didn't let him go to the game.
"I'm trusting you, Daniel," she said. "You have to promise me you're going to be tough with him, otherwise he's staying here where I can keep an eye on him."
I'd promised. At the time I would have promised anything to have Jack with me, in his own house, where we could be alone and I could fuss over my poor wounded Colonel…
Now my poor wounded Colonel is roaring like a bull elephant in the mating season and actually I think the analogy is sound. Jack and I both spent a long time being celibate through circumstances outside our control, and while Sha're was out there and unreachable I don't remember ever thinking about anyone but her. My sex-drive dwindled until it hovered around the zero mark more or less constantly. The same thing happened with Jack. The only person he wanted to be with was Sara and Sara was the one person he couldn't be with. Substitutes were not just going to do it, so neither of us…did it. Then, the night after that business with Kira, Jack came around to give me a stern lecture about why I didn't get between his gun and a possibly hostile alien. Ever. And I gave him a stern lecture in return about how he didn't let his own pissy feelings because he and I were in the middle of an argument spill over into actions he would later regret: like shooting some poor girl who was only trying to kill herself. Some yelling followed. Some *serious* yelling. And I really thought he was going to hit me. He grabbed me by the shoulders, shoved me up against the wall, and then…
And then I read the misery in his eyes and suddenly realized that I recognized it. Felt it. Jack was so angry with me for the same reason I was so angry with him. We were in love.
There was no more yelling after that. And he certainly didn't hit me…
Right now though, I'm not so sure. Jack is *not* a happy camper. Given the fact it hurts him to move in about ten different places and his throat is still recovering from the way they starved him of food and water he's making a pretty good job of stomping and yelling. He's not hitting his usual decibels, but being in a room with him is still a bit of a workout for the inner ear. Time to calm him down again. "Jack…" I put my arm around his shoulders and begin to steer him gently back towards the bed. "Please…Come and lie down again. You need your rest. The more rest you get the sooner you'll be declared fit for active service again. The sooner you get to go back through the…numph…"
Abruptly my poor wounded Colonel has his hands clamped to the side of my head and is making determined efforts to remind himself how my tonsils taste. Something else I found out about Jack the night we had our argument over Kira…the man is a *great* kisser. He tells me I'm not so bad myself although he reckons I still need practice. The first time he told me that it worried me so much I went to see Sam and asked her if she could tell me what was wrong with my technique. After we'd kissed she swayed a little and then started giggling. I felt terrible, "That bad, eh?"
She patted me gently on the shoulder. "Daniel, trust me on this, the Colonel must really like kissing you, that's all, because from where I'm standing your technique is already absolutely perfect..."
Right now Jack is demonstrating his own skills and I must admit they're both breath-taking and brain-scrambling. As he lets me up for air, his expression is soft and pleading, "Please, Daniel. I need to do something…normal. Please drive me to the game."
For a second I almost weaken. My knees are ahead of me and are already pretty much jelly. He looks so pathetic and he's had such a lousy time, and would it really hurt and…? *What the hell am I doing?* "No, Jack." I try to sound a lot firmer than I feel. "You're not going to the game."
He limps irritably back to the bed and slumps down on it, glowering at me. "I might as well be back in the infirmary!"
The bruises on his face and body are still coming out but at least I've gently washed away the blood from his hair. He's got three cracked ribs and so many pulled muscles they're impossible to count. He's got terrible shadows under his eyes because he's been having nightmares every night - not about being a captive either there or in Iraq, but about Charlie. I've learned that whenever something bad happens to Jack it's always Charlie he dreams about. Apparently I always dream about Sha're. That's another reason both of us are glad not to be sleeping alone any more.
I love him so much it hurts so making him angry and miserable is not my idea of a good time. I go over to where he's sitting on the side of the bed and say his name gently. "I'm sorry. You know I would if I thought it was the best thing for you, but I promised Janet…"
He's still glaring. He begins to pull off the clothes he so painfully got into, snapping at me when I try to help him. "I can manage!"
"God, Jack…" I sink down on the bed next to him. I haven't been getting a lot of sleep myself. I don't like to sleep in the bed in case I roll against him and touch his bruises, but that means I have to keep getting up and running in here every time he has a nightmare. I'm not the world's greatest cook, but then neither is he, and we can both usually eat each other's food, but not at the moment; Jack keeps pushing every bowl away after a couple of bites. We seem to be fighting more or less constantly which can't be good for his recovery. I don't feel I'm making a very good job of taking care of him at the moment and I'm seriously wondering if Janet was right and I should have let him stay in the infirmary. She told me looking after Jack was going to put a hell of a strain on both of us.
He's clambered out of his clothes with a lot of swearing, and glaring at me every time I make a move to help him. Now he gets into bed, still glaring at me. "I suppose you’re going to go sleep on the couch again, are you?" He throws it at me like an accusation.
I blink at him, nonplussed. "Well, I…I didn't want to hurt you by accident."
"So you thought you'd hurt me on purpose?"
And in that moment it's all too much. I want to yell at him that he's being an unreasonable old bastard and he knows it, but I'm too tired and miserable and worried about him. I put a hand up to my face and wonder if this is it, if we can ever get back from this to being the way we were before. Suddenly two arms go around me and my head is pulled in to his chest. "I'm sorry," he murmurs it in my ear. "I know you're doing the best you can for me, Daniel. You know I love you, don't you?"
It's all I can do not to start sobbing into his chest with the relief, but I make an effort to hang onto my self-control. I raise my head and meet his eye. "Even when I won't drive you to the hockey game?"
A smile twitches at his mouth - the first one I've seen in *way* too long. "Even then. Although a lot less than usual, obviously..."
I nod gravely. "Obviously."
He strokes a finger down my mouth. "Want to cheer your old Colonel up?"
I look at him suspiciously. "What do you have in mind?"
He pulls back the duvet and pats the sheet next to him invitingly. He gives me a deliciously dirty leer. "What do you think?"
And damn it to hell because this was the *other* thing Janet warned me to watch out for. Definitely no…how did she phrase it? 'Nocturnal activities, Daniel.' And that's the other reason why Jack is so bad-tempered at the moment, of course. Not only is he in pain, hampered by his injuries at every turn, a prisoner in his own home (that was the phrase he shouted at me yesterday anyway), unable to come and go as he damn well pleases, but he's not getting any. Which is my fault. As he has also mentioned more than once. And although I have told him soothingly that of course we're going to make up for lost time just as soon as he's well, the only part of Colonel Jack O'Neill's anatomy that *didn't* get stomped on by that bastard who took him prisoner reckons convalescence is now over and it's now firmly into recovery.
I'm torn. If I say no he's going to go ballistic. If I say yes Janet's going to go ballistic. I wonder if I can compromise. I say tentatively, "You know we can't do anything too…energetic, don't you, Jack?" I look at him, hopefully trying to discern something that shows me he's going to be sensible about this. *Oh dear, that isn't good.* His expression is a mixture of innocence and good old-fashioned lust. So he's horny as hell but trying to pretend he's not to get me into bed with him.
I say firmly, "Just a cuddle. Nothing more."
"Okay." And he agreed to that much too soon as well.
He pulls back the sheet a little further and pats the mattress again. The look he gives me is downright X-rateable. My own enforced celibacy is also making its presence felt. Things are stirring. Things always do when Jack looks at me like that. Damn but he is looking good. But he's also looking very bruised and tired. "Just a cuddle," I repeat, holding up a warning finger for emphasis.
His expression is the picture of innocence. "Okay." He's said it twice now and it hasn't convinced me either time. Nevertheless I start to get undressed…
When I slide carefully in beside him, he immediately turns toward me and can't quite suppress the grunt of pain the movement causes. "Dammit, Jack." I'm already moving to get back out of bed, cursing myself for my stupidity, when he grabs my arm.
"Danny, don't."
"Jack, I'm going to end up hurting you." I don't think he really understands what it did to me to see him beaten and bleeding with that gun held to his head. And I don't think he really understands what it's like for me right now to see him like this, to keep thinking of what he went through on that planet, to know how viciously he was abused and tortured, and to realize any unwise movement or touch on my part will only cause him *more* pain.
A calloused palm rests gently against my cheek. "Daniel, *please*."
But, damn him, he *does* know what that does to me. I learned very early in our relationship, even before Jack and I fell in love, what the word 'please' delivered in the right tone, can do to Jack. Because I know the 'power' I have over him in that area, I never abuse it. Well, hardly ever. I would never use it to get him to take me to a hockey game when I'm supposed to be confined to bed, for instance. Of course, this cuts both ways. Jack has learned what that word and that tone of voice does to me, too. And, to be fair, he didn't resort to using it when he was trying to coerce me into taking him to that damned hockey game - that was wheedling, with a lot of whining thrown in; that didn't count. But this isn't whining. This is the tone we only ever use with each other.
I drop my head on the pillow in defeat. He's got me and he knows it. But he isn't gloating. His eyes are soft as he caresses my cheek with his thumb. Maybe he *does* understand what seeing him like this is doing to me. "I thought you were dead," I blurt out suddenly, then cringe. I'd promised myself I wasn't going to dump any crap on him. He's a soldier and he's handling all this just fine. He doesn't need to hear about my fears and insecurities.
But he only slides his hand behind my head and pulls me forward until our lips are brushing. "I know," he whispers, "and I'm sorry you had to go through that. But I'm alive and I'm fine." He teases my lips with his tongue, then fits his mouth to mine and delivers a Jack O'Neill Special that leaves me gasping for breath. With yet another leer, he nudges me with something that isn't his leg. "Let me show you just how alive I am."
"No." I couldn't be firmer on that. N-O spells 'no'. You don't need to be a linguist to understand that word.
"Daniel…"
"No, Jack. Definitely not." I glance across at him and he's got his sulky little boy look. God, he looks cute like that. No, not thinking that. Definitely not thinking that. He pushes the duvet away in annoyance, looking all the world like a petulant eight year old who's just been told he has to do his homework before he can watch TV. That reveals his chest. Oh boy. Jack's body definitely…does things to me. You can't be an archaeologist and not develop an eye for knowing when something is just right; when it's authentic, when it perfectly combines beauty with utility. And that's what I always find myself thinking when I'm faced with a naked Jack O'Neill. Not just because his body is that perfect mixture of lean strength, muscle, and smooth, so-kissable skin; not just because his willingness to be vulnerable in front of me, both physically and emotionally, still makes me go weak at knees. But because the inner man within that wonderful outer covering is a buried treasure that really repays discovery. You unwrap him you just find another layer you never realized was there. Jack has shallows, yes, but a lot less than he wants the rest of the world to know, and he has depths even I haven't explored yet. There is a *lot* more to this man than meets the eye. But I have to say that what's meeting my eye right now is still pretty damned impressive, and pretty damned…resolve-testing.
Broad shoulders. Those beguiling curls of chest hair. A perfect torso tapering down to a waist that would put guys half his age to shame. The muscle on his upper arms is something you can feel as well as see; running your hand across it, there's a hardness against your fingertips, a firmness against your tongue; sometimes it's impossible not to start nipping lightly at that wonderfully firm…Okay, I'm actually grateful for the bruises all over his ribs. They remind me why just leaning across and nuzzling at that chest hair isn't an option; why I can't just stroke my fingers over the warm skin which smells so wonderful, can't bend my head and kiss a trail…
"Kissing wouldn't kill me."
I look up at him in shocked surprise. He's got that gentle look in his eyes again; the one that reduces me to jelly. He reaches out and strokes my hair. "Please, Daniel…? I just need to know I'm alive."
I swallow hard. "You're manipulating me."
He nods. "Yep."
"We never stop at kissing, Jack. We have no self-control, remember?"
"This time will be different." He says it with absolute confidence, his fingers still making furrows in my hair.
I gaze into chocolate brown eyes and find my free will dissolving into the mattress. "Okay."
"Good." He smiles; a slow-burn hundred degree smolder. Oh he is so *not* intending to be good.
"Just kisses." Scooting forward, I place light little kisses over his face, tasting every bruise there, but I can't resist his mouth; it's just…calling to me, so I finish up by giving him a demonstration of what Sam has assured me is a very fine kissing technique. His fingers bury themselves in my hair while mine card through those soft brindled strands. I kiss him with everything I have and this time when we pull apart, he's the one left breathless.
"More," he gasps. I always knew Jack was a glutton for punishment. "Much, *much* more. Do you have any idea how bad sexual frustration is for making a full recovery?" He gives me a full-beam begging look while his fingers tighten in my hair. "Please, Danny? Please…?"
Oh boy, a 'please' and a 'Danny' and a begging look? I'm toast and he knows it. I can actually feel my knees turning to water as he keeps gazing at me like a red setter wanting to be taken for a walk. And Janet thinks *I* can manipulate *him*? My resolve dissolves like an ice swan in the sunshine while my self-control wanders off to read a book somewhere else, leaving me all alone in bed with a turned-on, naked, and totally irresistible Jack O'Neill.
"All right," I murmur, nuzzling the patch of bare skin behind his ear while sighing in defeat. God, he smells wonderful. Tastes wonderful too. I rub my face against his hair, loving the feel of it against my skin. "A little more. But I do all the work. You just lie here and take it like a colonel."
"Oh I think I can manage that," he agrees readily, his hands already skimming down my arms to my thighs.
I sigh to myself. Jack has *never* been what you might call 'passive' in bed. He's very much a take-charge kind of guy both in bed and out, and I don't have much hopes of keeping him still and submissive (the mind boggles at the thought) while I have my wicked way with him. But that's the only way we're going to do this because at the first sign of pain from him I'm out of here. I give him another lingering kiss. "Let's get you on your back." I figure I'll have the best chance keeping him still that way. With a care that would put any of Janet's orderlies to shame, I move him onto his back with hardly a flicker of discomfort on his face.
I must still be looking a little anxious, though, because he reaches up and brushes my hair away from my forehead. "I'm not made of glass," he reminds me pointedly.
And a damn good thing, too, or Janet could have added broken bones to the list of injuries she read off to me. "Just being careful," I say lightly.
As he studies my face, remorse replaces the impatience in his eyes. "I've been a real bastard, haven't I?"
I straddle him carefully, taking my weight on my arms, and nudge his nose with mine. "Mmm, no more than usual."
He snorts softly as he runs his hands up and down my thighs. "I just hate being cooped up and not being able to..." He shoots me a look. "You know."
I chuckle in the first release of humor I've felt in days. "Yeah, I know. Me, too." I draw in a deep breath, reveling in the smell of soap, shampoo and Jack, trying not to remember the smell of sweat, blood and urine that filled my nose when we found him. "And if you promise to be a good little Colonel, I'll see what I can do about us being able to... you know."
I start by kissing him lightly, his eyes, his hair, his nose, his jaw, his neck, and then move down to lick and nibble his nipples. Immediately his back is arching and his erection is jabbing eagerly against my stomach. "You have to stay *still*," I tell him as forcefully as I can manage it through a mouthful of chest hair.
He groans in frustration. "God, Daniel, if you knew what it's been doing to me, knowing you're in the house with me and won't..."
Something to note down for later: The Lysistrata option for getting my own way? No, I wouldn't do that to him, much too manipulative, much too…Mind you, Jack can be unspeakable sometimes, and I do really want us to take a vacation *I* want this year instead of another damned boring fishing trip. I'd really like a trip up the Nile. "What does it do to you exactly?" I enquire curiously as I kiss a trail down his navel.
"It kills me," he tells me with emphasis. "I've been dying in here. I've been listening to you using the damned shower and knowing I'm not allowed to come in there and…soap your back for you. It was worse torture than anything that bastard Frying Pan did to me. "
As I think of Jack soaping my back for me, a shiver of anticipation runs through my body. Oh boy, but I want him to be well again. It's all I can do to stop myself promising him that as soon as he's better we'll do any damned thing he wants to. Better not. Jack has a *lively* imagination. He might have put his sex drive in the deep freeze while he was getting over his divorce from Sara, but once he thawed it out again…Wow! I may be ten years younger than Jack but several times now we've come back from grueling missions and while the only things on my mind have been a hot bath and a good night's sleep, Jack has a completely *different* agenda. The first time that happened it really took me by surprise, I was halfway through asking him if he wanted the first shower or could I take it, when he had me pinned against the wall and was using his tongue to count every tooth in my head. He let me take the shower all right, but he took it with me, and that good night's sleep went straight out of the window…
I reach over to find new areas to nibble. First I kiss his fingers, then I suck the ends of them, tasting the faint salt flavor of his skin; then I kiss his knuckles, they're scabbed where he hit someone. *That's my Colonel…* Then I lick the back of his hand. Wrists next and I make sure I kiss every inch of those rope burns better before beginning to kiss a slow trail up his arm.
"Oh God, Daniel, what you do to me…"
Jack's got his right hand across his eyes. He does that sometimes when he's trying not to come. He says it's seeing me that makes him climax. As long as he doesn't look at me he can hang on in there. I'm torn between wanting to give him the nibbling of a lifetime and getting him to come PDQ so he'll hopefully go off to sleep. I know we're already going against Doctor's Orders, but on the other hand being sexually frustrated can't be good for Jack either. I still my conscience by convincing myself this is definitely the lesser of the two evils and as long as Jack doesn't have to do any of the work he can't open up any cuts or strain any muscles.
Very slowly and gently, I kiss a trail up his arm to his shoulder, kiss my way across his chest and then scoot over to kiss all the way down his arm, giving extra gentle kisses to his many bruises as I follow a path from scratch to contusion to stitched wound back down to the next ring of rope burns. I know that even breathing deeply has got to be hurting those cracked ribs of his so I rest my hand on him gently every time he gets too excited, soothing him back down flat again. I can't do a lot about his cock though and it's rock hard and at bursting point.
Time to give the man what he needs. I close my fingers around his cock and begin to pump it, at the same time whispering what he means to. How much I love him. How even when I want to wrap around a rock around his head because he's so damned annoying, I still love him, will always love him, always *have* loved him, just didn't realize I also wanted him, needed him, couldn't live without him until -
"Oh God, Danny…!"
His back arches; his face scrunches up in that way I love to see; hot fluid hits my hand, and then he's lying there panting, dazed and happy as a clam while the world spins all around him. He gives me a big silly grin and I know that for once Janet was wrong and Jack was right: a little fun was definitely the right therapy for this Air Force colonel on the mend.
And sometimes that's all it takes with Jack. It really is that simple. Jack needs to be needed like no one else in the world. He has more love to give than anyone I have ever met and when I first met him, he had no one left to give it to. I think I tripped his orphaned baby bird switch, then his stray dog switch, then his child-substitute switch, and hooboy more switches than I even want to think about it until, finally, one day, he seemed to work out I was actually an adult, and an equal, and we could do stuff together that would be fun and hurt no one, and you know what, we might even like it. Then he had to clue me in on this fascinating discovery. I'm ashamed to say it took me a while to catch up, but at least now we're both on the same page and having a lot of fun reading our way through the book together.
When I look up at him again he's panting, slowly recovering from the orgasm *I* gave him. I feel proud every time it happens. Like the man himself would say: That never gets old.
I wipe my hand clean on the coverlet then lean down to kiss his mouth, stroking that graying hair I love so much back from his forehead. "Better now…?"
"Much better." Oh he is looking *so* pleased with himself today. He snuggles down in the bed and the expression on his face is full on 'smug'.
"You got a little carried away." I try to sound reproving.
"Yes." He gives me a penitent look that would fell a nun at fifty paces. "I'm sorry."
No, can't bear that look. Even though I know he's faking, I can't stop myself reassuring him. "I'd hate you to be lukewarm, Colonel."
"No danger of that with you, Doctor Jackson."
Because we've always called - make that 'almost always called' - each other by our first names, we have to take refuge in formality when we want to be intimate. Even though I know it's silly, there is something about Jack calling me 'Doctor Jackson' that sends a shiver of happiness straight down my spine. And he assures me Sam calling him 'Colonel' is not the same thing as me saying it at all.
I lie down next to him and he turns carefully onto his side, neither of us even blinking as we gaze into each other's eyes as intently as love-struck teenagers. He takes it slowly, easing over, wanting me to see that he can be careful, knowing that if he winces I will too. When he's on his side he reaches across and touches my face, stroking the back of his bruised knuckles up and down my cheekbone. "Stay."
I resist the urge to point out I'm not a spaniel. "I'm not going anywhere," I assure him.
"Thought you might be heading back to the…couch." His nose wrinkles in disgust as he says the word.
"I'm staying with you." I gaze at his face, all those bruises, and cuts, but my Jack is still there underneath them, alive and safe and so close I can feel his body heat warming my skin.
"All night?"
"All night," I tell him.
He kisses his forefinger and then touches it gently to my nose. "I'm warning you now, I might wake up frisky."
We both know he's much more likely to wake up screaming from another nightmare but I just smile. "Fine with me."
He beckons to me and I tentatively wriggle a little nearer, very wary of touching his cracked ribs, but I can't pretend I can't see how much more relaxed he is now I'm with him. He moves his arm around me, clearly wanting me to rest my head against his chest and I do so, albeit very carefully. He gives a big sigh of contentment then ruffles my hair and says softly, "Thank you, Daniel." Ten seconds later he's very peacefully asleep.
The End